Raymond and Malvina

Our home in Jounieh was formerly surrounded by gardens where banana plants grew up alongside orange trees, apricot trees, apple trees, almond trees, two plum trees, two olive trees, some vines, and a loquat tree. There was also a vegetable patch, and all was treated biologically, naturally, without pesticides or other chemicals. In any case in those days words such as ecology and environment were no part of ordinary people’s vocabulary.

On the ground floor of the building opposite there were some tenants from Syria, from Aleppo to be precise. They had chosen to live here in order to be close to the good schools and they formed a family who drew no attention to themselves, for no quieter, friendlier and more honest neighbors could be desired. There was just one thing that stood out and that was the appearance of Malvina, the cynosure of all eyes. The family was a small one, consisting of father, mother, two sons and a daughter. But this daughter had been endowed by God with all possible charm, grace, attractiveness, presence, gentleness and beauty.

Whenever I opened a window, went out on the balcony or returned home, I would come face to face with Malvina or with her family, who would always greet me politely.

She was studying in the school of the Sisters of the Holy Hearts of Jesus and Mary only a hundred yards away from us while her two brothers were with the Marist Brothers, also nearby. Malvina could not pass unnoticed; on seeing her one was overcome with the kind of awe one feels in the presence of something holy, for the profound regard of her deep eyes came from another world, one of goddesses, fairies or the Muses. Her smile, her lips, were like an anemone opening to the first golden rays of a star. Her body was slender and ethereal when she moved, and then she seemed to dance or rather to float on the air, transparent, light, casting no shadow and beyond reach. She was sixteen or seventeen years old, still a child, but she was in the top class at school, a model student who had never failed or been obliged to repeat her class. There was no formality about our two families getting to know each other and inviting each other into our respective homes, for friendship grew up naturally between us and particularly with Malvina, of whom I was as fond as of my own children. She often came to my home, posing for portraits. She heard our children’s lessons and was always most welcome.

She was decidedly modest and she blushed at the least remark or reaction. She talked to me about her school activities and about her plans for the future. Although I had taught in the Sisters’ school in the intermediate classes she had never been my pupil, but from time to time she showed me her sketches. She had a serious character and was a firm religious believer; whatever was holy for her was truly holy and she was firm in her principles.

Her father worked as an accountant in a company while her mother spent all day knitting.

The people of Aleppo choose exotic names for their children – Malvina, Folvia, Regina or Silvana – yet they live in a Syrian and Arabic world. One Aleppine is said to be as good as two Jews. The story is told that during a burial tears were being shed over the deceased, when a Muslim arrived, a simple soul who mourned with the others, and placed a fifty-dollar bill in the hands of the dead man, telling him to give the money to his brother in case he needed something in the other world. A Jew then turned up who placed one hundred dollars in the hands of the deceased to be given to his late wife should she be in need. Then an Aleppine arrived on the scene and removed the money from the dead man’s hands and there placed a check for three hundred dollars! There are many stories of the kind.

The Aleppines are excellent pastry cooks and caterers. Prudent, for many centuries they kept their savings in the form of gold bars; banks and paper money to be redeemed did not interest them. Being Aleppine is like having a trademark, they say.

The father of this family looked on me as a brother and considered me to be the “godfather”, the pillar of the quarter. And then what may I say about their daughter? If I, a married man and father of four children, was so carried away and impressed by Malvina, what could one expect of the young people of her age, young people who had the same problems, occupations and way of life? At the Marists’ school where I went once or twice a week I had a large number of students of the same age as Malvina.

There was a certain Raymond always ready to serve me, sticking close to me, and not knowing how best to approach me and to gain my friendship. As I passed by him, I often noticed him waiting at a fork in the road near my house so as to take my satchel, my briefcase, or whatever else I was carrying, following me like my shadow. If I stepped out, if I almost ran to the school, he would be there saluting me, smiling at me, and always following my classes with attention.

I was giving my students an introduction to art. This initiation had previously been through drawing, but I changed the program in all the schools where I taught to make it more global and to arrive at activities for artistic awareness. I still taught drawing but this was no longer the central object of my courses.

