Conversations with My Gardener Page #4

- A baguette?

- Perfect.

- Ok?

- Fine.

I'm coming down.

I bought your bread.

And croissants.

That's nice.

I'll take off my boots

or I'll make a mess.

I do at home apparently.

I leave mud cakes on the lino.

Nice slippers!

- I can't stand socks.

- Come in.

They burn my feet.

These are handier.

You can kick all you want,

the soil stays on the sole...

and falls off in the heat

of the kitchen. I get shot!

I'll give this a coat of paint.

Not before time.

- Can I wash my hands?

- Go ahead.

I beat the scythe on my anvil,

a piece of rail.

Pre-war Pont--Mousson.

There's nothing better!

The grocer's van came.

I got you some tea.

- This...

- Let's see.

Got any milk?

Only skimmed.

That'll do.

Tea with milk goes down best.

- Can I ask you a question?

Two, if you like.

You'll say it's not my affair

but, between us...

why bury yourself here?

- Bury?

In Paris you're someone.

But here, quite honestly,

ending up in this hole...

In Paris there are

plenty of "someone's".

Too many.

- As for this hole...

- Just an expression.

This hole is my roots,

where I grew up.

- You see?

- Of course. Who better?

And there's something else.

My father wanted me to take over

the family chemist's.

And?

The thing is, I

didn't want the chemist's.

I knew I wasrt cut out for

complaints and prescriptions.

And?

When it came to it,

I said no to pharmacy school.

I wanted to be an artist in Paris.

And?

My father said to me,

"Art isn't a trade.

It doesn't pay".

"You won't raise a family on that."

My mother couldn't stop crying.

They're good at tears.

I held out.

I didn't give in...

- and I left.

- And?

You've just exhausted

your quota of "Ands"

And...

My father died 3 years ago.

My mother straight after.

After the funeral I came here...

Iooked around the house...

from cellar to attic...

and in an old trunk I found...

portfolios full of water-colours.

Views of the house, the garden,

flowers, tress and undergrowth.

They were all...

fantastic.

He hid his light under a bushel.

I saw that he hadrt dared to say no.

He had no choice but to take over

the family business.

He kept the chemist's.

Yes.

Along with his artistic aspirations.

Oh! The heat on my tooth...

See the dentist.

No thanks!

He's a champion extractor.

If I listened to him

I'd have nothing but bought teeth.

If it doesn't move, pull it!

I had one here...

a big one with hooks...

He said, "I won't give you a jab,

railwaymen are tough."

It made him laugh.

But my arse was a foot off the chair.

He got it in the end.

It was the wrong one.

Give me his name so I can avoid him.

But it's paid by the insurance.

Good.

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