Free A Meal in Winter by Hubert Mingarelli Page A

know.
    â€˜What?’ he shouted at Bauer.
    But Bauer could no longer speak.

WOOD BURNS FASTER than coal, so it is deceptive when you cook with it. The stove was hot, and we felt warm now – on our faces and chests, at least, because our backs were still shivering. But, at this rate, the soup would not be cooked.
    Behind the mica window, the flames had died down again. And, distracted by the Pole and by everything that had happened, we hadn’t noticed. What we’d drunk on our empty stomachs had put us in a good mood, and we’d forgotten about the soup needing to cook. I got up. It was the shelf’s turn now. After that, it would be the table or the bench – we’d see.
    It gave way easily. I hit it twice on the side with my shoulder, and it fell from the wall. It wasn’t very heavy, though, so it wouldn’t last long. Soon we would have tochoose between the table and the bench. Or maybe we’d have to burn both, and swallow our remorse.
    While I smashed the shelf into bits, Bauer suddenly thundered: ‘Has he got any uncles?’
    To begin with, Emmerich and I had no idea what he was talking about. I even thought for a moment that he might be referring to the Pole, and that what he had said made no sense. Emmerich was quicker to catch on than I was. He replied to Bauer: ‘No, he hasn’t. I wish he had right now. It would be a big help.’
    He went silent, and nodded as if deep in thought.
    â€˜I think about that sometimes.’
    Then he looked at Bauer. ‘Why?’
    â€˜Listen,’ said Bauer, pointing at me to indicate that he was talking about me as well as himself, ‘tell him you’re going to come home with two uncles.’
    Emmerich was startled. Bauer went on: ‘From this day on, we are his uncles.’
    â€˜Hang on a minute,’ I said.
    I was pretending, of course. I had finished breaking up the shelf and half of it had gone into the stove. I blew and blew on the wood until the flames rose up again, then I turned towards the bench. Emmerich lowered his head. Bauer, I could see, was pleased with himself for havingcome up with this idea. We could thank the potato alcohol for that.
    â€˜So what do you think?’ he asked me.
    I pretended to think a bit longer, then said, ‘All right.’
    Bauer clapped his hands and leaned towards Emmerich. ‘Write to him that he now has two uncles. And not just any uncles.’
    Then he patted Emmerich’s thigh. Emmerich was so moved that he lit a cigarette. He passed one to each of us.
    â€˜But wait,’ Bauer said, lifting his in the air. ‘Tell him it’s only on the condition that he doesn’t touch a cigarette.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Emmerich replied.
    â€˜Don’t forget to tell him that.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Emmerich was unable to say any more than that.
    But Bauer could: ‘There you go! And when you write to him in future, we can write him a few words too. When we get back home, we can see him and give him a bit of money.’
    Emmerich shivered and rubbed his head.
    â€˜Give it to me now,’ he said, to play down his emotion.
    I was still standing in front of the stove. I could hear the flames. They made little hot spots in my back. Why shouldI go and sit down again? A warm hand was stroking my back, up and down, and the cigarette that Emmerich had given me tasted good. I looked at him. He had kept his hand on his head. He was smiling, but had he dared, he might have sobbed.
    The Pole had not looked away from us during all this time, I’d noticed. His gaze moved from one to the next as we spoke, probably searching for a word he knew. But while he might have grasped the odd phrase, he would never understand what we were talking about or what we had just decided, still less the fact that it had been partly triggered by his potato alcohol.
    He asked us, using gestures, if he could smoke.
    â€˜Fuck off and die,’ said Bauer.
    But Emmerich