I have mentioned the phrase “mise à l’air” before in one of my stories. It is a French expression which means to strip someone naked, completely removing all the victim’s clothes.
Daniel’s story
At the end of the 70’s a movie comedy called “Les Bronzés” came out in France. It was an immediate success and has since become cult for French people. If I introduce this movie its because dad took me to see it. It came out when I was still young but it still got screened regularly and was also shown on tv. That was something I shared with dad. Mom was more interested in high brow art, but dad liked popular comedies. This movie basically promoted the lifestyle of sea, sex and sun. There was a funny, but awkward character called Jean-Claude Dusse, played by a scrawny actor. He tried to get girls but always failed. There is a very popular scene where he tried to flirt with some girls on the beach, but he becomes annoyed and then rude because they don’t respond to him. Ultimately he ends up being stripped when two guys steal his shorts in the sea, giving him a “mise à l’air”.
Anyhow I remember dad and I laughing so hard with others in the audience and I think it shows how the spirit of the time was very encouraging towards this sort of prank. It was really something that people took as an hilarious joke, one that was made into a popular movie scene. But there is more to this memory, which is why I take time to put it into context.
Dad often took us to Club Med, a famous and popular, all-inclusive holiday brand that had resorts all over the country. We often went south on the Riviera. Actually “Les bronzés” satirizes this style of vacation. One summer we went there and took Anne, my younger cousin and her younger brother Stéphane. We got along well, loved playing in the pool, but there was an older boy there, Bertrand. He was a gangly teen around 17 and he kept bothering Anne. He would flick water on her in the pool, or throw a beach-ball so that it bounced on her face… really stupid stuff to get her attention. Maybe he actually fancied her although at the time I didn’t see it that way. I was still young, maybe 15.
One day we were in the pool with dad. Bertrand was not far from us and he was pestering Anne. He was being really irritating, so, thinking of the film, on impulse I said to dad “Il est trop chiant Betrand, on devrait lui faire une Jean-Claude Dusse” (Bertrand is too annoying, we should give him a Jean-Claude Dusse). Dad sort of looked at me and I saw his eyes brighten and then he laughed. And with complicit smile all over his face said “Chiche?” (Sure… why not?!).
I just got fired up and excited. Dad and I swam across the pool and sneaked behind Bertrand. He was as thin as a twig and dad just wrapped his arms around Bertrand’s upper body trapping his arms and let himself down underwater taking him with him. I dived and went straight for Bertrand’s swimming trunks. It was almost as if we were inspired by the film. I wrestled Bertrand’s trunks away from his long leggy body and came up shaking them in front of everyone.
When dad saw I was done he let Bertrand go. Bertrand was taken totally by surprise and when he realized he was completely naked in the pool and not only was Anne close by, but lots of young kids and couples, he panicked… He lost it, but instead of keeping his cool and going to grab his towel by his seat, Bertrand sort of rushed towards the opposite side of the pool where there were less people and clumsily climbed out naked and started running on the grass towards the bungalow areas to hide. He slipped and fell along the way which made everyone laugh as if we were watching a burlesque silent movie. Him, being lanky, also looked funny all naked. He was so ashamed and humiliated that he never bothered my cousin again and never came to the pool when we were around.
Nobody said anything, or told us off about it. I even remember at diner when we told mom, our friends and other people there what had happened, most of them wanted to know the details and found it funny. I kept bragging saying I did a “Jean-Claude Dusse” and it was like most people knew what I meant. They had seen the movie so it was all deemed good fun.
There was this atmosphere of pleasure-seeking; the culture of Club Med, “sea, sex and sun”. So I think this is why the “mise à l’air” was accepted by onlookers. For Bertrand however it was mortifying, and it must have increased his humiliation knowing a kid who was two years younger had taken off his trunks in front of the girl he probably secretly fancied. It gave me some prestige, an edge I used during our vacation as I was bragging and flaunting my little victory to those who listened. Just telling another kid who didn’t know about Bertrand’s pool incident was like gaining a little edge. Revealing his secret, telling them how he had his trunks stolen by me, made him look silly to anyone. So Bertrand would get teased. It was like stealing some of his pride and gaining more for myself. You could just sense he was anxious and uncomfortable when we were around.
