THE BOY PRODIGY

The only road in Les Rigoux, Southern Burgundy rose westwards from the flats, took a breath as it split the hamlet in two, and then sped up skyward again towards the village. From the bottom of the hamlet where the Fourniers, the Pasquiers and a handful of other families lived, the road seemed to end spearing the 10^th century old church at the Bourg, but in reality it curled up around it. The Bourg was the centre of the village in the commune of Narchay-les-Châmond. It was a small commune consisting of 38 hamlets similar to Les Rigoux, none further than seven or eight kilometres from the church. Les Rigoux took its name from a family who settled there in the fifteenth century. It expanded slowly so that in 1947, around 20 families lived there in terraced houses on both side of the unsealed yellow dirt road. As the hamlet expanded, amenities were added such as two wells, one at the east end the other at the west, and a communal oven. Further up along the road, just past the hamlet, an impluvium was built and it was used by some women as a washing place and in hot summer days, villagers met there to chat and cool off. The hamlet was visited weekly by two grocers, two bakers and two butchers. The milk man came by daily to collect milk from the farms and sell butter, cheese and illegal homemade brandy which was called ‘marc.’ The fish monger came on Fridays. They tooted their horns and people came out for their purchases. It was mostly a congenial gathering, an opportunity to catch up with recent gossips, exchange jokes and share their hardships. Two of the hamlet families, the Fourniers and the Pasquiers lived across the road from each other. The Pasquiers consisted of Eugénie, a single mother who bore nine children in 15 years, four of whom died in infancy. All were conceived from the same father, Alphonse. He was an itinerant homeless drunk who visited her, apparently nine times in 15 years, to ask her for money or assistance and staying just long enough to make her pregnant again and add to her burden. In 1925, on a visit before the birth of their second child, Alphonse dug out all the copper pipes in their yard. He sold them for scrap and didn’t return home for two years. Since that time, having no access to running water, Eugénie had to fetch it at the bottom well. Mère Eugénie Pasquier, was a talented whinger who took every opportunity to tell all about her wretched life, her misery, and she did so with a face that showed such oppression, it prompted most people to feel sorry for her. She never begged directly but used lame subterfuges. For example, if her interlocutor was holding a loaf of bread, her story would lead to asking, “Well, you tell me now, how am I going to buy bread?” She’d pause, waiting for a reaction. If no sign was given, she’d add, “My poor children, no bread to give them.” Pause, “No bread at all.” Pause, “None.”  If her interlocutor handed over their loaf, she promptly took it but protested, “Oh, no, I wouldn’t accept charity- but for the children.”

The Fourniers consisted of the father, Henri, the mother, and six children. Another one would be due soon, judging by Adèle’s rounded figure. Père Fournier was illiterate, lazy, depressed most of the time, and alcoholic. She was hard working, a harsh disciplinarian who could not cope with her burdens. She could be just as violent as her husband who feared her.  Not a day passed by without each shouting and swearing at the other.

***

The first of April 1947 was a very unseasonable hot day that lifted the moisture from the soil making the air shimmer and the church dance in the distance.  It was a Tuesday around one PM and people were listening to hear Brio the grocer toot his horn. He was Pierre Marchand, dubbed Brio after his trading name. He was young –in his late twenties, wore a flat chequered cap, which held a pencil pointing forward just past his right eye. He made two stops in the hamlet, one at the bottom well where the Fourniers and the Pasquiers lived, and one at the top well. Punctual, he pulled up at the bottom well just past one o’clock. Following his routine, he tooted his horn, stepped out of his Renault van, and took out two cases of ‘vin ordinaire’ through the sliding door and carried them to the Fourniers’ cellar. He returned to his van and lifted the back door, locking it into place. On rainy days, the door served as shelter to his customers. He stepped into his van via the sliding door. Inside, the van was fitted with shelves on both side and they were filled with all the popular grocery items.  He was not just a grocer but also carried various goods one would find in a general store, like brooms, buckets etc…  Pre-orders, he kept generally on the empty space next to the driver’s seat. There was just enough space between the shelves and the van was high enough for him to stand. He lowered a wooden flap and waited. Adèle Fournier came out first and waddled to the van,

“Dèlie, you didn’t drop your egg, yet?” Brio asked.  

“I am too busy,” she said, and just as she said it, she felt a gush between her legs and the contractions began. She held on to the side of the van for a few seconds, and then dropped down to sit on the dirt road. She pulled her long dress back up around her waist, took off her bloomers and spread her legs. Brio’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, blood drained out of his face and he let out an expletive,

“Merde, bloody hell.”

“It’s coming,” she said and already a tuft of mucus laden black hair stuck on a rounded skull appeared, pushing through. It was so quick that by the time Brio got over his shock, rushed out of his van to provide assistance, there was a plop, and a child was born.

“There it is, one more mouth to feed” Dèlie said to Brio, “Number seven.”

By sheer coincidence, Madame Marguerite Guichard who was a nurse just arrived and she enjoined Brio to get towels and scissors which he fetched from his van.

“It’s a boy, Dèlie,” Marguerite said.

As if by magic, people were appearing and each seemed to know what to do without further instructions. Jeanne Dumas brought a bucket of water. Monsieur Petersen, who was the top brass of the match factory in the near city of Châmond, and who was regarded by most villagers with suspicion because of his foreign name and because he owned a car, a ‘Citroen front-wheel drive’ worth more than 120,000 francs, -and where did he get the money from? - was fetched and he offered to take mother and child to the hospital despite Dèlie’s protests,

“The hospital, why make such a fuss?”

However she relented after being admonished by Madame Guichard who called her a stupid stubborn cow. After driver and patients were gone, Brio, still trembling offered to open a bottle of champagne and all present took a swig from its neck.