Ma Folie Française (My French Folly) Read Online Free PDF Page A

correct fashion.
    â€˜ Pas Très bien! No good at all! My poor husband and I haven’t been able to rest for several days, due to that infernal noise. I have a constant headache and it is giving my poor husband severe indigestion, which is no good at all, considering his new and important position as Mayor. He needs his rest, Mon pauvre petit choux (my poor little cabbage).’
    â€˜Of course … what noise is that?’ I asked red-faced. ‘I hadn’t noticed any particular noise myself, lately.’
    â€˜ Impossible! The entire village has heard it. Well … we are not quite sure, but it is an incessant BOOM … BOOM … that always seems to start just after lunch. An indefinable sound that appears to be coming from under the house.’
    â€˜Is that right? How bizarre,’ I declared, trying earnestly to hide my guilt.
    â€˜ Oui . It is très étrange . Very strange. You could almost imagine it to be coming from the underground passageways, but surely it couldn’t be. No one has ventured down there for years. C’est trop dangereux . Too dangerous. Only a crazy person would venture into those old, crumbling tunnels.’
    â€˜Yes of course, it would be extremely imprudent. Surely no one would be foolhardy enough to go down there,’ I replied, my hands trembling as I grabbed random tinned items off the shelves.
    â€˜I hope not. Anyway, I just wish they would stop. They are disturbing half the village during siesta,’ she yelled; now hot with anger. ‘All my customers are complaining and when we find out who the culprit is, we will be very angry,’ she said, scrunching her chubby fists into tight, white-knuckled balls, then adding with her maple syrup smile, ‘That will be 75 Francs, s’il vous plait, Madame Raoul .’
    â€˜ Oh … Oui … bien sûr. (of course.),’ I replied, only vaguely aware of my actions as I handed over a one hundred Franc note.
    â€˜Well … I hope you find the culprits … bonne chance . (Good luck.),’ I replied, almost running from the store, my semi-laden shopping basket held firmly under my arm as I waved good-bye.
    As I scurried back home, red-faced and panting, I hoped to God that no one, especially Madame the grocer, had noticed my guilt-ridden demeanour. I had to tell Jean quickly, before he started on another day’s energetic, steel-to-stone pounding.
    â€˜ Jean , we have to stop!’ I yelled at him, as he walked through the front door from work.
    â€˜Stop? You mean stop the digging? What for, Marisa ?’ he asked; a trifle annoyed by my abrupt manner.
    â€˜Because, as it happens … we are keeping half the village from their post- repas du midi (luncheon) siesta. We’ll be guillotined if they find out it’s us!’ I cried. ‘You know how vindictive the French can be!’
    â€˜Calm down, Chérie . What are you carrying on about?’
    â€˜ Madame la Brune told me this morning. I hope to God she hasn’t guessed it’s us. She’s such a suspicious old cow and now that her husband’s Mayor … well … anyway, she told me that an incessant BOOM … BOOM was keeping half the village from their siesta, and she believed it was someone playing around with the underground passages. She said that the noise echoes all over the village. She also said that they are all very tired and very, very irate!’ I rambled nervously.
    â€˜ Mon Dieu! (My God!)’ he exclaimed. I didn’t think of that. Of course it would … bien sûr . It’s cavernous down there. The sound must reverberate throughout the entire network of chambers. Merde! (SHIT!)’
    â€˜You can say that again. Merde and double Merde !’ I laughed, now realising the comical situation we had innocently created.
    â€˜God, I hope no one has told Jean-Christophe ; otherwise he’s bound to put two and two together and tell the whole village.