If I had stacks of papers, Raymond would run to carry them to my home, and I would say to myself how kind this boy was, taking so much trouble and always ready to help. But I could not help wondering why there was this excess of zeal. Raymond was in last junior high, classe de troisième, and was now nineteen years old. That is to say that he would be twenty when he started senior high, or secondaire. He was the oldest student in his class, where the average age was about thirteen or fourteen, this being due to difficulties he had had to face during his adolescence.

He was the only child of a family that was very well off; his father was a civil engineer and a major contractor while his mother was a doctor, a pediatrician, who was no longer in practice. They both traveled a great deal and showed much concern about Raymond. He was a handsome young man, rather thin, lively and dynamic, and of cheerful and sincere character.

One day he invited me to visit his parents and make their acquaintance as I had promised to drop in on them one day. He asked me if it were possible for him to visit my studio and see my paintings, explaining that at home his parents had several pictures that his mother had bought when on trips to western countries.

Then one day when Raymond was following me home, carrying a packet of sheets of paper with drawings, I invited him to enter and have something to drink. He was only too happy to accept so he could ask me questions, to talk, and to see my paintings. He asked me where I had done them and which canvas was the latest. I watched him closely but without letting him become aware that I was observing him. I just made a show of putting my books in order, of tidying up, of cleaning my brushes, when suddenly I noticed that the young man had stopped fascinated in front of the portrait of Malvina.

He stood there motionless, evidently not knowing what to say. The portrait showed Malvina holding a flower in her hand. As Raymond stood there speechless, I broke in on him, saying, “There is nothing sinister about the flower; this is a portrait of Malvina, our neighbor.” I realized then what emotions the poor boy felt, what he had in his mind, and why he was always waiting for me. A local proverb says that one waters the rushes for the rose to grow.

To bring him back down to earth I said to him, “I would like to visit you one day and get to know your father and mother.” He was delighted that there should be some contact between us and so why not actual friendship? He lived in the nearby quarter of Sarba, near the Fathers of the monastery of Holy Savior, a house of Greek Catholic monks which stood on the site of a Phoenician citadel built on a hill overlooking the sea.

Raymond admitted to me frankly that he was very much behind in his studies and that he had no interest in school. He was more interested in running the various businesses of his father than in shutting himself up in a classroom. Even though young, he was thoroughly capable of facing up to life, for he was serious and fully up to facing his responsibilities. His father had just bought him a car even though he could not as yet drive. He did not like mere appearances and outward show, preferring to obey the voice that came from the heart, from the depths of the soul. He enjoyed reading in order to become more cultivated and to broaden his horizons, but staying in school in the company of pupils only twelve or thirteen years old made him feel sick. And so he revealed himself to me.

But Raymond still kept looking at the picture of Malvina, saying that it was very beautiful and that if his mother were to see it she would buy it. I explained to him that a portrait represented a state of the mind and not simply the physical forms of the model. It revealed the artist and not merely a particular person. I had several pictures of my neighbor Malvina and these bore no resemblance to one another, since they showed the both of us in different states of mind. Here was Malvina of the Rose, there was Malvina the Dreamer, and over there she was as a model so perfect that she inspired the artist to work with love. “All these works that you see were painted with my whole heart, with love.” In saying this I saw tears come to the boy’s eyes.

“You know, dear Master, I am not made for higher studies and the University, I must admit to you, and –” At that point the doorbell rang. The door was always left ajar so anyone could enter without ringing or needing to say who was there. Now came the shouts of my children who were rushing up and crying aloud, “Malvina! Malvina!” They made no mistake, for every day Malvina came to see our children, to check their homework and lessons, and to have a chat with them.
Raymond was thunderstruck, speechless. This was the first time that he had met Malvina face to face and come up close to her. Malvina said Hello! to him and broke the ice. “You’re looking at the portraits of myself, so it seems? I would like to pose for the rapt of Europa or for that of the Sabine women, and so be carried into another world…” Raymond understood none of all this, and later came to ask me what all this talk of the rapt of Europa and the Sabine women was about. Now Malvina started asking Raymond about his opinion and about whether he had any comments to make. He was frightened to say a single word for fear of making a fool of himself but he was in seventh heaven, unable to believe his own eyes and the providential turn events had taken.

“Speak up, Raymond,” I said, “why are you so dumb?” I cannot imagine what had laid hold of him, but he took out of his pencil-case a precious gold Parker fountain-pen and asked me whether for such a beautiful model he could offer the pen that his father had given him and that another could use.

