Hunting and Gathering Read Online Free PDF

wanted to know if we’re still having lunch to—”
    Â 
Camille interrupted the message and put the yogurt she had just started back into the fridge. She sat down cross-legged, grabbed her tobacco and tried to roll a cigarette. Her hands wouldn’t cooperate. She started over several times before she was able to roll the paper without tearing it. Concentrating on every gesture as if this were the most important thing in the world, biting her lips until they bled. It was so unfair. So unfair to be taking shit like this from a tiny piece of cigarette paper when she had actually managed to get through an almost normal day. She had talked, listened, laughed, even socialized. She had simpered for that doctor and made a promise to Mamadou. That might not seem like much, and yet . . . It had been a long time since she had promised anything. To anyone, ever. And now all it took was a few sentences from an answering machine to mess up her mind, drag her back down and leave her flat out, crushed beneath the weight of a scarcely believable mass of rubble.

5
    â€œMR. LESTAFIER!”
    â€œYes, boss?”
    â€œTelephone.”
    â€œNo, boss.”
    â€œWhaddya mean, no?”
    â€œI’m busy, boss! Ask them to call back later.”
    The boss shook his head and went back into the sort of closet which served as an office behind the serving hatch.
    Â 
“Lestafier!”
    â€œYes, boss!”
    â€œIt’s your grandmother.”
    Sniggers all around.
    â€œTell her I’ll call her back,” he said; he was in the middle of deboning a piece of meat.
    â€œYou’re pissing me off, Lestafier! Come and take this fucking phone. I’m not your private switchboard operator.”
    Â 
Franck wiped his hands on the cloth which hung from his apron, mopped his forehead with his sleeve and, making a slicing gesture across his neck, said to the boy at the next workstation:
    â€œIf you so much as touch a thing . . .”
    â€œTake it easy,” the boy replied. “Go and order your Christmas presents, Granny’s waiting.”
    â€œAsshole.”
    He went into the office and picked up the receiver with a sigh:
    â€œGrandma?”
    â€œHello, Franck. This isn’t your grandmother, this is Yvonne Carminot speaking.”
    â€œMadame Carminot?”
    â€œOh, it’s been so hard to track you down. First I called the Grands Comptoirs and they told me you didn’t work there anymore, so I called—”
    â€œWhat’s up?” he interrupted.
    â€œOh, dear God, it’s Paulette.”
    â€œHold on a second. Don’t move.”
    Â 
He got up, closed the door, picked up the phone, sat down again, shook his head, went pale, searched the desk for something to write on, said a few more words, then hung up. He pulled off his chef’s hat, put his head in his hands, closed his eyes and sat like that for a few minutes. His boss was staring at him through the glass door. Finally Franck stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and went out.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œI’m okay, boss.”
    â€œNothing serious?”
    â€œBroke her hip.”
    â€œOh, that happens a lot with old people. My mother broke her hip ten years ago, you should see her now. A regular mountain goat.”
    â€œSay, boss—”
    â€œLet me guess. You’re going to ask for the rest of the day off?”
    â€œNo, I’ll do the lunch service and I’ll do the evening setup during my break, but I’d like to leave after that.”
    â€œAnd who’ll do the hot service tonight?”
    â€œGuillaume. He can do it.”
    â€œDoes he know how?”
    â€œYes, boss.”
    â€œHow do I know he’ll know what to do?”
    â€œ ’Cause I say so, boss.”
    His boss made a face and shouted at a boy who was walking by, telling him to change his shirt. Then he turned back to Franck and added, “Go ahead, but I warn you, Lestafier, if