With chauffeur, please

In Hautvoir, Local projects, Revision, Tea on January 26, 2015 at 1:24 pm

I won’t tell the man what the online etymology dictionary says about his profession. I won’t tell him because this server of writs is anything but a bumbailiff. (So called back in the sixteen hundreds “because he was always felt to be close behind.”)

A man must earn his keep. The server of writs I have in mind is a decent sort. Took due note of the fact the family still occupies the apartment ; flinched at the sight of the mother’s condition; and explained the whole procedure in the plainest, simplest terms. Short version: no panic. He’ll be back in a month or so, in my company, serving another paper*. With any luck at all, the family’s next appeal will be winding through the system, at that point. “Hope springs eternal in a young man’s heart.” The family isn’t out on the street and hasn’t been ordered out of France yet. You take your good news where you find it.

The title is a cheery bit of nonsense inspired by the father’s comment to his daughter. Once he has his papers and the right to work, he said, he will buy me a car. True, I could have used one this morning. The good news: I’m home, all my appointments are cancelled for the day. I sleep, drink tea with honey, and ride the upsurges of fever. Pull myself up to the sitting position and think about life forms in all their wondrous variety.

Mould, for instance. Do I work part of that scene back into the story? How? To what purpose, except for the fun of playing with it? Scenes are supposed to lead to something else, then something else again.

I won’t think about it for too long or the latest supply of energy will drain out of me too fast.

* which raises an interesting question: how do you call a bumbailiff’s occasional (and unintentional) sidekick?


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