“Why not,” I said, “and you, Malvina, please have the delicacy to accept this little gift from one of my pupils whom I esteem and who so admires you!” She blushed and went up to Raymond, who presented her with the fountain-pen. Everything passed off so quickly and unexpectedly. But I had felt what a kind and generous heart this boy had and I sensed how happy he was to have performed this bold action.

Malvina said goodbye and went off with the children to a room where they studied. “What were you saying before Malvina and the children came in?” I asked. “I was going to say that with the outbreak of all this trouble and the fact that I am a long way behind my class, I was thinking of leaving school and going with my father to the work sites, or of going to my wealthy maternal uncle in Philadelphia USA, who has no children and would be delighted to have me. But I don’t want to leave Lebanon, particularly with Malvina here. I’m telling you the truth, the whole truth. I have been taken by Malvina for several months, and I wanted to accompany you simply because you were a very close neighbor of Malvina. Now that we know each other, I am lost in admiration of you and I would like to have a family like yours and to bring my children up in the way you have. If you were to dissect me you would find in my heart, in my brain, in every cell of my body the silhouette of Malvina. My father denies me nothing, he would arm a whole battalion to seize her as Europa and the Sabine women were seized – about that you must tell me more!”

Friendship and now some intimacy linked me to this brave, honest and likeable young man. At the invitation of his father I found myself one evening on the balcony of Raymond’s house sipping a glass with Andrée my wife and in my hand a bottle of liqueur distilled at home and a cake baked by Andrée. We found ourselves in a fine residence three times as large as our own home, with accommodation for a gardener, a chauffeur and some servants.

The couple lived a life of high society. Raymond’s father was at least thirty years older than I was. I understood that he had married when neither he nor his wife was young and they had had this one son around whom their whole life turned. For them Raymond had never grown up and they spoilt him as though he were still only two years old. During the whole evening the conversation was centered on Raymond. I was asked to consider him as my own son and his father as my friend. The mother, a qualified pediatrician, had given up practice in order to devote herself entirely to her son.

Raymond was happy to see me at home with his parents. He was conscious of the devotion of his elderly parents and only wished to take over from his father and to be of use to him. He also wanted to invite Malvina in order to present her to his parents as a friend from his class. I advised him to take matters calmly and let Providence take its course. Our evening together lasted until midnight and the couple promised to return our visit.

Next day Malvina arrived alone to let me know that she found Raymond interesting Two or three days later she told me that she had met Raymond at the street corner when she was coming home and that he had accompanied her.

In 1976 Malvina was admitted to the Medical Faculty in order to study Pharmacy. She met Raymond several times near the Faculty and he brought her home in his car. On one occasion he was bold enough to go into her house with her in order to make the acquaintance of her parents. The very same evening her father came to tell me all about it. I told him that I was much attached to Raymond, and that he was a straightforward fellow from a good family and background.

Raymond declared his love to Malvina and she came to our house together with him. His old father was delighted to see him know a happiness that he himself had not known, that of love when still young, for his own youth had been uneventful. As for the father of Malvina, a man of more modest station, he was drawn towards Raymond. So the parents on both sides got to know each other and exchanged visits.

Idealist as he was, during the violence of 1976 and 1977, Raymond could not remain out of things and not take any stand. He joined a an extreme right-wing party and underwent training. He was a real hero, never knowing fear or cowardice. He loved Lebanon as he loved Malvina. Without telling us anything, he took part in the fierce battle of Zahleh, defending this Christian enclave with only a few others against the Syrian, Palestinian and Left-wing hordes.

I saw him less and less, for he was fully engaged both night and day. From having been a very ordinary schoolboy, below average, he was now welcomed everywhere as a hero, at one firing-line after another. He fought with courage but at the same time using his brains. Local political wrangling had no interest for him. He longed for a Lebanon that was multi-confessional, independent, secure and with recognized frontiers. He told me that inter-community dialogue was sterile and unproductive. “I refuse to convert a Muslim or anybody else to Christianity or the other way round. Dialogue must be about the rights of man, equality and justice. Talk must be about our understanding of God. Is he not the same God for Christians and Muslims? Are there two different Gods? Or two different conceptions of divinity? Simply, each community has its own approach to God.”

