Miriam drove the Dacia. Father Bousquet sat in the middle and I was squeezed between him and the passenger door. We got out of Alencourt. Which meant winding up the valley road to a plateau. The landscape thereafter was a featureless blur of wheat fields and rapeseed. The rapeseed flowering in bright yellow. Yellow as far as the eye could see. Punctuated by spiny black electricity towers slinging power lines across the fields. Occasionally the van passed through a patch of forest. Like a train going through a tunnel. Then we shot out again into the bright yellow. Half an hour in, Father Bousquet’s head dropped to his chest. His breathing got regular and slow.

I looked at Miriam. Miriam looked at me.

I said, “Does he always fall asleep when you drive?”

She bobbled her head. “Every time. Half an hour, like clockwork.”

“It’s a healthy habit.”

“Father Bousquet likes to sleep.”

“How long have you worked with him?”

She nodded. “For the last two years. He sponsors me.”

“Sponsors how?”

“I came from Afghanistan. I have an asylum registration. Father Bousquet sponsors my citizenship application.”

I said, “Did you learn to drive in Afghanistan?”

She shook her head and looked at me as if I were ignorant. “No. Of course not. I learned to drive here.”

I let her drive. Which she did competently. Miriam and I didn’t speak for about an hour. She was probably just fine not talking at all.

I was thinking about the ‘Welcome Foundation’. The mayor was involved, helping to get the city machinery mobilized. The guy had seemed like too much of a prick to be charitable. But then again, maybe guys like that get involved with charity to look good. To cover up their greed and self-interest. Hiding the warts. Like putting lipstick on a pig.

“Are you the only one sponsored by Father Bousquet?”

Miriam had been thinking about something. She didn’t begrudge my intrusion. “No the foundation currently sponsors a few hundred applications. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Must be a pretty tough selection.”

“Yes, the board reviews the candidates on a rolling basis. And selects only as many as the foundation can support.”

“How do they choose?”

“I was interviewed by the board.”

“Like an audition. People sitting behind a big table asking you questions.”

“Sort of. They do it once every couple of months.”

“Who’s on the board?”

“I don’t know all of them. Father Bousquet, Madame Vaugeois, because she’s a big financial backer, the mayor. A couple of other people I didn’t know.”

“And what’s your role specifically?”

“Me? I help out with the odd thing, here and there. Like today.”

“And preparing the clothes at Fanny’s yesterday. That was part of your ‘Welcome Foundation’ activity right?”

“That’s right. This is outreach, to migrants in the field.”

“You like it?”