Positive Thoughts

Jesus broke the silence first.

Well, everybody farts, he said.

That's not the point, said Marie. Why did Zola give that character your name?

He had long hair, said Belle et Bonne.

But what was the subtext? pursued Marie.

To show what sort of people the villagers were, said Belle et Bonne. Their sense of humour and their attitude towards religion. And also, perhaps, to bring some lightness and humour into a grim story of rape, murder, greed and extortion.

I always wanted to write a novel, said Jesus.

Why don't you? asked Marie.

No literary talent, said Jesus.

But you tweet beautifully, said Belle et Bonne. And I bet you keep a diary.

I do, said Jesus. I started one last Easter.

How about writing something for Velosophy, said Marie. Something philosophical.

I don't know, said Jesus. I don't really have anything philosophical to say.

Yes you do, said Belle et Bonne. You have Do Unto Others.

Oh that, said Jesus modestly. It's just simple game theory really.

It is, agreed Marie. And it doesn't always work. Anyway, think about it. You don't have to be wise. The only thing Uncle Vello and David insist on is that whatever you write, there has to be a bicycle in it.

Wow! said Jesus. I know as much about bicycles as the next man. I might just have a go. You know, I feel really positive now. You girls are a tonic. Let's stop and have a chocolate break.

I thought you'd eaten it all, said Belle et Bonne.

I bought some more, said Jesus.

Easter Sunday Revelations

As we are lagging behind in real time we shall not bother about the literary conversation our cycling friends had on Good Friday. Instead, we shall fast forward to another literary conversation which developed the following day.

No, let us leave that one as well, and catch up with them today, when a third interesting literary conversation develops.

It is now Easter Sunday, and the cycling holiday is going well. The weather has fined up, and the coast road is rolling alond beside the coast in an exemplary manner. Belle et Bonne, Marie and Jesus are riding side by side, happily but illegally. They are talking about Kobo and Baby Pierre.

Do you remember, asked Marie, the name of that novel that Kobo was reading? The one that Baby Pierre used in his example of how it was best not to know the future?

Yes, said Jesus. It was The Earth by Emile Zola. I meant to get it from the library. I wanted to find out what happened to poor Francoise.

Me too, said Marie. I just wondered if you'd read it.

I have! said Belle et Bonne. I love Zola. But I wouldn't recommend that YOU read it, she added, looking at Jesus. There's someone in it you might not like.

Me? said Jesus, surprised. Why not?

Well, said Belle et Bonne, there's a character in it called Jesus Christ, but he's not meant to be you.

That wouldn't bother me, said Jesus. What's he like?

He's a lazy reprobate and a thief, said Belle et Bonne, and worst of all....oh no, I don't want to tell you.

What? said Marie. You have to tell us now!

Yes, you have to, said Jesus.

Alright, said Belle et Bonne. You asked for it. He farts all the time, on purpose, and for fun, to amuse his friends and his daughter.

Marie and Jesus were silent for a moment, digesting this.

The Terrible Fate of Poor Francoise

Wait a minute, said Frog. What's to become of me?

What? said Baby Pierre. Come on!

No, said Frog. I'm worried. You're alright. You're a stone.

I am, said Baby Pierre. And I know this much. It's a terrible thing to know the future.

Why? asked Frog, settling down on the poisoned grass. Tell me why it's a terrible thing.

I will, said Baby Pierre, sitting down next to his friend. It's something I learned from Auntie Kobo.

What does Kobo know about the future? asked Frog. She's a fossilised clam!

She loves to read, said Baby Pierre. And a terrible thing happened to her last week. She started a book called The Earth, by Emile Zola. But she made the mistake of reading the introduction first.

Now I know what's going to happen, said Frog.

No you don't, said Baby Pierre. She was reading the introduction quite happily when
she suddenly found herself reading about something that happens to one of the characters, Francoise. A truly terrible thing. Her sister Lise deliberately and impulsively pushes her onto a scythe, and she dies, her belly and unborn child slit open by the blade.

Eeuuuw! said Frog. That's horrible! Why was Kobo reading a book like that?

It's a classic of French realism, you ningnong, said Baby Pierre. The point is, Auntie Kobo had to read the whole book knowing that was going to happen. And she hated it.

Frog sighed.

It was only a book, he said. That hardly equates to my existential angst. I'm going to get old and soft and die. You're not.

You are shiny and hard and green, said Baby Piere confidently. It won't happen for ages and ages.

Look again, said Frog.

Oh Sweezus! said Baby Pierre. You're going red!