Free The Panda Theory by Pascal Garnier Page A

figurehead, her sumptuous chest thrust forth against the wind and tide, heading for distant lands. ‘You can stay at mine for a bit, Rita. We’ll work something out.’
    ‘Why would you do that for me? We hardly know each other.’
    ‘I don’t know. Ask Gabriel. He must know. He knows everything.’
    Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go . The music at the end of the film. The restaurant’s lights went out one by one. The bill paid, it was time to digest the steak and chips, to sleep off the beer wherever they could. Tomorrow was another day.
    They soon forgot about the rain. It coursed from the rooftops and down the gutters as naturally as blood through veins. Madeleine’s umbrella was too small for the three of them so, depending on the size of the pavement, Gabriel walked behind, in front or to the side.
    ‘Well then, goodnight.’
    The two women stood glued to the umbrella handle, watching Gabriel dripping under the streetlight.
    ‘You can’t just leave us like that! Come upstairs for a drink. You’ve got something to drink, haven’t you, Madeleine?’
    ‘Yes, but he doesn’t want to.’
    ‘Another time. I have to get up early tomorrow. Goodnight.’
    The women watched him turn and walk away, hopping over puddles, hunched over like a question mark.
    ‘He’s one of a kind that one. Do you have a crush on him?’ asked Rita.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Madeleine.
    ‘He reminds me of a priest sometimes. But he is a man after all and you never know with men. What about women, Madeleine? Do you like women?’
    The sound of their laughter matched the rippling noise of the rain on their umbrella. They looked like a two-headed bat. The town yawned, the rooftops overflowed.

     
     
    The only thing left in the freezer compartment was a huge calf’s tongue studded with ice crystals. It was otherwise empty, just like the apartment. Gabriel had spent the day waiting for it to defrost on the chopping board. A whole day watching the mute tongue’s slow thaw. He didn’t have anything else to do. At about seven o’clock he threw the tongue into a pot of simmering stock and made a punchy sauce with tomatoes, gherkins and shallots. There was enough to feed an army. He ate it all though, the tongue that said nothing, out on the terrace, until it made him sick. All that remained were fragments of bone and cartilage. The telephone had rung as he vomited, his head over the toilet bowl, his hands gripping the porcelain sides. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have anything to say to anybody. Wrapped in the cats’ tartan rug, he made his way back out onto the terrace. It was warm but he shivered as he looked up at the sickle moon scything the stars. Usually, at this time, Juliette would have been asleep, sucking her thumb, and Blandine would have been drawing at her work bench with the cats running around. But he had just vomited a whole calf’s tongue and had run out of words to describe the night and the sea and what he was still doing alive.
     
    ‘What are you thinking about?’
    ‘A calf’s tongue.’
    ‘You’re unbelievable. All you think about is food. So how did it go with the girls last night?’
    ‘Good. We went out for a meal and then I went home.’
    ‘Alone?’
    ‘Alone.’
    ‘I don’t get you. They were all over you, especially the tall one, the one from the hotel. What’s her name again?’
    ‘Madeleine.’
    ‘Man, all you need to do is click your fingers. She’s a good-looking girl. And the other one isn’t bad either. She’s a different type. So you didn’t do either of them?’
    ‘They’re friends, just friends.’
    ‘Well, it’s your business. But it’s a waste, all the same. Anyway, what do you think of my flowers?’
    ‘Very nice.’
    ‘They’re orchids. They come from some island or something. Have a look in the back again to see if they’re still okay, will you? I bought them early this morning.’
    Gabriel leant over the back seat. Orchids were ugly. They looked like photos