Chapter 50: The Speed of Provence

That very night, Ronan received a call from an unfamiliar number.

On the other end was a man named Kafu. He said he only had six days available to work for Ronan, as afterward he would be renovating a vacation villa. He asked Ronan to specify the workload so he could select the most important tasks to help with.

Ronan relayed his needs, causing Kafu to pause briefly.

“That’s it? Four days will be enough.”

Ronan had designed close to fifty houses in Paris—forty-nine to be exact.

Simply demolishing one entire wall, reinforcing the dining room and kitchen, and cleaning up would take a full day. Was this man drunk?

Ronan repeated his requirements, this time in more detail, only to hear that the time estimate had been cut by another day.

“I think those cabinets can still be used; just refurbish them. Three days will suffice.”

Ronan’s mouth hung open for a long moment. Hesitantly, he asked, “And what about repairing a road?”

“How long?”

“Around thirty meters.”

Kafu let out a thunderous belch.

“Three and a half days.”

Trusting Miss Elena’s judgment, Ronan made a verbal agreement with Kafu.

Once Kafu finished his current job, he would bring his crew over. Ronan was to pay 13,000 francs for the work.

Ronan wasn’t sure if this was overpriced or by how much... all he knew was that from the remaining 23,000 francs, only 7,000 were left.

“Out of money again...”

...

One early morning.

No, rather, deep in the night.

Ronan was jolted awake by the deafening sound of machinery.

In the haze, he realized it was not yet 5:30 a.m.

He always woke once around 5:30 to begin his mountain work, but today his biological clock had not yet stirred.

Quickly throwing on a shirt, he went outside to see if perhaps a streetlight or road surface had broken and the government was rushing repairs.

Drowsy, he spotted three trucks, loaded with construction materials and paving tools. A towering, burly man—tall as a German—jumped down from one of the trucks.

“Ronan?”

“It’s me. Are you Kafu?” Ronan asked, still groggy.

Kafu nodded and immediately switched into work mode.

“Which road are we fixing?”

Ronan gestured.

“We can dig up two rows of grapevines and move them aside; I’ll handle them later.”

“Where’s the thirty meters? Twenty-five maybe, but no refund.” Kafu patted the truck door. “Alright, lads, let’s get to work.”

The truck doors swung open, and a dozen muscular men, exuding the scent of raw masculinity, surrounded Ronan.

If not for some contextual differences, Ronan might have thought a professional rugby team had descended upon the village of Lurmalan.

“Who the hell put a table in the middle of the road? The trucks can’t get through.” Kafu muttered as he headed toward Ronan’s house.

Ronan caught up with him.

“Since the road’s a few meters shorter, how about some extra work?”

Kafu squinted at him.

Ronan smiled sheepishly.

“Help me move that table inside the house.”

Professional matters were best left to professionals.

...

Ronan had never seen such relentless workers; everything was done at breakneck speed.

At dawn’s first light, the kitchen countertops and sink had vanished.

Half an hour later, the first layer of road was laid through the vineyard.

Simultaneously, demolition of walls was underway.

Yes, all at the same time.

Two craftsmen wielded massive sledgehammers, cruelly pounding the walls while a group a few meters away told dirty jokes, sang, and listened to the radio.

Ronan felt all the renovation knowledge and common sense he acquired in Paris were useless in Provence.

These men worked like emotionless machines, only reluctantly stopping at lunch.

Ronan provided two baskets of rustic bread, three kilograms of cheese, enough peppered sausage for him and his dog to last half a month, and a bucket of marinated olives.

To show good hospitality, Ronan cautiously asked if they wanted wine.

In Provence, tractor drivers typically carried a bottle of wine, but thankfully, none of them wanted a drink.

Imagining these huge hammers in the hands of drunken workers was terrifying enough; sober, they were already dangerous.

Lunch lasted only half an hour, after which they immediately resumed work.

Until six o’clock, they hadn’t taken a single break—not even to relieve themselves in the vineyard.

Once six struck, the men gradually went off to fertilize the vines.

“You can really work thirteen hours straight?” Ronan asked Kafu, who looked relaxed, utterly shocked.

Kafu shrugged.

“Only in winter. In the summer, we work forty hours.”

Ronan was speechless.

“In Paris, workers show up late, leave before sunset, and take several breaks for tea, snacks, and chatting...” Ronan didn’t dare finish the sentence.

And yet, they still go on strikes and protests.

Kafu laughed.

“Kid, this is Provence. You have to get used to the pace here.”

Ronan shrugged without a word.

Alright, he understood why construction workers were hard to find here.

...

After Kafu left, Ronan wandered into his vineyard.

The cost of the asphalt road was two rows of grapevines sacrificed. Fortunately, Kafu’s crew handled them gently enough to transplant elsewhere.

As he worked, he suddenly heard a car engine shut off behind him.

Bending over, he turned to see a Ford pickup truck, causing his heart to skip a beat.

Few in Lurmalan village could afford an American pickup.

Could it be...?

Lucas stepped down from the driver’s seat, raising his hands to signal Ronan not to be alarmed, then smiled and pointed behind him.

“I was on my way to Theo’s. Passed by and saw your road being paved, so I came to check it out.”

Ronan straightened up, his voice tinged with complexity.

“Thanks to you all.”

Elena’s supposed ‘all-powerfulness’ relied entirely on Lucas. Ronan wasn’t naive enough to think the workers arriving today had come because Elena and the ladies had afternoon tea.

But he feared Lucas would bring up the truffle topic again...

Lucas tapped the ground twice, his tone casual.

“Kafu and his crew didn’t scare you, did they?”

“No, no.” Ronan shook his head. “They’re very professional.”

Lucas put his hands behind his back, looking at Ronan’s house.

“A bunch of crazies.”

As dusk fell, Ronan felt it rude to leave a guest outside chatting, and guessed Lucas was about to broach that subject.

“Come inside, have a drink.”

Unexpectedly, Lucas waved him off.

“No thanks, Theo’s still waiting for me.”

Ronan was taken aback.

Just passing through?

Lucas took a few steps back, then turned, his voice as relaxed as if discussing tomorrow’s weather.

“We’ve already started on that plan. You’re welcome to join anytime.”

Ronan tried to say something, but Lucas opened the door and sincerely added,

“It’s okay if you don’t join. You can still come to me for help — that’s a farmer’s ‘pact’.”

The truck roared loudly before disappearing into the darkness.

Ronan stared into the night, lingering long before leaving.

Elena’s ‘all-powerful’ brother, the wealthy man shining in the crowd, the proud truffle hunter, the ambitious achiever...

Lucas wore many labels, but Ronan felt he could add one more: a man worthy of respect.