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The thumb’s reaching for the index. She adds another finger on it. Then they all go away. Hands stretched wide. In and out of her field of vision. Blur then focus. Amy doesn’t know how to count. She wouldn’t know how many fingers she has and often forget them. Even two’s too much but here there are. They never go away. And they want something. Amy wants Mommy.
Arthur’s tapping his right hand’s fingers on the counter, his left gently patting his dozing son’s soft head. The Englishman’s irate eyes are watching each ones of the numb and slow movements of the overworked and sleep-deprived barista behind the Wagon-restaurant’s counter. To add insult to injury, in a country that praises itself for the tastefulness of its food, their damn SNCF sandwiches are as tasteless as they are small. He’ll need some tea with it.
Mommy’s here. She’s landing loud kisses on Amy’s cheeks and lips. Amy is happy because she has Mommy. “Gaaw!” Amy wants Mommy to know how much she loves her. The hands are pushing forward. They land on Mommy’s eyes. She giggles. The hands are slipping. They are patting all over Mommy’s face. She laughs. Some other passengers are looking at them with affection in their eyes. Amy doesn’t see them and don’t really care anyway. Now she wants something else for her hands.
“And what do you have as Tea?”
The barista flinched and made a painful grimace that was certainly intended to be a smile. He then attempted to answer. In English. Sort of.
“Well, Sir. We have… Euh… Earl Grey, Lipton Mint, Twinning’s…”
“Really now? Brands!?” Snapped Arthur.
“Well. Heu. Et biiien…” The poor young man’s eyes were getting watery as Arthur was making a point at being a difficult client. He didn’t say anything, gently rocking his son with one arm, and waiting for an answer not likely to come as desired.
“Umpf. Nevermind. I’ll have Earl Gray, half a spoonful of sugar and a lick of milk.” He said drily.
The barista nodded with an earnest smile and started to forage under the counter for what was needed. He didn’t saw Arthur’s carnivorous grin.
“Now for your coffees…”
She doesn’t know that. There is her feet. And a huge pit under it. She wiggles them. There is still nothing. She gawks. Point at it. Mommy’s not looking. Amy turns. The Giraffe’s here. How so? Doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Amy takes her. She wants her. So she shoves her head in her mouth. “Squeak! Sque-sque-sque-sque-squeeaaak!!” No, it isn’t right anymore. Amy hit the chair in front of her with Sophie la Girafe. Squeaks are going out. Amy add some more noises. A good bellow out of her little lungs: “Aw-Aw-AAAAAAH”. Amy looks up. She stand up. Green. Grey. There’s a lot of it behind the glasses. Grass. Homes. Trees. Amy wants it when the cows show up. “A-MOOOOOOO…”
« Amy, chut ! » Mommy’s voice. Mommy’s hands grab Amy’s. She fall back on the soft chair. Her butt bounces on it. Giggles. « Tu vas manger un peu, ma choupette. » She ties a cloth around her neck « Ton frère en a déjà eu, maintenant c’est à toi. » Amy looks at the window again. No more cows. A “pop”. Where are the cows? A spoon right under her nose. « Une cuillère pour Maman… »
“Now I hope you understand that my wife has very specific tastes, young man. The way she likes her coffee varies tremendously throughout the day.” Arthur marked a pause and the barista nodded with an apprehensive looks on his face. “Which bring me to this point: what hour is it?”
The young man looked at his watch and replied: « Une heure et quart… »
Arthur clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. The barista stuttered in an even more heavily-accented way than before: “I mean! Heu… One haour and-uh… and fifteen minut-suh. Sir!”
“Thank you. Now, that’ll be…” Arthur started to scratch his chin with his free hand as to give the impression he was thinking, his own watch on plain sight. “Ah, darn! My memory his tricking me right now, how unfortunate”.
The barista looked around with an air of despair. For some reason, even at this usually crowded hour, none other customers were coming.
