Read The Body In the Vestibule Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body In the Vestibule (2 page)
On the way back through the market, she was distracted by a display of mushrooms. There were so many varieties, it took several minutes to decideâcèpes, chanterelles, mousserons, pleurotes, on and on. They had names with music in them. She'd make an omelet for a first course tonight, or pile them up on a sliver of toasted
pain de campagne
, a dense, crusty, chewy loaf.
pain de campagne
, a dense, crusty, chewy loaf.
With a final hasty stop for flowers, she walked quickly back toward the apartment the Leblancs had found for them, pausing at the bakery on Place d'Albon to pick up bread for dinner and a baguette that Ben and she would probably finish for lunch. Staff of life, she told herself, and looked down at her rounded abdomen. She could see her shoes, and would for some monthsâunless they stayed in Lyon. The pregnant French women she saw did not look any different from their American counterparts, except for the style of maternity garb that proudly emphasized with belts and sashes what still tended to be kept under wraps in the States. But with all this food, why didn't they gain a ton? she wondered.
And with that thought clearly in place, she headed for her butcher, Monsieur Veaux, to buy some of the incomparable chicken from Bresse. Monsieur and Madame Veaux's establishment was located a few steps from the apartment and seemed to function as the information center for the neighborhood. It wasn't just the little three-by-five cards that covered one wall, offering apartments for
louer
or university
étudiants
to tutor the
garçons
and
jeune filles
of the district. Several chairs had also been thoughtfully
placed against the wall for weary customers and were usually occupied by one or more of the local residents. They had stopped talking at her approach when Faith first started going there, but now after a week of observation during which it became clear that here was a young woman who knew her
côtelettes,
she was hailed with great familiarity whenever she passed by, and Benjamin had become a favorite.
louer
or university
étudiants
to tutor the
garçons
and
jeune filles
of the district. Several chairs had also been thoughtfully
placed against the wall for weary customers and were usually occupied by one or more of the local residents. They had stopped talking at her approach when Faith first started going there, but now after a week of observation during which it became clear that here was a young woman who knew her
côtelettes,
she was hailed with great familiarity whenever she passed by, and Benjamin had become a favorite.
“I don't understand!” Clement Veaux had exclaimed as he stood in front of a cheerful poster issued by the butchers association of France, proclaiming:
MON BOUCHER
â
IL EST UN ARTISTE !
His white apron with the red streaks from the day's work stretched tightly across his round body. “You Americans throw away all the parts we like best.”
MON BOUCHER
â
IL EST UN ARTISTE !
His white apron with the red streaks from the day's work stretched tightly across his round body. “You Americans throw away all the parts we like best.”
“Not this American,” Faith had assured him as she scooped up brains,
boudinâ
blood sausageâand even
tête de veau
âalthough she still had not acquired a taste for the calf's eyeballs.
boudinâ
blood sausageâand even
tête de veau
âalthough she still had not acquired a taste for the calf's eyeballs.
Veaux's wife, Delphine, sat at the cash register all day. She was less round than her husband and wore her dark black hair in a neat Dutch bob, the thick fringe of her bangs reaching the top of the frames of her glasses. The whole effect was of
une femme sérieuse
âuntil she smiled. She asked Faith endless questions. What did they eat for dinner? Was it true they sold ice cream for dogs in the United States? It was tempting to answer nettles and peanut butter to the first queryâDelphine would not have blinked. It would also have been nice to say, “No, of course not!” to the second. But she stuck to the truth.
une femme sérieuse
âuntil she smiled. She asked Faith endless questions. What did they eat for dinner? Was it true they sold ice cream for dogs in the United States? It was tempting to answer nettles and peanut butter to the first queryâDelphine would not have blinked. It would also have been nice to say, “No, of course not!” to the second. But she stuck to the truth.
After finishing at the Veaux's, Faith walked quickly to the small square in front of her venerable building and went into the dark, cool, sometimes pungent vestibule. The huge dumpsters,
poubelles
, for the building were at the rear of the narrow hallway.
poubelles
, for the building were at the rear of the narrow hallway.
The apartment had been a surprise. It belonged to a
relative of the Leblancs, both of whom were from old Lyonnais families, and the cousinâa generic term for all kin outside the immediate familyâwas willing to let the Fairchilds use it because he did not dare to rent it. Since the Napoleonic Code, a sitting tenant has had such inalienable rights that it often took years to get rid of one, no matter what the lease said. Paul's cousin planned to move to this apartment in another year; until then, it was virtually empty. There were a bed, two tables, a few lamps, and some chairs. There was also a phone, since to disconnect service could mean never getting it restored. The Leblancs had produced a child's cot for Ben, some plates, cutlery, and kitchen equipment, and it would suffice for a month.
relative of the Leblancs, both of whom were from old Lyonnais families, and the cousinâa generic term for all kin outside the immediate familyâwas willing to let the Fairchilds use it because he did not dare to rent it. Since the Napoleonic Code, a sitting tenant has had such inalienable rights that it often took years to get rid of one, no matter what the lease said. Paul's cousin planned to move to this apartment in another year; until then, it was virtually empty. There were a bed, two tables, a few lamps, and some chairs. There was also a phone, since to disconnect service could mean never getting it restored. The Leblancs had produced a child's cot for Ben, some plates, cutlery, and kitchen equipment, and it would suffice for a month.
