“I know enough,” she replies in English. "I know you lost." Lose. I see myself waving a white flag.
"Lose? How did I lose?
"You ran off."
"What did the note say?" I'm practically screaming now.
But the more excited I get, the more distant she becomes. "I don't know anything about it."
But you know something.
He lights another cigarette and blows smoke at me. I wave it away. Please, Céline, for a whole year, I have assumed the worst, and now I wonder if I assumed the worst.
More silence. Then, "He had, how do you say, sue-tours."
“Sue-tours?”
"As with the seam in the skin." She points to her cheek.
“Setures? Stitches? Did he have stitches?
"Yes, and he had a very swollen face and black eye."
"What happened?"
"He wouldn't tell me."
"Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?"
"You
