The Grand Banks Café

by Georges Simenon

  Maigret turned back wearily, reluctantly. Again he stepped over the hawsers coiled round the bollards, then stood on the side of the quay, staring down at the Océan.

  His eyes were small, his mouth threatening, his hands were bunched into fists deep in his pockets.

  Here was Maigret in solitary mood, disgruntled, withdrawn, when he digs his heels in defiantly and is not afraid of making a fool of himself.

  It was low tide. The deck of the trawler was four or five metres below the level of the quay. But a plank had been laid between the quayside and the bridge. It was thin and narrow.

  The sound of the surf was growing louder. The tide must be on the turn. Pallid waves ate imperceptibly into the shingle of the beach.

  Maigret stepped on to the plank, which bent into the arc of a circle when he reached the middle. His soles squealed when he reached the iron bridge. But he did not go any further. He sat down on the seat of the officer of the watch, behind the wheel and the compass, from which dangled Captain Fallut’s thick sea mittens.

  Maigret settled in the way grim dogs crouch stubbornly by the mouth of a burrow where they have got a scent of something.

  Jorissen’s letter, his friendship with Le Clinche, all the steps taken by Marie Léonnec were no longer the issue. It was now personal.

  He had formed a picture of Captain Fallut. He had met the wireless operator, Adèle and the chief mechanic. He had gone to considerable lengths to get a sense of the whole way of life on board the trawler.

  But it was not enough. Something was eluding him. He felt he understood everything except, crucially, what was at the heart of the case.

  Fécamp was asleep. On board, the sailors were in their bunks. The inspector slumped heavily in the seat of the officer of the watch, round-shouldered, legs slightly apart, his elbows on his knees.

  His eye settled on random details: the gloves, for instance, huge, misshapen, which Fallut would have worn during his spells on the bridge and had left hanging there.

  And half turning, he looked back over the afterdeck. Ahead were the full sweep of the deck, the foredeck and, very near, the wireless room.

  The sound of water lapping. A barely perceptible surge as the steam began to stir. Now that the furnace had been lit and water filled the boilers, the boat felt more alive than it had in the last few days.

  And wasn’t Louis asleep below, next to the bunkers full of coal?

  To the right was the lighthouse. At the end of one jetty, a green light; a red light at the head of the next.

  And the sea: a great black hole emitting a strong, heavy smell.

  There was no conscious effort of the mind involved, not in the strict sense. Maigret let his eye roam slowly, sluggishly, seeking to bring his surroundings to life, to acquire a feel for them. Gradually he slipped into something akin to a state of trance.

  ‘It was a night like this, but colder, because spring had scarcely begun …’

  The trawler, tied up at the same berth. A thin spiral of smoke rising from the funnel.

  A few sleeping men.

  Pierre Le Clinche, who had dined at Quimper in his fiancée’s house. Family atmosphere. Marie Léonnec had doubtless shown him to the door, so that they could kiss unobserved.

  And he had travelled all night, third class. He would return in three months. He would see her again. Then another voyage and after that, when it was winter, around Christmas time, they would marry.

  He had not slept. His sea-chest was on the rack. It contained provisions made for him by his mother.

  At the same time, Captain Fallut was leaving the small house in Rue d’Étretat, where Madame Bernard was asleep.

  Captain Fallut was probably uneasy and very troubled, racked in advance by guilt. Was it not tacitly agreed that one day he would marry his landlady?

  Yet all winter he had been going to Le Havre, sometimes three times a week, to see a woman. A woman he dared not show his face with in Fécamp. A woman he was keeping as his mistress. A woman who was young, attractive, desirable, but whose vulgarity gave her an aura of danger.

  A respectable man, of regular, fastidious habits. A model of probity, held up as an example by his employers, whose sea-logs were masterpieces of detailed record-keeping.

  And now he was making his way through the sleeping streets to the station where Adèle was due to arrive.

  Perhaps he was still hesitating?

