odd though, he hadn’t seen it today, he dislikes the northerly winds I suppose, either that or the two apprentices Yvan and Lukas had scared him off and he’d stopped coming around, of course he knew they were lobster poachers and squatted in the homes of people who expected to be evacuated in the next hurricane, criminals and thieves but youngsters just the same, it was the duty of men like him with some experience to give them a break, one little chance is all, nobody else was going to put a roof over their heads, it’s not that he was a pushover, he knew this and figured everyone deserved a chance, the Old Salt had welcomed them as fishermen on his boat but these two boys tattooed from head to foot, Yvan and Lukas, didn’t even obey the rules of autumn fishing, and now he was afraid the Coast Guard or some other officer of the law was going to haul them off to prison, and maybe they shouldn’t get out either, no, Eddy the Old Salt was probably wrong, he’d done right taking them in when they had nowhere to go, what didn’t look good was that no one else would have them, no, now what was it that gave the Old Salt those mean thoughts, tomorrow Kim would show up to clean the boat, but Fleur wasn’t the boy for her, nossir, wouldn’t stoop to anything manual except flute-playing and that wouldn’t be enough for the woman she was turning into, not a good idea to hang out with a boy who keeps to the streets, a deadbeat in a hoodie and a coat he never cleans, always barefoot, the Old Salt had Kim’s bicycle waiting for her shining in the sun, he’d repainted it yellow just this morning and it was dry, Eddy could imagine the surprise on her face when she saw it all done over tomorrow, this spelled new freedom for her when she went off with her dog, holding the thick cord as she rode, those sneaks Yvan and Lukas had been asking who’s that for old man, you want us to sell it for you, we’re on our way into town for beer and we could take care of it eh, well it’s illegal to poach crab and lobster, especially when you sell them over the market price, and if the lieutenant ever found out you’d be in serious trouble boys, it’s illegal and that’s that said the Old Salt, and Kim’s bike isn’t for sale either, oh yeah said the tattooed ones, and what you keep hidden in that old sea-chest, the key’s well hidden, don’t you worry he replied, you fellas are way too curious and I’m not telling you anything, enough questions, time for you to get your beer, then to himself Eddy thought I got pictures of my wife and kids in that sea-chest, nothing else, I’ve been gone so long I guess none of them even remembers me, just the pictures and a few banknotes for later on, nothing to interest those two nosy delinquents, what about the lobster they leave to suffer in the traps, oh well I’ll be happy enough when they get back with at least a dozen beers, some for me and the rest for all of us, can’t ask more than that thought the Old Salt, now that’s weird Kim thought, all day their stomachs hurt from hunger and here was overexcited Brilliant, chatty as ever while heating their food on the grill at the beach, okay settle round the picnic table where the grill’s smoking hot he said, how come you’re always parked on those straw mats with your dogs, c’mon, there’s enough for everyone, even Damien and Max, let’s go doggies, I just fed good old Lucia’s dogs too, see, dog and cat biscuits, I get followed through the streets, one day I’ll even give my apartment to Lucia so she’s protected from her wicked sisters, I don’t need it, hey we’re young, what do we want with cruelty to old people eh, we’ve even got champagne, okay maybe not top-notch, but still, and Brilliant looked his friends up and down and they seemed haggard, what a nasty, rotten day said Kim, yeah but it’s evening now, then a night of the full moon said Brilliant, right, supper’s ready and I haven’t forgotten the lemon or the sauce, nope nothing, too bad I got a stain on my shorts but I’ll clean it tonight, the boss wants us spic ‘n’ span or else I’ll be out of work like all the others and it’ll be those illegals Pete and Vladimir instead, hey what’s wrong, you got no appetite, oh nothing said Kim, he’s tired from playing flute to nobody all day, he’s just tired that’s all, he plays and plays and nobody even notices, Kim wasn’t about to say it was her period and lately it had been getting painful and messy so she did feel tired all of a sudden, the smell of cooked fish spread through the cooling air, I didn’t forget the herbs either said Brilliant as he sprinkled some over the grill, and here’s some butter, I wonder if there’s any blood on my string she thought, wait the beach showers are still open and the cops on those magnificent horses