I was still immature and needed attention, but hey, we all find our ways. Mine was more aggressive you could say. Not sure why, I just got something out of it. I even hoped I could make Bertrand cry if I kept teasing him. It’s hard to explain. It was so intense, you have no idea. But don’t get me wrong, it was lots of fun too. Well it was also a way to prolong the feeling of superiority I felt after seeing him ridiculously darting back to his bungalow buck naked. Whenever I saw him I couldn’t shake off that image, so he didn’t look like a mature seventeen year old, more like an oafish child who couldn’t control his emotions.
Before I go any further I should say that it wasn’t my plan, or even my intention, to make Bertrand cry. However, events unfolded in such a way that it would have been foolish of me not to take advantage of them.
Each year the families on holiday organized a barbecue party in the afternoon with games for children. The party took place the day before we left and about ten days after Bertrand’s “mise à l’air” in the pool. There were a a good dozen families with children, and each one took part, bringing something to cook, eat and drink. The atmosphere was fun and lighthearted, and we even had some music playing in the background. Most of the time Bertrand avoided me and even when we bumped into each other, I could feel there was a tension between us. I think he resented what I had done and kept a grudge. I could feel he was angry with me, but I didn't care. Quite the opposite. I was glad I got into his head and kept showing off to my mates on purpose and making fun of him.
He had come along with his mom, but it pissed me off. I was annoyed that he was there. I didn't want to see him. I don't really know how to say it, but his presence irritated me. I wanted to have fun with my cousins and friends without him bothering us. He didn't have many friends of his age and often hung out with kids from outside the village resort who didn't know him like we did. But with the kids on holiday he was a bit of an outcast. We never paid attention to him when we got together, especially after the pool incident. They all thought he deserved it.
At one point, I told my cousin Odette that I was fed up with him being there, that we shouldn't have invited him. I felt he was going to spoil the mood and Odette felt the same. I even asked dad why Bertrand had been invited. He told me it was normal because his mom was friends with the families and so if his mother was coming, she was bound to bring her son. He said all I had to do was ignore him.
Bertrand’s mother was called Ginette, she was short and round. I remember dad once seeing them at the market doing their shopping and joking saying, “Here comes Laurel and Hardy". It had made me and mom laugh. It was true, if you saw them walking at a distance you could see Bertrand was like a tall twig and Ginette was a short-legged and chubby woman. She was bossy, set up curfew times and didn’t let Bertrand have too much freedom, which was probably why he was still spending his vacation with his mom at his age.
At first I tried to ignore Bertrand, but when the parents asked the children to help set up the table, the two of us ended up in the kitchen of our holiday flat, since my family was providing the cutlery. Of course when I found myself next to him in our kitchen it was awkward. I was waiting for my mom to tell us what to take to the tables and Bertrand was really getting on my nerves. I don't really know what was going on in my mind, but I just wanted to kick him out of our flat. I was on edge, but as some adults were around, I knew I couldn't do anything so direct, or if I had my parents would’ve punished me. I had to find some other way so that I wouldn’t get caught, or so that whatever I tried would pass unnoticed. I remember taking a pile of plates and waiting for him to go out. I didn’t want him walking behind me. As I watched him I had this impulse to pull his shorts down to humiliate him. It sort of crossed my mind because of the way he was dressed. He wore a t-shirt that seemed too small and a pair of those satiny light blue running shorts with white stripes on the side, that seemed to cling to his “derrière”. He was wearing sandals with socks which I found ridiculous. Perhaps his mom picked his clothes.
Maybe it was all the skin showing, or the way his skinny frame moved awkwardly, but there was something that made me want to pants him. I didn’t because at the same time I was aware of the parents looking at us from the barbecue spot, where they were busy trying to light the charcoal. I soon set the plates down and made another trip to the kitchen. This time Bertrand wasn’t there. That’s when something caught my eye. It was a thin towel we used to dry the dishes. You might wonder what this towel has to do with my impulse at giving Bertrand another pantsing. Well, among the memories of middle school locker room pranks, the “towel snap” was an activity that I practised quite a lot. I got hit by my mates coming out of the shower and I hit some back too. But after I first got caught in this boy’s game I started to practise at home and I often used this towel because it was light enough and really efficient. I remember practising the snap on my bedroom door and by the sound of the whipping effect I could tell how successful it would be. I remember feeling the pain I got when some of my mates had done it to me, so I knew how effective it was. I thought I could get away with a towel snap much easier than with pantsing Bertrand, but I would need to time it perfectly. I couldn’t do it while setting up the table because there were too many eyes on us. But when the parents finished lighting up the barbecues and started cooking the meat, most of the adults were focused on watching the barbecue or preparing other dishes in the kitchen. I had taken the towel with me and dipped the end in water.
