“Do tell us about yourself,” said Tania.
I saw Marcel smile at me. I didn’t expect Lupa to drop any information, but having him talk for a while wouldn’t hurt.
“Yeah, like where are you from?” That was Paul.
Lupa looked at him. “You’re American,” he said, then continued almost as though talking to himself. “Northwest, I should say. No, not so far west, perhaps Wyoming or Montana.”
“You got it, mister. Missoula, Montana, U. S. of A. How ’bout you?”
“Born.”
“Pardon?”
“Born in America, not bred. My mother traveled quite a lot with her career and fortuitously timed my birth so that I became an American citizen at the time of my first breath.”
“You don’t talk like an American,” said Henri, “more like a Greek, or . . .”
“Or a Serbian?” ventured Georges.
Lupa smiled. “Exactly. I’ve never lived in America, though I would like to go there. I was raised by several of my relatives—in England primarily but in other parts of Europe as well.”
I was surprised to find him so conversational. He sat straight in his chair, genial and relaxed. Henri and Marcel took out their pipes and lit them, Henri with a bit of ember from the fire.
Lupa raised his head slightly and sniffed at the air. “Ah, the smell of pipes. I love them. They bring back memory of my childhood, of my father. You, Monsieur Routier, you’re having a Cavendish latakia mixture, are you not? And Monsieur Pulis—a Virginia tobacco, perhaps even a chewing plug if I’m not mistaken?”
The two men looked at each other, impressed. “Exactly,” Marcel said.
“Not to chew, but to smoke,” Henri said, his face showing a certain sullenness.
I interjected. “You know your tobaccos, monsieur.”
He nodded. “It was a special interest of my father. Once we were together in Paris, and . . .”
“Oh, then you’re not new to France?” asked Tania, interrupting. “I’d somehow thought you were.”
“No, I spent most of my summers here as a youth.” He stopped and looked at Tania and me. “I should say when I was more of a youth.”
“What do you do in Valence?” Henri asked suddenly and, I thought, rather belligerently.
Lupa looked carefully at him. “You bear me animus, sir?”
I stepped in. “You’ll have to excuse Monsieur Pulis. He isn’t happy about having a new member, no matter who it might be. I’m sure it’s nothing personal. Isn’t that right, Henri?”
“If you’d prefer that I leave . . .”
“No, no, don’t be silly. It’s I who should leave,” said Henri. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget myself. I act like the ass.”
