Conversations with My Gardener Page #6

That's for sure.

At his funeral, the delegate said

he was the honour

of the working class.

See?

The honour of the working class.

What better accolade?

There is none better.

Fortunately he didn't suffer.

He just went.

Some hang on for years

but it's best to go just like that.

"Good-bye, all!"

You get to heaven feeling good.

Growing old must be boring.

You believe in heaven?

I believe and I don't.

I think we become food for maggots.

That's good for fishermen.

Does it hurt?

It's nothing.

- No way.

- Sorry.

It won't rain tomorrow either.

- How do you know?

- I just know. You'll see.

You keep your weather secrets.

You don't say what you see

when you paint.

I look at the shadows

that turn blue-black

in late afternoon.

It means summer's fading.

You can see autumn coming.

You see further than me.

In August

the blues are sharp,

the shadows line the trees,

the lines are clear.

I'm listening but I don't get it all.

To make a landscape

more alive, more whole,

you look upon it as a child,

as Bonnard said,

without naming things.

- Your pumpkin gives me an idea.

- Oh?

I'll paint the garden,

all its vegetables,

giant-sized, like Botero's.

What do you say?

- We'll see.

- Wouldrt you like that?

Recognition of your know-how.

Yes.

When you say big...

how big?

For instance, a radish.

You can see the transparency,

the subtlety.

People don't know what they eat.

Their memory needs jogging.

Here.

It costs nothing to try,

at least once.

And if you like it?

Soon you're a wet rag,

like Rmi Pontazier,

the antiques dealer.

Five minutes to find the lock

with his key.

He looked like

he'd caught myxomatosis.

No fear! If there's no first time,

there's no second time.

You can stuff painting.

Stuff it.

I'm sick of standing for hours

in front of a painting

like a cow in front of a train.

I feel old and tough as an old boot.

I should have studied medicine

and been a chemist.

Or a psychiatrist.

Looking into others' heads

to avoid looking into your own.

And you?

Whatjob would you have liked?

Gardener.

There's nothing I'd do better

or like better.

Instead, it was the railways.

Not at the top, either.

Years of ballast...

in all weathers,

whether raining, snowing...

or absolutely freezing.

The worst was working nights

in tunnels.

Clear the track!

Believe me, you're sh*t scared.

It's odd to have Sunday

in midweek.

I'm not at ease.

Live for today.

These vegetables are a mistake.

A dumb idea.

Restaurant painting!

Vegetarian, to boot.

It's your fault.

Me?

Yes. You should've told me.

You should have said,

"You're on the wrong track."

I'll go back to nudes.

"Woman".

And her...

Magda.

"I'm at my sister's."

Sister my arse!

I know who her sister is.

Some stupid, lousy

so-called photographer.

Jean-Etienne Berk!

They were sleeping together

but I thought it was over.

Huh!

He's a whining, snivelling leech

who's got her all trussed up.

Miss Magda prefers you, though.

Just Magda!

Maybe, but she's busy shagging

the lounge lizard.

It's not love.

I'm no kid.

No fear.

What does love mean anyway?

You need some air

instead of smoking poison

in your molehill.

Come on, shake a leg.

Up we get!

- I'll catch my death.

- It'll do you good.

I think I've done too many beans.

Too many carrots too.

Too many tomatoes.

Too many of everything.

- You'll make preserves.

- Sure. Preserves.

I'll ask the neighbour.

- You can give her half.

- She can have all of it.

How could she accept?

She has her pride.

Nothing has any value

to you Parisians.

To be frank,

you've too much land.

Miss Magda was right.

Magda.

A pool would take up

a good part of it.

Less to maintain.

A pool!

Here, look at these courgettes.

Arert they lovely?

Like fingers growing.

Gardener, some days you

and your courgettes annoy me,

especially at sundown.

You told me it wouldn't rain.

I said tomorrow.

I didn't mention tonight.

Come on, faster!

Hang in there, you idiot!

- Isn't it a beauty?

- Brand new?

Bought yesterday.

I don't know much but it looks good.

A stunner.

Seen the panniers?

Railway issue.

You won't get wet in that.

- Yes, but...

- Please.

- In that case...

- I've several.

That's a stinker!

"City for wealth, country for health."

Bardagaud said that.

If that's what Bardagaud said...

Three drops of rain

and you're out.

What did the doctor say?

He looked down my throat,

took my blood pressure and 30 euros.

The young one?

He always says it's nothing.

Shame old Dr Derival

moved to Bordeaux.

He'd always spot it.

He'd size you up,

check your tongue and pulse,

a scribble and he was gone.

At least you were ill.

I'm off into the rose bushes.

Greenfly, son.

The flame-thrower!

Tomorrow I'm off to Paris.

I was going to suggest

a fishing trip.

The wife's helping the children

move house.

She'll be away 3 days.

We could cast a line.

When I get back, I'd love to.

I'm your man.

All fishes beware!

Just one in particular.

Fishing is a fight with one fish.

What, Moby Dick?

A carp.

One big enough to scare a man.

You don't look so good.

Not really.

The stomach? Your hernia?

I don't believe in that.

I'll take you home.

- What about the bike?

- I'll see to it.

Can you get up?

Yes...

But not alone.

Lean on me.

That's better.

I get these shooting pains

in my guts.

Dear me, it's like being kicked

by a horse.

I'm bunged up again.

That's why

I don't think it's a hernia.

For long?

Since Sunday.

I'm used to it being a week.

That's too long.

You can't always help it.

It works then it doesn't...

What do you do?

I'm taking unblocker.

Not a dickie bird.

You have a temperature?

I don't like sticking that in my...

Under the tongue, then.

- Very hygienic!

- Dip it in alcohol.

The latest thing is,

my stomach has gone all hard.

Hard in what way?

A bit like a football.

Now and again it feels

like I'm being stabbed.

Right. You can sleep here.

You told me the wife wasrt home.

I'm talking like you now!

"The wife".

You have to find out what's wrong.

Tomorrow I'm taking you to Paris.

- I've got no things.

- We'll pick them up.

I've a specialist friend,

a professor.

He's no horse doctor!

He'll take a closer look

with scans and x-rays.

He has a big corkscrew!

Straight there and back.

I should say no

but I haven't the strength.

We'll warn Lisou,

her mother often calls.

That's beautiful. Nabucco.

You like opera?

Blow me down!

Well, it is your turn!

When I laugh, it rips me apart.

Right, I'll call my pal.

We'll even go tonight.

Right away.

We'll have to get my things.

How many are driving at once?

We'll soon have one up our arse.

Last thing I need!

You're no better.

We make a right pair.

So you live here.

- You like it?

- Yes, it's nice.

You'll be fine here.

I sleep like a log.

That's a good sign.

Recognise her?

You've seen her.

Oh? Who is it?

Magda.

Five years ago.

That was a good period.

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