The Notebook + The Proof + The Third Lie Read Online Free PDF Page A

sprinkling can and her gardening tools. But instead of going to the vineyard, she sets off in a different direction. We follow her at a distance to find out where she is going.
    She goes into the cemetery. She stops in front of a grave and puts down her tools. The cemetery is deserted. There is nobody but Grandmother and us.
    Hiding behind bushes and tombstones, we get closer and closer. Grandmother is shortsighted and hard of hearing. We can observe her without her knowing.
    She pulls up the weeds on the grave, digs with a spade, rakes the soil, plants flowers, fetches water from the well, and comes back to water the grave.
    When she has finished her work, she gathers her tools together, then kneels down in front of the wooden cross, but sitting back on her heels. She joins her hands over her belly as if to say a prayer, but what we hear are mainly oaths:
    "Shit . . . bastard . . . pig . . . scum . . . demon . . ."
    When Grandmother leaves, we go see the grave: it is very well maintained. We look at the cross: the name written on it is Grandmother's. It is also Mother's maiden name. The Christian name is double, with a hyphen, and those two Christian names are our own Christian names.
    On the cross, there are also dates of birth and death. We calculate that Grandfather died at the age of forty-four, twenty-three years ago.
    In the evening, we ask Grandmother:
    "What was our Grandfather like?"
    She says:
    "What? You don't have a Grandfather."
    "But we used to have."
    "No, never. He was already dead when you were born. So you never had a Grandfather."
    We ask:
    "Why did you poison him?"
    She asks:
    "What are you talking about?"
    "People say you poisoned Grandfather."
    "People say . . . people say . . . Let them tell their tales."
    "You didn't poison him?"
    "Leave me alone, sons of a bitch! Nothing was proved! People will say anything."
    We go on:
    "We know you didn't like Grandfather. So why do you look after his grave?"
    "For that very reason! Because of what people say. To stop them telling their tales! And how do you know I look after his grave, eh? You've been spying on me, sons of a bitch, you've been spying on me again! May the devil take you!"
     
     

Exercise in Cruelty
    It's Sunday. We catch a chicken and cut its throat as we have seen Grandmother do. We bring the chicken into the kitchen and say:
    "You must cook it, Grandmother."
    She starts shouting:
    "Who gave you permission? You have no right! I give the orders here, you little shits! I won't cook it! I'd rather croak first!"
    We say:
    "All right. We'll cook it ourselves."
    We start to pluck the chicken, but Grandmother snatches it from our hands:
    "You don't know how to do it! You filthy little bastards, you'll be the death of me, you're God's punishment on me, that's what you are!"
    While the chicken is cooking, Grandmother cries:
    "It was the most beautiful one. They took the most beautiful one on purpose. It was just ready for the Tuesday market."
    As we eat the chicken, we say:
    "It's very good, this chicken. We'll eat chicken every Sunday."
    "Every Sunday? Are you crazy? Do you want to ruin me?"
    "We shall eat a chicken every Sunday, whether you like it or not."
    Grandmother starts crying again:
    "But what have I done to them? Woe is me! They want to kill me. A poor old defenseless woman. I don't deserve this. And I've been so good to them!"
    "Yes, Grandmother, you are good, very good. So it is out of goodness that you will cook a chicken for us every Sunday."
    When she calms down a bit, we say to her again:
    "When there's something to be killed, you must fetch us. We'll do it."
    She says:
    "You like that, eh?"
    "No, Grandmother, as a matter of fact, we don't like it. It's for that reason that we must get used to it."
    She says:
    "I see. It's a new exercise. You're right. It's good to know how to kill when you have to."
    We begin with fish. We pick them up by the tail and bang their heads against a stone. We soon get used to killing animals intended to be