It didn’t look like a pub, really. ‘La tête de cochon’ was more like an old person’s house with a bar in the middle of it. Everything was quite run down, but clean. That’s what happens when things are polished daily for almost a century: they look shiny and worn out at the same time.

The assorted wooden table and chairs were like that. Dark cherry wood, wavy legs. The counter-top was like that too. It was made of copper, scratched all over and waxed until it shone like a blurred mirror. On the walls, there were posters, paintings. There were cats and clowns, a fisherman under the moonlight, a patch of trees in watercolor. A giant puzzle of Charlie Chaplin. Despite being the early afternoon, the pub had around seven or eight customers, sitting around tables or chatting at the counter. They were quite different from each other: old women on a herbal tea break, three men in their forties playing card, a family, a woman in a painter’s overall talking to the owner. Andy and Josh chose a table that was near the entrance.

The seats were two chairs on one side and on the other a leather couch continuing along the wall to other tables. Josh made eye contact with a few people. They said their welcomes, Josh answering with his clumsiest ‘Bonjour’.

When the bartender came to their table, he managed to order a coffee, but asking for the closest auto repair shop was bound to be a hurdle. To Josh’s disappointment, Andy ordered a cheap bottle of wine for himself in English, leaving any further explanation to his co-escapist.

For Andy, reality was becoming less of a thing as he lost grasp of himself. It made him more blunt, less caring. It made him fall harder.

Josh was at his wit’s end. His friend, his partner seemed to have lost all purpose and was becoming dead weight. Josh didn’t even know if he was being blamed for the mess they were in or if he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was about to blow a fuse and give inert Andy a piece of his mind when a voice called him out.

“Is it English I hear?” said a woman. She was just standing near their table, waiting for an answer. An elderly woman with white hair and a large beige coat thought for people who really fear the cold. “It’s been so long,” she said, “but I still think I still got it. Maybe I can help?”

Josh lit up. “An interpreter! That’s great, exactly what we need! I was preparing myself for half an hour of imitating a car breaking down. If you know how to speak French, ma’am, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Indeed I do”, she said. They exchanged a handshake. “I’m Gladys Giraud, nice to meet you.”

Josh hesitated a bit. “Joshua. This is Andy,” he said, waving at his partner who vaguely nodded back. Ms. Giraud looked at them alternatively, trying to find out where the unease was coming from. She dropped the analysis pretty quickly.

“Well,” she said, “I left my friends waiting, but if you need to talk about your issues, you can just come along.”

“I’d love to,” said Josh. “Andy?”

Andy cleared his throat, trying to focus on what they were saying. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there shortly.” He plastered an unconvincing smile on his face and went back to his trademark silence.

“OK,” said Josh, “well, we’ll be over there.”

---

Ms. Giraud introduced Josh to her favorite friends Annette and Marie-Jeanne, always ready for a game of dominoes. Josh waved, smiled, nodded at their sweet high-pitched voices. He didn’t make a single word out. French language, man. Neighbors, yet so far away.

After a while, Ms. Giraud turned the conversation back to English. “So,” she said, “you’re having car trouble, if I head right? Is that all?” She looked at Andy at his table: still drinking and drinking fast.

Josh felt embarrassed. “Yeah, he’s alright,” he said, even though he was very obviously not. “We’ve had a long day already. We’re traveling, you see? Touring France, maybe Spain, but the vehicle we were using just broke down half an hour ago.”

“Really”, she said. “What bad luck. Is your car old?”

“It’s more a van and yes, it’s old. We made our quarters in the cargo space, it’s decent,” he said. He frowned suddenly: “I had it checked by a mechanic the day before we left! I don’t get it.”

Ms. Giraud let out a short sigh in disbelief. “From the sound of it, you’ve been robbed blind.”

“No,” said Josh, “I know the guy. He may have been sloppy, lazy, but he wouldn’t rob me. He’s a straight arrow.” Josh paused. “Still, we’re in trouble. We just stopped here to buy some food, cheese, glorious French bread, but the engine won’t (turn back on). It looks serious. That’s what we need help with, by the way. Do you know of any mechanic around here who could check on the vehicle quickly?”

“Yes I do,” said Ms. Giraud, “I know just the right person for it! Truth to be told, I stopped driving a few years back when my sight became bad: now it scares me. But every time I needed help I turned to Julien and he was efficient. Not the most talkative one, but a good heart and he gets the job done.”

Josh relaxed and reclined in his chair. “Sounds perfect. Does he understand English by any chance?”

“Oh, Joshua… No one in a small countryside village like this is usually that good at foreign languages. That’s what happened to me, you know. I left England more than fifty years ago when I married André. Handsome French man, he was exotic enough for me and I wanted out of Manchester, anyway. Going to France, or anywhere else, really? Take me with you, I said. Getting married was the convenient way of doing that at the time. Well, I came to be here and I hadn’t though about how isolating it would be to be a young English girl in the French countryside. No one understood what I said and it took me a long time to really get the French language. Even now, some conjugations are a mystery to me. I just take a stab I the dark. When people make strange faces, I know I probably said something wrong.”

“Sounds rough,” said Josh. It was hard to focus on the problems at hand when people digressed like that. Ms. Giraud sounded like she was more likely to tell her entire life story before giving him the address of that repair shop. “About that mechanic, do you think you could give me directions? It would be great if I could get there today, have him look at the van.”

She thought about it for a while. “You know what?” she said, “I’ll take you there. It will be easier and if you don’t speak French, talking to Julien will be nearly impossible anyway. Plus it will allow me some more English-speaking time which I really missed, I have to say. Shall we go?”

“Right away?” said Josh. He looked at Andy who was staring at nothing in particular, a glass of wine in hand. Ms. Giraud followed that look.

“He looks busy enough,” she said. “Let’s take a walk. We’ll be back before he knows it.”

Josh looked at Andy again. It was pretty likely. “All right,” he said, “let’s go find that repair shop.”