Raymond was in love. His whole life, his actions, his heroism, all were dedicated to Malvina. He saw in God great love, a God who offered his Only-Begotten for his children, a God with open arms, a God who pardons and loves. One who was almighty, pitiless, vengeful and judging was no God of his, for his own life was a poem of love. He reached the age of twenty-three or twenty-four. He held in his own hands all the business affairs of his father, who was now condemned to loneliness, being too weak to leave his home. Malvina was on the point of finishing her fourth year of Pharmacy. My own children were growing up and considered Malvina as their friend. They enjoyed hearing Raymond tell stories about events in the stupid war. He let me know that he intended soon to marry Malvina and to present a little grandson to his poor tired old father.

Raymond was always to be found where the fighting was fiercest, at Ayoun es-Simaan, which was on the dividing line between the Beqaa and Mount Lebanon, at Zahleh surrounded by the Syrian Army and bombarded both night and day, at the front of Souq el-Gharb defended by the Lebanese Army, or in downtown Beirut. He said to me that liberation should begin with the South, triumphing over the Israelis and non-Lebanese militias. He affirmed that the greatest historic mistake of the Palestinians was to have borne arms against Lebanon. The Palestinians should have overturned a number of collaborationist Arab regimes and now their error would have repercussions for their future history. The Palestinians and their leaders had thought that it was in their hands to settle the situation and bring peace. Their attitude had made everything worse and brought fire and destruction. The fact was that all those taking part in the arena were manipulated by forces outside. Raymond wished with all his heart for the crisis to end. Then he and his bride would go on their honeymoon in Europe. Such was his dream.

Once he passed by Malvina’s and then disappeared for one or two weeks. Malvina confided to me that she was anxious since Raymond had already served on all the fronts over the last three or four years, and she could no longer put up with the strain. She would soon be finishing her studies in Pharmacy and Raymond was in the habit of saying to her, “Go ahead with the University, your studies and your general culture, and there will be no need for you to worry about your work or about opening a pharmacy, for I can buy you a dozen pharmacies. We shall live and love one another and bring up children, for my business affairs will bring in money in abundance. We need nothing save your smile, your sweet looks, your grace, your kindness and your understanding.” It must be admitted that from time to time Raymond had moments when he became poetic.

Raymond was often accompanied by a former classmate of his, Suleiman, who was the son and the grandson of parish priests serving a village in North Lebanon, and who often acted as Raymond’s guardian angel. He swore to me that several times his friend had been within an ace of being killed and that it was Our Lady who had always protected him. Our children were deeply touched when they listened to the conversation, for they were very fond of their friend Raymond, and they liked to join in the talk to show that they were present.

From time to time I met the respective fathers of the two wards I had adopted. Malvina passed whole days with her future parents-in-law during the absences of Raymond. They were fond of her and they needed her company. When the bombardment grew more intense, and everyone had to take shelter, the streets were practically empty. Malvina would drive madly to get to Raymond’s house and to take care of the old couple until such time as their son arrived; then when he came he would soon be off again, refusing to leave his brothers in arms alone on the front. When he came to Jounieh he passed like lightning, finding time just to ask me to look after Malvina and her parents and to give me a short account of the gravity of the situation and of all the problems that needed to be resolved.

It was an absurd war without hope of solution, for with the Islamists and with the Palestinian leaders at that time there was no hope of sincere dialogue and settlement. For fruitful dialogue and for compromise, Jews and Muslims must have the hearts of children, of children who bear no grudge and who play happily together a minute after quarreling over a toy. This was impossible with Palestinian leaders who were agents, or pawns, for their chief had declared in the Western press, “The petrol, that’s me, and the solution to the crisis in Lebanon, that’s me!” But all he could do was to step up his hatred and his arsenal turned against the Land of the Cedars which had received him so hospitably, so that for fifty years the Palestinian refugees in Lebanon had been favored as they were nowhere else.

Now we were in the early nineteen-eighties and the war seemed to drag on interminably. Raymond admitted that he was torn between his love for Malvina and his duty and his engagement in never-ending battles. He was waiting for a period of calm, if only a short one, to take Malvina away as Europa was taken, and then to lose himself in the infinity of her eyes. Malvina too was becoming more and more distressed and she would complain to me that this love affair was utopian, a dream, a moonlit world that she could never reach. The 15th August, feast of the Assumption, promised for their marriage, was eternal, far away, and would never come. She had a presentiment of difficulties, of some misfortune, some great sorrow, evil days and disaster. She who had always been so bright and cheerful, so transparent and ethereal, now seemed enveloped in a veil of sadness. When she expressed her fears to me, I replied that in a month’s time it would be the feast of the Assumption, the feast of Our Lady and of Malvina.