  But three months! Would he find her waiting for him when he got back? Wasn’t she too alive, too eager for life not to deceive him?

  She was a very different kind of woman from Madame Bernard. She did not spend her time keeping her house tidy, polishing brasses and floors, making plans for the future.

  Absolutely not! She was a woman, a woman whose image was fixed on his retina in ways that brought a flush to his cheek and quickened his breath.

  Then she was there! She laughed with that tantalizing laugh which was almost as sensual as her inviting body. She thought it would be fun to sail away, to be hidden on board, to have a great adventure!

  But should he not tell her that the adventure would not be much fun? That being at sea cooped up in a locked cabin would be an ordeal?

  He vowed that he would. But he didn’t dare. When she was there, when her breasts heaved as she laughed, he was incapable of saying anything sensible.

  ‘Are you going to smuggle me on board tonight?’

  They walked on. In the bars and the Grand Banks Café, members of the crew went on the spree with the advance on their wages they’d been paid that afternoon.

  And Captain Fallut, short, smartly turned out, grew paler the nearer he got to the harbour, to his boat. Now he could see the funnel. His throat was dry. Perhaps there was still time?

  But Adèle was hanging on his arm. He could feel her leaning against him, warm and trembling with excitement.

  Maigret, facing the quayside which was now deserted, imagined the two of them.

  ‘Is that your ship? It smells bad. Have we got to go across on this plank?’

  They walked over the gangway. Captain Fallut was nervous and told her to not to make a noise.

  ‘Is this the wheel for driving the ship?’

  ‘Sh!’

  They went down the iron ladder. They were on the deck. They went into the captain’s cabin. The door closed behind them.

  ‘Yes! That’s how it was!’ muttered Maigret. ‘There they are now, the pair of them. It’s the first night on board …’

  He wished he could fling back the curtain of night, reveal the pallid sky of first light and make out the figures of the crew staggering, slowed by alcohol, as they made their way back to the boat.

  The chief mechanic arrived from Yport by the first morning train. The first mate was on the way from Paris and Le Clinche from Quimper.

  The men tumbled on to the deck, argued in the foredeck about bunks, laughed, changed their clothes and re-emerged stiffly in oilskins.

  There was a boy, Jean-Marie, the ship’s boy. His father had brought him, leading him by the hand. The sailors jostled him, made fun of his boots, which were too big, and of the tears already welling in his eyes.

  The captain was still in his cabin. Finally, he opened the door. He closed it carefully behind him. He was curt, very pale, and his features were drawn.

  ‘Are you the wireless operator? … Right. I’ll give you your orders in a little while. Meanwhile, take a look round the wireless room.’

  Hours passed. Now the boat’s owner stood on the quay. Women and mothers were still arriving with parcels for the men who were about to sail.

  Fallut shook, fearful for his cabin, whose door was not to be opened at any price, because Adèle, dishevelled, mouth half open, was sprawled sideways, fast asleep, across the bed.

  A touch of the early-morning nausea, which was felt not only by Fallut but by all the men who had toured the bars of the town or travelled there overnight by train.

  One by one, they drifted away to the Grand Banks Café, where they
drank coffee laced with spirits.

  ‘See you soon! … if we come back!’

  A loud blast of the ship’s horn. Then two more. The women and children, after one last hug, rushing towards the end of the breakwater. The ship’s owner shaking Fallut’s hand.

  The hawsers were cast off. The trawler slid forward, moved clear of the quay. Then Jean-Marie, the ship’s boy, choking with fright, stamped his feet in desperation and thought of making a bid to get back to dry land.

  Fallut had been sitting where Maigret was sitting now.

  ‘Half ahead! … One five-oh turns! … Full steam ahead!’

  Was Adèle still asleep? Would she be woken up by the first swell and be nervous?

  Fallut did not move from the seat which had been his for so many years. Ahead of him was the sea, the Atlantic.

