IN & OUT OF LIFE - Chapter 126 - A business proposal (Jeremy)

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL (Herman)

I see a round wooden table by the wall in what appears to be a basement room. I'm sitting on the chair to the right, rolling a cigarette on the table. Someone else is sitting on the chair to my left. I have a small pillbox with licorice drops in my right pocket. I insert a thin, copper-colored pin into the cigarette to straighten it, and then pull it out again after it's been rolled into shape. I give the pin to the other man. It's my son. He has a thick mustache. We brought our own tobacco here - we're in Switzerland - cause we like to stick to our usual brand. He now leans back against the chair and puts his cigarette in the right corner of his mouth without lighting it. We're waiting for someone. 'When do you think Uncle Maurice will be here?' he says, looking at the clock on the wall to his left. It's about three o'clock. I tell him not to be so nervous, that he'll be here and has probably been held up… talking to the ladies and so. He breaks out in a laugh, then stops as if not quite sure if he should laugh or not, then laughs again and looks at me. Well yes, he's old enough for some adult jokes, the type that would make my wife painfully try to stifle her giggling. Maurice comes in in a rush, wearing a dark suit. I recognize him as Trudy. He's quite the businessman, my cousin. He does his best to speak French but has an Italian accent. He even knows a bit of Dutch words which he's happy to throw in, having learned them on his visit to Hasselt - when was that, eight years ago? 'What are you having?' he says, bending over a bit to look at the residue of our tobacco rolling, then starts waving his hand in front of his face as if already suffering from the effects of the smoke. He stopped smoking two years ago, the doctor having told him that it would KILL him - he reminds us. He's glad to proclaim that he is now in perfect health, enjoying deep breaths as if the air has never been cleaner. My son, now holding his still unlit cigarette between thumb and index finger, looks at it and decides to leave it on the table. I light my own, even if he won't join me. Maurice stays as far as possible by the opposite wall. I ask him what he wants to tell me. I have no idea what it might be about. We were supposed to meet him at his country house, but when his driver came to pick us up at the inn, we were taken into the mountains - a beautiful landscape, by the way! Twenty minutes later or so we were dropped off at this humble little clay house with only a door and no windows. The man lighted a candle and guided us down some steps and into this room. It's quite impressive on the inside. There are gas lamps with blue glass in three of the four corners. On another table - a rectangular one - there's some colorful fabric, but I know the lighting in here is not good enough to see the true colors of it.

Q: So, what does he want?