Then came the moment when food was ready. They called the smaller kids who were served first and had their own table. Then it was us teens. Everyone came with his plate and got served. I didn’t take my plate yet, but I was queuing up with the others observing Bertrand. When he got his plate served Bertrand started walking back to our table. He walked slowly enough so that he wouldn’t spill his plate and I sneaked behind him, preparing my towel as I span it in rounds. It was safe because the adults were focused on serving and the only ones close to me were my friends and my cousin Odette. I was all set, and before Bertrand even got to the table I whipped the towel towards his bum making a perfect snapping noise that connected with his backside. Everything happened so fast. He let out a loud shriek. But before any adults understood what had happened, I threw the towel away on the grass. What really saved me, was that not only did he react so vocally but he also dropped his plate on the ground with all the food. The kids around all noticed and taken aback pointed at the food, so that this is all the parents, who were now looking in our direction, saw. Bertrand turned around and finally saw me. I laughed and stuck my tongue out so he knew it was me. But nobody else did, apart from a few kids and they had no intention of saying anything.
I think something snapped in Bertrand because he yelled out that he would “kill me” and started chasing me around the backyard. That’s when I knew I would get away with my prank. The parents heard him and saw the food spilled on the ground. Ginette, his mom, was furious and told him to come back and pick up his plate. But he was now running full speed after me. I could see he could turn to be reckless and violent if he ever caught me, so I had to be smart. I escaped by reaching the swings and making sharp turns so that he would be misled. It slowed him down and made him trip over a couple of times because of the slippery grass as his sandals were less practical than my running sneakers. Stupid boy! He couldn’t catch me. Ha-ha-ha... I laughed inwardly with pride. His frustration got him close to tears. It was rage and anger from being shown up and ridiculed by a younger boy. But that is not when I really made him tear up and cry, rather it was a step which led to it.
Maybe I should speed things up or I’ll end up with a novel. What happened was that his mom, Ginette, was mad. She kept blaming him and came after him. As she reached him he actually pushed her away. I was shocked. He was acting so erratically and was incoherent with rage. Dad saw us and came to my rescue. He tackled Bertrand on the grass using his rugby skills. Then dad wrestled him to keep him still. He tried to get Bertrand to calm down but couldn’t. So another father, dad’s friend, came to help and they both held him down. I was just standing there watching, as ironically things turned my way. Now the bad guy was definitely Bertrand, as he was acting up. If only he had remained calm and told them what I’d done. But maybe, I thought, he was too ashamed or enraged to even explain and try to plead his cause. He was overwhelmed, had lost it and just threw a fit like a bratty toddler who couldn’t control his emotions. His mom said something to both fathers which I didn’t hear and they both lifted him off the ground and held him by his shoulders, dragging him inside our flat while everyone stared. Bertrand didn’t even walk, his feet were just scraping the ground. Ginette was simply livid with her son and so embarrassed. But I asked myself, what had she told dad? What was going to happen… that I did not want to miss, so like all mischievous and nosy kids, I discretely followed them.
Well guess what, they took him straight into the bathroom, but sadly they closed the door right behind them. Ugh! You can imagine how frustrated I was. Still, I could hear some of what was going on, but that only made me even more anxious to know what was happening.
The first thing I remember was hearing Ginette saying “Calme-toi Bertrand !” (Calm down Bertrand!) Then to Dad and his friend she said, “Tenez-le bien et déshabillez-le” (Hold him tight and undress him). What?! Did I hear that right? They were going to strip Bertrand. I was stunned. Why did they plan on stripping Bertrand? For what? What was really going on in there… it was confusing. I heard a big ruckus, like bodies struggling and the sound of furniture being kicked. There was obviously some sort of struggle going on, clearly physical, along with some incoherent wailing like “Naaahhaaannnn Waaaahhahaaa…” coming from Bertrand. It sounded increasingly like crying and less like anger and rage. His voice croaked, like he was pleading.
