Zenith Hotel Read Free Page B

mustn’t make any mistakes: it goes down on their reports. Those things are important, otherwise you can get students into trouble unfairly. You phone their parents at an inconvenient moment, when it’s not their fault. They work, too; they can’t keep track of their kids all the time. But if the kids don’t show up, you have to inform them. You call them, you apologize for disturbing them, you explain that little Jérôme hasn’t come to school this morning, so that they know, so they don’t worry. And they thank you. You tell them you have to fill in a little pink form explaining why. You thank them and say have a nice day.

    Yesterday was hard work. Before the holidays, it’s always the same. The kids don’t want to bein school. It’s all very well yelling at them and punishing them, those wretched brats are oblivious . And some of them are just plain stupid. You do everything you can for them, you stop them cheating or drinking in secret, and all you get is spitting and abuse. They give you a nickname and they take the piss behind your back. You try to do everything right, to keep to the rules and teach them to do the same. They don’t want to know, they only think of themselves. They let off bangers and water bombs, they throw paper pellets at your back. Some of them have weapons, Biro peashooters and rubber bands stretched between the thumb and index finger. They’re rich kids, it’s a private school.

    It’s the same routine, day in and day out. There are the public holidays, but they’re all in May. Every day it’s the same old, same old. You have to be there a quarter of an hour before the students, that’s a responsibility. 8.15. And Estelle wants space, so we live in the suburbs. We don’t use the car in the week, the train’s more practical. There’s one at 7.12. Has to be that one. The next one, the 7.45, gets there too late. A twenty-minute journey.First compartment, third door from the end. It’s by the métro exit. You see the same people in the compartment in the morning. Sometimes there’s one who’s not a regular and he takes your seat. You can’t hold it against him, he doesn’t realize. Still, it’s annoying. But that’s life. You go because you have to. Often, it’s crowded – you’re all crammed together, people step on each other’s toes. Everyone ’s on their way to work.
    There are hundreds like us. We simply don’t see them. Actually, it’s a bit scary, it sort of hits you in the stomach, like when you realize you’re going to die.
    When I have the time to think about it, that is. Otherwise I have to deal with the absences or Estelle. It all takes time, keeps my mind busy. I don’t look at the other people, I think about my own business. And besides, I’ve got Estelle and the family, that’s plenty.

    Emmanuel’s father used to be in the military. He’s retired now. He’s been places and done things! He was in Sudan. Darfur. He drove tanks and jumped with a parachute. He fired a submachine gun; he peeled spuds. Emmanuel’s father was a hero, andEmmanuel has always been fascinated by him. Sometimes he talks to his colleagues about his father, but they don’t understand. His father is better at recounting his exploits. Emmanuel struggles to find the words. He’s slower, like a guy who’s no good at telling jokes. It’s all there in his head, but he can’t get the words out. He’s aware of it when he talks. But he can’t help it, sometimes he gets the urge to talk about his father.
    There are dark circles beneath his blue eyes. Administrative, industrious circles, not tiredness from partying or drinking. What’s making Emmanuel tired is his life. It troubles him and he can’t sleep.
    No one notices his nose. His chin juts out a bit. He has a goatee, trimmed around his mouth. His wife says it makes him look dapper, and it doesn’t take long to do. He’s never known how to dress. Now, it’s Estelle who chooses his clothes. A nice shirt and smart