***
The 1930s arrived and Europe was getting darker. Charley had gone, the parties slowly fizzled out and times grew harder for everybody. People were leaving Germany and coming to Paris to get away from the new threat they called the Nazis. It was all anyone talked about in the cafés back then.
I’d never been interested in politics and I wasn’t going to start now. Paris had lost its sparkle and I became bored. It had quite literally lost its sparkle; the riches were leaving the city and Europe. On my nightly burglary sessions, I found fewer pieces and those I did were of lesser quality. That meant that during the daytime there was less loot to assess and at times the days felt frustratingly long.
I decided to improve myself culturally, and started Homer’s Iliad five times. Then I tore out the pages, stuck them together and folded myself a pirate’s hat. Crime novels were more my thing as there was always something I could learn from them. The only good thing was the emergence of Swing and I had some good times going to the clubs and throwing girls around on the dance floor. I liked the music, but not the stupid Zazous that were into it. I mean, frankly, carrying a bloody umbrella everywhere even on a fair day is a dumb fashion statement.
When I went out I heard someone say that there might be another war, but at home it had already started. Madame Maréchal couldn’t help but criticise my behaviour and had a snide remark ready every time she saw me. I had started to call her by her first name, Madeleine, and used the familiar ‘tu’ form instead of the customary and formal ‘vous’. It infuriated her.
Sometimes when I was bored during the day I coaxed Lulu, Madame Maréchal’s little poodle, into my apartment. The wee dog amused me. One of its hind legs was paralysed, I think, and when it walked it stumbled to the right at every other step. It looked so cute! Just like a newborn lamb learning how to walk. She was with me one day when I heard Madeleine calling out for her, but I was hungry and Madeleine’s shrill voice annoyed me. Lulu became revenge and a quick meal, but then I was quickly bored again. Playing with your food was often short-lived entertainment at best.
I was fed up with my neighbours, the poverty and the depressing mood around me. When war loomed, I wasn’t sorry to leave Paris.
Language in the Blood Page 19