It was mid-July when Raymond and Melvina came to me to announce their coming union, to be celebrated in private, without invitations, ceremony or show. Marriage was a holy sacrament that they would receive just like baptism or First Communion. The godfather would be the artist, their friend and spiritual father, while the godmother would be a doctor of medicine who taught in the medical faculty and who was much loved by Malvina. There were to be just our three families and some of Raymond’s fellow fighters. The marriage blessing was to be given at the shrine of Our Lady of Lebanon by Father Louis who twenty-five years before had baptized Raymond when he was a newborn baby. A cocktail was to be provided for the occasion in the hall adjacent to the church, after which all would go their separate ways and the newly-weds would proceed to Fakra, where they had a small chalet.

On August 6th, feast of the Transfiguration when Christ appeared in his splendor to show his divinity in glory on Mount Hermon before his disciples Peter, James and John, at a little before 2 o’clock in the morning there was a furious knocking at my door. I rushed to open it without even first asking who was there. Andrée was standing behind me while our children still slept. In front of me I found Suleiman, speechless, with tears running down his cheeks, who after a breathless moment threw himself sobbing into my arms. At that moment I noticed a light in the window opposite that opened onto the balcony of Malvina; I drew Suleiman inside and switched off the light. I took the unresisting visitor into the corridor leading to the dining room, where a light was burning.

“Speak up!” I said, “What’s the matter, has something happened to Raymond? For heaven’s sake say something!” The poor fellow nodded his head in affirmation and then went on to tell me that Raymond was in Paradise after receiving full on his chest a missile that had torn him and two others with him apart. Suleiman himself had been lying face downwards in a trench because of the intensity of the fire, and so the Lord had spared him, he said, though he would rather have himself made the sacrifice of his life in the place of Raymond. I could well imagine the ghastly scene with all its horror, on this August 6th when Almighty God had plucked this flower, the soul of Raymond.

“In his bag there was a small notebook that I picked up, here it is!” I persuaded Suleiman to lie down on a sofa and told him not to make a sound, as I did not want to wake up the household or to draw the attention of the neighbors. I fought to hold back my tears and to control my emotion, for I was overwhelmed, crushed by the horror of the disaster. What was I to say to Raymond’s father and mother, and to Malvina and to our children who so adored our great friend? A thousand considerations revolved in my mind – where and how to begin?!

Between Suleiman’s arrival at 2 o’clock in the morning and the light of dawn, I spent the longest night of my life. My thoughts were elsewhere. Raymond’s body torn apart and picked up in pieces, hearts broken and crushed by the terrible event, mine to begin with, followed by those of the elderly father and mother and especially of Malvina, engaged to Raymond for better or for worse, and this happening just ten days before their wedding. At 5 o’clock I was out on the balcony with Malvina sitting in front of me and saying, “All night I didn’t have a moment’s sleep. About 2 o’clock I heard some noise from your house as if somebody had rung your doorbell…”

“Yes, it was Suleiman who arrived late and is now resting.”

“Suleiman? Any news of Raymond? I’m coming over!”

She joined us barely seconds later and was asking to see Suleiman. “Calm down,” I told her, “He’s resting.” Malvina rushed to the dining room, where Suleiman lay apparently asleep. She shook him, calling desperately for news of Raymond, but Suleiman was stretched out motionless like a block of ice. Malvina screamed madly, overcome by her nerves. She threw herself at my feet, still shouting to know about Raymond. At this moment her father and mother rushed in together with Andrée my wife.

Our children threw themselves at Malvina, taking her in their arms.. What could I say? Not a word had passed between us yet and the scene was one of emotion, distress, and disaster. I managed to convey to her father that the worst had happened to Raymond, an injury that was fatal. I could no longer hold back my tears and as she looked at me Malvina understood. “He’s in another world, isn’t he?” I could answer only with sobs. Malvina screamed with pain, weeping, groaning and beating her breast. It was 6th August, when the Savior had taken this noble soul to Paradise. A shell had struck the barricade squarely, killing Raymond and several of his companions. I asked Malvina what we could say to his elderly parents.

