The Avion My Uncle Flew by Cyrus Fisher

seen mon oncle pick me up and run to keep another and safer appointment. Mon oncle wheeled me to the hotel, explaining his train had been late. He’d arrived just a few minutes ago at the hotel. My mother had told him I’d probably be in the parc and he had gone to surprise me and fetch me back to the hotel.
    Back in the hotel I repeated everything that had taken place while my mother and my father and mon oncle Paul listened. Just as I’ve explained to you, Monsieur Simonis was too clever for me. It was exactly as if he expected me to report on him and had figured out a method to beat me, no matter.
    My mother and my father were simply confused. I think they considered I still was set against going to St. Chamant and had worked up a big tale about a mysterious man to persuade them not to send me. It didn’t help when I urged them to telephone down to the hotel manager and ask him to send Albert up to them, so they might question Albert. My father did telephone down.
    The hotel manager was sorry. Albert had left a note explaining his sudden departure. Albert’s sister in Rheims, a city north of Paris, had telegraphed Albert’s mother was sick. So Albert had departed. My father hung up and shook his head and said, “This beats me. Johnny, are you certain you saw that fellow Simonis?” He asked my mother, “Should I send for a doctor?”
    I didn’t want a doctor.
    From the other side of the room, mon oncle winked at me, as if he understood how dense grown-ups could be. He folded his brown hands around his knees. He said, “Voilà, perhaps I can explain this mystery.”
    â€œI certainly wish you could, Paul,” said my mother.
    According to mon oncle Paul the mayor of St. Chamant was a man named Monsieur Capedulocque. While most of the men, older boys too, of the village had gone away during the war and hidden in the montagnes when the Germans came, this mayor had remained. Mon oncle Paul said no one had ever proved Monsieur Capedulocque had actually worked with the Germans. No. The mayor had kept free from that suspicion. But he had taken over the vineyards and sold pigs and goats and made a lot of money. Now he was the wealthiest man in St. Chamant, with almost everyone else owing him money.
    Before the war, none of the Capedulocques had been very important. They were jealous of the Langres family, and the Meilhac family, and a few other important families living near the town. These families had been pretty much ruined by the war. Now the mayor was buying up their vineyards and land and forests. He had attempted to buy the Langres property cheaply. Mon oncle Paul had written him several times, refusing.
    Now mon oncle Paul finished, “I zink this—” He never could pronounce “think” as it should be pronounced. “I zink this mayor has arranged for an agent of his to come to Paris, my dear sister, and see you to persuade you to sell our land.”
    â€œThat makes sense,” said my father, thoughtfully. “Then, you believe Monsieur Simonis was trying to purchase the land for that rascally mayor?”
    â€œOui,” said mon oncle Paul, nodding his head, smiling at me. “It is simple. And Monsieur Simonis gives, maybe, a little money to this Albert to find out about you before approaching you. When we refuse to sell the land, Monsieur Simonis goes to Jean here—” He indicated me. “He wishes Jean to help him persuade you to sell by refusing to leave for St. Chamant. Is it not that, perhaps? Monsieur Simonis is most stupid, I zink. He zink if Jean and I do not go to St. Chamant and see how beautiful is our land, very soon my sister and I—we change our minds. We say, ‘Oui, we will sell.’ Voici!”
    My father glanced at me. He began grinning. “Johnny, I guess I made a mistake. I’m sorry for not believing you. Poor old Simonis was merely a French business man trying to make a sale and hoping you