Herman: He starts talking about his daughters. He has three daughters and a son. The young man has a mental problem, but I don't know what it is. He has been voluntarily admitted to a mental hospital and is apparently doing much better. He tells me about one of his daughters (in her early teens) who dances ballet and does something else, which I don't understand, but I guess it has to do with musical instruments. Either way, she seems to be doing well in school. He talks so fast now, jumping from one topic to another and asking my son random questions in between. I find it hard to follow. I KNOW… I need to let him finish his entire story first. By the end of it, not having disclosed his objective in the least, he suggests that we must be tired and asks what type of pillow we like to sleep on. He apologizes for not letting us come to his home earlier, explaining that his (new) wife - the previous one died - isn't that used to the house yet and doesn't quite know what instructions to give to the servants when visitors are expected. I hope he'll explain more about his business plan when we're in the car. He came by wagon, though, I find out as we exit the place. Before getting on, he explains that the horse on the left is having a hip issue, about what the vet said, and about her previous pregnancy when she gave birth to a male foal. My son suggests he'll walk to the house instead of riding. I guess he wants to give his ears a break from his uncle's melodic story telling, waltzing around the topics till everybody's dizzy. Or maybe he figures that the man's waiting to tell me about his business idea till he can be alone with me. Well, my son is my business partner, and I have no secrets from him. Maurice and I get onto the wagon, and my son starts to walk ahead of us. My cousin waits - to give my son a head start, I guess. He shifts in his seat, turning to me. 'You know…' he says, then pauses, apparently struggling to remember my name. "August" he finally settles on as my first name. I smile. He starts to tell me how he has never seen such a beautiful sight - he waves his hand around at the view - and that it's like a painting. He then connects it to his other daughter who's about 17, or maybe 18 by now, who wanted to study art but was denied access to the prestigious school in question cause her vision was less than perfect. He shakes his head in exaggerated sadness, him being a wearer of eyeglasses himself. He finally instructs the horses to start moving, then points out to me where you can see that the left horse's hip is a little bit off. Obliged to investigate the matter myself, I gaze at the point of her left hip as it comes up a little with each step. It makes me rather drowsy and, just as I think of looking away, he reminds me again. 'See?' he says, pointing at her hindquarter. I think it's time to be frank with him. 'We're friends, right?' I say. He looks at me, holding the reins, and cautiously nods, then - Hallelujah! - leaves me some times to talk. I ask him to be honest with me, that if he thinks I can't afford to invest… He nods as I continue talking. I tell him about putting my son Martin through school to learn the trade of roof making, thatch roofs in particular which they don't teach in all schools cause it's a regional trend which isn't very popular where we come from. I told my son to go for what he wants, feeling rather relieved that I only have two sons whose studies need to be financed. Peter luckily was happy to stay in the next town to learn woodworking, making floor boards in particular. After I tell Maurice all of this, he nods and says: 'I know you're a poor man.' Everything he says is dramatic. I say: 'I'm NOT… a poor man!' and laugh, then continue: 'I just have to mind what I put my money in.' That seems to make him happy, and he immediately lets the horses run a bit faster. I guess I'll find out what his business proposal is once we're at the house, perhaps during dinner or perhaps afterwards during a glass of brandy… if he gets drunk enough to spill the beans. I get the impression that he's holding it off cause he's afraid it might ruin our stay (five days) if we argue about it from the beginning. Still, if I only learn about the details on the last day, I might go home ill-informed. Wouldn't it be better if we had time to discuss it thoroughly?

Q: Move ahead in time and show me what the business proposal is.

We're at the table with his wife. She's not as pretty as I imagined. She has dark hair and thick eyebrows, and she seems about forty years old. He's talking about air balloons, something with which people can admire the view from above. I think it's quite extravagant. Who on earth would want to do that, let alone be able to afford it? He tells me he already knows some people, one of them being an American bigshot, the son of another American bigshot. I've never even heard of these people. It's also a very different trade than the one I'm familiar with. 'I warned you it was going to be wild' he says. His wife seems equally excited if not more, so much so that I suspect it was actually her idea.

Q: Show me what ends up happening.

We're now in the hallway of his house, waiting for something or someone. My son, needing to use the toilet, leaves through a side door and down some steps. Meanwhile, as I stand here, I straighten the left cuff of my shirt. 'Are you ready?' Maurice asks. I suppose I must be, though I'm not sure what to expect, so I give him an indistinct answer with a little nervous laugh. I guess we'll use some steps to get into the basket of the hot air balloon. Now that I think about it, I feel rather scared. But it also makes me feel like an adventurous young man. I suppose it's a bit like riding a motorbike.

Q: And did you ever ride a motorbike?

Herman: Well, I sat on it once and felt the rumble under me as the motor was turned on. But I didn't want to risk my life, so I didn't actually go for a ride.

