Combing – penchena

Mme El loves being combed, nobody does it except me. She has a problem bringing up her arms, no mirror either, and therefore can’t do much herself. She has a brush and a handsome horn comb we gave her some years ago. We gave her two different ones in fact, but one of them had disappeared, until I saw Léonine comb her granddaughter’s hair with it. Mme El holds her head in enjoyment. She says she won’t stop me, it’s so pleasant. I suppose it’s her scalp which likes the massage; she can’t get enough of it and says that it takes her mind off eating.

‘J’ai la grattère’ she says, I have an itch, at the back of her head in fact, frequently so, caused by the label in her garment?
Mme El about a news item:
‘Ce n’est pas le bon Dieu qui a fait ça, c’est le mauvais.’
Question : ‘Y a-t-il deux Dieu?’
Mme El: ‘Oui.’
Mme El: ‘That’s not the good God who did that, it’s the bad one.’
Question : ‘Are there two Gods?’
Mme El: ‘Yes.’