Chapter 11 11

Chimney Sweeping Necessity It's already late November, and there are still customers visiting.They were dressed in their midsummer attire and innocently hoped that swimming weather would still be available this season.They always think that Provence has a Mediterranean climate, and they will be very frustrated when they see us wearing sweaters, burning fireplaces at night, drinking warm wine and eating winter food. Is it all this cold in November?Isn't it hot all year round here?We spoke of the snow, the sub-zero nights, and the fierce northwest winds, and their disappointment was palpable, as if we had lured them into the North Pole with the tropics.

To be precise, the winter in Provence is cold but sunny.At the end of November, the sky is clear and blue, the sun is shining, and there is no cloud in the sky. If you don't consider the temperature factor, it is almost the same as in May.According to Faustin, if the weather is so abnormally good, God must have ulterior motives.He has a premonition that this winter will be particularly cold, and the temperature will drop surprisingly low, thus staging the tragedy of 1976.All the olive trees froze to death that year.Faustain even gleefully predicted that chickens in coops would freeze to death, old people would freeze to death in their beds, and there was no doubt that the region would experience prolonged power outages.Finally, Faustin solemnly warned me that the chimney must be cleaned early.

"When it's cold, you'll have a fire burning in your fireplace all day long," Faustain said with deep emotion. "At that time, the chimney that hasn't been cleaned is likely to catch fire. When the firefighters come to help you put out the fire, if you If you don’t have a chimney sweep certificate, they’ll fine you a lot of money.” "What's worse, if the chimney catches fire and the house burns down, and you don't have a certificate of sweeping the chimney, the insurance company won't pay for it." Faustin stopped, looked at me and nodded heavily, and there must be something in his mind. Already there was a scenario where I was huddled in the cold, homeless, and at the same time on the brink of bankruptcy.

"But," I asked him somewhat anxiously, "what if the chimney-sweeping certificate is burned with the house?" Obviously, it hadn't occurred to him.I think he should be grateful that I gave him advance warning of the possibility of another catastrophe.A cautious, pessimistic man like him needed a new element of worry every now and then, or he would feel too comfortable. I didn't dare to be negligent, so I quickly called Kavillon's chief chimney sweeper, Mr. Bertramo, to come to the humble house with a broom and a vacuum cleaner at his convenience.Mr. Bertramo soon arrived as scheduled.He was tall, dignified and courteous.I don't know the reason, maybe affected by his black charcoal ash to some extent, his image reminds me of a cold and proud eagle standing on the top of a cliff. Of course, the eagle in my mind is also black.Mr. Bertramo evidently understood my anxiety, as he began by stating that he had been a chimney sweep for twenty years.I was afraid that I would not be reassured. During the cleaning process, he declared more than once that there was never any fire in the chimneys he swept.After the job was done, he issued the cleaning certificate I dreamed of, and stamped it with his jet-black finger prints, intentionally or not.Before the final farewell, he wished me a happy winter, and left a sentence that made me somewhat confused: "This winter will not be so cold. It has been three consecutive cold winters, and the fourth year must be not cold."

I tentatively asked him if he would like to clean the chimney of Faustin's house by the way, and also exchange opinions with Faustin on the weather forecast. "No, I never go to his house. His wife sweeps the chimneys in their house." December This year, we focused too much on enjoying ourselves, spending most of our time at home and in the nearby valley, and daily chores took up most of our time and energy.These chores frustrate us at times, often cause all kinds of inconvenience, but are never dull or boring.Most importantly, here, we feel at ease and at ease. Beauty Calendar

One morning, the postman's car rushed into the parking lot behind my house at high speed, turned around suddenly, and headed straight into the wall of the adjacent garage, smashing the taillight on one side in one fell swoop.However, the obviously enthusiastic postman didn't notice any loss at all, and still walked into the courtyard, shaking the big envelope in his hand, smiling brightly.He went straight to the bar in the house with a clear goal, put his elbows on the table, looked at me expectantly, and said: "Hello, young man!" I haven't been called young man in years, and the postman usually doesn't deliver letters directly to the house.With a little confusion, I handed him a glass of the wine he was looking forward to.

He blinked his eyes pretending to be surprised, and said, "Ah, anisette, you might as well have some." Why is he so happy?I can't help but keep guessing in my mind: Is today his birthday?Or is he about to retire?Did you win the lottery?I was almost anxiously waiting for him to unravel the mystery for me.But he calmly told about the wild boar his friend shot last week, and then asked me if I knew how to clean up the wild boar before it went into the pot?A bloody dissection course followed: from laparotomy to hanging to dry, dismembered and cooked.Unknowingly, the wine in the glass has been drunk.I could already tell by then that this wasn't his first drink of the morning, and his frenetic driving was fully explained.After filling his second cup, our conversation turned to the real topic.

"Look, what I brought you! A new calendar from the post office." The postman man said, clapping the envelope in his hand: "This has marked all the festivals for next year, and there are some nice pictures of beauties .” He took out a calendar from the envelope, rummaged through it, and soon found the one he admired the most.In the photo, a girl is wearing a pair of coconut shells, lazily smiling at us under the warm Mediterranean sun. "Wow! Look at this one, it's delicious." The wife evidently heard something, her footsteps coming down the stairs from upstairs.I quickly helped him close the calendar in his hand, and at the same time expressed my deep gratitude to him for thinking of giving us such an exquisite gift.