I could hear dad and his friend saying “Allez Betrand, maintenant ça suffit, tu te calmes ou c’est la fessée!” (Come on Betrand, now that’s enough, calm down or get spanked!). Again I pinched myself. Really, they threatened him with a spanking! All the while Bertrand’s mom kept blaming her son and apologising for his rude conduct. I heard some sharp slaps followed by heightened high-pitched wails… someone was getting it… Then I heard the distinct sign of water start to flow. Again, I was puzzled. Why water? It’s not like he was dirty. I was so impatient. It was just too tempting. I had to see for myself. So I anxiously, but discreetly, tried to open the door without being seen nor heard. It was like exploring a secret cave, or going into some unknown territory despite being home. I’m sure you’re all wondering what was going on and why there was water running. I learned the reason, but let me tell you what I saw when I gradually opened the door…
I don’t think I can ever forget it. There inside the bathroom, the scene of Bertrand, completely naked and crouching inside the bathtub, his head bowed down but slowly bobbing up and down as he cried steadily. Ginette was sat on the edge of the bathtub close to Bertrand and holding the shower head just above his head spraying water all over his naked body. Dad and his friend were both smiling, both contemplating mother and son as if it was just a cute and funny scene. Bertrand was now quieter, subdued. He had changed within a few minutes from his raging tantrum at me outside. Then I noticed another detail. Dad was holding Bertrand’s t-shirt and sandals, while his friend had his shorts and briefs. But I still couldn’t connect all the dots. Why did Bertrand look so pacified almost sad. As I observed him more intensely I could see him shivering as if he was really cold. He looked so small, his arms wrapped across his knees as if he wanted to become smaller so that he could not be seen by anyone. I could sense his distress. And then Ginette, whose large frame was sat sideways so she could keep her balance on the bathtub facing the door, looked up and spotted me. Both our eyes connected and I suddenly felt ashamed as if I had seen something naughty or forbidden, something concerning adults. I expected her to chastise me and shoo me away. But she didn’t. Instead she took on a motherly compassionate smile as if she was sorry for her son’s behaviour. I understood instantly that she didn’t see me as having been the culprit; the cause of Bertrand’s tantrum. No, she thought it was all Bertrand’s fault. I was relieved and relaxed. I didn’t have to hide myself anymore.
“Je suis vraiment désolée Daniel pour son comportement, on a dû lui donner une douche froide pour le calmer.” (I'm really sorry Daniel for his behaviour, we had to give him a cold shower to calm him down) So that’s what all this scene and ruckus was about. They gave him a cold shower to calm him down. I had no idea! Ginette explained to me that her mother, Bertrand’s grandmother, had recommended this. She said when children threw tantrums it was common to calm them down using cold showers when she was younger, so it was something they did in her family. But she never thought she would have to resort to this method with her son. But after Bertrand’s outburst she saw no other way and remembered her mother’s advice. She was thankful to dad and his friend who helped her because she obviously couldn’t deal with Bertrand by herself. She much later went on to explain that his father had left them while Bertrand was nine years old and since then, he had become a difficult child. I didn’t understand the psychological aspects at the time, but now his behaviour with my cousin Anne actually made sense. Bertrand was obviously a very immature and insecure boy and was desperately seeking attention, trying to be seen. But I’m digressing. Back to the scene I was witnessing.
Ginette, who had just explained what was happening, instead of sending me away made a sign with her finger inviting me to enter. Dad saw me and welcomed me in. I was asked to close the door. I had not expected things to go this way. I’d expected to be told off. I got even more confused. What was I doing in this bathroom? But at the same time it was exciting watching this older boy looking so pitiful. Bertrand was crying non stop, a slow cry, but his voice was higher, trembling, like that of a small child. It must’ve been terribly embarrassing to have me see him naked and shivering inside the bathtub with his mom being there. I knew he hated me. But what I found weird was that he didn’t try to jump at me like in the garden. Bertrand seemed resigned as if he accepted that he was the bad one. But he wasn’t really, I knew the truth. I knew it was unfair to him. That he wasn’t responsible for dropping his plate. I felt a slight pang of guilt. I didn’t want to be purposely cruel, yet I felt a sort of pride at standing there fully dressed while he was naked, wet and cold. Bertrand didn’t dare look up to me. I could feel he was deeply ashamed at being exposed to me this way. It was like in the pool, where it had lasted only a few moments until he could run away. But now Bertrand was trapped in the bathroom and under close supervision of his mom and two adults. There was nowhere he could hide. I guess this is why he sort of gave up. He felt crushed. Yet I wondered why he had not reported me. He could’ve told everyone what I had done to him. That it was all because of me that he got into trouble. Why didn’t he try to question everyone’s assumption that he was guilty… and then I looked at him again and saw how broken and sad he looked, like a little trembling leaf, an oafish child lost in a mall, perhaps, desperately looking for his mummy’s hand. He looked nothing like the proud teenager who strutted around the pool to impress my cousin, showing off and behaving like he was an adult. As I looked at him again, I knew intuitively he had accepted his position, as if he had no choice. He was to be chastised after his outrageous tantrum and the cold shower from his mom would be his contrition time.
