20.
FIFTH ACT.
At camp.
Dramatis Personae. English Aviators, then, The Major, Bécassine.
Successively all the aviators return to base. They are astonished to find neither the Major nor his aeroplane. They are also astonished to hear shooting from the German trenches, in an area that has been quiet for days. Gatherings, discussions.
The captain and first lieutenant deliberate. The Major must have received an order and left on the spur of the moment. Perhaps he is in danger, in which case it would be adviseable to seek him out and offer assistance.
Suddenly there's a shout: "A plane!" A black dot comes into view in the East. Rapidly it grows. The captain and the lieutenant have their binoculars out, watching.
There's no doubt. It's the Major's aeroplane. A few minutes later it touches down like a large bird in the middle of the camp. They run and gather round it.
The Major (who has leapt nimbly to the ground, and is galantly offering his hand to Bécassine): "Step down ... chatterbox ... brave chatterbox."
Surprise all around as they take in the unfamiliar observer the Major has brought with him. Who is this woman? What is she doing here? The Major has relapsed into his usual silence. Bécassine gives a confusing explanation. Finally she is taken back to BLANK in an automobile.
FINAL SCENE.
Dénouement and apotheosis.
At camp the next morning.
The same characters, plus the Motorcyclist.
The messenger whom you have already met comes carrying a new message for the commander of the airfield. The Major reads it. As inscrutable as he is, his face glows with great satisfaction. He orders, "Get me the chatterbox ... the brave chatterbox."
21.
The town isn't more than a few kilometres. Not many minutes are required for the order to be executed. When Bécassine arrives, the flyers gather round her in a circle. The Major steps forward, solemn and moved.
The Major (with effort): "I want to say ... I must ... Brave chatterbox, I bring you ... congratulations of the general staff ... excellent photos ... invaluable intelligence ... I am charged with presenting this medal of merit." (He pins it on her.)
A Voice in the Crowd: "Give her a kiss, Major!"
The Major: "Is that creditable conduct?"
Omnes: "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
The Major, blushing like a young girl, kisses Bécassine, who is no less worried. Unanimous applause. They mob Bécassine. The flyers grasp her by the hand.
A Lieutenant: "Tell me, Miss Bécassine, have you ever flown before?"
Bécassine: "Never!"
The Major: "Nevertheless ... the people ... the farmers ... they said ... that you had flown."
Bécassine (laughing): "They said that I had stolen their turkey."
The Major lets out a long "Oi!" which is for him the most eloquent expression of surprise, then, succumbing to the general enthusiasm, he speaks again (never has he spoken so much) and says, "Oi! The French ... a bit longwinded ... but astonishing ... admirable ... all of them!"
End of "Bécassine and Major Tacy-Turn."
22.
A few days after my adventures in the aeroplane, one morning as I was finishing dressing my mistress, she looked at me very attentively and said that she thought I looked pale, and she was concerned I might be unwell. Without responding, I put out my tongue. It wasn't as a sign of disrespect, but because I'd always noticed that doctors make their patient do that during an examination. "Put in your tongue," said Madame, "and tell me if you feel ill."
"No, Madame," I responded. "Probably my fright in the aeroplane has left me with a broken-down appearance. I have some spinning of the head, and aches in my stomach and liver. I wouldn't be surprised if it were cholera with complications of brain fever, but I promise you, I don't feel ill."
"Not ill, with all those things!" said Madame. And our landlady, who now came into the room, cried, "Ah! sorrow and calamity! if she is sick, Madame!" Despite my protests, they decided to take me to see the doctor.
The three of us went, and all the way down the road, Madame Ferluyr -- that's the name of our landlady -- repeated to me that I looked pale, that I was wasting away, and that I must hold onto her, in case my spinning head should make me topple.
Between you and me, that good Madame Ferluyr has a mortal fear of illness. All day she dusts and polishes through the house, not for appearance's sake, but from a fear of microbes. You can't help laughing every time she opens her mouth, even though it's to say, "Sorrow and calamity!" which she repeats from morning to night.
We arrived at the doctor's, and he received us right away. He was a fat little man, bald, who spoke very softly, like someone falling asleep. Naturally, he went through the ceremony of inspecting my tongue, feeling my pulse, and asking me how I felt. And then he told Madame that nothing would go wrong if I obeyed his orders: rest, immobility, diet; and tea, soothing tea, and plenty of it.
"Count on me!" declared Madame Ferluyr. She brought me home and, as soon as we arrived, installed me in an armchair with a blanket over my egs and a coverlet on my head, to avoid chills, she said.
23.
And she began to pour tea into me: mallow tea, lime tea, camomile, borage, and I don't know what else. There was no point in resisting: she made me swallow all her hot water by force, like a nurse with her baby.
Sitting like that gave me pins and needles in my legs, and the teas made my heart race, but if I attempted to escape the armchair, the landlady put me back in it, and then she started to wipe and rub everywhere I had gone, with all her strength, repeating, "Sorrow and calamity! She's sowing microbes through the entire house!"
After two days of them keeping me like that, I thought I really would get sick. Madame asked the doctor to come and take a look at me. He looked at me for less than a minute and said, "Nothing will go wrong if you obey my orders. She needs fresh air, exercies, recreation, and plenty of food."
"But, Doctor," remarked Madame, "that's nothing like your earlier advice."
"Truly, Madame, as that was not a success, I prescribe the opposite. Therein lies the science of medicine."
I liked those orders much better than the first ones. It didn't take me long to burst out of the armchair, the blanket, the coverlet and the tea, despite the lamentations of my sick-nurse about the microbes I was sowing.
I ate a large beefsteak, with a little glass of old Bordeaux that Madame herself poured. And I walked out of doors on light feet, can you guess where? To the English camp, where I said hello to my friend Major Tacy-Turn, and all the flyers. They were very glad to see me, and the pleasure of it cured me of any illness I might have had.
Since then I have not given up walking about the town and everywhere in the countryside. It has caused me to fill out and get my colour back, and it led me to an adventure, which I will tell you.
Comments