When Faith and Tom had struggled with Ben and their suitcases up the five flights of dizzying circular stone stairs to open the heavy oak door, using three separate keys, they had walked into an immense apartment with high ceilings adorned with intricate plaster bas reliefs and moldings, the walls beautifully painted and papered, ornate fireplaces with carved marble mantels in most rooms, and small balconies outside the almost floor-to-ceiling windows. The windows were tied shut now after Ben had exuberantly flung one open and managed to take a heart-stopping step outside onto the balcony.
Tom had walked about slowly, then let out a whoop. “Pinch me, Faithâit's like camping out in some corner of Fontainebleau!” he'd exclaimed.
The room with the bed in it faced the immense fifteenth-century church of St. Nizier directly across the square, and the clock face on one of the steeples seemed close enough to touch, especially at night when it loomed through the windows they were loath to cover with the inside shutters. The statuary on the façade seemed to come alive when illuminated at dusk, the babe in the Madonna's arms wriggling slightly, high above the street.
After their first enthusiastic impressions, the Fairchilds
began to take note of the antique plumbingâthe toilet in a closet so tiny that one's knees grazed the shut door once enthroned, and with a chain pull so high that Faith, not a small woman, had to stretch to reach it, producing a cascade of water that threatened never to stop. The bathtubâat the far end of the apartment from the w.c.âhad lion's-paw feet and was large enough for all three of them. Faith found it handy for laundry.
began to take note of the antique plumbingâthe toilet in a closet so tiny that one's knees grazed the shut door once enthroned, and with a chain pull so high that Faith, not a small woman, had to stretch to reach it, producing a cascade of water that threatened never to stop. The bathtubâat the far end of the apartment from the w.c.âhad lion's-paw feet and was large enough for all three of them. Faith found it handy for laundry.
The kitchen had a stone slab of a sink and a doll-sized refrigerator and stove. To get hot water, there were two Victorian contraptions, one in the kitchen, one in the bath, that required a great many pressings of buttons, lightings of matches, and prayers.
Faith loved the apartment more than any place she had ever lived.
They'd immediately gone to Mammouth, a sort of combination supermarket, department store, and hardware store in a building the size of an airplane hangar, and bought a tricycle for Ben and other essentials. He careened recklessly from room to room. There was nothing to worry about: no furniture, no heirlooms, hardly any possessions at all. Faith filled the rooms with flowers from the market, arranged in some pitchers and vases from Mammouth. She covered the table in the dining room with a few yards of paisley fabric, from the Monday nonfood market, the
marché d'affaires
, and that was the extent of her decorating. She didn't miss her home, the parsonage with all their things. The feelings possessions bring seemed to depend on immediacy. Or, as she put it to herself in her current euphoria, the whole place could sink into the earth and she'd merely say, “Too bad.”
marché d'affaires
, and that was the extent of her decorating. She didn't miss her home, the parsonage with all their things. The feelings possessions bring seemed to depend on immediacy. Or, as she put it to herself in her current euphoria, the whole place could sink into the earth and she'd merely say, “Too bad.”
The first night, savoring the cheese course, still suffering from
décalage horaire
, jet lag, and feeling slightly drunkâTom on the excellent Côte du Rhône he'd discovered he could buy in bulk at the
vinoteque
nearby and Faith on the grape juice she'd found at Malleval, a fancy
épicerie
âthey'd watched the sun set and asked themselves how they were ever going to be able to leave.
décalage horaire
, jet lag, and feeling slightly drunkâTom on the excellent Côte du Rhône he'd discovered he could buy in bulk at the
vinoteque
nearby and Faith on the grape juice she'd found at Malleval, a fancy
épicerie
âthey'd watched the sun set and asked themselves how they were ever going to be able to leave.
And now after she put the food from the market away, this was how Faith started a long-overdue letter to her younger sister and only sibling, Hope. Their parents had stopped short at Charity. Hope was a newlywed, living and working in New York City with her husband, Quentin, and their yours, mine, and ours Filofaxes.
