Sacré Bleu

“In a gypsum mine.”

“Not my first choice for a rendezvous, but it is your hallucination.”

“She was covered in blue.”

“Have you tried strawberry jam? Although the seeds can be annoying.”

“The Colorman was there too. Also naked.”

“Well, now you’ve lost me. Was he being greedy, if you get my meaning?”

“He was scraping the blue powder off of her body with a knife.”

“Interesting. I have no desire to try that. This may be a first for me.”

“It’s disturbing to me.”

“I imagine so. But, tell me, did you get to have a go at Berthe?”

“I was seven.”

“Feet tall? Well that’s just obscene.”

“No, seven years old. It wasn’t a hallucination, Henri, it was a memory. I’d forgotten it all. I was in that gypsum mine back during the war, hunting rats. The entrance is in Montmartre Cemetery.”

“You actually saw Berthe Morisot naked and painted blue? Well that’s going to be awkward if you run into her at a gallery show. I mean, she’s still a handsome woman, brilliant painter, but—”

“I think we need to go to that mine.”

“Perhaps some lunch first. You were unconscious for quite a while. We ran out of cognac.”

“Why are you lying on the floor?”

“Solidarity. And we ran out of cognac. This is my preferred out of cognac posture.”

“Fine. Lunch first. Then we’re on to the mine.”

“Splendid! Onward!”

“You can’t stand up, can you?”

“The floor is cool against my cheek. I’m rather enjoying the sensation.”

“After we’ve procured some lanterns, eaten, had coffee, and you’ve taken a bath. Then?”

“A bath? Really?”

“You smell like a whorehouse.”

“Yes?”

“Which is inappropriate unless one is actually in a whorehouse.”

“A bath it is, then. Splendid! Onward!”

“You’ll still have to stand up.”

“We really should have a maid in to wash these floors.”