sun don’t shine. Besides, I still have some left over, which will do nicely.
The little girl rings again. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll keep ringing until 1:15. Being an only child for so long has taught me patience. Open up! I have something for you . . .”
Ferdinand won’t be taken in by this little manipulator. He’s intrigued, but it’s out of the question for her to invite herself over for lunch every day. He values his peace and quiet. Anyway, he’s no cook, much less a nanny. And today he doesn’t have time for this childishness; he has other things to worry about, namely Mrs. Suarez’s visit. However, as might be gathered from his stomach’s noises, he can’t help but salivate when thinking about the previous day’s melt-in-your-mouth sweets.
A glance at the empty licorice box, and he risks asking through the door, “What have you brought that’s so extraordinary I’m going to let you in? Licorice? Because if it’s that, I’m not the least bit interested. I still have plenty. And I don’t have time to eat today, let alone babysit. For free, no less!”
“Two things. Firstly, I bet there’s nothing left in yesterday’s box. So, I bought a dessert. I changed it up. I got candied chestnuts. Secondly, I brought something else. Isn’t Mrs. Suarez coming tomorrow?”
Why yes! The silly old goose isn’t coming until tomorrow. The inspection is on Wednesday, and today is only Tuesday. Ferdinand sighs with relief. He has more time. How could he have been mistaken? And how does the little girl know?
“Listen, Little Miss Know-It-All. Yes, Mrs. Suarez is coming tomorrow, but that’s none of your beeswax! And for your information, the licorices weren’t even that good. You can go home now and say hello to your father for me!”
Juliette remains unruffled. “I thought that apart from the white vinegar you put in your dressings you must not have much to scrub your apartment with. So I got—if you’re interested, of course—a floor cleaner, a bathroom and kitchen cleaner, a hard water treatment, a window cleaner, two sponges, three rags, and a mop. We have quite the supply at home. Our housekeeper is afraid of running out.”
The door opens like magic. “Open sesame” wouldn’t have been more effective. Pretending to be unmoved, Ferdinand carries on. “I was waiting for you before starting lunch, little one. It’s ready. Hurry up, it’ll get cold. Tell me, when you say window cleaner, do you think it’s worth doing the windows for Mrs. Suarez? It rained all week—that cleans them, doesn’t it?”
Juliette sits in the same blue Formica chair from the previous day, across from Ferdinand.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she says, pointing to the window, “but Mrs. Suarez does her windows every Saturday before hosting her friends. When I came yesterday, I didn’t dare say anything, but your windows are so dirty you’d think it’s night outside. Mrs. Suarez might wince at that even if the rest of the apartment is spotless. You’ll also have to clean your fridge,” she says as she puts a plastic bag inside. “She has to make sure you’re feeding yourself, so I brought you some eggs and green beans and pickles. That’ll be much better than moldy cheese and rancid butter. Will you throw them out yourself, or should I do it now?” Without waiting for a reply, she seizes the two biological weapons and dumps them into the trash bag.
Ferdinand isn’t hungry anymore with all this talk of housework. The last time he cleaned was so long ago that it depresses him thinking about scrubbing, scouring, washing, dusting . . . Taking out the trash already takes him days. Days of dithering before deciding to do it, forced by the nauseating stench emanating from the bag and filling the kitchen. To find out when Ferdinand has thrown out a bag of garbage, you only have to observe his kitchen window—when it’s open, it’s because he’s finally decided to do it, just before
The little girl rings again. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll keep ringing until 1:15. Being an only child for so long has taught me patience. Open up! I have something for you . . .”
Ferdinand won’t be taken in by this little manipulator. He’s intrigued, but it’s out of the question for her to invite herself over for lunch every day. He values his peace and quiet. Anyway, he’s no cook, much less a nanny. And today he doesn’t have time for this childishness; he has other things to worry about, namely Mrs. Suarez’s visit. However, as might be gathered from his stomach’s noises, he can’t help but salivate when thinking about the previous day’s melt-in-your-mouth sweets.
A glance at the empty licorice box, and he risks asking through the door, “What have you brought that’s so extraordinary I’m going to let you in? Licorice? Because if it’s that, I’m not the least bit interested. I still have plenty. And I don’t have time to eat today, let alone babysit. For free, no less!”
“Two things. Firstly, I bet there’s nothing left in yesterday’s box. So, I bought a dessert. I changed it up. I got candied chestnuts. Secondly, I brought something else. Isn’t Mrs. Suarez coming tomorrow?”
Why yes! The silly old goose isn’t coming until tomorrow. The inspection is on Wednesday, and today is only Tuesday. Ferdinand sighs with relief. He has more time. How could he have been mistaken? And how does the little girl know?
“Listen, Little Miss Know-It-All. Yes, Mrs. Suarez is coming tomorrow, but that’s none of your beeswax! And for your information, the licorices weren’t even that good. You can go home now and say hello to your father for me!”
Juliette remains unruffled. “I thought that apart from the white vinegar you put in your dressings you must not have much to scrub your apartment with. So I got—if you’re interested, of course—a floor cleaner, a bathroom and kitchen cleaner, a hard water treatment, a window cleaner, two sponges, three rags, and a mop. We have quite the supply at home. Our housekeeper is afraid of running out.”
The door opens like magic. “Open sesame” wouldn’t have been more effective. Pretending to be unmoved, Ferdinand carries on. “I was waiting for you before starting lunch, little one. It’s ready. Hurry up, it’ll get cold. Tell me, when you say window cleaner, do you think it’s worth doing the windows for Mrs. Suarez? It rained all week—that cleans them, doesn’t it?”
Juliette sits in the same blue Formica chair from the previous day, across from Ferdinand.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she says, pointing to the window, “but Mrs. Suarez does her windows every Saturday before hosting her friends. When I came yesterday, I didn’t dare say anything, but your windows are so dirty you’d think it’s night outside. Mrs. Suarez might wince at that even if the rest of the apartment is spotless. You’ll also have to clean your fridge,” she says as she puts a plastic bag inside. “She has to make sure you’re feeding yourself, so I brought you some eggs and green beans and pickles. That’ll be much better than moldy cheese and rancid butter. Will you throw them out yourself, or should I do it now?” Without waiting for a reply, she seizes the two biological weapons and dumps them into the trash bag.
Ferdinand isn’t hungry anymore with all this talk of housework. The last time he cleaned was so long ago that it depresses him thinking about scrubbing, scouring, washing, dusting . . . Taking out the trash already takes him days. Days of dithering before deciding to do it, forced by the nauseating stench emanating from the bag and filling the kitchen. To find out when Ferdinand has thrown out a bag of garbage, you only have to observe his kitchen window—when it’s open, it’s because he’s finally decided to do it, just before
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