Chapter Nine
AN UNWELCOME SURPRISE
“What are crêpes?”
Madame Duguay’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “What are crêpes!?”
It’s breakfast the next morning and we’re all gathered around the table in the Duguay’s dining room, the usual verbal drivel swirling around the table.
“My nephew, unfortunately,” says Uncle Marty, “is quite particular about what he eats. Anything more exotic than burgers and pizza, and he doesn’t want it.”
Madame Duguay makes a “tsk tsk” sound with her mouth and shakes her head. “This is no good. You are in France! You must expand your...how do you say...culinary horizons!”
“Expand my what?”
“Expand your culinary horizons,” I repeat for Madame Duguay, making no attempt to hide my impatience. “That means, try new things, dummy.”
“Oy, oy, oy, Sarah,” says Madame Duguay, looking disappointed. “You mustn’t talk to your brother in that way. You two are brother and sister. You’re family. You must be civil to one another.”
Uncle Marty looks as though he’d like to lean over and kiss the old woman.
“I’m sorry...” (What else could I say?)
“No need to say sorry, just...be nice to your brother is all.”
Out of the corner of my eye I can see a big smile on Uncle Marty’s face and I wish he’d stop.
“Oh, wow, these are amazing, Madame Duguay,” Troy exclaims as he digs into his crêpes. “Delicieuse.”
She laughs. “I’m glad you like them. That was my grandmother’s recipe, you know.”
Troy nods as he takes a huge bite. “Wow, eh?”
“Yes. She was quite the cook. My mother, not so much. But my grandmother, there wasn’t a thing she couldn’t cook. When the Germans were encamped here during the war, they had my mother make them crêpes three times a week.” She motions to the plate of crêpes. “For thirty pounds of crêpes they gave her fifty francs. That money was barely enough to cover the baking supplies, but what was left over was ours to keep and it helped them through those hard times.”
Uncle Marty shakes his head. “Gosh...”
Madame Duguay shrugs and makes a face that says “what can you do?” as she begins to dish up her plate.
“Yep, France has seen some hard times,” says Armand, his eyes on the platters from which his wife is dishing herself up (sliced ham, baby potatoes, and croissants). “But one thing about us French, we always come back. One way or another.”
We all nod, to be polite I think, as I really don’t know enough about France’s history to say either way. I glance at Uncle Marty and he seems to agree so Armand must be right.
“So, what are your plans for the day?” asks Madame Duguay. She’s having trouble spearing herself a slice of ham and Armand reaches across the table and lifts the plate so that she can have at it more easily.
“I thought we’d head over to the dig site after breakfast,” Uncle Marty answers, picking at something in his teeth. He manages to loosen it and wipes it on his napkin.
“Oh yes, you’re an archaeologist.” Madame Duguay smiles. “Such an unusual profession, isn’t it?” She looks at me for confirmation.
But instead of nodding, I shake my head. “It’s actually really interesting.”
“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t interesting. I said it was unusual. As in, it’s not a profession you often hear about.”
“I’m going to be an archaeologist,” Josh blurts.
I look at him and I’m about to say something, but I catch myself, remembering Uncle Marty and Madame Duguay.
“That’s very noble, Joshua,” says Uncle Marty, taking a spoonful of jam from the small ramekin at the centre of the table. “You know, it was quite the rage at the time I started university.” He dabs the jam onto his crepes and sets the spoon aside. “Perhaps that’s what persuaded me to get into the field...” He glances at the Duguay’s. “Do either of you know who Indiana Jones is?”
Madame Duguay shakes her head. “No...Indiana Jones? I’ve never heard of it. Is that a man?”
“Indiana Jones,” says Armand, waving his fork excitedly (and there’s a strawberry stuck on the end), “he’s the man who goes on all those adventures around the world, right? He searches for long lost treasures.”
I look at Uncle Marty, suddenly seeing the parallel. Or not...Indiana Jones is a ladies’ man...and he’s tall and athletic...and Uncle Marty...well...he’s not those things, let’s just put it that way.
