Today's Reading
The First Day
"The omens of death, without a doubt. Intersignes de la mort." Kadeg, an inspector with the Commissariat de Police de Concarneau, had a dramatic look on his face. His brow was furrowed with worry.
"The magpie has been flying around the house for some time now. Now and again, it settles on the roof." The dramatic look was followed by a dramatic pause. "A few weeks ago, a rooster began to crow before midnight. Then my aunt saw a weasel in the garden. And last week, the magpie even flew into the windowpane of her bedroom."
Kadeg's unusually flat tone trembled slightly.
"There's no doubt about it," he repeated, "they're the omens of death."
"Pass me the baguette, Riwal," requested Commissaire Georges Dupin, turning to his first inspector.
The commissaire had ordered an assiette de la mer, a magnificent dish on a hot day like today: a dozen oysters; a giant crab; langoustines; a generous portion of small and large snails, bigorneaux and bulots. And the most important element: fresh, homemade mayonnaise. Paul, the owner of the Amiral, Dupin's second home in the "blue town" by the sea, had put a good half pound of it on the table for him. According to Paul, the secret of its sensational flavor was walnut-infused vinegar. Dupin was crazy about this mayonnaise. And seafood in general. Other cultures, barbarians the lot of them, vilified mayonnaise as a fatty component of fast food, but in France, people saw it for what it was: art. Even Paul Bocuse, like all godlike chefs, had sung its praises. A delicacy with a history, industrially spoiled like almost nothing else. It was originally created in 1756, during the Seven Years' War. Maréchal Richelieu himself had conquered Menorca with his troops and received neither medals nor land by way of thanks; instead, a newly created sauce was dedicated to him, an exquisite condiment named after the last captured city: Maó, Mahón in Spanish, the sauce mahon-naise. The Bretons were certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that the chef had been one of them. The best part was wiping the plate clean with a piece of baguette, when the remaining drops of mayonnaise mixed with the flavors of the seafood. It was a true marine elixir.
"You should really take the omens more seriously, boss." Riwal showed no sign of passing Dupin the bread basket.
The four colleagues had settled onto the terrace of the Amiral. Riwal and Kadeg at one table; Dupin and Nevou, one of the commissariat's two policewomen, at the adjoining one.
"The magpie is known as a harbinger of death." Riwal was visibly ill at ease. "They're all classic bad omens. People have known that for thousands of years. It's ancient Celtic knowledge."
"Can I get some baguette anyway?" Dupin tried his luck once again.
"Commissaire, this isn't a joke," Nevou grimly admonished Dupin.
Dupin sighed. He had been looking forward to this forty-five-minute lunch break the entire morning. The seafood, the mayonnaise, the baguette, and some time to himself. Completely alone. Without other people, but with the obligatory newspapers, Ouest-France, Le Télégramme, and Le Monde.
Contrary to all the meteorological prophecies, the weather had once again turned out to be unbelievably beautiful, with the result that Dupin's colleagues had spontaneously joined him when he left the commissariat. He should have taken the back exit, which he did more than occasionally.
It was the first of October, but the summer seemed to have resolved to carry on as though it hadn't noticed. As though fall hadn't begun. Over the past couple of years, too, September and October had been flawless summer months, even up until early November, and only then had the weather turned. No one was complaining.
The commissaire sat up as straight as he could, to convey his earnestness and concentration.
"Okay. And what's all this supposed to mean?"
"My aunt is convinced she's about to die."
Dupin almost didn't recognize Kadeg. The inspector was usually the personification of unbearable pedantry, military briskness, and above all, pragmatic levelheadedness, though unfortunately that didn't stop him from occasionally getting carried away by some obsession or other. Normally, phenomena like "omens of death" were Riwal's kind of thing. And Kadeg's role consisted of making fun of it.
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