The Rear-View Mirror of Fate, ch. 4 (Version rock)

[Sung, melodic vocals only]

Bright sunshine. Jazz music. The XXL drak-car rolls slowly into a street that is far too narrow. We glide along on velvet, in second gear. The Viking at the wheel, proud as a peacock. Two days as a couple. First romantic trip. First ride in the drak-car…

A car shoots past. Bish, bash! Clips our mirror and blocks the road. A bloke gets out bawling as if he had just lost an arm.

The bloke sings: You've smashed my mirror! Look at that! My BMW!

The Viking is livid, he leaps out of his seat:
No! It's fake! You see, fake mirror, fake!

I watch him circle the drak-car from the passenger seat. I have a hunch that everything is being decided at this precise moment: he is waiting for me to take his side and translate on the spot. Without a second's hesitation, he opens my door, visibly impatient.

Come out! Quick! Translate! Now!

I comply with a calm befitting the occasion. For the space of one breath, I turn the outside volume off, for a little sound break. From inside my cotton-wool silence, I watch them gesticulate without really hearing them.

Then the pressure of his hand on my arm turns the volume back up full blast: I smile… through gritted teeth.

Stuck between two hotheads,
one not convincing, the other not convinced.
I find myself translating in my Franglais.
It rings false, like a badly dubbed film.

Hey, guys, stop, deep breaths! No need to unleash Ragnarök over a bit of plastic. If the mirror's broken, we call the insurance, not Odin! But shall we check first?

I look: the mirror has just popped out of its socket, but the bloke is making a huge song and dance about it.

Look, the mirror's fine. Click. There you go, all done! Goodbye and safe travels!

The Viking sings his grand tirade: This man… is a loser! Big fraud! He wants my money! I give him fists! Tell him!

I calm things down: He says that… erm… you're… a crook and that he's going to offer you… fists?… a fistful of… croissants? Or maybe… it depends how you translate it, really… a knuckle sandwich?

The Viking, visibly furious, all two metres of him, waves his arms about like a windmill. The bloke backs off, brandishes a till receipt, a photo of his cat, gets into his car and flees.

A few minutes later… silence in the drak-car. The Viking is wound tighter than a G-string.

Right. All sorted. Let's relax and have a laugh.

The Viking, steely gaze:
You do not support me! You sabotage! You with him!… I'll never forget that!

I try a joke to take the wind out of his sails and avoid blowing our brand-new romance, as fragile as a little chick barely out of its egg.

You're kidding! All this because I didn't act out your melodrama? I already hate conflict, and you dump me in the middle of the hostilities for nothing! And I'm the one who gets it in the neck? Oi! Are you off your head? Wake up, General von Klinkerhoffen!

Stuck between two hotheads,
one not convincing, the other not convinced.
It rings false,
it's badly dubbed.

… And that is how the rear-view mirror became the murder weapon… of our entire relationship.

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[Sung, melodic vocals only] Bright sunshine. Jazz music. The XXL drak-car rolls slowly into a street that is far too narrow. We glide along on velvet, in second gear. The Viking at the wheel, proud as a peacock. Two days as a couple. First romantic trip. First ride in the drak-car… A car shoots past. Bish, bash! Clips our mirror and blocks the road. A bloke gets out bawling as if he had just lost an arm. The bloke sings: You've smashed my mirror! Look at that! My BMW! The Viking is livid, he leaps out of his seat: No! It's fake! You see, fake mirror, fake! I watch him circle the drak-car from the passenger seat. I have a hunch that everything is being decided at this precise moment: he is waiting for me to take his side and translate on the spot. Without a second's hesitation, he opens my door, visibly impatient. Come out! Quick! Translate! Now! I comply with a calm befitting the occasion. For the space of one breath, I turn the outside volume off, for a little sound break. From inside my cotton-wool silence, I watch them gesticulate without really hearing them. Then the pressure of his hand on my arm turns the volume back up full blast: I smile… through gritted teeth. Stuck between two hotheads, one not convincing, the other not convinced. I find myself translating in my Franglais. It rings false, like a badly dubbed film. Hey, guys, stop, deep breaths! No need to unleash Ragnarök over a bit of plastic. If the mirror's broken, we call the insurance, not Odin! But shall we check first? I look: the mirror has just popped out of its socket, but the bloke is making a huge song and dance about it. Look, the mirror's fine. Click. There you go, all done! Goodbye and safe travels! The Viking sings his grand tirade: This man… is a loser! Big fraud! He wants my money! I give him fists! Tell him! I calm things down: He says that… erm… you're… a crook and that he's going to offer you… fists?… a fistful of… croissants? Or maybe… it depends how you translate it, really… a knuckle sandwich? The Viking, visibly furious, all two metres of him, waves his arms about like a windmill. The bloke backs off, brandishes a till receipt, a photo of his cat, gets into his car and flees. A few minutes later… silence in the drak-car. The Viking is wound tighter than a G-string. Right. All sorted. Let's relax and have a laugh. The Viking, steely gaze: You do not support me! You sabotage! You with him!… I'll never forget that! I try a joke to take the wind out of his sails and avoid blowing our brand-new romance, as fragile as a little chick barely out of its egg. You're kidding! All this because I didn't act out your melodrama? I already hate conflict, and you dump me in the middle of the hostilities for nothing! And I'm the one who gets it in the neck? Oi! Are you off your head? Wake up, General von Klinkerhoffen! Stuck between two hotheads, one not convincing, the other not convinced. It rings false, it's badly dubbed. … And that is how the rear-view mirror became the murder weapon… of our entire relationship.

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