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to get annoyed. “I’ve come all the way from Paris and I have to go back there later, so if you could—”
    A nurse came over.
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    This one was more imposing.
    â€œYes, hello, I, um, sorry about the bother, but I have to see my grandmother who was brought in yesterday as an emergency and I—”
    â€œYour name?”
    â€œLestafier.”
    â€œOh, yes.” She gestured something to her colleague. “Come with me.”
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The nurse explained the situation briefly, gave him a rundown on the operation, told him what the rehabilitation period would involve and asked for details about the patient’s lifestyle. Suddenly bothered by the smells and the engine noise still thrumming in his ears, Franck had trouble following her.
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“Here’s your grandson!” the nurse announced gaily as she opened the door. “You see? I told you he’d come! Okay, I’ll leave you now,” and to Franck she added, “Come and see me in my office, otherwise they won’t let you out.”
    He didn’t have the presence of mind to thank her. What he saw there, in the bed, broke his heart.
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He turned aside to try to pull himself together. Removed his jacket and sweater, and looked for somewhere to hang them up.
    â€œIt’s hot in here, isn’t it.”
    His voice sounded strange.
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“You okay?”
    The old lady, who was bravely trying to smile at him, closed her eyes and began to cry.
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They’d removed her dentures. Her cheeks seemed terribly hollow and her upper lip was sucked into her mouth.
    â€œSo! You been partying again, that it?”
    It cost him a superhuman effort just to use that bantering tone.
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“I talked with the nurse, you know, she said the operation was very successful. So now you’ve got a nice little piece of metal in you.”
    â€œThey’re going to put me in a home.”
    â€œOf course not! What are you talking about! You’re going to stay here for a few days and then you’ll go to a convalescent home. That’s not a home, it’s like a hospital, only not as big. They’ll pamper you and help you to walk and then, presto! Back to Paulette’s garden.”
    â€œFor how long?”
    â€œA couple weeks . . . then it’ll depend on you. You’ll have to make an effort.”
    â€œYou’ll come and see me?”
    â€œOf course I’ll come. I’ve got a beautiful motorbike, you know.”
    â€œYou don’t drive too fast, I hope.”
    â€œBah, it’s a regular tortoise.”
    â€œLiar . . .”
    She was smiling through her tears.
    â€œStop it, Grandma, otherwise I’ll start crying too.”
    â€œNo, you won’t. Not you, you never cry. Even when you were just a little kid, even the day you twisted your arm, I never saw you shed a single tear . . .”
    â€œCut it out, all the same.”
    He didn’t dare take her hand because of all the tubing.
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“Franck?”
    â€œI’m here, Grandma.”
    â€œIt hurts.”
    â€œThat’s normal, it’ll pass, you have to get some sleep now.”
    â€œIt really hurts.”
    â€œI’ll tell the nurse before I leave, I’ll ask her to give you something.”
    â€œAre you leaving right away?”
    â€œOf course not!”
    â€œTalk to me a little. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
    â€œWait, let me switch off the light. The lighting in this place is truly horrible.”
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Franck raised the blinds and the room, which faced west, was suddenly bathed in a gentle twilight. Then he moved the armchair to the other side so he could take her good hand between his own.
    At first it was hard to find the words, he’d never been one for fancy talk or telling stories. He began with little things, the weather in Paris, the pollution, the color of his Suzuki, a description of his menus and that sort of trivial