Back then in Africa, Bode.

— Bode, the bright side of it is that you ended up learning french. You owe that

to your stern father, my dear. I often picture you in África reading Hugo against your will, too young to enjoy it, feeling menaced.

— Yeah, I hated it, and as an adverse side-effect, couldnt come back to it later, as an young adult. Too traumatized!

— That doesn´t matter much, boy, at least you learnt french…

— Well…

— You know what? I always remember what you said when I called you the day he died. I asked what were your feelings and you replied: “Now, what comes to mind are the good memories, the things we did together, our household in Africa”.

— Did I say that?

— You did. But let me add this to the “good memories”: thanks to his insistence, you learnt french. Oh, and never mind rereading “Les Miserables”, it is not that good anyway. Read Proust instead — en français, bien sur!