A Very Long Engagement Page #2

What's that?

The condemned prisoners' list,

signed by Capt. Favourier.

Give it to me.

Don't just stand there like that.

This isn't Pompeii!

You've been promoted.

You're off to the Vosges.

Even so, Sir,

this expedition is going to be

hard to swallow.

Lucky you.

Where you're going, there's

mustard gas and throat lozenges.

The famous Vosges sweets.

Dismissed!

A few months later,

l was wounded, in the Somme.

l ended up in the same ambulance

as Chardolot,

a corporal from Bingo Crpuscule.

But he only had

a few days left to live.

It's me. Esperanza.

Bingo Crpuscule, remember?

Sorry, l don't recognize you.

The five thrown over

into no-man's-land,

what happened to them?

What do you think?

No one made it.

Your conscience bothering you,

Esperanza?

You should've stuck around.

You'd have seen capital Ms,

underwear being waved

and a flying albatross.

You're delirious with fever!

We sent over five men

and recovered five stiffs.

Conclusion...

My eyes are gone but I can imagine

your expression and l like it.

He really spoke of capital Ms

and an albatross?

And underwear.

Here you go, Miss.

ln here

are the prisoners' belongings

I was to return to their families.

My health's prevented it.

That's the letter

the Dordogne farmer, Notre Dame,

wrote to his wife.

l sent the original

just after Bingo.

You're here

because of the mustard gas?

Not even. Damned Spanish flu!

Death moves in mysterious ways.

If you can't cry, try talking.

lf you can't talk, say nothing.

But sometimes,

talking can bring on the tears.

Tears say what you can't say,

if you get my drift?

Otherwise,

you can just keep that sour-face!

Little Louis,

tell Vro l'm thinking of her.

Shame she won't talk to me.

Saw Biscuit, we patched things up.

Adieu, my friend. Bastoche.

"Benot Notre Dame, number 1 81 8.

l won't be writing for a long time."

Tell old Bernay

l want to settle up by March.

His manure's too costly,

watch out for him.

Tell my Baptistin that l so love

that he'll be fine

if he listens to his dear mother.

She's the kindest person l know.

Love you. Benot.

"For Tina Lombardi,

from Angel Bassignano."

lf Chickpea comes in before

dinner's called, Manech is alive.

l'm not hungry.

Dinner's ready.

Mathilde, dinner!

Coming!

Mathilde was born

the 1st of January, 1900.

lt's easy for calculating her age.

ln 1903, her parents died

in the n 44 bus accident.

Since then,

Mathilde often says to herself,

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

Her uncle and aunt,

Sylvain and Bndicte,

have raised her,

with her parents' life insurance

invested by Pierre-Marie Rouvire.

When she was five,

Mathilde came down with polio.

She was bedridden for months,

despite mustard compresses...

pendulums

and four-leaf clover infusions.

Today, Mathilde is twenty.

She plays the tuba.

lt is the only instrument capable

of imitating a distress call.

Chickpea, the dog,

farts in his sleep.

When she hears it,

Bndicte never fails to say,

Doggie fart, gladdens my heart.

Mathilde needs daily treatment.

Since the Armistice, Georges Cornu,

a swimming champion,

massages her.

She used to get embarrassed,

but she got over it.

Mathilde sometimes imagines

that Georges admires her,

tormented with desire.

What's more, he once said,

You do have a fine figure, Miss.

And I've kneaded quite a few.

After that,

how should she call him?

Dear Georges...

My dear Georges...

Jojo...

Sometimes,

before falling asleep,

she imagines herself

in arousing situations.

Mathilde doesn't need

to fantasize for very long

before reaching fulfilment.

Since his disappearance,

she can't bear to think about her

fianc as she satisfies herself.

That's the way it is...

If I were you, Mathilde,

l'd forget him.

Why chase pipe dreams?

lf he was alive,

you'd have heard from him.

He was taken prisoner.

And stayed with a German girl

with braids and big b*obs!

A Breton boy eating sauerkraut!

lmpossible!

- Can l help?

- Keep your feet on the ground.

l stand on my own two feet!

- What?

- Never mind.

l heard you anyway.

But your dreams don't stand up.

Manech

can't have been taken at Bingo.

Our men took the trench facing it.

Normally, it's the winners

who take prisoners.

So he's lost his mind.

Or he's in hiding,

to avoid hard labour.

Stop dreaming, Mathilde!

Face up to it.

You'll find a husband, despite...

Something's off-key.

l'll find the "Mess Hall Marauder",

Clestin Poux.

What can l get for you?

Or the Corsican's whore.

She might know more than me.

Tomorrow, l go to Paris.

What for?

To find a survivor

from Bingo Crpuscule.

Germain Pire, Private Detective

The Peerless Pry

I'm used to handling

red-hot affairs.

l've a cupboard full.

Scandals that would've been

brushed under the carpet...

brought to light by Pire's prying.

Take this big affair...

very delicate.

ln '17, a train derails.

425 soldiers on leave, dead.

The enquiry reveals how

an officer ordered the departure,

despite faulty brakes.

A total cover-up

by Poincar's government.

The victims' families only hope

of finding the officer?

Germain Pire!

The Peerless Pry.

Peerless, Miss.

I found their officer,

to the military's great displeasure.

Granted, he was dead and buried.

l'll just pack my bags and be on

my way to track down Poux Clestin

and the Corsican's fiance.

And your fees, Mr. Peerless Pry?

The Pry only bleeds dry

sitting ducks, Miss.

For you, I can do...

20 francs a day.

Plus expenses, of course.

Why so kind?

Hlne, come and say hello.

Don't worry about expenses.

Germain Pire eats little,

doesn't drink and tips sparingly.

Notre Dame de Paris?

Not Notre Dame de Paris!

l'm calling from Paris

about Notre Dame Benot!

Benot Notre Dame!

A strapping,

good-hearted farmer.

Died for his country.

I've lost many a parishioner.

Are his wife and Baptistin

still there?

Quiet!

Miss Minet, I can't hear a thing!

No. She upped and left one day,

with no forwarding address.

ls that a choir l hear?

Of course, it's a choir!

We are in a church, Miss!

But that's no hymn at your end!

Thank you, Father. Goodbye.

Bingo Crpuscule!

I can't make head nor tail of it!

I thought you liked defending

lost causes.

Your impertinence

was charming at 10, not at 20!

Then start taking me seriously.

You're wasting your money

on a grotesque crusade!

Bingo Crpuscule!

Why not Yippee doodle-doo?

I want access to army archives.

Let's say

there's an ounce of truth in this.

lf one man has survived,

he risks hard labour!

And you know it!

Your prying would put him

in great danger!

Be reasonable.

Your parents entrusted me...

"Ashes to ashes..."

That's just it.

They entrusted you

with my happiness.

Goodbye.

Thank you, Pierre-Marie.

Don't be like that,

my dear Mathilde.

I'm thinking of your future.

Sorry to see your health's worsened,

despite the massages.

I'll see what l can do.

It doesn't only happen in Lourdes!

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