I can't remember ever being so happy. Tom says it's my hormones, but he's grinning, too. Even the job of switching from winter to summer clothes earlyâyou know how boring that is, and in New England, you no sooner drag all the stuff out than the season has changed again. This year it was easy, because nothing fit Ben or me and I decided to wait to get things here. You must be wondering what it's like in Lyon. Very different from Paris. No place is like Paris, but I think it's more livable here. The Leblancs have been sweethearts. I liked them immediately. We've been there twice for meals
en famille
and sit and laugh and talk for hours. They have two children: Stéphanie, who's thirteen and can seem thirty, as well as seven when she plays with Ben, and her nine-year-old brother, Pierre. He's very solemn and like all these French children, so perfect in their long Bermudas and polo shirts, Chipie, the hot brand and very
branché,
of course. The small children in Benjamin's school, the
garderie
, look as if they are going to a birthday party every day. But the
marque
with the greatest cachet for the preschool set isâOshkosh! Very expensive and treated like gold.
en famille
and sit and laugh and talk for hours. They have two children: Stéphanie, who's thirteen and can seem thirty, as well as seven when she plays with Ben, and her nine-year-old brother, Pierre. He's very solemn and like all these French children, so perfect in their long Bermudas and polo shirts, Chipie, the hot brand and very
branché,
of course. The small children in Benjamin's school, the
garderie
, look as if they are going to a birthday party every day. But the
marque
with the greatest cachet for the preschool set isâOshkosh! Very expensive and treated like gold.
We've also met some of the other people in our building. The d'Amberts live directly below us and their apartment stretches from Place d'Albon to Place St. Nizier, so they look out at the church on one end and the river on the other. The Saône, that is. I've
finally gotten them straight. We're in Presqu'île, the center of the city, which extends like a finger between the Saône and the Rhône. Lyon is a very walkable city and Ben and I go exploring every day. He's changing so fast. You won't recognize your grown-up nephew when you see him next, and I miss my little two-year-old. I think this is how kids get their parents to produce siblings for them to play with.
finally gotten them straight. We're in Presqu'île, the center of the city, which extends like a finger between the Saône and the Rhône. Lyon is a very walkable city and Ben and I go exploring every day. He's changing so fast. You won't recognize your grown-up nephew when you see him next, and I miss my little two-year-old. I think this is how kids get their parents to produce siblings for them to play with.
It's hard to describe our apartment's location. Two buildings back onto and around a kind of courtyard, except no courtâmore like a large, open elevator shaft. Everyone uses the deep sills for plants, small laundry lines, and for cooling pots. The windows are all discreetly curtained, of course, but not always closed, and I'm becoming dangerously voyeuristicâor whatever it is when you eavesdrop, too. I can see the Saône if the windows in the apartment across from us are open and at the right angle. I can also see the photos of their ancestors hanging on the wallâGrand-père looks remarkably like Lenin, or maybe it isn't Grand-père at all. It's a bit strange to know so much about your neighborsâwhat they're having to eat, the state of their lingerieâwithout knowing who they are or what they look like in some cases. By the way, the French really
do
say “ooh la la” or “ooh la” for short. They also say
merde
a lot, and I don't think it's as bad as saying “shit” at home. Anyway, back to the travelogue.
do
say “ooh la la” or “ooh la” for short. They also say
merde
a lot, and I don't think it's as bad as saying “shit” at home. Anyway, back to the travelogue.
Vieux Lyon, the medieval part of the city, is on the other side of the Saône and I haven't been there much yet. The best cheese, cakes, chocolate, and sausages are all on the other side of the Rhône. I know this may not fascinate you as much as it does me, but it tells you how I'm spending my days. (Citibank, you'll be happy to hear, has an office on the next block. So we are not totally devoid of amenities.)
Not getting much done on
Have Faith in Your Kitchen,
but I plan to incorporate lots of Lyonnais recipes into it and so this all falls under the category of research.
Have Faith in Your Kitchen,
but I plan to incorporate lots of Lyonnais recipes into it and so this all falls under the category of research.
Faith looked up from the letter and out the window to the square below. Another thing that was making it difficult to work on the cookbook she was writing was the noise. Not the traffic, or occasional siren, but the music from the
clochard
's radio.
Clochard
was the word for “tramp,” she'd learned, and the literal translation did not take into account the kind of romanticism these menâand a few womenâof the roads had been invested with by their more prosaic compatriots. She wouldn't have minded a little Edith Piaf or Charles Aznavour for atmosphere, but this
clochard
had other tastesâthe French equivalent of elevator music and loud.
clochard
's radio.
Clochard
was the word for “tramp,” she'd learned, and the literal translation did not take into account the kind of romanticism these menâand a few womenâof the roads had been invested with by their more prosaic compatriots. She wouldn't have minded a little Edith Piaf or Charles Aznavour for atmosphere, but this
clochard
had other tastesâthe French equivalent of elevator music and loud.