  His nerves were taut, for he now realized what a stupid thing he had done. It had not seemed so serious when he was ashore.

  ‘Two points port!’

  And then there were shouts, and the group on the breakwater rushed forward. A man, who had clambered up the derrick to wave goodbye to his family, had fallen on to the deck!

  ‘Stop engine! … Astern engine! … Stop engine!’

  There was no sign of life from the cabin. Wasn’t there still time to put the woman ashore?

  Rowing boats approached the vessel, which was now stationary between the jetties. A fishing boat was asking for right of way.

  But the man was injured. He would have to be left behind. He was lowered into a dinghy.

  The women were demoralized. They were deeply superstitious.

  On top of which the ship’s boy had to be restrained from jumping into the water because he was so terrified of leaving!

  ‘Ahead steam! … Half! … Full! …’

  Le Clinche was settling into his workplace, headphones on head, testing the instruments. And there, in his domain, he was writing:

  My Darling Girl,

  It’s eight in the morning! We’re off. Already we can’t see the town and …

  Maigret lit a fresh pipe and got to his feet so that he would have a better view of his surroundings.

  He was in full possession of the characters in the case and, in a sense, was now able to move them around like counters on the boat which lay spread out before him.

  ‘First meal in the narrow officers’ mess: Fallut, the first mate, the chief mechanic and the wireless operator. The captain announces that henceforth he will be taking all his meals in his cabin, alone.’

  They have never heard the like of it! Such an outlandish idea! They all try in vain to come up with a reason for it.

  Maigret, clasping his hand to his forehead, muttered:

  ‘It’s the ship’s boy’s job to take the captain his food. The captain opens the door only part of the way or else hides Adèle under the bed, which he has propped up.’

  The two of them have to make do with a meal for one. The first time, the woman laughs. And no doubt Fallut leaves nearly all his share to her.

  He is too solemn. She makes fun of him. She is nice to him. He unbends. He smiles.

  And up in the foredeck are they not already muttering about the evil eye? Aren’t they talking about the captain’s decision to eat by himself? And moreover, who ever saw a captain walking around with the key to his cabin in his pocket!

  The twin screws turn. The trawler has acquired the sense of unease which will continue to fill it for three months.

  Below deck, men like Louis shovel coal into the maw of the furnaces for eight or ten hours a day or keep a drowsy eye on the oil-pressure gauge.

  Three days. That’s the general view. It has taken just three days to create an atmosphere of anxiety. And it was at that point that the crew began wondering if Fallut was mad.

  Why? Was it jealousy? But Adèle stated that she didn’t see Le Clinche until about day four.

  Until then, he is too busy with his new equipment. He tunes in and listens, for his personal satisfaction. He makes trial transmissions. And with his headphones constantly on his head, he writes page after page as if the postman was standing by to whisk his letters away and deliver them to his fiancée.

  Three days. Hardly time to get to know one another. Perhaps the chief mechanic, peering through portholes, has caught sight of the young woman? But he never mentioned it.

  The atmosphere on board builds only gradually as the crew are drawn together through shared adventures. But as yet there are no adventures to share. They have not yet even started to fish. For that they must wait until they reach the Grand Banks, yonder, off Newfoundland, on the other side of the Atlantic, where they will not be for another ten days yet, at the earliest.

  Maigret was standing on the bridge, and any man waking then and seeing him would have wondered what he was doing there, an imposing, solitary figure calmly surveying his surroundings.

  And what was he doing? He was trying to understand! All the characters were in position, each with a particular outlook and all with their own preoccupations.

  But after this point, there was no way of guessing the rest. There was a large gap. The inspector had only witnesses to rely upon.

  ‘It was on about the third day out that Captain Fallut and the wireless operator started thinking of each other as enemies. Each had a revolver in his pocket. They seemed afraid of each other.’

  Yet Le Clinche was not yet Adèle’s lover!

  ‘But from that moment, the captain behaved as if he was mad.’