But why had I been let inside and asked to close the door?
Dad and his friend, who had overpowered and stripped Bertrand naked, said they needed to get back to the barbecue. They left Bertrand’s things on a shelf and both left closing the door behind them. I was left alone with Ginette and her son. It felt even more strange, like a closed hearing. Ginette turned the water off and pulled Bertrand up to dry him. He was taller than me but his skinny frame made him look weak and frail. I noticed how small his chest looked like for a 17 year old. He lacked substance as if he had stopped his growth around 12. Indeed, I could never be afraid of him. I remember how easily I was able to steal his swimsuit in the pool and smiled. I had noticed he had such thin wrists even my cousin Ann’s were larger. Bertrand looked so ashamed. Ginette made him turn his back to us and I saw some red marks on his bottom and legs. The traces of those slaps I’d heard during his struggle against dad and his friend. I’m sure Bertrand gave it everything he had when he fought them, knowing how he’d reacted when I snapped his bottom with the wet towel. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that this time dad had got a go at stripping Bertrand and the shared experience made me feel closer to dad.
Then Ginette put the towel away and stepped back to address both of us. “Bon, je veux que vous fassiez la paix avant de retourner à table.” (Okay, I want you to make peace before returning to the barbecue). I was still confused about the events. I thought everything seemed unreal. Ginette really wanted us to reconcile, to make peace and be friends, as if Bertrand could brush everything away as if it was water off a duck’s back.
I was inwardly smiling because I knew the whole truth… unlike Ginette. Yet Bertrand was cornered, by both his mom and me standing there before his naked frame. His crying was now slowly subsiding. But he looked confused, not knowing what to do. It was fascinating to observe him. A 17 year old with the pouting mouth of a disgruntled toddler. He certainly didn’t want to make peace. I knew that intuitively. But I was going to play along, just for fun.
As if I was acting in a play I extended my hand towards Bertrand with a warm smile. I was inviting him to set his anger and feelings aside. He didn’t know what to do. He hesitated. Ginette was awaiting impatiently. Finally, very timidly, Bertrand extended his hand and I took it. I grabbed his hand firmly and pulled his naked body towards me. He was startled and fell on to me, so I hugged him and closed my arms around his naked body as if I was tenderly embracing him. I patted his wet back gently as I said “T’inquiètes, je t’en veux pas va, allez on est copains.” (Don't worry, I don't blame you, come on, we're friends) He was so emotional. I raised my arm and kindly pulled his head over my shoulder so that he could feel secure and hide his face to cry in the hollow of my shoulder. I felt like I was his dad, his father figure he lacked and was seeking. I was now the authority figure and he was the little boy. Honestly, I did feel pity, but I felt affection too, like an older brother would.
Ginette said “Comme c’est chou, tu vois Bertrand que Daniel t’aime bien, allez maintenant je vous laisse” (How cute, you see Bertrand that Daniel likes you, come on now I'll leave you). She added “Daniel, aide-le à se rhabiller et ensuite tu le ramène à table” (Daniel, help him get dressed and then take him back to the table).
So Ginette was leaving me in charge. Now she left the bathroom as well, so it was just us two. There I was, holding Bertrand like he was my friend. But that was a lie. Did he really believe what I’d said! I knew it was only because of his mom that I had acted along. I didn’t want anyone to think I had bad intentions. I was clever enough to hide my true feelings while Ginette was in the room, but now I was grossed out. His moist skin felt weird and I dropped my mask of pretense. I didn’t have any sympathy for him and certainly didn’t want to play with him as if we were friends.
I told him very clearly “T’as pas intérêt à me coller sinon je te fous une déculottée.” (You don't have any interest in sticking to me otherwise I'll take your pants off). I slapped him on the side of his left thigh just for fun, imitating dad, and told him “Rhabille-toi, pleurnichard” (Get dressed, crybaby). He squealed like a child. I gave him his t-shirt, shorts and sandals. He looked at me imploring as if something was missing. I snapped “Pas de slip, il est confisqué, petit zizi” (No underwear for you, little willy, it's confiscated). That was my little cherry on the cake. I kept his briefs and put them in my pocket. He looked crestfallen but obeyed my every command. I knew I was the boss and would remain so if we ever crossed paths. I just felt like using the remaining time to assert my control and prolong his humiliation. I didn’t even let him wash his puffy red face and clean his snot away. As soon as he had put on his light satin shorts I took his hands and told him to follow me.
