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Why did he proclaim empty phrases as if they were axioms, the
physical laws which ruled a world of his own? As they were crossing the
long central corridor of the house toward the garden, the sound level of
the music dropped ten decibels, a young girl all dressed up in a light blue
satin gown came in running, holding a fold of her skirt, she disappeared
into the bathroom and banged the door shut. Jacques was about to call
out: “Muriel!”, but said nothing, suddenly ashamed, it seemed. Kathy
could see the look on his face : “What was that? —It’s my son’s girlfriend.
There must be something wrong with her... —She’s very pretty, isn’t
she? —I guess she is. —Your son is lucky. —Would you let me say I am
lucky too?” Kathy looked completely puzzled. Jacques hastily added :
“Lucky to enjoy your company, obviously.”
In the garden, where the Hill’s hoist had been disguised into a
tropical tree with saucer-size deep red paper flowers and the soft lawn
under it had been trampled flat by many feet, a group of ten or fifteen
people —Sylvie among them— were improvising a folkloric dance. Impossible,
for Jacques, to tell, whether it was Scottish, Irish, Basque or
Scandinavian; he recognized folkloric dances because it was the sort he
couldn’t dance at all. Most people pretended they could try, they were
holding hands and looking at their feet. Closer to the tiny podium built by
Grandpa, several youngsters, among them Joël, were discussing angrily.
After shouting: “Shut up you fool” to one of them, Joël left the group, he
walked toward his father, who was standing under a blinding spotlight,
without seeing him at first. “Oh, Papa! I’m sorry, this guy has thrown
a glass of claret at Muriel, her dress is all stained. I must see if she is all
right.” The Robinson family was sitting on its very own French style
banc public, with their backs to the side wall of the garage, a couple of
teenagers were kissing passionately under the carport (the Robinsons
couldn’t see them), the rest of the party congregated before the white
paper covered buffet table, or telling anecdotes, laughing, exclaiming,
admiring or criticizing, in small groups, some with long-stemmed glasses,
some with plastic cups in their hands. Two or three were still holding
paper plates and one a salad bowl from which he was avidly eating while
listening furiously to an old English woman over the brim of the Filipino
imitation hardwood container. Jacques realized he had left his gift for
Muriel and the traditional bottle of wine, a Mac William’s Mount Pleasant,
in the car, and was tempted to leave altogether. Kathy persuaded him
not to : “I’ll wait for you, I’ll have a glass of something.”
On his return, he found Joël and Muriel, now clad in pure vermilion,
kissing in the deserted living room. Her tears had dried. He gave
her the book on the rivers of France, gift-wrapped in gold paper. She
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