I'm now sitting in the wagon and I have a headache. We arrive at a slight hill. It's quite windy here. I see three guys in the distance, standing on the grassy hill. We walk up to them. One young man, who looks a bit like Maurice, greets me by grabbing my hand with both of his. The wind is noisy and I feel a flutter in my belly. On the ground is a large, colorful bag in yellow, red, and blue strips of fabric. The older man talks a language I don't understand… at all. 'This is Heeerman' Maurice says to him as he introduces me. "Ja, ja" the man says, followed by something else. Maurice, the wind making his clothes flutter, explains that they're going to try to make the balloon catch air and see how high it goes, thus determining if it's light enough to not be weighed down while also being strong enough to not get torn by the "violence" (i.e. force) of the wind. Well, when he said we were going to "try it out tomorrow" I assumed we were going to go on a balloon ride. But I'm quite relieved - and I also feel quite stupid - to find out that we're just going to test the balloon bag in windy weather to see how it holds up under the pressure. For that, we need to hold the wide ring at the bottom of the balloon. The ring has three pairs of handles so that it can be held by three people. The handles also serve for the ropes to go through so that a basket can be attached to it. Light as the material itself is, it soon starts to flutter in the direction of the wind. The pull is so strong as soon as the wind takes over, making it challenging to keep hold of the ring. It's soon decided that the results are satisfactory, the shape of this balloon prototype having preformed much better than the previous one. The man who welded the strips together made it into a longer oval shape. Maurice declares that it's going to be a big success. As long as it's left on the ground, the metal ring keeps it in place, but once the ring is lifted off the ground and the wind finds its way into the hole, the balloon takes off by the sheer force of the wind. Well, I think we should go for a few drinks now and see what ideas we come up with and how we're going to divide business. Maurice slaps me amiably on the back, saying something in Italian which I think means something like: I knew you'd like it! We say goodbye to the other three men and walk down the hill to our humble one-horsed wagon. This horse is called Emanuel.

We're now in a place where it smells like baked fish. I'm not a big fan of fish, though - it depends which type, I guess. This is river fish. We're at a large restaurant where it's rather dim inside. My son excuses himself to use the restroom again. I know he needs to take his pills. He's been having anxiety since he had an accident about six months ago. Maurice insists on waiting till the food is here before discussing "the finer details". He really does drag things out, but we still have two days left here, so I guess I might as well enjoy it. He addresses Martin as soon as he comes back and sits down, encouraging him to eat the fishy appetizer. My son shaved his mustache - or rather Maurice's stepdaughter shaved it off - and he's looking quite vibrant now. Nevertheless, I discretely ask him is he's alright. 'Yes, papa' he says. I think he washed his face in the restroom. Maurice explains a few technicalities about the hot air balloon. That's not what I'd need to get involved in, though. My part in it is to get my half-brother Louis involved. Maurice still calls me August - a quirk my son seems to find rather funny, I can tell from his distorted smirk.

Louis is apparently the paternal uncle of Marie-Louise. I'm referring to Herman's niece, not his daughter who had the same name.

Louis has a lot of money but no children to spend it on except for the children of orphanages. I think he's… well, he never got married. I think he's not interested in that, you know? He collects all kinds of artifacts in his house and he's a very nice man but a bit withdrawn and rather religiously inclined. Bertrand (Marie-Louise's father) is… well, it's easier to talk to him about the affairs of the world, and he's quite smart too. But his wife is… not well in the head.

Q: So, tell me about Louis.

Herman: He's involved with a convent, putting his money into reparations of the building and new sanitary provision so the nuns don't have to go outside in the cold. I tell Maurice I'll talk to his cousin Louis.

Q: About?

Herman: Well, about this whole air balloon business, of course.

He's an expert in weaving and the different directions for the threads to run into each other in different fabrics. I guess you could say this is a topic of interest of his which he has devoted his time to, but he hasn't really done much with this talent in terms of business. Maurice knows about it cause it's known that Louis provided the fabric for the habits of the nuns from the convent. I tell him I'll ask him what would be the best weaving for the fabric of an air balloon, though I'm sure he'll have lots of questions, skeptical as my brother is.

Q: Show me what happens with Louis.

