The Panda Theory by Pascal Garnier Read Free Book Online Page A

turning bright red, but with little success.Maria, on the other hand, managed to produce three clean notes on her first go. Gaël and Gabriel couldn’t believe it and were a little put out.
    ‘I didn’t know I could play! It’s easy!’
    She started again. Once, twice, three times. She was good. Her brother’s mood darkened.
    ‘Okay, that’s enough!’ he said. ‘You’re playing the same thing over and over. Shall we play with the kitchen now?’
    Children’s disagreements, unlike those between adults, were always over in a flash. The brother and sister were soon happy organising a tea party. Gaël seemed to take a real interest, sorting out all the pieces and putting them in their proper place.
    ‘Right, what are we going to cook?’
    ‘Snails!’
    ‘Okay then. Gabriel, you sit there. You’re the customer. What would you like to eat?’
    ‘Snails, please. And then a steak and chips!’
    ‘We’ve run out. But we’ve got chicken with noodles and Gruyère.’
    ‘That’ll do nicely.’
     
    Juliette had been the same age. Gabriel had bought a live lobster and was preparing to grill it on the barbecue. His daughter peered at the crustacean waving its pincers and wiggling its tail in the smoky air, her chin just level with the table. She looked like an elf with her little upturned nose, cherry-red mouth and almond green eyes hidden behind strands of sun-kissed and sea-sprayed hair. Both of them were in their swimsuits. It was hot, very hot. The terrace shimmered in the heat.
    ‘Are we going to eat it?’
    ‘Yes, it’s very good.’
    ‘It’s moving.’
    ‘When it’s cooked, it’ll stop moving. Careful now, I have to cut it in two.’
    ‘Will it hurt?’
    ‘No. It’ll be so quick that it won’t feel a thing.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘I just do. Watch out now.’
    He split the lobster lengthwise with a sharp decisive crack. Thick liquid trickled from the white flesh onto the chopping board. The lobster’s pincers stayed open as if seizing the moment. Juliette had watched the whole thing. Clinging to the table with both hands, she hadn’t blinked.
    ‘Well done!’
    And then she had danced round the hot white terrace singing at the top of her voice, ‘Well done, well done, well done!’
    He had given her the biggest piece.
     
    ‘Here are your snails, sir. Watch out, they’re hot.’
    Gabriel pretended to taste the blobs of playdough on the small yellow plate handed to him by Gaël.
    ‘Mmm, they’re delicious! My compliments to the chef!’
    ‘That’s me, not her.’
    ‘Well done to you both.’
    Gaël shifted from foot to foot with a tea towel over his shoulder. He looked just like his father behind the counter at the Faro. He sat down cross-legged in front of Gabriel and looked him straight in the eyes.
    ‘Why do we only eat dead things?’
    ‘Because … because they cook better.’
    ‘So when Maman dies, are we going to cook her?’
    Maria had picked up the saxophone again. A fourth note rose from under her fingers. She looked astonished.
    ‘What are you talking about, Gaël?’
    ‘Nothing. I just wanted to know. Do you want your chicken now?’
     
    ‘The doctor told me he was going to try something. I didn’t really understand what. Apparently, it sometimes works.’
    José unthinkingly tapped the image of the Virgin Mary stuck to the dashboard, as others might touch wood. The windscreen wipers did their job, but without enthusiasm. Here it was always the rain that won.
    ‘Your kids are very nice.’
    ‘Yes, they’re very nice. And Françoise too. And you. And Marie. Jesus! Why!’
    José smashed his fist against the steering wheel. The car swerved. A red lorry coming the other way veered out of their path in a cacophony of beeping. José pulled over and collapsed over the steering wheel, his back shaking with sobs. A tidal wave of tears. What could mop up so much sorrow? Gabriel put his hand on José’s shoulder. It was all he could do. He thought back to the red lorry