Morning. Another long break I know, but this morning all my work is done and I have a break at home alone to get a story out. So I've linked up with the lovely folks at Studio 30+ again. I used the prompt humiliating.
The Crossword
It was still humiliating, Derrick thought,
as he stepped out of the tabac. For over thirty-five years he had made this
town his home. The butcher, the grocer, the laundry lady, even the mayor
accepted his well learnt and practised French with graciousness and without
sarcasm. And yet every morning, in the simplest of exchanges over a packet of
cigarettes and a newspaper, the man in the tabac replied in English, as crisp
and smooth as a tennis lawn.
Derrick
walked across the square to his favourite café. Inside the smell of freshly
ground coffee and the remnants of last night’s menu greeted him. He took a seat
by the window. Jean Pierre waved at him from behind the bar. Breakfast would be
on its way shortly.
He
opened the paper. Train strikes planned over the long weekend. Cars stolen by
pretend hitchhikers in the south. A new production of Hamlet touring. Laws to
be changed regarding dog ownership. He turned to the crossword and got to work.
His
pencil was nibbled, was tapped. He scribbled. It was a short, stubby, well-worn
and well-travelled pencil. This was its 1000 crossword. He should savour it. Derrick
leaned back, stretched out his legs, sipping his coffee and pondering number 19
down.
Out
in the square delivery vans beeped to the shop owners and tardy teenagers
flopped past wanting any distraction to stop them from going to school. Derrick
remembered what it was like and smiled. He licked croissant crumbs from his
mouth and signalled for another.
The
door opened as Derrick was filling in 19 down. He listened to the exchange at
the bar and the voice made him look over. It was the man from the tabac. He had
never seen him in here. He put down his pencil and listened. His pencil rolled
off the paper and onto the floor.
The
tabac owner’s daughter was seeing the café owner’s son and he wasn’t happy
about how late they were staying out. They needed to agree for them to both be
home by 11 each night. Jean Pierre shrugged, but agreed. The tabac owner
pressed him, wanting him to agree again. Jean Pierre did so. The tabac owner
sighed, thanked him and turned to leave. He noticed Derrick.
“Hello,”
he said briskly as if he was going to pass, but he stopped at Derrick’s table
and looked down at it. “Oh. You do the crossword I see?” He stared at the
paper, scrutinising Derrick’s answers.
Derrick
said nothing and watched him.
The
man from the tabac stepped back and looked at him. “I see you speak French
then. How very bizarre I never knew!” His tight face slipped open for a second
with a smile. “Au revoir Monsieur.” He turned and left the café.
Derrick
sat, stunned. He let the feeling wash over him and he soaked up his little win.
The man from the tabac finally understood. Tomorrow morning would be different.
This deserved a little celebration. He ordered a cognac with another coffee.
Back
to the crossword.
He
searched and searched, but he never found his pencil.
