I write it in the small and dark notebook, marble cake.
Leon slipped in the camper, marble-caked, the gag cat, Mally and her boyfriend where doing grapes near L, somewhere in Beaujolais she says. She can't remember. Sometimes I do remember, she says, and then I forget again. She can't remember. But you met Leon, I say. He came into the camper, she says. Somewhere in Beaujolais, she says. It rained. And then you and Leon, I say, the day you and Leon met, in the van. My van, Mally says, my red van, my Volkswagen. The red thing, I ask. No, she says. Boyfriend, I ask. Yes, she says. She had a Volkswagen and a boyfriend.
At the border, she says, it took no time to put Leon in a winebox. In a what, I ask. In a winebox, she says. He loved it, she says. It used to have bottles inside, she says. It didn't have bottles inside, it had Leon inside, she says.