know. Her stepmother’s a member of my church. She says the family comes from circus and carnival people from way back, four or five generations. The name was Merkle to start with. Somewhere along the line somebody changed it to Miracle.”
“What else do you know about her?”
“Hmmm, like I said, her folks are circus people. Used to be, anyway. They settled around here maybe ten years ago. Her daddy has a bad back, had to quit the circus. He was a clown. Odd bird. Real odd.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, he’s nice … he came over and made balloon animals for my granddaughter’s fifth birthday party, but—but”—her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper—“
he’s a hippie.
”
“Hmmm?”
“He’s got long hair. A man his age! And he smokes dope. Around here, he’s just a weird character, if you know what I mean. His wife’s got a chicken house. I think that’s all that keeps the family off welfare.”
“What do you know about the girl?”
Another shrug. “Shy as she can be. Just graduated from high school this spring. She dates a boy who’s going to trade school this fall.”
“Trade school?” Sebastien had an excellent grasp of English, but this term eluded him.
“He wants to work on trucks. You know. Big trucks. Be a diesel mechanic.”
“Ah.” Sebastien impatiently checked his watch. Why indulge his curiosity about the girl? He had to get back to Atlanta. He was working tonight at the hospital, and between now and then he had medical journals to read.
Pio arrived a minute later. Sebastien smiled at his stately manner. He was a very dignified spy who pretended to be insulted each time Sebastien questioned his reasons for following him to America.
Pio slapped him on the back. “
Bonjour: Ca va
?”
“
Comme ci comme ca
. I’ve taken care of the signings already.”
“I could have mailed the papers to you.”
Sebastien made a large, distinctly Latin shrug. “I felt like driving out again.”
“Hmmm. Come and sample the Merlot your father sent to me.”
They went into Pio’s darkly paneled office with its stiff, leather-covered furnishings and old photographs of the chateau de Savin in the Loire valley. The office was spartan but debonair. Pio took a bottle from a wine rack that covered one wall. He opened it with decades of skill, poured small amounts into two tastevins, and presented one of the shallow cups to Sebastien. After a nonchalant examination of the color and clarity, Sebastien sipped the Merlot slowly. “Too sweet.”
“No! The best vintage since seventy-two! I will never forget that one!”
Sebastien smiled at the older man’s wistful tone. “You should go home, Pio. You miss it.”
Sighing, Pio carried the bottle of Merlot to a sideboard and filled two crystal glasses. He and Sebastien raised the glasses to each other. Pio sank onto a couch, wiping sweat from his deeply tanned forehead with a white handkerchief, and gave Sebastien a speculative look. “Did you come back today to admire some more young, pretty grapes?”
“Never fear, Pio, I only choose what is ripe.”
“You wouldn’t cause an old man trouble with the local fathers, would you?”
Sebastien smiled dryly. “You aren’t old. You haven’t aged a year since I was a child.”
“Oh, but
you
have changed, my boy.”
“I have only grown up. I’m not the naive child you put to work each time he came home from school.”
“Your papa was proud of that child, no matter how bitter that child became as he grew into manhood.”
“He should be proud, now, too. If he’s not, that’s his business. What do you tell him about me lately?”
“What can I say? I tell him that you are still a doctor. ‘Yourson works all the time at the hospital. He lives in a fine home. He makes love to American women. He becomes an American. He forgets his family responsibilities.’ ”
Sebastien laughed without warmth. “I like your sense of drama. You do me justice.”
Beaucaire sighed.
“What else do you know about her?”
“Hmmm, like I said, her folks are circus people. Used to be, anyway. They settled around here maybe ten years ago. Her daddy has a bad back, had to quit the circus. He was a clown. Odd bird. Real odd.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, he’s nice … he came over and made balloon animals for my granddaughter’s fifth birthday party, but—but”—her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper—“
he’s a hippie.
”
“Hmmm?”
“He’s got long hair. A man his age! And he smokes dope. Around here, he’s just a weird character, if you know what I mean. His wife’s got a chicken house. I think that’s all that keeps the family off welfare.”
“What do you know about the girl?”
Another shrug. “Shy as she can be. Just graduated from high school this spring. She dates a boy who’s going to trade school this fall.”
“Trade school?” Sebastien had an excellent grasp of English, but this term eluded him.
“He wants to work on trucks. You know. Big trucks. Be a diesel mechanic.”
“Ah.” Sebastien impatiently checked his watch. Why indulge his curiosity about the girl? He had to get back to Atlanta. He was working tonight at the hospital, and between now and then he had medical journals to read.
Pio arrived a minute later. Sebastien smiled at his stately manner. He was a very dignified spy who pretended to be insulted each time Sebastien questioned his reasons for following him to America.
Pio slapped him on the back. “
Bonjour: Ca va
?”
“
Comme ci comme ca
. I’ve taken care of the signings already.”
“I could have mailed the papers to you.”
Sebastien made a large, distinctly Latin shrug. “I felt like driving out again.”
“Hmmm. Come and sample the Merlot your father sent to me.”
They went into Pio’s darkly paneled office with its stiff, leather-covered furnishings and old photographs of the chateau de Savin in the Loire valley. The office was spartan but debonair. Pio took a bottle from a wine rack that covered one wall. He opened it with decades of skill, poured small amounts into two tastevins, and presented one of the shallow cups to Sebastien. After a nonchalant examination of the color and clarity, Sebastien sipped the Merlot slowly. “Too sweet.”
“No! The best vintage since seventy-two! I will never forget that one!”
Sebastien smiled at the older man’s wistful tone. “You should go home, Pio. You miss it.”
Sighing, Pio carried the bottle of Merlot to a sideboard and filled two crystal glasses. He and Sebastien raised the glasses to each other. Pio sank onto a couch, wiping sweat from his deeply tanned forehead with a white handkerchief, and gave Sebastien a speculative look. “Did you come back today to admire some more young, pretty grapes?”
“Never fear, Pio, I only choose what is ripe.”
“You wouldn’t cause an old man trouble with the local fathers, would you?”
Sebastien smiled dryly. “You aren’t old. You haven’t aged a year since I was a child.”
“Oh, but
you
have changed, my boy.”
“I have only grown up. I’m not the naive child you put to work each time he came home from school.”
“Your papa was proud of that child, no matter how bitter that child became as he grew into manhood.”
“He should be proud, now, too. If he’s not, that’s his business. What do you tell him about me lately?”
“What can I say? I tell him that you are still a doctor. ‘Yourson works all the time at the hospital. He lives in a fine home. He makes love to American women. He becomes an American. He forgets his family responsibilities.’ ”
Sebastien laughed without warmth. “I like your sense of drama. You do me justice.”
Beaucaire sighed.
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