Cemetery of Swallows

by Mallock;

  “Gentlemen, I believe it is time to close the coffin and leave in peace the remains of the person who is now officially the unknown soldier of the Second World War.”

  The president’s representative added, as if to seal the coffin:

  “I shall report this to the president. I believe that within a week he will give a speech on television to inform the French people of this soldier’s existence and make his presence here official.”

  Mordome was resigned to the outcome and had begun, with the help of his assistant, to decant the various pieces of the puzzle into the now empty coffin. To set his mind at ease, he examined the largest pieces once again before carefully replacing them in the casket. He looked with special attention at an oblong, cracked object he had not succeeded in identifying, and which he picked up again and shook, as if trying to guess what was in it.

  “What is that?” Mallock asked, clinging to this last hope. “It looks like a pouch.”

  “No, sorry, it’s a piece of the intestine. The part closest to the stomach, the duodenum. It was its form that first surprised me, and then its weight. But that’s all it is, unfortunately.”

  Then he concluded, for the benefit of all those present:

  “I’m finished.”

  As in a nightmare, Mallock saw the little group, only too happy to have completed this delicate mission, head for the metal ladder, chattering like magpies. They all had broad smiles on their faces. Those assholes were already enjoying their Christmas dinners and opening their gifts. Mallock would gladly have shut them up inside the crypt to deprive them of their celebration.

  They were all startled when Mallock shouted:

  “Silence! Be quiet!”

  Mordome looked at his friend with concern. Had he lost his head? Judioni was more direct:

  “Superintendent, get a grip on yourself. One has to be able to accept failure.”

  But Mallock was calm. He stood there, listening intently.

  “Don’t you hear anything?”

  “Nothing, apart from you and your shouts,” the curator said, offended.

  “Music,” Mallock insisted. “Coming from the coffin, I think.”

  Surprised by such a statement, the whole group fell silent to listen.

  “There’s nothing at all,” Judioni said. “You’re off your head, Mallock.”

  Judioni must have thought he needn’t use Mallock’s title. But he was far from having seen everything yet. With a person like Mallock, you always have to be ready for anything. Mordome knew that, but he hardly expected what was about to happen in front of him.

  Amédée stood there as if frozen in the silence. The omnipresence of amber throughout the investigation could be no coincidence. Amber still had things to reveal. Who had recruited those insects, those involuntary pilots? Why had they been sent to the future in their microscopic capsules of resin? What was their message? Caught in a drop of thought and blood, couldn’t souls also be immobile travelers? In the well, there were thousands of swallows, in the amber vial there was ayahuasca, in the earth there was a cross, in Manu’s mind, another man, and in . . .

  Mallock rushed back to the coffin and began rummaging around with his big hands among the various bones. The officials, stunned, watched him with the expression you assume when you think somebody has lost his mind. A mixture of reprobation and sympathy.

  Sympathy for the Superintendent: that sounded like the title of a thriller.

  Suddenly, Mallock stopped and raised his right arm in the air, with a smile of victory on his face. He’d found the pouch-like object that had intrigued Mordome for a moment.

  He carefully placed the object on the table, observed it very closely, stood up, grabbed a mallet and, with a sudden blow, shattered the bit of intestine.

  The assembly was stupefied.

  Mallock, without paying attention to anyone, was now blowing on his discovery and dusting it off with a brush. When he finally turned around and faced the little group, music filled the crypt. A magical moment: the notes began to ricochet off the stone, like the pearls from a necklace falling on the pavement.

  Mallock was holding in his hands, between his thumb and his index finger, the ultimate proof that Manuel Gemoni’s fantastic ideas were nothing of the sort: a pendant in the form of a heart, opened to show two yellowed portraits, was playing Erik Satie’s third Gnossienne.

  39.

  Tuesday Afternoon, December 24

  It seemed that now they’d seen everything. Mallock was organizing a Christmas Eve party. All his friends in a flurry of preparation. In a paradigm shift, Amédée was becoming civilized. It was a little late to send out invitations, but he had nonetheless managed to get enough people together to make a good-sized group.

