Lentil Soup & Unfashionable Beliefs, Kindness, and People Who Are Willing to Express Both

by Amy

“Why in the world would you confront Inspector Beauvoir? Especially now?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try.” 

“Honestly, Thérèse, can it matter at this stage?” 

“Does he know what you’re doing? What we’re doing?” 

“He doesn’t even know what he’s doing,” Gamache said. “He’s no threat.” 

Thérèse Brunel was about to say something, but seeing his face, the bruise and the expression, she decided not to. 

[…] 

They’d already eaten, but saved some for Gamache. He carried a tray with [lentil] soup and a fresh baguette, pâté and cheeses into the living room and set it in front of the fire.

This meal takes place in the quiet of the night, amidst low voices and in the presence of friends. There’s turmoil, though. This is the last meal before the culmination of the “last battle” he’s been planning for months – maybe years. He knows this could be his last meal, his last night, his last chance to make things right.

“Why did you go to Beauvoir?” 

Gamache sighed. 

“I had to try, one more time.” 

She looked at him for a long moment. “You mean one last time. You think you won’t get another chance.” 

They sat for a long moment. Thérèse kneaded Henri’s ears while the shepherd moaned and grinned. 

"You did the right thing,” she said. “No regrets.”

It’s easy for her to say he should have no regrets.

At the risk of being controversial, I think only those who don’t care enough can truly say they have no regrets.

Regret and remorse aren’t the same thing. Regret, unlike remorse, doesn’t necessarily involve guilt. 

Where there is regret, there is disappointment in opportunities missed, frustration with unwelcome outcomes, or sadness due to occurrences that might be beyond the scope of control. I don’t think it’s possible to live life and have no regrets. There are so many regrettable things in life.

Both feelings have to do with the past, but the main difference is in how we would do things if given the chance to change our actions. Where there is remorse, there is guilt, and I think the predominant feeling is that if we could just go back in time and choose another path, all would be well. Regret is less straightforward. It is possible to regret the outcome, but not the action that lead to it. It is possible to regret the pain you cause someone, but realize that there was little else you could do. It is possible to own up to the responsibility, but understand that it is not the same as guilt.

Regret and remorse aren’t the same, but they’re close and both can cause a deep ache.

Gamache undoubtably regrets that Beauvoir is so lost. His protege and friend is so far gone that “he doesn’t even know what he’s doing”. Gamache regrets that he feels abandoned and betrayed and hurt and alone. He regrets that he had to leave him in the factory, that Beauvoir didn’t listen when they tried to reach out, that boundaries had to be set, that Annie set up boundaries and, ultimately, left him.

While regret and remorse aren’t the same, niggling feelings of guilt tickle at Gamache and make him wonder if he could have done any differently. He blames himself even if there isn’t anything to blame. He regrets.

And he’s running out of time.

The scene where he confronts Beauvoir, a few hours before he sits to eat his soup, is one of the most powerful scenes in the books to me. There is so much love and kindness in these books and one of the central love stories is this one. Gamache and Beauvoir. The Chief Inspector and his Right Hand Man. Mentor and Protégé. Teacher and Star Pupil. Father Figure and Adopted Son. Father and Son-in-Law. Friends. Family. This is one of the most beautifully written relationships in fiction. To me, that is. But it's not secret that I have a soft spot for Beauvoir. Not to mention a book crush.

He walked straight toward his goal. Once there, he didn’t knock, but opened the door and closed it firmly behind him. 

“Jean-Guy.” 

Beauvoir looked up from the desk and Gamache felt his heart constrict. Jean-Guy was going down. Setting.“ 

Come with me,” Gamache said. He’d expected his voice to be normal, and was surprised to hear just a whisper, the words barely audible. 

“Get out.” Beauvoir’s voice, too, was low. He turned his back on the Chief.

Can you imagine the pain? 

“Well, take your fucking perfect life, your perfect record and get the fuck out. I’m just a piece of shit to you, something stuck to your shoe. Not good enough for your department, not good enough for your daughter. Not good enough to save.” 

The last words barely made it from Beauvoir’s mouth. His throat had constricted and they just scraped by. Beauvoir stood up, his thin body shaking.“ 

I tried…” Gamache began. 

“You left me. You left me to die in that factory.”

This broke my heart. I cried.

Not good enough to save.

I think none of us are good enough to save. And yet, while we are all unworthy, we are all redeemable. By Grace. By Love. And made whole and lovable and “good enough”.

Not good enough to save.

There are echoes of Beauvoir's own words, years earlier, when they went into a burning building to save Agent Nichole. Beauvoir questioned their heroics then, even as he followed Gamache into the flames. She isn’t worth it. Gamache challenged him to think of someone he loved, imagined it was them in that burning building, and then face the flames.