She managed now to control herself somewhat, saying, “You’re right, what about his poor father? I’ll be back.” The children followed her, but she was back in a few minutes, asking me to take her to Sarba, to Raymond’s father. Suleiman went with us so we were quite a little crowd when we arrived. The old father was sitting in a corner and his wife near him had unhappiness written all over her. In tears, Malvina threw herself on Raymond’s father and his weeping mother hugged them both. The former understood immediately that some calamity had fallen on the family, that Raymond was no longer of this world.

Suleiman and his companions busied themselves with bringing back what could be gathered of Raymond in a closed and sealed coffin. The burial took place at the Holy Savior monastery, in the presence of a large crowd. The sorrow was general. Now Malvina remained permanently in the home of the old man, who was completely broken. On 15th August he had a cerebral hemorrhage that carried him away. A niece took charge of the old lady, now afflicted with galloping Alzheimer, and she was finally put in a suitable clinic.

The sole survivor of the tragedy was Malvina, who though not yet formally of the family was its spiritual heir, and it was she who prayed for this family, thought of it, and put flowers on the graves, praying in particular for Raymond who had become part of her.

She no longer attended the Faculty. What meaning could a diploma, a piece of paper, have for her, since her life no longer depended on it? Malvina shut herself up and the longest walk she ever took was to come to see me and to see our children. The little notebook of Raymond that Suleiman had brought her was a humble diary written in Arabic and French that was dedicated to her.

Saturday 12th May:
We are buried in our trench, coming under fire from the south and the east. For your lovely green eyes, of the color of the cedars, I shall defend this point. I miss you.

Wednesday 16th May
The sun appears behind the plain. I imagine you arrayed in its beams of pure gold. But the beauty of Malvina outshines all the gold in the world.

Sunday 20th May
(A poem in Arabic expressing his attachment to his loved one.)

1st June
Malvina, all the beauty in existence is summed up in you; if I exist it is to make you happy.

… (obliterated)
Malvina, elixir of my soul, dream-haunting my nights, my beautiful star…

… (obliterated)
I pray to the Virgin to protect you.

7th …
The night is black and there is thunder in the air. The storm plunges us into total darkness while in the tempest of my soul you are my guiding moon and star.

3rd …
I lead a patrol on the front line, where one can see a poor woman and a totally deprived Shiite family. I gave them all the money I had and have asked Suleiman to provide them with their basic needs, their food… I know that this will make you happy, you who are so generous and kind. This war is not one between communities but rather one against terrorists, troublemakers, and extremists…

18th, 19th… etc.
There were some 150 or 200 pages of notes, opinions, poems, songs, events, and so forth. All were dedicated to Malvina. She later asked me a very pertinent question: “What do you know about Mary Magdalen? I have in my library two volumes of the Golden Legend where several pages are devoted to Mary Magdalen. I also offered him the Mystères de l’Amour, those wonderful poems of Charles Corm.”

Four or five days passed without Malvina coming back to us. I wondered if she had perhaps gone abroad or something of the sort. On the sixth day she called me from the balcony to tell me that she was back and to ask if the children were at school again.

She said that the Golden Legend was very beautiful, but after all only a legend. On the other hand, Mystères de l’Amour was a cry from the depths of the soul. She had learnt some of the poems by heart and had read and re-read the touching work of Corm, and thereupon she had taken her decision. She was to be Mary Magdalen, and close to the crucified Messiah she would share his suffering. She had one desire, to live her nostalgia with the beautiful memories of the unique moments passed with Raymond in a religious Order.

She entered the noviciate of the Dominican Sisters in a convent close to Harissa, and there she first passed a little over five years. From time to time I visited her. Then she spent seven years in France at Besançon, from where she sent us two or three postcards. She was praying for Raymond and her thoughts turned to us every day. She returned to Lebanon and took charge of the novices, of the kitchen and of the church, praying to the Lord night and day. Pour Malvina! we used to say. At the age of forty-five, still looking beautiful, she contracted leukemia, which soon took her to Paradise to join those whom she had so much loved on earth. Here my story ends; I feel truly sad in writing it, but the ways of God are to be accepted by us with their mystery.

Joseph Matar
All rights reserved © LebanonArt
Translated from French: K. J. Mortimer