  Claudius, of course, GG and Machi, Kiko and Julie, who hadn’t been able to stop smiling ever since the discovery of the locket, Jules, who was always where Julie was, Mordome and his partner, who had cancelled their own party to celebrate “that” with the superintendent. Michel had come in from Rambouillet. Ken had not been able to get away from his in-laws. Beatty was in Dordogne with her new boyfriend. JF was also in the provinces, near La Rochelle. As for Léon, Mallock had gotten the impression that a certain new acquaintance made during his research on the cross had to be explored. Whether male or female was not mentioned and or important. Amédée sincerely hoped that this would be for Léon the companion he’d been so long awaiting. He had also called Bob to invite him to the meal. But Bob had reminded him that this was the big day. He had succeeded in convincing and assembling his whole flock, and he was as happy as a boy with his first bike. In all, there were nine guests, and that was perfect for a big Christmas dinner at the home of the superintendent.

  At noon, as soon as he returned from his office, Mallock had rushed to the phone to order half a suckling pig from his butcher. That little morsel was for his female guests. For the men, the real men, he’d gone to his poultry man at the Raspail market:

  “Can you get me five grouse for this evening? Don’t say no!”

  There was no machismo in the choice of dishes. It’s in the genes. Only a man, a real man with whiskers, is properly equipped to eat grouse. Women hate it, that’s just how it is. Mallock just wanted all his friends to be happy.

  When he got home around 3 P.M., Mallock noted with relief that everything had been delivered. He immediately prepared a marinade, cleaned the five grouse, and laid them raw in the marinade. He added a few cloves of garlic, laurel, and thyme to the half suckling pig and put it in the oven at 250°. For the last half-hour of cooking, he made a mixture of honey, sake, and soy sauce to baste the skin before setting the oven on grill. Then he had only to take out of the freezer the fresh chestnuts that Julie’s mother had sent him, lovingly “shelled in Corsica.” It was written on each package with the date of processing.

  In ten minutes, everything was ready. It is a curious legend that cooking is a long-term operation. After having put foil over the game, Mallock went down to his cellar to choose a bottle of Côte-Rôtie, with a Pommard representing the Burgundies and a Pomerol the Bordeaux, wines that would have the power to stand up to the grouse. For the suckling pig, two bottles of Saint-Julien would do. An ’81, a forgettable year in every respect, and an ’82, a glorious year for Bordeaux wines. All he needed then was a green, a salad of fresh spinach, with a little shredded arugula and lots of herbs. His produce man had promised him delivery by 7 P.M. at the latest: “It’s Christmas Eve and my wife is attached to traditions, so I close around six. I’ll drop off what you need on my way home, Superintendent.”

  Why should there be only disadvantages to being a well-known cop?

  To finish his preparations, Mallock put three bottles of Sail-les-Bains mineral water in the door of his refrigerator.

  He thought the design was brilliant.

  At five, he called the Ministry of Justice. For once, they
had moved rapidly. Aware of the impact that the results of the investigation might have, they had decided to continue the trial behind closed doors. That would be announced on Thursday. Manuel’s family and his lawyer had already given their consent. In a public trial, a possible acquittal on grounds of reincarnation would produce, if not necessarily a bad impression, at least a hell of a mess. So everyone had rapidly agreed to keep a low profile. No one had any interest in generating all this publicity that could only cause problems. Mallock agreed, even if no one had asked his opinion. In fact, this decision, made with such celerity, had put him in a very good mood. There seemed to be an excellent chance of gaining a dismissal. With any luck, one could even hope to see Manuel released in time for New Year’s Eve. Kiko and Julie were going to be wild with joy.

  He hung up and rubbed his hands. The investigation looked like it was going to end with an apotheosis. Nobody knew exactly how it would turn out, but it didn’t really matter, after all. He would have won, and that was good. It was still the same feeling of accomplishment and relief. As if, for a few seconds, all the injustices in the world, ever since the beginning of time, had been waved away by a magic wand. It wouldn’t last long, but it was still that much in hand.

