Free Best European Fiction 2013 by Unknown Page B

the brilliant white of her fur coat.
    – I told you to take the violin, repeated the man in the first row, in a slightly more confident voice.
    – But I don’t know how to play, stuttered Traumont.
    – Go on, it’s not so hard, added the violinist, smiling and pressing the instrument on him a little more insistently. A bit of good will and the job is half done.
    – Take it and play: those are the rules, said the man from the first row, who seemed more and more at ease.
    – And if I refuse?
    – I’d advise you not to refuse, Monsieur Traumont. I wouldn’t advise that at all.
    The extras in the auditorium seemed to titter in unison. The spectators whispered to each other:
    – But why are they laughing?
    – I don’t see anything funny about it, myself.
    – Well, you know Damploune’s sense of humor …
    The young woman took a step in Traumont’s direction, smiling at him with an almost angelic expression:
    – If you don’t take the violin, you won’t leave, believe me, Monsieur Traumont.
    Traumont raised his hand to take the violin, then snatched it back.
    – What a fantastic actor! Look, he seems more and more indecisive.
    – But I’m telling you, I know that Traumont isn’t an actor. He’s the one who audited my brother’s tax returns last year. Made him pay through the nose, the swine!
    – He doesn’t look like a bad guy.
    – Sure, but just wait till he gets his claws into you.
    The man from the first row had stepped into the street, and now seemed perfectly at ease. In an almost threatening tone, he once again repeated:
    – Play, Monsieur Traumont. I’m telling you to play.
    – But I’ve explained, I don’t know how. This whole thing’s absurd. Besides, it’s too cold, my fingers are completely numb.
    – Play!
    – Well … since you insist …
    With a resigned, a timid gesture, Michel Traumont took hold of the violin and bow offered by their owner. He placed the instrument against his left shoulder, imitating as best he could the standard pose, and then, with his right hand, lowered the bow toward the strings. But he paused, and lifted his head again, looking around with a grimace, as if to say: No, this is too stupid, don’t ask me to do what I don’t know how to do.
    – Come on, Monsieur Traumont, play!
    This time it was the young woman who insisted. With elegance and vivacity, she indicated the theater, to make him understand that everyone was waiting. Whether he liked the idea or not, he was part of the show now, wasn’t he?
    So he played. Or rather, produced a frightful screech, as anyone would who was scraping a bow across the strings of a violin for the very first time in his life. All the extras seated in the auditorium burst out laughing, and then loudly booed, before once again ceasing abruptly in unison. As if an invisible conductor had given the signal.
    – That wasn’t brilliant, said the man from the first row.
    – But I told you, stuttered Traumont.
    – Make a bit of an effort, insisted the young woman in the fur coat, her smile still seraphic.
    – But what do you want? responded Traumont, in a despairing voice. I’ve never played, I never learned how.
    – Come, come, just a little effort, Monsieur Traumont, repeated the young woman. We aren’t asking the impossible.
    – But that’s precisely what you’re doing! protested Traumont. Stop this nasty joke! Let me go home.
    Once more, as if with a single breath, the laughter of the extras rang out, and cut off.
    – Do you want to try one more time? asked the man from the first row, who now seemed to have his role by heart.
    – It’s no use, you can see that.
    – Is that your last word?
    Traumont acquiesced with a nod of the head.
    – Pity. We would have loved to see you board the tram without our assistance. Bon voyage all the same, Monsieur Traumont!
    A gunshot rang out, causing a number of audience members to jump. It was impossible to say straight off just where the report had come from, for, apart from