Enough About Love

THOMAS AND LOUISE

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IT IS THE LAST SUNDAY IN FEBRUARY. Thomas has taken Louise, Judith, and Maud to the races in Vincennes. They have never seen trotting races, or any sort of horse racing, period. Louise could not make up her mind because it was drizzling, it was windy, it was cold, but she wanted to please Thomas. They are in the grandstand, to the west of the track.

“The second race will start in two minutes” is called out over the loudspeakers.

“I haven’t been for years. When I was ten, I used to come with my grandfather, he always bet on the second and fourth races, very small stakes.”

“Could we bet too?” Judith asks.

Thomas is in favor, but as he turns to Louise, she scowls.

“Absolutely not,” she says. “I know all about these places. They launder dirty money.”

“How does money get dirty, mom?” Maud asks.

“Just for one race,” Thomas persists. “Coming here and not betting really would be a shame.”

“Please yourself,” Louise sighs. “But I’m not putting one centime of my money into this.”

“Great,” says Thomas. “Come on, girls, we’re having a go at it.”

The betting booths are close by. They are back in a flash, the girls holding slips in their hands.

“I backed Cabbage Patch Hurricane to win, mom,” cries Judith. “He was sixty-seven to one!”

“And I backed Oscars Night to place,” adds Maud. “At thirty-eight to one!”

The girls’ excitement raises a smile from Louise.

“They really are a dead loss, the pair of them,” Thomas says apologetically, “but the girls liked their names so much. They spent ten euros each. Is that okay? It’s pretty reasonable.”

“Twenty euros in all? It’s far too much, Thomas. It’s ridiculous.”

“The second race will start in one minute,” says the announcer.

“The horses are on the track over there,” Thomas explains. “They’re going to line up in front of us for the start, and when the pistol’s fired, they’ll set off at top speed, turn over there to the east and come back in front of us for the finish.”

“Which one is Cabbage Patch Hurricane?” Judith asks.

“He’s number 12, over there. With the purple hat.”

The little girls are startled by the bang of the starting gun, then they giggle at their jumpiness and start screaming the names of their respective horses. Thomas roars with laughter, Louise is embarrassed.

“Not so much noise, girls, you’re disturbing other people.”

The geldings are already tackling the sweeping turn. Judging by the commentary, Judith’s horse is in quite a good position. The favorite, Piet van Dresde, has slightly grazed his pastern and is not at his best. His rival, Orus de Bruxelles, is finding the heavy going difficult. The others are giving a mediocre performance. When the horses cross the finish line, the commentator announces: “First: number 12, Cabbage Patch Hurricane. Second: number 10, Oscars Night. Third: number 3, Piet van Dresde.”

“Did they win?” Louise asks, astonished.

Thomas is no less surprised.

“I can’t believe it. Yes, your daughters have won. And both of them, too.”

Judith and Maud jump and dance for joy, jigging in a circle and singing, “We won, we won!”

“Did they back Hurricane to win?” a tall man asks with a note of astonishment as he tears up his own betting slip. “That bag of bones? Some people have all the luck.”

“Hu-rri-cane! Hu-rri-cane!” the girls chant.

“Stop! Calm down, girls. But … Thomas … how much have they won?”

“It’s incredible. Almost a thousand euros between them.”

“A thou-sand! A thou-sand! A thou-sand!”

“Quiet!” Louise barks furiously. “Come on, we’re going home.”

“But, mommy, can’t we bet again?” Judith asks.

“No, I said we’re going home. Do you hear me?”

“Please, mommy,” Maud wheedles. “Thomas said we could bet again on the fourth race.”

“I said no. And it’s me who decides, not Thomas. Okay?”

Louise snatches her daughters by the hand and drags them down from the grandstand in spite of their protestations. Thomas does not argue. He goes to collect the winnings and meets them back at the car, where they are already sitting in their seats. Louise is at the wheel, silent; the engine is running and the girls are chirping away in the back. Thomas produces a roll of bills.

“What shall we do with this honestly won money?”

Louise does not reply. She drives off and slips onto the beltway, staring at the road ahead, stony-faced.

“Can you explain, Louise? What’s going on? I thought the whole thing was funny.”

“You don’t understand anything. No, Thomas, it’s not funny. The girls are so overexcited, you might as well have given them cocaine.”

“Cocaine?”

“That’s exactly right. Gambling’s addictive, didn’t you know that? And I don’t even recognize my own daughters. I’m angry with you.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry … Well, it’s too late. I know plenty of people who blow everything in casinos, even their pension. Do you really want to know? My own mother, that’s who. My mother. In Enghien. And even now she goes whenever she can. I can’t tell you the memories this brings back.”

“You should have told me …”

“I didn’t want to go to Vincennes, but you insisted. There. You won.”

They sit in silence. For a long time. The traffic moves sluggishly. In the back, the girls have stopped talking. Thomas turns around: they are asleep, exhausted. The dashboard gives off a long beeping sound.

“Damn. I’ve run out of gas,” Louise says irritably. “And I don’t have my credit card.”

“I have some cash,” Thomas whispers. “Quite a lot, even.”

She does not answer. He looks sideways at her. Louise’s lips sketch a smile, which grows wider. Gradually they succumb to hysterical laughter, the car zigzags slightly. The girls do not wake.