  At 8 P.M., his friends all arrived at practically the same time. Amédée had just basted the grouse to thicken the gravy. They immediately sat down to table. Mallock was against aperitifs. Why drink alcohol and eat junk food, when good wines and delicious dishes were in the offing?

  Happy to see each other, and to see their Amédée so happy and relaxed, they did justice to the meal. As they ate dessert–Mallock had just served them a rum soufflé with vanilla ice cream–Jules brought up the already famous “scene of the heart-shaped music box.”

  He addressed Mordome first:

  “Tell us, since you were there. How did that happen? We’d like to know the details.”

  Mordome indicated that he first had to swallow an enormous mouthful of soufflé he had just put in his mouth. Then he said:

  “To tell the truth, I didn’t see it coming. I think everyone believed our Amédée had gone off the deep end. He looked like a man possessed. When he turned around with the golden music box . . . ”

  Mordome fell silent for a few seconds. He was moved:

  “In any case, I can tell you that it’s a moment I’ll never forget. It was magic!”

  “You don’t know how right you are, Barnabé. Everyone was taken in!”

  “What do you mean, taken in?”

  “You didn’t understand how I went about it?”

  “What did you do?”

  Mordome didn’t understand what Mallock was implying.

  Amédée seemed to hesitate. Then he said:

  “Just between us, I’m going to admit something to you. I didn’t really know what to do to save Manuel, so since I was certain of his innocence, I did the only thing that could get him out of this fix. Can’t you guess what it was?”

  Jules and Mordome on the one hand, and Kiko and Julie on the other, looked at each other uneasily and doubtfully.

  Julie broke the silence:

  “Nothing illegal, Boss, I hope?”

  Mallock hesitated again. Suddenly he seemed less sure of himself.

  “To be straightforward, it’s not really straightforward. But at my age, we can sometimes allow ourselves to manipulate the law a little, can’t we?”

  His whole audience paled. Hearing Mallock say such things was something new.

  “What did you do, Boss?” asked Jules, who was no longer smiling.

  Mallock looked like a mischievous child as he dropped his bomb in the middle of his audience:

  “Since I couldn’t count on this cadaver to authenticate the lieutenant, I simply had a clockmaker friend of mine construct a heart-shaped music box. No one knows about it, if it still exists. It was safer to bring it with me into the crypt than to stake everything on chance. Like a magician, I distracted people’s attention, and while I had my back to them, I rubbed the locket in the dirt, turned on the music box, and voilà! The case was in the bag.”

  A leaden silence fell over the room. No one dared speak. Mallock continued to smile.

  “Well? What’s your problem? Did I say something stupid or what?”

  Julie spoke first:

  “Surely you didn’t really do something like that?”

  “Why not? You’re not going to tell me that you’re sorry I did it? Manu is going to get out of jail. That’s what counts, isn’t it?”

  Kiko came to his defense:

  “It’s all right with me. As you said, so far as you’re concerned, the end justifies the means.”

  The room fell silent again.

  Mallock, suddenly uneasy, seemed to wake up:

  “You’re not going to turn me in over this, are you?”

  His friends unanimously reassured him. Of course, they would keep this to themselves. They didn’t approve of it, but they had no choice.

  That was when Mallock said, in a severe tone:

  “And the law? What are you going to do about the law? Aren’t you ashamed?”

  Looking at the stunned faces of the people around him, Mallock broke into laughter, an enormous laughter that brought tears to his eyes.

  “My God, did you believe me? I was joking. Good Lord, you’re gullible. The little gold music box was really in the tomb where I found it. I’m a police superintendent, not a faker, kids.”

  “You scared the hell out of me!”

  Mordome, like all the others, was relieved.