I could tell Bertrand was mortified to be dragged out of the bathroom, across the kitchen and outside as he was trying to pull back. But as soon as everyone saw us he became so compliant; following me like a puppy, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The tables were all set up and everyone was seated. There were two large table for adults, one for teenagers, where I would sit, and another table for small children, basically kids up to 10 years old, who had a different menu.
Ginette and my dad saw us walk pass them and said: “Alors, vous avez fait la paix tous les deux?” (So, have you two made peace?) “Plus de disputes de la journée!” (No more arguments today!)
“Regardez comme ils sont mignons” (Look how cute they are), Ginette added to everyone around who seemed happy to see Bertrand had calmed down. Ginette had probably told everyone what had happened while she was gone because someone asked Bertrand out of the blue: “Alors, elle était bonne ta douche?” (So, was your shower good?) which sparked a round of laughter that travelled from table to table.
Bertrand’s face was burning hot from shame as he suddenly became the centre of attention. There could be no hiding, no shyness, no secret. Just like his “mise à l’air” by a bratty younger me, it was bound to be known around the resort, making him the target of ridicule. And I wasn’t about to let him off so easily. As we approached closer to the table for teenagers I remembered my initial trigger. I didn’t want him around, he made me cringe. There was no way I was going to pretend I was his friend, especially in front of the other kids. No it was all a play, a comedy for the adults. So when we reached the table, where my cousins were also sitting, I noticed a free space. I suspected dad or someone might’ve put it there expecting Bertrand to join our table according to his age. But I didn’t want him there. He would spoil our fun. Besides he was boring and stuck up and my cousins Anne and her brother Stéphane didn’t like him either.
I asked them all with a mischievous smile “Qui a envie qu’il mange à notre table?” (Who wants him to eat at our table?) Of course nobody was too eager and none raised their hands, so I turned to Bertrand, “Bon, bah personne ne veut de toi, je crois qu’il ne reste que la table des petits” (Well, no one wants you here, I think there's only the kids' table left), I said jokingly. Nobody seemed to care so I dragged him to the last table where the smaller children were sat. There was a spot left at one end of the table. I took a stool and just pointed at him to sit. The children became silent and then started to whisper among themselves. I asked: “Que-ce que vous mangez les petits?” (What do you little ones eat?) They replied “De la viande avec des choux de bruxelles” (Meat with Brussels sprouts). I told Bertrand to wait. I went back to fetch a plate and fill it with the same food as little ones as if I was in charge.
Ginette saw me from her seat as I came back with a full plate, and called out: “On a presque terminé le plat principal, il faut qu’il mange mon fiston. Il est déjà assez maigrichon comme ça” (We're almost finished with the main course and my son has to eat. He's already skinny enough as it is) . Ginette was really a wonderful character. Very lively, extrovert and funny despite her earthiness which is why everyone liked her despite her irksome annoying son. I don’t think she realised how much like an infant she treated her almost adult child. She could say the most outrageous things and make everyone laugh. When she said that, it felt as if she was almost giving me the green light to embarrass her son in front of everyone.
I replied “Ginette, est-ce que je peux donner la becquée à Betrand?” (Ginette, can I help Betrand to eat? I’ll give him little mouthfuls because we don’t want him to choke) “Que t’es bête Daniel!” (Oh how funny you are, Daniel!) and she let out a chuckle, as if I had said something so foolish, but it was said in a way that made it sound as if she was unconcerned with what I did, as if she believed we had made friends and we were in a special relationship. She really had no clue I was trying to deliberately humiliate her son or if she did, she didn’t mind.
Dad, as if to tease her, added “Tu sais qu’il est capable de le faire” (You know Daniel can do it).
Ginette replied “Rooo arrêtez, vous croyez qu’il va se laisser donner la becquée par un plus petit?!” (Rooo stop, do you think he's going to let himself be fed by a smaller boy?!) And then she turned to me and said “Chiche que tu lui donne la becquée?” (I dare you to give him his food that way) as if she was challenging me and didn’t believe I could feed her son in such a manner. Well, I promised myself she would get a surprise. I wasn’t going to back down now.
I brought back the plate filled with meat and Brussels sprouts for Bertrand who was sat in silence. It was such a funny sight to see this tall frame, standing out like a sore thumb, sitting in the middle of all these cheerful childish faces. The little boys and girls giggling all around seemed so animated in contrast. I took a plastic cup and poured him an orange juice just like the kids. Then I took his fork and knife and in front of him, I started cutting his meat in small pieces as if he was my son and I was preparing his meal. I was getting into the mood of playing tea parties. I don’t think Bertrand understood what was going on. He seemed too stunned. Almost numb from all his crying and the cold shower experience. I don’t think I could’ve pulled it off otherwise.