He arrived each morning quite punctually, spread out a small tattered blanket, took a couple of bottles of wine from the battered attache case he carried like a proper
homme d'affaires,
then positioned his animalsâan old mutt and a rabbit in a cageâand sat down. Just in time for the first mass. He took a small brass bowl from his case, set it down, and placed a ten-franc piece dead center. By the end of the day when he reversed the proceedings, his bowl runneth over. Faith wasn't too sure what the animals were intended to conveyâa latent sense of responsibility or simply colorful window dressing. He was often joined by other
clochards
and frequently by non-
clochards
, especially teenagers, all of whom appeared to invest him with some special kind of wisdom. The court of the bearded philosopher beggar. The large, greasy-looking cap,
casquette
, he always woreâhis crown. She resumed writing.
homme d'affaires,
then positioned his animalsâan old mutt and a rabbit in a cageâand sat down. Just in time for the first mass. He took a small brass bowl from his case, set it down, and placed a ten-franc piece dead center. By the end of the day when he reversed the proceedings, his bowl runneth over. Faith wasn't too sure what the animals were intended to conveyâa latent sense of responsibility or simply colorful window dressing. He was often joined by other
clochards
and frequently by non-
clochards
, especially teenagers, all of whom appeared to invest him with some special kind of wisdom. The court of the bearded philosopher beggar. The large, greasy-looking cap,
casquette
, he always woreâhis crown. She resumed writing.
So, there are the d'Amberts. They need a big apartment because they have five children. I see them on the
stairs, very polite, very BCBG,
“bon chic, bon genre,”
Stéphanie Leblanc told me. It's some sort of French version of a well-born Yuppie. Stéphanie did not seem to be all that impressed. Tom told me the other version he'd heard from Paul,
“bon cul, bon genre,”
considerably cruder and roughly translates as “nice ass, may be underused.” I don't know the d'Amberts well enough yet to know to which, if any, category they belong. They do have a very elegant card on their mailbox and a fancy, highly polished brass nameplate on their door, though.
stairs, very polite, very BCBG,
“bon chic, bon genre,”
Stéphanie Leblanc told me. It's some sort of French version of a well-born Yuppie. Stéphanie did not seem to be all that impressed. Tom told me the other version he'd heard from Paul,
“bon cul, bon genre,”
considerably cruder and roughly translates as “nice ass, may be underused.” I don't know the d'Amberts well enough yet to know to which, if any, category they belong. They do have a very elegant card on their mailbox and a fancy, highly polished brass nameplate on their door, though.
Then above us are the Joliets. He's also at the university and always to be found at the forefront of whatever anyone is protesting, Paul told us. Madame is Italian, Valentina, and owns a small art gallery a few blocks away. She has invited us to a
vernissage
, an opening, Saturday night. She's very lively, very pretty. No kids. She told me her husband was enough.
vernissage
, an opening, Saturday night. She's very lively, very pretty. No kids. She told me her husband was enough.
On the top floor, there are some students and, in a closet-sized apartment, Madame Yvette Vincent, the widow of another
professeurâ
it's quite an academic building. Madame is over eighty and climbs up and down the stairs several times a day to do her marketing or take her little dog out. (Everybody seems to have dogs here, if the streets are any evidence. We even saw a couple bring their dog into a restaurant we ate at the other night, and order for him. When the food came, it was garnished with parsley, just like ours.
Bonne préparation
, as if FiFi would notice!) Back to Madame Vincent. Besides being agile, she's extremely elegantâwell coiffed and very à la mode suits. I had a chance to see her apartment when she invited me for a cup of tea. The main room was filled with armoires, commodes, tables, fragile little chairs all from Louis somethingth. Her bed was behind a silk drape, which she proudly pulled to one side. Ben's crib was bigger. We drank
from Sèvres cups, of course, or I should say,
bien sûr
. My French is improving dramatically, but not as fast as Ben's. He rattles on about
le petit lapin
ânamed Peter Rabbit!âat school and his
bon ami
Léonard.”
professeurâ
it's quite an academic building. Madame is over eighty and climbs up and down the stairs several times a day to do her marketing or take her little dog out. (Everybody seems to have dogs here, if the streets are any evidence. We even saw a couple bring their dog into a restaurant we ate at the other night, and order for him. When the food came, it was garnished with parsley, just like ours.
Bonne préparation
, as if FiFi would notice!) Back to Madame Vincent. Besides being agile, she's extremely elegantâwell coiffed and very à la mode suits. I had a chance to see her apartment when she invited me for a cup of tea. The main room was filled with armoires, commodes, tables, fragile little chairs all from Louis somethingth. Her bed was behind a silk drape, which she proudly pulled to one side. Ben's crib was bigger. We drank
from Sèvres cups, of course, or I should say,
bien sûr
. My French is improving dramatically, but not as fast as Ben's. He rattles on about
le petit lapin
ânamed Peter Rabbit!âat school and his
bon ami
Léonard.”
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