  Mallock explained:

  “Sorry, with all this tension I wanted to let off a little steam. The discovery of this heart-shaped gold music box was a moment of pure magic. It was like a miracle! No matter how much I hoped for it, I couldn’t really believe it. Finding the bullet in the vertebra, yes. But finding this object, never in a million years. When I saw it in the dirt, shining and immaculate, tears came to my eyes. That’s why I didn’t turn around right away, if you want to know the truth. A hell of a sensation after so much uncertainty, investigations, and mystery. I could have wept. In fact, I did weep!”

  Finding this golden object embedded in the lieutenant’s petrified flesh must in fact have been extraordinary.

  “I sincerely believe that except for Carter, when he was the first to stick his head into Tutankhamen’s tomb,” Amédée went on, “there are very few people who have had the good luck to experience such an emotion.”

  “Was that any reason to scare us half to death?”

  GG had been afraid for his friend. That kind of manipulation could have had terrible consequences for Mallock’s career, and then some.

  “The idea of the hoax came to me as I was making the soufflé,” Amédée admitted. “But I didn’t think you would be so easily deceived. Besides, I’m not sure how I should take that.”

  “In any case, the discovery of a golden heart that makes music in a bit of fossilized intestine is pure ‘Dédé-the-Wizard,’” Julie said.

  “There’s nothing magical about it, you know. I didn’t have a vision, I really heard the music, and I even know why. It’s the lieutenant’s ghost that gave me a sign, helped by our favorite professor.”

  Mallock turned toward Mordome.

  “When you picked up that piece of intestine the first time, you put it down on top, next to the lamp. Then you picked it up again and even shook it. The heat of your palm and of the lamp, plus the movement, must have been what started the music. What remained of the oiled parts came back to life, so to speak. As is often the case in such moments, the slightest details then came back to me. Remember, at the end of the third interrogation, it was Jean-François Lafitte himself who told us, in Manu’s voice, ‘I had no other choice, so I swallowed it . . . ’ After that, it was easy. The little pouch was the only thing in the coffin that could contain s
omething; the rest was bones or soil. You even told me that it was probably a piece of the intestine, and you added that it had seemed to you ‘heavy.’ So I grabbed the mallet like a madman.”

  “Another great story to put down to Mallock the Wizard’s credit,” Jules concluded in his turn.

  “Not entirely,” Amédée insisted. “Since you’re behaving so well, I’m going to explain where my . . . inspiration came from. At least I believe it did. And you can be sure that this is no joke, I promise you, on my honor. It’s a marvelous story.”

  Julie glanced at her Jules: they loved it when Mallock started recounting his memories.

  “One of the various things I did to cope with my herniated disks was a course of physical therapy. Stretching and exercises for the abdominal and dorsal muscles. I did that in the swimming pool near my apartment. And it was there, four or five years ago, that an old historian who was splashing around in the water with me told me a very wonderful story that was one hundred percent true. To respect his request for discretion—I think he intended to make a book out of it—I’ll limit myself to the essential points. The young son of one of our emperors—the choice is limited—had been sent to be brought up in the home of a . . . let’s say Austrian, princess. The problem was that the tutor who’d been sent with the little prince fell in love with the aforesaid princess. I know, I know, this seems silly, but the worst thing is that it’s all perfectly true. The princess’s family asked the Emperor of the French to bring his kid home, along with his tutor. You follow me?”

  “Absolutely, Boss,” Julie replied, taking advantage of this pause to serve herself a little more soufflé.

  “When he was about to leave, the little prince, who despite his young age had also fallen in love with the princess, went to find her to say farewell. Like the adorable child he was, he gave her the most beautiful thing he could think of: an apple!”

  “An apple? And that’s what put you on track for . . . ”

  “Patience! patience! During the following decades, no one dared throw away or sell the famous apple, which had become Historical with a capital ‘H,’ and it has still remained in the princess’s family. Over time, more than two centuries, it slowly petrified. In the late 1960s, children were playing in the room where the relic was displayed, resting on a cushion and covered with a glass cloche. A particularly clumsy kick of the ball changed history! And the apple, as it fell, broke into countless pieces.”