I'm by the door of a hotel room. I hear someone talking inside. He seems reluctant to open the door, so I say: 'Louis, my dear, it's me!' I hear him mumbling whilst apparently struggling with the lock. 'How does this work?' he says to the other person in the room. The door finally opens, but even so, he seems reluctant to let us inside immediately. The other person in the room is Bertrand's son Felix. He seems to have lost weight since I last saw him. He's clean shaven, has nice wavy, black hair, and is just as handsome as his father was in youth. Louis, on the other hand, is rather short and chubby. He has gone completely gray and is a little hunched over. He also appears to be suffering from very poor eyesight, though he doesn't wear glasses. But what strikes me the most - well, it's not as if I didn't know that already - is his nervous disposition. His left hands trembles. He seems rather clueless in the hotel room, barely able to see his unfamiliar surroundings. As he goes inside, Felix explains that his uncle has taken a turn for the worse, possibly having suffered a minor stroke, but since there was no one else around at the time, they're not sure what exactly happened. It seems he has also become rather hard of hearing; Felix speaks at a higher volume to him. In short, I barely recognize the man. He used to have such dark hair and, up until a few years ago when I last saw him, he only had the slightest signs of graying. He asks me what I want. I tell him that my son is here with me - apparently he didn't even notice. 'Oh! Your son!' he says, 'How are you my child?' 'I'm good' Martin replies with a chuckle befitting of the teenage boy his uncle Louis apparently deems him to be. 'Yes, yes' Louis says as he turns around again to head for the blue velvet chairs at the back of the room. 'There are some chairs here' he says, 'Take a seat.' There aren't enough chairs for all of us, so I stand and tell my son to take a seat on a little bench that's built into the wall. I tell Louis about the air balloon, making sure my voice is loud enough so I won't need to repeat myself. The expertise he possesses immediately starts to flow out of him as he apparently knows all about the temperatures these different fabrics can endure. He uses words I don't understand, but makes sure to stop and say 'That's a scientific name' before shortly explaining what it boils down to. He demands to see the fabric samples up close so he can give his opinion on them. Felix agrees to bring him there and then bring him back again afterwards. 'I'm glad you asked for my opinion' he concludes as if he thinks we had been about to do something stupid but, luckily, thought better of it. 'We can't do it without you' I say. He vaguely smiles and turns his head to Felix. I'm not sure he heard me well. 'He says they'll be glad to work with you!' my nephew freely translates. 'Ah, yes!' Louis says.

Q: Show me what happens next.

He came and said the fabrics (two kinds) were excellent, one more than the other, though the other had great potential for something else. He seemed very excited, like a fish in a pond, going around, practically taking over as if he knew exactly what needed to be done. Maurice has been keeping his distance. I understand now that they fell out, Louis having taken offense to something his cousin Maurice said a couple of years ago when Maurice married his new wife. Trying to be helpful, Maurice had remarked that, if he (Maurice) could get married at such an age, it wasn't too late for him (Louis) to do likewise. Behind his back, Louis said: 'Does he think I'm stupid?' and suggested he'd prefer it if his cousin kept his opinions to himself. Well, I don't want to get involved in the family drama. Louis came in and took the initiatives which seemed to have been lying there for years just waiting for his arrival. The other fabric, he declared, is marvelous. He immediately saw the potential in it, never mind the hot air balloons. He was talking about stylish jackets, ties, and the lining for coats and pockets. He then asked me to do business with him, me taking care of the business side of things (i.e. talking). I didn't think it's something Maurice would be interested in, though. He has more of a mind for technical things, not fashion. To him, a suit is a suit and all that matters is that it fits. I guess he's right, but boy, did Louis disagree! - 'The fabric is the SOUL of the garment!' he said. He seemed to be doing much better since he had found something of interest. The tremor was practically absent, so much so that I wasn't sure which hand was afflicted. He asked me to arrange for the fabric to be shipped to France, maybe even have the clothes made here in this quiet place with so much potential. He seemed sure that he'd die soon, so if by doing this, we could make him feel that he's passing something on, I thought that would be a comforting thought.

I'm standing by his grave now. I never knew his middle name was Ferdinand. He died less than three months later. Though predicted, it was still unexpectedly.

Q: So, is Henri also his brother?

Herman: How do you know about Henri? He disappeared quite some time ago, fifteen years maybe. I guess he went to live on a tropical island. I wish I had known him a little better.

The Henri in question is another half-brother of Herman. Herman's father had children from at least three different women. Herman himself was raised as an only child, though, his mother having died in childbirth. Now, as for hot air balloons… it made me wonder what fabric they would have used. Apparently, the first balloons were made of paper. Incredible, right? Well, it obviously wasn't paper, so then what was it?

- At the time of their invention hot air balloons were usually made of silk, which is wonderfully suited to the purpose. Unfortunately, it is also prohibitively expensive and extremely difficult to repair. Modern hot air balloon fabrics have replaced silk with lighter and stronger options. Most hot air balloons are made of nylon now.