Not good enough to save.

He’d clung to Gamache’s hands, and to this day Gamache could feel them, sticky and warm. Jean-Guy had said nothing, but his eyes had shrieked. 

Armand had kissed Jean-Guy on the forehead, and smoothed his bedraggled hair. And whispered in his ear. And left. To help the others. He was their leader. Had led them into what proved to be an ambush. He couldn’t stay behind with one fallen agent, no matter how beloved.

There is regret. Painful, unsettling, heart wrenching regret.

But Armand Gamache knows he did what he had to do. He couldn’t have done any differently.

He’d known the unspeakable comfort of not being alone in the final moments. And he’d known then the unspeakable loneliness Beauvoir must have felt. 

Armand Gamache knew he’d changed. A different man was lifted from the concrete floor than had hit it. But he also knew that Jean-Guy Beauvoir had never really gotten up. He was tethered to that bloody factory floor, by pain and painkillers, by addiction and cruelty and the bondage of despair. 

Gamache looked into those eyes again.They were empty now. Even the anger seemed just an exercise, an echo. Not really felt anymore. Twilight eyes.

Jean-Guy had been so full of life, of potential, of intelligence. Look at him now! He’s in the pit of despair.

“You left me to die, then made me a joke.” 

Gamache felt the muzzle of the Glock in his abdomen and took a sharp breath as it pressed deeper. 

[…] 

“You have to get help.” 

“You left me to die,” Beauvoir said, gasping for breath. “On the floor. On the fucking dirty floor.” 

He was crying now, leaning into Gamache, their bodies pressed together. Beauvoir felt the fabric of Gamache’s jacket against his unshaven face and smelled sandalwood. And a hit of roses. 

“I’ve come back for you now, Jean-Guy.” Gamache’s mouth was against Beauvoir’s ear, his words barely audible. “Come with me.” 

He felt Beauvoir’s hand shift and the finger on the trigger tighten. But still he didn’t fight back. Didn’t struggle. 

Then shall forgiven and forgiving meet again. 

“I’m sorry,”said Gamache. “I’d give my life to save you.” 

Or will it be, as always was, /too late? 

“Too late,” Beauvoir’s words were muffled, spoken into Gamache’s shoulder. 

“I love you, Armand whispered. 

Jean-Guy Beauvoir leapt back and swung the gun, catching Gamache on the side of the face.

[…] 

“I could kill you,” said Beauvoir. 

“Oui. And maybe I deserve it.” 

“No one would blame me. No one would arrest me.” 

And Gamache knew that was true. He’d thought if he was ever gunned down, it wouldn’t be in Sûreté headquarters, or at the hands of Jean-Guy Beauvoir. 

“I know,” the Chief said, his voice low and soft. He took a step closer to Beauvoir, who didn’t retreat. “How lonely you must be.” 

He held Jean-Guy’s eyes and his heart broke for the boy he’d left behind. 

“I could kill you,” Beauvoir repeated, his voice weaker. 

“Yes.” 

[…] 

“Leave me,” Beauvoir said, all fight and most of the life gone from him. 

“Come with me.” 

“No.”

I can only imagine how painful that was. For both of them.

I stole one of my husband's sunset pictures - he's obviously a better photographer than I am.

I know. I speak of them as though they were real.

They are.

There are Gamaches and Beauvoirs everywhere. Annies and Beauvoirs. Sometimes, regardless of how much love is involved, boundaries must be set. Neither Gamache, nor Annie, despite their deep love for Jean-Guy, could follow him to the bottom. Sometimes, although your heart breaks, you have to confront the spiraling self-destructive behavior.

My heart breaks for Beauvoir. I can empathize with Gamache.

I confess, though, that in this scene I’m not sure who I feel for most. Beauvoir, at this point, is almost numb. Empty. Only half alive. Gamache is intensely alive, overflowing with love and sorrow for this child of his heart. Beauvoir is closer to him, in so many ways, than the children that share his blood. 

And he lost him. He’s grieving for the man he used to know and for the man Beauvoir might never become.

Armand Gamache had always held unfashionable beliefs. He believed that light would banish the shadows. That kindness was more powerful than cruelty, and that goodness existed, even in the most desperate places. He believed that evil had its limits. But looking at the young men and women staring at him now, who’d seen something terrible about to happen and had done nothing, Chief Inspector Gamache wondered if he could have been wrong all this time. 

Maybe darkness sometimes won. Maybe evil had no limits. 

He walked alone back down the corridor, pressed the down button, and in the privacy of the elevator he covered his face with his hands.

We rarely see Gamache give in to hopelessness. I think it is a measure of how heavy his heart is that he is on the brink of hopelessness here.

