I laughed and told her that she was right. “It is not Leon at all.”
This was too much for her. She had to sit down—while she grumbled and gave out little explosive phrases of disparagement of these foolish Americans who play tricks on hard-working people. She spluttered and fussed and stared at me until I added, “This is Leona Canwick.” Then she just stared open-mouthed at me as if I were some kind of specter.
“What foolishness!” she finally managed to exclaim. “This is more worse yet! You joke: you are Leon!... You should not joke an old woman, M’sieur Leon.”
“But I’m not Leon,” I insisted. “I am Leona.”
Well, she refused to be convinced. We argued and I laughed until the tears came in my eyes. I’d never had so much real fun since I’d been in the army. She was just too funny, running out to wait on her customers and coming back to declare again and again that she had no time for any jokes. When I was too weak from laughter to argue further, I proved to her my identity in the only way in which it could be proved. She was too dumfounded to speak, so while she sat silently gaping at me, I tried to explain how I had come here. Finally she understood and believed me. Not until then did she really welcome me, with an abundance of hugs and kisses and much jolly laughter. We talked over the happy days at St. Malo and I told her about Leon and Aunt Elinor. Altogether, I must have spent an hour there, with her running in and out from the bar to entertain me.
When I left, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me smack on the cheek—just as a short, stocky, bald-headed and walrus-mustached man appeared in the doorway and glared daggers at us. I knew at once that this was Pierre, but something told me to keep going—and I went, before Lisa could introduce us.
I imagined he would raise Cain before Lisa had a chance to explain to him that I was really a girl. I hoped I wouldn’t have to prove my sex to him in order to avoid his jealous scowl!
—5—
I stopped in to see Lisa again, the day following, and her husband was there. She welcomed me with a smile but, if looks could kill, I’d be a dead rabbit right now from the effects of old Pierre’s glances. He was madder than the devil himself.
I asked Lisa why she didn’t tell him the truth and save herself any trouble. She just laughed at me. “It is too funny, chère,” she explained. “He thinks you are a man—and he is so jealous—ou la la!”