A cappella

Chapter 19: Chestnuts

She leaned effortlessly to pick up the chestnuts that had fallen to the ground and put them in her basket, tirelessly. Max watched her, so comfortable in her movements, despite being in her 80s.

The chestnut was one of the largest trees in the garden. It grew at the far end of the field, close to the barrier, which separated the properties, and its roots and enormous branches passed unobstructed all the way through to the other side, to the neighbours, whose tennis court it partially shaded.

"These are the English who live there now. They bought Father Etcheverry's house last June. They are very friendly; you should get to know them, especially since you're fluent in English. They told me that we could use their tennis courts as much as we wanted; if it pleases you, with your friends ... It's surely not me nor your grandfather who are going to enjoy it!"

"Yes," said Max in an absent tone, at regular intervals, while his grandmother spoke alone, of a thousand subjects, while picking up the chestnuts.

"They'll be roasted in the fireplace tonight, you'll see, there's nothing better."

Max crushed a chestnut bog with the tip of his boot to dislodge the fruit. On the incredibly soft moss carpet that covered the ground in the shade of the chestnut, the bog was an intense green, armed with long prickles. Max flattered the moss with his hand, struggled a bit to get the well-protected chestnut out of its bog.

The vicinity of the acute and the soft, the needle and the velvet, fascinated him and he sat on a neighboring tree stump, inactive, not participating in the collection of fruit, only attentive to the small details of the world which surrounded him, those details which he often neglected. 

Turning repeatedly the chestnut in his hand, he had a new look on his face, rid of all that he made him happy and alive.

"Life was not easy at that time. I was 4 or 5 years old at the beginning of the war, but I remember very well that grilled chestnuts were often eaten as a meal because there was nothing else. Or potatoes. We spent several winters eating only that..."

"Potatoes," Max repeated in a sluggish voice.

His grandmother gave him a surprised look, but continued her picking and chattering. She loved to have Max beside her, to observe him surprising youth in the midst of so familiar a setting, even though he did not seem to be himself that day.

"Hello, Mary! How are you today, with this beautiful weather?"

"Doctor Allan! Hello ... Alright, thank you and yourself? I present my grandson, Max..."

Max stood up and shook the English doctor's hand over the fence.

"Call me John, I prefer it," said the latter with his strong accent.

"We're picking up the chestnuts, there's so much this year ... would you like some?"

"Here you go, you'll grill them," said Max's grandmother.

"Sure! Come join us from the other side, we welcome you to our little cottage Surrey!" Said the Englishman, opening the little door in the barrier, which was there precisely for that function, facilitate visits between neighbors.

The old woman passed first, casting an incredulous and slightly anxious look towards the old Etcheverry house she had known since childhood. No, the arrival of the English had not changed anything, could change nothing. It was still there, the large white-painted building, with its red shutters of solid wood and its horseshoe above the front door to bring happiness.

"Are you nostalgic about your country?" Asked the old woman, smiling, reassured. She did not believe in nostalgia, having never left the Atlantic coast, having never dreamt of going any further than what one could see of the Rhune.

"No, not really, smiled the doctor. We feel like we're always on vacation here, it's kind of nice after a working life."

Max followed in silence, carrying the basket of chestnuts. They crossed the tennis court strewn with dead leaves.

"You never play?" asked the grandmother, astonished.

"No, we've been playing Petanque, my wife and I, ever since we've been here." The doctor smiled, then went on: "Well, during this season, the leaves keep filling up the court and requires constant sweeping before playing.... It's quite discouraging..."

The doctor was a tall, thin man, with gray hair, but with an athletic build. A well-educated and financially-minded European read Max, seeing the round glasses, the beige pants and the tweed jacket, simple but comfortable and of good quality.

He led them to the lawn in front of the house where a white wrought iron table and garden chairs awaited them. As often happens in the Basque country, the autumn sun made you want to enjoy the garden.

"Kate will join us. She must be upstairs. I'll call her and make tea. One moment..."

Kate was about sixty and energetic, beautiful brown hair that formed a regular and wise helmet around her wrinkled face, but what was especially remarkable about her were her green eyes, whose strength and youth seemed intact and with which it seemed she was able to see through anyone.

Max, who usually would have liked to chat with them in English, he who knew so well how to speak to strangers, let Marie, his grandmother, do the talking. 

They spoke a bit about the weather, and Kate told them that they had chosen to come and spend their retirement in the south of France to enjoy the sun and make new friends. Both gave medical classes at the Bayonne hospital.

"I'm a pediatrician, and my wife is a psychiatrist," explained Dr. Allan with his slow diction, concerned with grammatical correctness. Yes, of course, it's not always easy to be married to someone who constantly analyzes your behavior and each of your words, but I manage it. I think!"

"well well is that so," exclaimed Marie, "this is the first time I meet a psychiatrist!"

"She's the witch of modern times ... Her green eyes have magical power!" The doctor joked, and his wife grinned at him.

They both laughed, while Marie did not know what to think, and Max remained unmoved. Then there was a silence. Earl-gray tea served in fine porcelain cups was a diversion for a moment, and then Kate turned to Max.

"You're an English teacher, are you not?"

"Yes," said Max with a grimace as a smile. "I'm a substitute teacher for a few months."

"And how is it? Are your pupils nice?"

"This morning, yes, everyone was very kind," Max replied, avoiding her green eyes. "Actually, no one spoke, most whispered..."

"Why's that? Something happened this morning?"

"There was an accident," said Max in spite of himself, his eyes lowered. "A student was crushed by her father's tractor at her parents' farm. She's at the hospital now. They had to operate her ... and amputate a leg."

"My God!" Exclaimed the grandmother. "The poor child!"

The other two kept silent.

"One of your students?" Kate finally asked.

"Delphine, 15 years old," confessed Max, devastated.

.....

:(
I feel bad hurting a poor girl like that! Please vote and comment if uve enjoyed this chapter :) merci beaucoup!