strolled along Marseilles’ main boulevard, the Canebière, stopping to sniff the roses bursting from buckets in the doorway of a florist or to ‘window lick’ outside the chocolaterie , where we watched pralines being packed into boxes tied with gold bows. Whether we passed the men drinking apéritifs in the sidewalk cafés or the women in their hats and pearls, sipping their cafés crèmes , they all lifted their eyebrows to see a girl in a faded dress walking a dog with a diamanté collar.
One afternoon when Bonbon and I returned home, the prostitutes from the house next door were standing on their doorstep, waiting for the evening trade. They shrieked when they saw me with Bonbon.
‘What’s that you’ve got on the end of your string? A rat?’ the one closest to us laughed.
Although Aunt Augustine had told me not to speak to our neighbours, I couldn’t help smiling at the women. I picked up Bonbon and held her out to them. They scratched her under the chin and stroked her fur. ‘She’s a cute one. Look at those ears—bigger than she is,’ they said.
It was only close up that I realised the women were much older than they appeared at a distance. Their wrinkles and blotched skin showed through the layers of powder and rouge, and the rose water scent that wafted from their hair and clothes could not hide the musty smell of their skin. Although the women were smiling and laughing, they made me sad. When I looked into their eyes, I saw broken dreams and thwarted chances.
As soon as Bonbon reached the doorstep of Aunt Augustine’s house her tail drooped, and I was sure that if I’d had a tail it would have been drooping too. I bent down and scratched the ruff around her neck and tickled her ears.
‘I’ll have her as a boarder,’ I heard Aunt Augustine say as I stepped into the front room, ‘but I won’t have such a woman wandering about the house or bringing home men.’
I closed the door as quietly as I could. Bonbon’s claws scratched on the floorboards and she plunked herself down, staring at me with her intelligent eyes. I swept her up and tucked her into my pocket, then crept towards the kitchen to hear more of what Aunt Augustine was saying. There was a tilted mirror on the picture rail in the dining room and reflected in it was my aunt sitting at the kitchen table with her feet in a bucket. Ghislaine was cleaning some mussels, tossing the empty shells into a basket. Aunt Augustine lowered her voice and I had to strain my ears to hear her.
‘They wear practically nothing. Nothing! ’ she hissed. ‘The women stick a piece of material over themselves with spirit gum and the men put padding…well…you know where.’
I clamped my hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. How did Aunt Augustine know all this?
Ghislaine waited until she had shelled her last mussel before she answered. ‘I don’t think Simone will be corrupted just by walking Camille’s dog.’
Although Marseilles had frightened me at first, I came to like the city on my walks with Bonbon. The Vieux Port was picturesque in the long Provençal twilight. At that time of day there was none of the harried toing and froing that there was at dawn when the fish market opened. The evening walkers promenaded at their leisure. The barkers were out in force, luring people into their restaurants from which the smells of garlic and fish stew wafted in spicy currents. Gypsies gathered on the quays, selling woven baskets and tinware or enticing passers-by to have their palms read and fortunes told. Ghislaine had told me they were arriving from all over Europe for the annual festivalof Les Saintes Maries de la Mer and would spend most of the summer in southern France. The air was alive with violin music and singing. The yellow and red skirts the dancers wore made me think of the wildflowers that dotted the hillsides in Pays de Sault, and reminded me that now I had a bit of money I could reply to Aunt Yvette’s letter and tell her and my
One afternoon when Bonbon and I returned home, the prostitutes from the house next door were standing on their doorstep, waiting for the evening trade. They shrieked when they saw me with Bonbon.
‘What’s that you’ve got on the end of your string? A rat?’ the one closest to us laughed.
Although Aunt Augustine had told me not to speak to our neighbours, I couldn’t help smiling at the women. I picked up Bonbon and held her out to them. They scratched her under the chin and stroked her fur. ‘She’s a cute one. Look at those ears—bigger than she is,’ they said.
It was only close up that I realised the women were much older than they appeared at a distance. Their wrinkles and blotched skin showed through the layers of powder and rouge, and the rose water scent that wafted from their hair and clothes could not hide the musty smell of their skin. Although the women were smiling and laughing, they made me sad. When I looked into their eyes, I saw broken dreams and thwarted chances.
As soon as Bonbon reached the doorstep of Aunt Augustine’s house her tail drooped, and I was sure that if I’d had a tail it would have been drooping too. I bent down and scratched the ruff around her neck and tickled her ears.
‘I’ll have her as a boarder,’ I heard Aunt Augustine say as I stepped into the front room, ‘but I won’t have such a woman wandering about the house or bringing home men.’
I closed the door as quietly as I could. Bonbon’s claws scratched on the floorboards and she plunked herself down, staring at me with her intelligent eyes. I swept her up and tucked her into my pocket, then crept towards the kitchen to hear more of what Aunt Augustine was saying. There was a tilted mirror on the picture rail in the dining room and reflected in it was my aunt sitting at the kitchen table with her feet in a bucket. Ghislaine was cleaning some mussels, tossing the empty shells into a basket. Aunt Augustine lowered her voice and I had to strain my ears to hear her.
‘They wear practically nothing. Nothing! ’ she hissed. ‘The women stick a piece of material over themselves with spirit gum and the men put padding…well…you know where.’
I clamped my hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. How did Aunt Augustine know all this?
Ghislaine waited until she had shelled her last mussel before she answered. ‘I don’t think Simone will be corrupted just by walking Camille’s dog.’
Although Marseilles had frightened me at first, I came to like the city on my walks with Bonbon. The Vieux Port was picturesque in the long Provençal twilight. At that time of day there was none of the harried toing and froing that there was at dawn when the fish market opened. The evening walkers promenaded at their leisure. The barkers were out in force, luring people into their restaurants from which the smells of garlic and fish stew wafted in spicy currents. Gypsies gathered on the quays, selling woven baskets and tinware or enticing passers-by to have their palms read and fortunes told. Ghislaine had told me they were arriving from all over Europe for the annual festivalof Les Saintes Maries de la Mer and would spend most of the summer in southern France. The air was alive with violin music and singing. The yellow and red skirts the dancers wore made me think of the wildflowers that dotted the hillsides in Pays de Sault, and reminded me that now I had a bit of money I could reply to Aunt Yvette’s letter and tell her and my
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