But I had forgotten something. I ran away to the kitchen because I knew where to find what I needed to make things even funnier so that everyone would think it was just a prank and nothing more. I ran out of the kitchen shouting “J’ai retrouvé la bavoir de Juliette” (I found Juliette’s bib!). Juliette was the baby girl of one of the neighbours who often came to visit us for coffee or tea and would sometimes forget stuff at our flat. It was a pink bib with lots of young chicklets sewn in yellow. This time I hardly got any attention. Who cares. Adults were going on with their conversations drinking and getting tipsy. They were just vaguely watching us but it seemed they didn’t care. Good for them, now I can do as I please and play daddy.
When I came back to the table Bertrand was holding his fork as if about to eat, hoping the attention he had brought upon himself would disperse. Miscalculation. I slapped his hands away and told him “Qui t’as permis de manger? Si tu manges à la table des petits, c’est que tu es puni. Vilain garçon.” (Who said you could start eating? If you eat at the little ones’ table, it’s because you’re punished. Naughty boy) And I pulled the bib from behind my back and held it up in front of his horrified face. “Ta maman dit que tu es trop maigre et que tu manges pas assez de soupe, alors on va surveiller que tu termines bien ton assiette.” (Your mom says you're too thin and you don't eat enough, so we're going to make sure you finish your plate properly). I was chastising him in front of the small children who seemed both intrigued and amused. My cousins and the other kids who could just hear me, were all pointing fingers from their side at the ridiculous scene. So I went to tie the childish bib on Bertrand. He was so passive, so startled that he let me do it. Then I went to fetch a spare chair from the garden and sat sideways next to him so that I could be at his level. I told him with authority: “T’es un gros pleurnichard, alors je vais te donner la becquée comme aux bébes” (You're a big crybaby, so I'm going to feed you like a baby).
I was getting carried away. But nothing was really planned. I went with the flow. I just felt the atmosphere and when I saw the parents going about and being loud, some clearly drunk, I just let go. I felt confident and lost my inhibitions too, like in the pool. To me Bertrand was no more than a puppet to toy with. A plaything. I was getting intoxicated. But maybe that’s because of my parents, especially dad, and his general attitude. Nothing was really to be taken seriously with him. It was all about having fun. That is just who we were as a family. Some could say lewd, I would say bawdy, which is a very special type of humour. Just like the Brits have their sense of humour we have “Humour Gaulois”.
So that you get an idea of what the atmosphere around our resort was like, I should add that my dad, even though he was married and very much in love with mom, would slap Ginette’s ass playfully by surprise in the kitchen just because she had a fat bottom and that would make her jump but also laugh. Both of them would laugh together. That was the mood I was raised in. It was just that sort of idiotic and earthy fun that went on and it rubbed off on me.
Anyway back to the table. I announced to the children “Maintenant Bertrand vas vous montrer comment il mange bien” (Now Bertrand will show you how he eats well). “Allez, on ouvre grand la boubouche… haaa” (Come on, let’s open our mouth nice and wide… haaa) Yes, I was teasing Bertrand by addressing him like a small child and I proceeded to feed him slowly, one piece of meat followed by one Brussels sprout at a time. I wanted to take my time. I could feel by the look in his eyes he was starting to tear up again. He was getting emotional. Poor baby. I grinned at him. If he thinks he’s going to soften me, he’s mistaken. I didn't think he had any tears left after his cold shower. His immaturity disgusted me. How pathetic can he be, tearing up in front of small children, some of whom are still in preschool! Yuck. You deserve all the shame on you.
I started to call out every name from his mom to each child at the table as I fed him one piece of his food at a time, just as one says to encourage a baby to eat… “Allez, une bouchée pour maman…” (Come on, a mouthful for mom…) “Une bouchée pour Anne…” (A mouthful for Anne…) “Une bouchée pour Timothée…” (A mouthful for Timothée…) “Une bouchée pour Jérémie…” (A mouthful for Jérémie…)… it went on and on… the more he ate, the more I could see him tearing up… tears rolling down his face and mixing with the food… until he cried… there, right in front of all the little children, he started bawling… Now, what has the big boy done again!? “Boooo….” I imitated his crying to show him how ridiculous he was behaving in front of the toddlers… that’s when I saw Ginette coming towards us… she had obviously heard something, but she didn’t seem herself… she walked uncertainly, stumbling a bit, as if tipsy…
“Bah alors mon bicquet, qu’est-ce qu’il t’arrive, on t’a fait des misères ?” (Oh, my baby, what’s happening to you, have we done you any harm?) She said to her son, while wrapping her large arms around his small chest from behind him.