"It's free," he said. "You can pay for it if you want." When the postman blinked at me for the second time, I finally understood why he had come.He came to collect Christmas red envelopes, but it would be undignified to reach out to someone's door to ask for it. That's why the calendar presentation ceremony took place. The money was taken, the wine was finished, the postman dude won a big victory, so he sailed to the next stop, leaving a pile of taillight fragments on the driveway for us to remember. Back in the house, I found my wife was looking at the calendar carefully.However, what she cares about is not those sexy and beautiful calendar girls, but the important matters of our family's livelihood and people's livelihood.

"Did you find out," she said ruefully, "it's only three weeks until Christmas, and there's still no sign of the engineering team!" Obviously, in the eyes of the workers, Christmas is Christmas; no matter how well the house is repaired, Christmas will always come and be passed; it may not be until next February that these people will wake up from the wandering of the New Year holiday. Brilliant strategy The wife suddenly had a quick wit and came up with an idea that only women can think of.She thinks that since the workers think that Jesus' birthday is not a sufficient and necessary deadline for the completion of the house, why don't we find another reason greater than Jesus to force the workers to submit?And for the French, what event is more important than eating and drinking?Thinking about it this way, we quickly made a decision: In the name of celebrating the completion of the project, we invited the workers to our home for a banquet.But the prerequisite is that they must bring their wives with them.

This intuitive trick comes from two assumptions: first, because the wives have never seen the work performance of their husbands in other people's homes, curiosity will drive them to come; The finished part is done by their own husbands, which would embarrass them in front of other wives and everyone.On the way home, the couple might even have a big fight over it. The more I think about it, the more I feel that this is an excellent plan.We selected the last Sunday before Christmas as the banquet day, and sent out invitations: a champagne reception, starting at eleven o'clock in the morning. Our clever plan had immediate results.In less than two days, the cement mixer was sent back.Didier and his assistants resumed, noisily and noisily, where they had left off, as if there had been no three-month break at all.No one explained why they always refused to come these days, and no one explained why they suddenly resumed work.Didier once casually stated that he hoped to finish all the work here before going on to skiing.This is the closest clue we can get.He added that he and his wife would be very happy to come to our reception. We calculated that if everyone came, there would be a total of twenty-two people, each with a Provençal appetite.And because it’s just before Christmas, they’re probably expecting something festive from us, not just a bowl of olive oil and slices of sausage.The wife started to prepare the menu, and pasted small notes and memos all over the room: braised rabbit meat!mayonnaise!Little pizzas!Straw Mushroom Cake!Olive Oil Bread!How many lard ham cakes do you want?One note after another, making my note with only two words - champagne - look thin and uninteresting. On a cold morning, the grand finale of the reception was delivered.It was a whole foie gras that my friend specially bought from Perigueux.As long as we cook it ourselves and add some black wild truffle powder, the price is much cheaper than buying ready-made ones.We unwrap.I can't help but admire that the owner of this liver must have been a raptor as big as a small plane.Even its liver is so vigorous and huge. When I hold it and put it on the cutting board, the thick, brown-yellow mass is all over my palms. According to my friend's instructions, I cut it into pieces, stuffed it into a glass jar to marinate, and then mixed some precious truffle slices with trembling fingers.How is this burning foie gras? It feels like burning money. Seal the glass jar, put it in a large saucepan that is boiling hot, and cook for a full ninety minutes.Then take it out to cool for a while, and put it in the refrigerator to freeze before it cools down.After the fat has solidified, take out the glass jar and put it in the cellar.At this time, the wife crossed out the item "foie gras" in her memo. donkey braying It was almost the end of the year, the sky was still blue, and there was no frenzied atmosphere like that in the UK at the end of the year, which made people feel a little weird.The only possible sign of the festival in the valley was a strange noise from Mr. Pensey's house a mile away.Two mornings in a row I walked past his house and heard screams—not fear or pain, but more like anger.I don't think it's a human voice, but I can't be sure, so I ask Faustain if he's heard it too. "Oh, that," said he, "that's Poncey working on his ass." The church in the village of Mena has a real manger set up every Christmas Eve.Mr. Pensey's donkey will then be an important supporting role, dressed up, of course.But it hates brushing and combing by nature, and is unwilling to endure the grooming process quietly, so it makes that angry roar.Faustain had no qualms about the respectable presence of the donkey on Christmas Eve, but he kindly reminded me that at that time, any wise person would stay away from the donkey's hind legs, which are known for their legs and God knows what it will do after taking a bath in depression. The village is looking for someone to play the baby Jesus.Infants of comparable age and temperament were shortlisted.Among them, being able to stay awake throughout the night without dozing off is crucial.Because the climax of worshiping Jesus can only start at midnight, and the benevolent Son of God will not bear to snore like thunder in front of many believers. Aside from the tiny signs above and the cards stuffed in letterboxes by postmen, Christmas still seems months away here.We don't have TV, and we don't see those TV commercials that pretentiously create a happy atmosphere; no one sings "Ode to Joy", no one holds a company's year-end dinner, and there is no panic atmosphere of rushing to buy new year's goods.I like this feeling, but my wife seems slightly disturbed, as if something is missing.Why is there no festive atmosphere?Why no Christmas ornaments?Why is there no Christmas tree?With these questions from her, we decided to go to the town of Cavillon to find answers.