An unfortunate turn of the wheel by the Broom Committee, during the square’s weekly rinsing, pushed the bench north-northeast by nearly half a meter.
At that distance, the solar path under the big linden goes off the rails: biscuits, thermoses, and the regulars’ millimeter-honed reflexes end up in the sun.
Monday, 7:38 a.m. Trying to skirt a stubborn puddle, the wheelbarrow of the volunteer sweeping crew snagged the back leg of the communal bench. The piece slides, squeals, and stops 43 centimeters farther on, set squarely between slabs 27 and 28, the ones people usually avoid because they sound hollow. Jojo, a fisherman and unofficial keeper of the charcuterie’s gherkin-jar tape measure, confirms the distance “to the centi-hair,” backed by a blurry photo.
Immediate consequence: the famous 4:12 p.m. shadow cone, marked each summer by a chalk line and two varnished apricot pits, no longer covers the folding table of the Tuesday belote players. The petit-beurre biscuits go soggy, the thermoses overheat, and Jeannine’s trump queen sticks to the felt. “We’re not going to cook our necks for a capricious bench: at our age, we keep the hour and the shade, or else everything falls apart,” whispers Raymond B., 74, 1993 boot-throwing champion and witness to the disaster.
Since then, proposals are flying. The Cherry Pit Friendly Society wants to paint on the ground a “Local Shade of Interest Zone” with courgette-marking paint. The Café du Renard is offering a parasol, except on Thursdays (leek soup night, sidewalk gets priority). The Knitters’ Club mentions making an insulated cushion with linden motifs to take the edge off the sun. A delegation even stretched some butcher’s twine between the bell tower and the geranium basket to recalculate the axis of the shadow, keeping to the angle implied by the bench’s 43-cm shift.
Friday, at the appointed hour, a “gentle” realignment is planned: two levers made of shovel handles, a spirit level borrowed from the carpenter, and a safety lashing with a bungee to avoid the catapult effect. If all goes well, the first hand of belote in recovered shade could be played as early as Saturday, before the dew. “If we start moving benches without asking the shade, tomorrow we’ll move the pond, and after that what? The nap?” warns, faux-stern, Jeannine L., cofounder of the 4:12 p.m. Belote Club, already poised to draw the new chalk line.
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