A curious incident… Somewhere, enclosed within the creamy stone walls of the neighbouring houses, a dog barks. In return, another decides that it too should contribute. And so, in unison, if not in harmony, they yap. What they are yapping about or what provocation to bark they experience, is a complete mystery. Perhaps it is to scare away a tiny testicle tickling black legged scorpion, or they are barking at their own shadows they mistake for an intruder, or for no other reason that they like the sound of their own gruff. Perhaps it is a call and response love song, uniting the otherwise separated star-crossed canine lovers. Perhaps it is merely a gainsay of “Oi, shut up over there!” with “No, you shut up over there!”, but in canine French and in constant repetition and with absolutely no conclusion to the ‘debate’. The sound of barks wafts over the rooftops of Caromb, a Provençal village which has Mont Ventoux as its dominating neighbour. It drifts with the wind, weaving its way among the gutters, chimneys, trees and climbing shrubs. It creeps around the stone corners, bounces off gable ends and wends its way through the tiny one car wide streets and alleyways towards an open old rickety wooden framed window, whose shutters have long gone, but whose rusting metal fixings refuse to detach from their deep set anchorages within the stone wall of Le Vieil Hôpital. Not even the bakers are awake.
A DAY IN PROVINCE - BENNY GOODMAN
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