Page 94

"We're going to Auteuil tomorrow," Papa warns me. 

"Have you been to the races before?" 

"Never." 

"Exciting. You'll like it. Do you want to bring your friend too? I don't remember her name." 

"Monique." 

"Monique and then?"

"Monique de Beaumont de Bonin de la Bonniniere de Beaumont." 

"...and that's it? Papa laughed. Then he took off his glasses. There must have been a photographer around: when there was a photographer, he always took off his glasses. Perhaps out of a kind of coquetry, perhaps out of respect for the readers, so that they could look him in the eye.

"I'm from 'Figaro,' mister Hemingway" said the photographer. "I'd like to take a little picture for you, if you don't mind." Papa made a gesture as if to say "let's hurry up," took the glass in his hand, smiled and said "Goodbye, thank you" and turned back to the counter. "George, how long do you think Bataclan is? Ah, we'll talk later... Charlie!" he said turning to a silver-haired gentleman who was approaching. "How are you? Happy to see you."

"Happy to see you. Vera stopped to have a chat with Mary. They said they're waiting for us at the table." I put a big yellow envelope on the bar: "You know, it's not easy to decide..." and shook his head. "It's really not easy, they are all beautiful."

"So you like them?" asked Papa, still turning to Charlie.

"I like them very much." 

"Do you really like them?" 

"I like them and a lot, I already told you the other day. I'm uncertain between the trees and Venice." Charlie said opening the yellow envelope. "I prefer trees but..." and in front...