“A-uuuh”. No more. No more of the orange stuffing stuff. Mommy still wants to make Amy eat it. “AH! BAH-BAH!” « Ooh très bien, très bien, Mademoiselle a enfin eu sa dose, hein ? Un vrai puit sans fond » Amy wiggles, she wants to move, to see the green outside again « Attends un peu ! » Mommy wipes Amy’s mouth clean with her napkin, « Là ! » Mommy’s smiling, she kisses Amy’s forehead. Amy stands up on the chair, there’s green outside, « Oh non ! Tu ne vas pas t’agiter après avoir avalé tout ça, reste assise ! ». She can’t go see the speeding green outside, Mommy’s arms won’t let her. She tries again. Doesn’t work. “Eeeeh” « Non. » Amy’s not right. There is a lot inside her and she doesn’t know what. It’s not right. No move. No green. Tummy hurts strange. Not right. She wants Mommy to know it, to fix it. She doesn’t know how. She’s not right.
“Yes two sugar cubs. Ten milliliters of milk and stir it well this time.”
“Yes sir…”
In the distance the sound of a baby wailing can be heard. Arthur immediately thought of his daughter.
“Hé. They can’t be all as nice as this one, right?” The barista said nodding toward the still-asleep Matthew. Arthur glares at him and he swiftly lower his head.
“Don’t you mind that and stay focused, please, young man.”
“Yes sir.” Whined the poor employee.
« Amy ! Amy ! Chut, enfin ! »
Now the other passengers had not much affection left in their eyes when looking at them, despite Mommy’s embarrassed smiles. Amy didn’t cared much. She wasn’t right. She hurt and didn’t know why. Bad. Bad. Not right. Sad! Mommy can’t help. She rocks Amy. Give her pacifier to her. Don’t want it! The air is pushing out of her lungs too much and it won’t stop. She coughs. Inhales. Cry again. Mommy takes her. Keep her close to her chest. Warm. Sings a song, about cherries and love. Amy clings to her: “Ma~ Ma-Maaah!”
« Je suis là. Je suis là, ma chérie. »
Amy feels better. The hurt is going away. She forgets the green. Something’s is coming…
“BURB!” An old lady snickers.
« Aah, et bien voilà qui n’allait pas, petite coquine ! » the old lady says.
« Oh oui, elle avale trop vite ! »
« Attention à ce qu’elle ne fasse pas de fausses routes, alors ! »
« Oh oui, on fait attention à ça. »
Amy saw the old lady through her cloudy eyes. She’s smiling. Amy smiles back.
« Ah ! Et bien voilà ! Ça va mieux maintenant, hum ? »
Amy doesn’t answer. She’s tired. Marianne puts the pacifier back in her mouth. Amy sucks on it. Clings to Mommy. She sings her song again.
“Can you even be-lieve?! All this time to get a service that is even remotely correct! I swear no one in this godforsaken country of yours can be arsed to do a proper j~ Oh!” Arthur stopped his rambling when he saw Marianne’s finger on her lips. He put the trail on the wagon’s table and sat down beside his wife and his sleeping daughter.
“How can you manage to make her sleep. I don’t understand.”
“Finesse feminine, lapin. Yours is asleep as well.”
“Not a feat with this one.” Arthur moved to settle Matthew more comfortably on his chest, “Was she the one crying?”
“You heard her?”
“I did. Wasn’t the only one.” He added with a sardonic smile “But here: your coffee, and those godawful sandwiches.”
Marianne took the cup and took a sip carefully so as not startling her sleeping baby daughter.
“Hm. Not bad. You managed to get a decent one on this train?”
“Anything for my princess!” He replied with a smug expression. Marianne chuckled.
“I bet you’ve been a nuisance as usual and harassed the poor boy at the counter for that.” Arthur looked offended at this statement.
“If that’s the only way to get things done in this goddamn…”
“Don’t course.”
“…place, ‘course I will! You’re welcome by the way!”
“Eh. Thanks, mon lapin. You’re the best!”
Marianne kissed him on his cheek. Now with their two children asleep and their meal available, Arthur started to feel like he could take a bit of rest at least.
That is, until another baby started to cry.