“Ginette, je lui ai donné la becquée, mais je crois qu’il aime pas les choux de brusselles” (Ginette, I gave him his food in baby portions, but I don’t think he likes brussels sprouts). So Ginette realised I really had given her son “la becquée” like a baby boy. Again instead of chastising me, it was as if she liked me more than her son. She told him off, “Alors Bertrand, maintenant c’est ton copain qui te donne la becquée! Tu n’as pas honte à ton âge?” (So Bertrand, now it’s your friend who’s giving you your food like a baby! Aren't you ashamed at your age?) which only seemed to draw more tears from the poor boy.
“Tous les petits mangent tout seuls comme des grands sauf toi, on dirait!” (All the little ones eat by themselves like the grown-ups except you, it seems!) “Pfff, mais qu’est-ce qu’on va faire de toi…” (Pfff, but what are we going to do with you…) She kept going and going… she was ashamed of her own son… of his pathetic scene that drew only embarrassment to her. She got really annoyed at his pitiful crying and said “Bon, et bien puisque c’est comme ça, j’en ai assez, c’est au lit et tu seras privé de dessert” (Okay, well since that's how it is, I've had enough, it's off to bed and you won't have any dessert).
There seemed to be a never ending string of twists for poor Bertrand. I know it sounds ridiculous but everything seemed to lead to something more embarrassing for him, as if he was running on a hamster wheel. But this time she lost patience with her son. She didn’t want to spend the afternoon supervising him and having him spoil the barbecue party. So she said “Daniel, je n’en peux plus, s’il te plait, tu peux le ramener chez lui et tu le mets au lit?” (Daniel, I can't take it anymore, please, can you take him to our flat and put him to bed?)... “Tiens, prends ma clé” (Here, take my key) What? She was asking me to put him to bed? My gosh, so she really thought I was his friend! She was drunk, that was the only reason. Well, if that’s what she wants. I agreed.
The parents were bringing desserts. The teenagers’ table was half empty, they really couldn’t stay in place. The small children were quietly sat but my relationship with Bertrand seemed to fascinate them. When I took Bertrand by the hand to lead him out, they all followed me, 7 or 8 of them like little mice behind the Pied Piper. Bertrand was still in a trance-like state, his crying turning to hiccups. Some of the young teenagers from their table came by and said nasty things to his face. Gosh they can be mean around that age. Well I should know… then one pinched his bottom, then another flicked a rubber band on his thigh… he jumped and yelped! I told the teenagers to stop it, I wanted him for myself. We were on the side of the building heading towards the main entrance, but they kept harassing Bertrand… again, he lost it for the second time of the day. Ugh. He bolted like a shotgun, running wild… he didn’t know where he was going because instead of running up to his flat he went straight ahead across a large field, but there was no homes over there, just the tennis courts and the pool. Now what am I going to do... Ginette said I was to put him to bed.
I told the kids that I wanted Bertrand back, to go get him and bring him to me. It was their fault. I wasn’t going to run after him, I had already done a bit of running when he was chasing me earlier, screaming that he was going to kill me. So all the smaller kids and some of the teens took off and started running in his direction like a pack of young wolves. It was ironic and funny. He had chased me around and now he was the one being chased. Bertrand was becoming “la tête de turc” of all the holiday-maker’s kids, boys and girls. Even Anne and Stéphane went after him.
Should I follow them? I was wondering as more and more distance separated us. Well, it shouldn’t take long I thought. But it did. Yes… 5 minutes later nobody came back… 10 minutes and I got worried… I called aloud… no reply. I decided to go after them… I was sure they couldn’t have gone far. I mean the whole resort was no more than 500 m wide. So I headed towards the tennis courts, but couldn’t find anyone. Then I checked the pool, still no sign. Suddenly my cousin Anne called me. “Viens voir, ils lui ont fait une mise à l’air.” (Come see, they gave him ‘une mise à l’air’) she said excitedly as if she was announcing a winning lottery ticket. Damn it, “une mise à l’air” and I wasn’t even part of it. Hey, that’s not fair! They should’ve waited for me. I rushed off towards her…
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