  They are now in the middle of the Atlantic. They have left the regular lanes used by the great liners. Now they hardly ever sight even other trawlers, English or German, as they steam towards their fishing grounds.

  Does Adèle start to grumble and complain about being cooped up?

  … wondered if he wasn’t actually mad …

  Everyone agrees that mad is the right word. And it seems unlikely that Adèle alone is responsible for bringing about such an astonishing change in a well-adjusted man who has always made a religion of order.

  She has not deceived him yet! He has allowed her two or three turns around the deck, at night, provided she takes multiple precautions.

  So why is he behaving as if he is actually mad?

  Here the evidence of witnesses begins to mount up:

  ‘He gives the order to anchor the trawler in a position where for as long as anyone can remember no one ever caught a single cod …’

  He is not an excitable man or a fool, nor does he lose his temper easily! He is a steady, upstanding citizen of careful habits who for a time dreamed of sharing his life with his landlady, Madame Bernard, and of ending his days in the house full of embroidery in Rue d’Étretat.

  ‘There’s one accident after another. When we finally get on to the Banks and start catching fish, it gets salted in such a way that it’s going bad by the time we get back.’

  Fallut is no novice! He’s about to retire. Until now, no one has ever had reason to question his competence.

  He takes all his meals in his cabin.

  ‘He doesn’t talk to me,’ Adèle will say. ‘He goes for days, weeks sometimes, without saying a word to me. And then suddenly it comes over him again …’

  A sudden wave of sensuality! She’s there! In his cabin! He shares her bed! And for weeks on end he manages to stay at arm’s length until the temptation proves too strong!

  Would he behave this way if his only grievance was jealousy?

  The chief mechanic prowls round the cabin, licking his lips. But he doesn’t have the nerve to force the lock.

  And finally, the Epilogue. The Océan is on the way home to France, laden with badly salted cod.

  Is it during the voyage back that the captain draws up what is virtually his will in which he says no one should be accused of causing his death?

  If so, he clearly wants to die. He intends to kill himself. No one on board, except him, is capable of taking a ship’s bearings, and he has enough of the seafaring spirit to bring his b
oat back to port first.

  Kill himself because he has infringed regulations by taking a woman to sea with him?

  Kill himself because insufficient salt was used on the fish, which will sell for a few francs below the market rate?

  Kill himself because the crew, bewildered by his odd conduct, believe that he is a lunatic?

  The captain, the most cool-headed, the most scrupulously careful master in all Fécamp? The same man whose log books are held up as models?

  The man who for so long has been living in the peaceful house of Madame Bernard?

  The steam vessel docks. The members of the crew rush on shore and make a bee-line for the Grand Banks Café, where they can at last get a proper drink.

  And every man jack of them is stamped with the mark of mystery! On certain questions they all remain silent. They are all on edge.

  Is it because a captain has behaved in ways that no one understands?

  Fallut goes on shore alone. He will have to wait until the quays are deserted before he can disembark Adèle.

  He takes a few steps forwards. Two men are hiding: the wireless operator and Gaston Buzier, the girl’s lover.

  But the captain is jumped by a third man, who strangles him and drops his body into the harbour.

  And all this happened at the very spot where the Océan is now gently rocking on the black water. The body had got tangled in the anchor chain.

  Maigret was smoking. He scowled.

  ‘Even at the first interview, Le Clinche lies when he talks about a man wearing tan-coloured shoes who killed Fallut. Now the man with the tan-coloured shoes is Buzier. When he is brought face to face with him, Le Clinche retracts his statement.’

  Why would he lie about this if not to protect a third person, in other words the murderer? And why wouldn’t Le Clinche name him?

  He does no such thing. He even lets himself be put behind bars instead of him. He makes little effort to defend himself, even though there is every likelihood that he will go down for murder.

  He is grim, like a man riddled with guilt. He does not dare look either his fiancée or Maigret in the eye.