Here’s your beer, voila, I’ll keep the coffee hot on the stove.”
When I come out I am trying to get to my sink in my room to comb my hair but he’s already got breakfast coming for me in the diningroom where nobody is but us—
“Wait, comb my hair, get my cigarettes, and, ah, how about a beer first?”
“Wa? You crazy? Have your coffee first, your bread and butter.”
“Just a little beer.”
“A Wright, awright, just one—Sit here when you get back, I’ve got work to do in the kitchen.”
But this is all spoken that fast and even, but in Breton French which I dont have to make an effort like I do in Parisian French, to enunciate: just: “Ey, weyondonc, pourquoi t’a peur que j’m’dégrise avec une ’tite bierre?” (Hey, come on, how come you’re scared of me sobering up with a little beer?)
“On s’dégrise pas avec la bierre, Monsieur, mais avec le bon petit dejeuner.” (We dont sober up with beer, Monsieur, but with a nice breakfast.)
“Way, mais on est pas toutes des soulons.” (Yah, but not everybody’s a drunk.)
“Dont talk like that Monsieur. It’s there, look, here, in the good Breton butter made with cream, and bread fresh from the baker, and strong hot coffee, that’s how we sober up—Here’s your beer, voila, I’ll keep the coffee hot on the stove.”
