Before You Can Properly Suck It

Marcel Proust takes Gaius to Le Café Triomphe.

They sit at a table outside. Marcel beckons a waiter.

L'habituel? asks the waiter.

D'accord, says Marcel.

The waiter brings lime blossom tea, and a small plate of madeleines.

Now tell me.... begins Gaius.

No wait, says Marcel. First, I must do this.

He picks up a madeleine, and dips it in his hot tea.

The tip of the madeleine becomes soggy and drops to the bottom of the teacup where lime blossoms are slowly unfurling.

Merde! says Marcel. The modern madeleine is too fresh, and the end drops off when dipped in the tea before you can properly suck it.

Let me try, says Gaius. He dips a tiny shell-shaped biscuit into his lime blossom tea, whips it expertly up to his mouth, and sucks it loudly.

Shwuuurp!

Marcel winces.

Does sucking it bring back any memories? he asks Gaius.

No, says Gaius. But next time it's bound to.

What do you mean? asks Marcel. How can it be that .... oh I see. You are having a joke with me to distract me from my disappointment and at the same time providing me with a gentle lesson, that if I try again, perhaps when the biscuit is older and staler, or the tea is cooler, I may yet recapture the memory...

I didn't mean that, says Gaius. I meant it will remind me of your long-windedness, with the result that.... jumping Jupiter, it's catching!

Sorry, says Marcel. What if I revert to clown mode?

Please do, says Gaius. And while you're in clown mode, perhaps you'll explain something to me.

What? asks Marcel. (Note: he has asked it briefly)

What was so funny about 'What a nice jester?' asks Gaius (because typically, he had failed to get it).

It sounds like 'What a nice gesture', says Marcel. Now do you get it?

A nice gesture? says Gaius. Your gesture, so-called, was to invite me to sit on a ball which was non-existent. Had I done so, I could have hurt myself badly. I had just ridden all the way from Chantilly, and had not yet warmed down.

Yes, and for that I am sorry, says Marcel. Let us put the past behind us and look to the future.

Agreed, says Gaius. Tell me more about this poisonous cave. How do we get there?

We fly to Bucharest, says Marcel. As you use the term 'we', I take it you're coming?

I normally travel by bicycle, says Gaius. Flights are expensive.

I get cheap flights with Wizz Air, says Marcel. A Hungarian airline. Only thirty euro per person.

That's very reasonable, says Gaius. And.... when we get there?

Marcel leans forward.

We travel to a barren featureless plain, below which lies the Morvine Cave, with its poisonous gases. We lower ourselves down a narrow shaft by means of a rope. The only light will be the light on our helmets......

He pauses.

The gleam in Proust's eye intercepts the gleam in the eye of Gaius Plinius Secundus.

Go on, says Gaius.

Proust picks up his tea cup.

We climb through narrow limestone tunnels, coated in ochre clay and emerge into a central cavern containing a lake which smells strongly of.........faugh! Waiter!

He has swallowed a mouthful of lime blossom tea-soaked fragments of madeleine biscuit.

How very unpleasant.