Just sharing the autumn mood - only decorated corner of the house - on this chilly day perfect for a bowl of soup!

I am so glad for Grace. For Redemption. Second Chances. Faith. Hope. Love.

I am so glad Jean-Guy is restored to himself. No, better than his former self. He is redeemed and is surprised by joy and becomes stronger where he had been broken. He is told, by his mentor, friend, and father-in-law, that he is a brave man in a brave country. He marries Gamache’s daughter and becomes the father to his grandson. He resumes his role as an Inspector, and continues to be Gamache’s loyal supporter, following him even as he makes difficult career choices.

He is redeemed. The boy Gamache thought was lost, is found. Darkness did not win.

As a reader. I was content already.

Then this scene came along, in A GREAT RECKONING.

** The scene that follows is not a spoiler, but if you'd rather not read anything from the latest book, skip and go to the recipe!

Oh Jean-Guy… You have outdone yourself. Bliss.

Louise Penny has openly spoken of her own battle with addiction and how she was surprised by joy and grace and forgiveness. She has touched so many of us with her stories, her insight into human character and interaction, and the grace and hope she writes in her books.

Jean-Guy, like Penny, has managed to turn his pain into strength.

There is a crack in everything. That is how the light gets in.

And he shines in this latest book.

“I thought I had the world figured out. Then everything I knew to be true, I started to question. And I hated him for it. […] But then the hate shifted,” said Beauvoir, speaking as though telling him a fable, a bedtime story. “I began to hate the very people I’d trusted. The ones who told me the world was filled with terrible people and that brutality was the same as strength. I’d learned to hit first and hard, and fast. 

[…] 

The world turned upside down,” Beauvoir continued. “It was at once more beautiful and more frightening than you’d been led to believe. And suddenly you didn’t know what to do. Who to trust. Where to turn. It’s terrifying. Being lost is so much worse than being on the wrong road. That’s why people stay on it so long. We’re too far gone, or so we think. We’re tired and we’re confused and we’re scared. And we think there’s no way back. I know.”

“When someone shoots at us, we return fire,” said Jean-Guy. 

Now Jacques did nod. 

“But it’s equally important that when someone is kind to us, we return that as well,” he said quietly. Careful. Careful not to scare the young man off. 

“It took me a very long time to come to that. The hatred I felt for Monsieur Gamache, and then the others, shifted again, and I began to loathe myself.” 

“Do you still?” Jacques asked, finally turning from the window, from the wasteland. “Hate yourself?” 

“Non. It took a long time, and a lot of help. Jacques, the world is a cruel place, but it’s also filled with more goodness than we ever realized. And you know what? Kindness beats cruelty. In the long run. It really does. Believe me.” 

He held out his hand to the young man. Jacques stared at it.

“Believe me,” Jean-Guy whispered. 

And Jacques did.

LENTIL SOUP

I considered making a recipe that included bacon, but then I realized I was probably the one who would be doing most (all) of the eating, so I made a vegetarian version that appealed to me more.

Ingredients:

-          1 tablespoon olive oil

-          1 onion

-          3 small carrots

-          1 leek (only the white part)

-          1 green onion

-          2 cloves of garlic

-          1 bay leaf

-         Dried oregano (about 1 teaspoon) (also some pepper flakes, maybe an extra bay leaf and some thyme)

-          Salt & pepper (to taste)

-          Broth (I used chicken because it’s what I had, but a true vegetarian might use vegetable)

-    Water (I started out with about a liter of broth, but added both more broth and more water in unquantifiable amounts because I added as needed)

-          1 can of tomatoes and their liquid

-          1 package (about 2 ½ cups) of lentils

-          1 teaspoon red vinegar

-          2 or 3 cups of chopped spinach leaves

Instructions

Heat the oil and add onion, carrots, green onion, leeks and garlic until softened. Season with salt and pepper (if you’re like me you’ll add too much of something and slap yourself in the forehead and try to fix it later – it’s usually redeemable).

Add the broth and the tomatoes. Since I don’t like watery soups, at this stage, I put most of the veggies and tomatoes in a food processor and blended them, then poured the thicker mixture back into the pan before adding the lentils. This is optional.

Add lentils and the bay leaf. Allow to simmer for about 30 minutes. Add more liquid (broth/water) if necessary. Add the red vinegar and the spinach leaves and simmer for another 3 to 5 minutes before serving. I added a dollop of sour cream and, bemoaning the fact that I didn’t have a yummy baguette to accompany the soup, I sliced up some smoked cheddar to accompany the meal. Meals, actually. I enjoyed it so much it was both lunch and dinner.

This was the perfect soup for reflecting and enjoying the rainy cloudy autumn day.

** All quotes, unless otherwise stated, are from Louise Penny’s HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN or THE GREAT RECKONING