“Yes!” Uncle Marty replies happily. “That is Indiana Jones.”
“Indiana...what a strange name,” Madame Duguay mutters, helping herself to some jam. “This is a Hollywood movie, I suppose?”
“Yes. Hollywood. And quite a good franchise, I must say. There are three in the original series and two newer ones.”
Madame Duguay makes that face French people make when they don’t know something. “I’ll have to watch it.”
“I might actually have Raiders on my laptop,” says Troy. He looks at Madame Duguay. “Je peux l’emprunter à vous.”
“Of course. It sounds like the film to see.”
“Oh, it’s good alright.”
“Uncle Marty.”
“Yes, Joshua.”
“We’re coming to the dig site with you tomorrow, right?”
I watch Uncle Marty to gauge his response. He in turn exchanges a look with Troy.
“I’m afraid not.”
“But - ”
“Soon though. I’m thinking in two days. Once the major work is out of the way.”
My brother looks crestfallen and I can’t help but feel the same way, though I don’t know how much fun it would be anyway hanging out with a bunch of archaeologists at some dig site. Unless of course they were to find something...
“But what if you find something? And we miss it!?”
Uncle Marty looks at me. “If we do find something, I’ll take a picture of it and you can see it once we’re back here.”
“But - ”
“The problem, Sarah, is that we’ve only been here a day and I don’t want to bring two teenagers to the dig site until I’ve had a chance to finish going over things with Dr. Ronedau. You have to understand that there is a lot riding on this expedition - both for me and Fabrice - I mean, Dr. Rondeau. And I think in this case the best thing to do is to have you two come another day.”
“But...” I stare at my uncle. “What are me and Josh going to do all day? You already left us here yesterday!” I glance at my brother. He’s looking at me with the same horrified expression on his face.
Uncle Marty chuckles. “Well...” He sets down his fork and looks at Madame Duguay. “As you can probably imagine, in a place like this (he waves his arms to indicate the house), there are a fair number of chores to be - ”
“Nope! Nope! Nah, nah, nah, nah, I’m not listening!” I take my plate and push back my chair and move to the sink. “I’m not doing chores. I didn’t come to France to do chores, Uncle Marty!” I drop my plate inside the sink.
“Sarah. Madame Duguay and Armand could really use your help.”
I shake my head. “Nope.” I’m ashamed (a little) at the way I’m acting - especially since Troy’s probably judging me like crazy right now - but I can’t give in.
“Sarah,” says Madame Duguay gently as I make my way past them, intent on heading to my room. “If you’ll give me an hour I’ll let you and Josué borrow the bicycles from the garage.”
The way she says “garage”, it sounds more like “gair-edge”.
“Sarah.”
Uncle Marty’s voice isn’t so gentle.
I huff as I turn around to face them once more. “Fine. I’ll do one hour of chores. But that’s it.” I glare at Uncle Marty. “That’s really unfair you know. You bring us here to do chores.”
“Sarah. It’s one more day. Chores never killed anyone.”
They’ve obviously never gone on vacation with my uncle...
“And Madame Duguay’s been kind enough to agree to watch you and your brother - ”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Uncle Marty! I’m fifteen! I don’t need a babysitter!”
“Sarah! We’re in a foreign country, you don’t speak the language...okay?” He’s so mad right now, and all of a sudden too, that he’s shaking and I know I’d better not push him any further.
“Fine,” I say quietly.
Uncle Marty doesn’t take his eyes from mine. His finger, which he holds in front of his face, is vibrating and I can practically see the steam coming from his ears. “I think you should go to your room for awhile. Go e-mail your mom. She wants to hear from you.”
“Fine, I was going there anyway,” I say thickly.
“I’ll come get you in a little while,” says Madame Duguay with a friendly, hopeful smile.
Oh, Madame Duguay. It’s not your fault my uncle’s such a dummy.
I nod. “Alright.”