The Reader on the 6.27

Read The Reader on the 6.27 for Free Online Page B

Book: Read The Reader on the 6.27 for Free Online
Authors: Jean-Paul Didierlaurent
copies of Gardens and Kitchen Gardens of Bygone Days by Jean-Eude Freyssinet sat cover to cover in neat rows on the mahogany planks, their slurry-green spines exposed. Giuseppe’s babies. He had a special way of caressing their edges with his fingertips as he passed them, and he took particular care to dust them regularly. They were the flesh of his flesh. He had given them his blood and more. And it mattered little that it happened to be the unimportant work of a Jean-Wotsit-Thingummyjig and not the winner of that year’s Goncourt. You can’t choose your children’s looks. The poignant emptiness of the shelves above them were a daily reminder of that part of himself that had not yet returned to the fold. Anxious and unable to contain himself a moment longer, Giuseppe gripped Guylain’s arm.
    ‘Well?’
    Not wanting to prolong his agony, Guylain put the book in his hands. Giuseppe turned it over and over, examined it in the light, checked the ISBN, the dates and printing numbers, leafed through it, assessed the paper quality with his fingertips, sniffed it and caressed the pages with the palm of his hand. Only then did he hug it to his chest with a smile. Each time, Guylain marvelled at the moving sight of his tormented face bursting into a huge, radiant smile. Giuseppe would keep his Freyssinet with him all evening, nice and warm under his blanket, lying on what remained of his thighs, only putting it down when it was time to go to bed. From time to time he would pick one out at random and keep it with him all day. Guylain would lounge on the sofa while Giuseppe busied himself in the kitchen. He knew that his friend wouldn’t relax until he had drunk his glass of bubbly. No matter how often he told him not to bother, that champagne wasn’t necessary and that, even if it meant drinking alone, he’d be happy with any fortified wine, that even a beer would do, the old boy insisted on bringing him the glass and the half-bottle of vintage bubbly opened specially for the occasion. He, who in his former life had only ever drunk cheap plonk, unspeakable gut-rot, now only uncorked fine wines, priceless bottles, which he insisted on Guylain drinking. Giuseppe wheeled himself over to the coffee table, grinning all the while, and placed the champagne glass and half-bottle of Dom Perignon in front of Guylain. The first sip of champagne sent a pleasant chill down Guylain’s throat before settling in his stomach.
    ‘What did you eat at lunchtime?’ The question took him by surprise. He had eaten nothing at lunchtime. And Giuseppe knew him well enough to know that he had eaten nothing that day other than a handful of cereal washed down by a mug of scalding tea. The old boy’s beady little eyes read all that in his silence. ‘I’ve made some food for you.’ His peremptory tone left Guylain no option but to accept the invitation. When Giuseppe cooked, it was the whole of Italy that landed on your plate. After an anchovy paste with a bundle of cabled grissini , washed down with a glass of Prosecco, came a heaped plate of melon with prosciutto crudo accompanied by a red Lacryma Christi. Giuseppe loved reminding him that getting drunk on Christ’s tears was the best thing that could happen to a Christian. Guylain was surprised to find that for a while he was able to forget the flavour of boiled cardboard that coated his taste buds. The dessert, comprising a dish of crunchy almond amaretti with a glass of home-made limoncello , chilled to perfection, was sheer bliss. They chatted idly and solved all the world’s problems. The Thing had made them very close, a closeness that only trench warfare is capable of forging between soldiers who have shared the same shell hole. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Guylain took his leave of Giuseppe. The ten-minute walk through the freezing night was not enough to sober him up. He just took the time to remove his shoes and say goodnight to Rouget de Lisle before collapsing fully

Similar Books

Soul Bound

Anne Hope

No More Tomorrows

Schapelle Corby

3: Fera - Pack City

Carys Weldon

Recipe for Kisses

Michelle Major

Dead Voices

Rick Hautala

Scepters

L. E. Modesitt

Taken by Two

Sam J. D. Hunt

Porter

Laurence Dahners

All We See or Seem

Leah Sanders