Chapter 8 #3
“Vous parlez anglais?” asked the woman, hearing Marlow’s accent. “I am Lali. Fedir, my husband, will be home soon for lunch. And this is Babka, the happy dog.”
Marlow and Sabine introduced themselves.
“I am sorry, Yakiv invites himself into other people’s homes. I have told him to stop, but he is curious. Here, this is not a problem, because there are not many people, and they are friends. This is better than where we were from.”
“Where is that?” asked Marlow.
“Ukraine.”
“Yakiv took us on a tour of Mirabelle,” said Sabine.
“He likes to take the long way,” said Lali. “I sent him to get mint up by the castle. Instead he let himself into your house, ate your food, showed you the whole village on the way back, and did not bring the mint. Which house is yours? What is its name?”
“Maison Perdue,” said Marlow. “Yours?”
“Presque au Chateau,” said Lali. “It means ‘almost at the castle.’ ”
“How many people live in Mirabelle?”
“We are here since a year. There is Madame Belleville, the one who stares through her window and may give you a smile, may not.”
“Today, not so much,” said Marlow.
“Tomorrow may be better. We take each day new. There is also Luc Celeste.”
“Yes. What’s his story?” Marlow tried not to sound too interested, or picture Luc in his towel … or without it.
“He is an artist.”
“Really? Not just a terrible driver for a travel company?”
“I see you have met,” said Lali, laughing. “He was born here, his parents, too, but they are gone now, passed away. He studied art history to please them. They did not want him to become a painter, and he did not want to become an art historian.”
So Luc was an art historian. Painter. Rebel.
“And there is you, too, living here in Mirabelle.”
“Maybe,” ventured Marlow. “I bought Maison Perdue over the internet, but I can’t keep it. So I will work over the summer to fix it up and hopefully resell in September.”
“That is sad. We also bought our house for one euro. It was an answer to many problems. And even though everything is not perfect, it is perfect enough.”
“I have so many questions,” said Marlow.
Lali heard the sound of the front door opening. “This is my husband, Fedir, home for lunch. You must stay and ask them all. We will tell you everything we know.”
Lunch was slabs of still-hot bread, smothered in butter, and bowls of steaming borscht with a dollop of sour cream topped with fresh dill.
Fedir was almost bald, clean-shaven, polite, sinewy. Suspenders held up his pants. He smiled a lot but did not speak much English and had broken French, so Lali translated for him.
“We bought this house on a moment,” said Lali. “I read about the one-euro program at a medical conference in Italy, and when Putin invaded, Fedir left his job as a civil engineer, Yakiv left his good school, we took out as much money as possible, closed the door on our apartment, and left.”
Yakiv climbed into Fedir’s lap, leaned into his chest, and played with his father’s earlobe as his eyelids drooped.
Marlow’s father had always been rushing off to work, or, if at home, Report on Business in his lap instead of a child.
She stole a glance at Sabine who also watched Yakiv fall asleep on Fedir. Sabine had not had a father at all.
“Your reasons for buying this house are way more important than mine,” said Marlow. “You seem to have your act together in pretty much every way.”
“Thank you, but I am working on things also,” said Lali.
“I may never be a doctor again—even though I studied in Poland, I cannot afford to get my license in France. So I threw away my career—Fedir’s, too.
I left my parents behind. Every day I ask, did we do the right thing?
” Lali let that go with a sigh. “So. Maison Perdue. Where do you begin?”
“I need to clean up outside. Get the electricity turned on. Repaint. Replace the broken windows and shutters. Redecorate, I suppose, with a nothing budget …”
“There are stores in Neufchateau,” said Lali. “Fedir can borrow a truck from the winery.”
“That’s very kind,” said Marlow. “So Fedir works for a winery?”
“Yes, Maison Fortin. They are the big employer in the region.”
“We know Guillaume,” said Marlow. “He has been a massive help.”
“Guillaume has helped us, too. Sometimes, after tastings, Guillaume offers Fedir the open bottles to bring home. We take a table, food, and the champagne to the top of the hill and pretend we are a royal family, eating in our castle, and that all the valley is our kingdom. It is Yakiv’s favorite game. You and Sabine must come.”
“We’d love that,” said Marlow. “I will find something for us to contribute. I am not a cook, but I am very talented at buying pastries and pretending I made them myself.”
“Then between you pretending you cooked, and us pretending we are rich enough to drink champagne, we will make the best neighbors.”
She offered more borscht. Marlow, feeling at home, couldn’t resist.
“I’m sorry you will leave in September,” said Lali. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”
“How could we? I have a whole life to pay for in Toronto.”
“But if you bought a house for one little euro, that takes care of so many expenses, no?”
Maybe Lali had a point.