aren’t around, so who was going to see under those giant Australian pines, for a moment as they all assembled around the table with dogs underfoot she felt as though they were a family, never mind that Brilliant was going to keep bumming around all night the way he liked, though she had no idea where Fleur was going to sleep or if he’d sleep alone in his cardboard box with Damien as usual, she should have been content with that, for tomorrow she and Fleur would head off to the Old Salt’s boat and clean the hull, that was the day he’d give her the bicycle, then they could go anywhere, so what if people didn’t like to see the homeless riding bikes, just like Jérôme the African with all his bric-a-brac, the green and red signal lights were shining on the boats, they were free and they were together beneath the Australian pine trees and not many people could say that in this world thought Kim, listening but not listening to the waves, they had no hut to sleep in but they did have the beach and the sea, so harmonious and beautiful when there was no torrential storm, out in the open too, and you could still hear music close by, maybe it was the trumpet-player Paul and his group, yes maybe it was them, his joy was so contagious, why hadn’t she followed him, they’d have some laughs when all she did with Fleur was cry, she couldn’t understand why, probably it was her destiny to be with him even if he pretended to push her out of his space saying it was his part of the sidewalk, but she had to cling to him or she’d be chased away, raped by the other homeless, oh she knew them all and she didn’t trust them, drug-pushing, not even knowing quite what they were doing, and it was always the same story, women were the victims, young ones and not-so-young ones, even the human ruins in their filthy swimsuits, bald, toothless women, miserable witches, at least as a family they were safe from those dangers, still clean and acceptable thought Kim, the Old Salt said she was a pretty girl and who knows, maybe it was even true, if she was then why was Fleur so cool, really, why she wondered, all this tangle of feelings and ideas was what came of her period she thought, otherwise she’d be eating hungrily after longing for it all day, Brilliant kept telling her how delicious it was, c’mon eat up, the tightening wasn’t in her stomach like this morning, no, it was a feeling she couldn’t explain, yes, some sort of violent emotion, this squeezing whenever she thought about their future and how could she explain it to Fleur or Brilliant, Fleur had flipped back his hood and now she could see the face he hid from her, or maybe it wasn’t that, this disturbed feeling, then suddenly they all fell to with voracious appetites, there was no holding back, it was stronger than any of them, Brilliant smiling broadly said delicious, am I right, and what about our doggie friends under there, ready for more, see that, all that’s left are Lucia’s biscuits, never mind, I’ll get her some more tomorrow, and Brilliant swept them up in his good humour so they all started laughing for no particular reason, Kim too, regardless of how she was feeling, they were alive she thought, that’s it, and together, a family, of course and thank heaven the cops on their proud horses weren’t there to see them, no, nobody at all but them and their dogs Max and Damien, no one would show up on the beach tonight, we’ve got the Earth to ourselves said Brilliant and it was true thought Kim, all was beauty and harmony around them, three kids and their dogs. When they get here with the beer I’ll give them what for, thought Eddy, I’ll say, er, if I’d known you were poachers, yeah if I’d known I’d’ve turned you in a long time ago, the lieutenant’s up there in his helicopter, I used to run into pirates long ago all the way up to Saint-Louis Bay, all over the seas and oceans, and it was them and lobster poachers and other kinds who’d never let the flying fish just live and breathe as they hovered over the water, now there won’t be any left pretty soon, what with
sailing regattas and water-skiing, nope, no more, no dolphins or sea turtles that I can see from the deck every day, the seas and oceans’ll just be garbage dumps and rejected fish will be getting stuck in our nets, drugs changing hands and captains on the run, just heaving their syringes and needles overboard by the hundred into the crystal waters of the Gulf, along with shoes, beach sandals, the works, to wash up on the beaches along with what’s left of the makeshift boats left by Cubans, nobody asking what happened to the men and women on them, same with the Haitians, the river of death swept them out of sight and out of mind along with drifting whale corpses, shoes and flip-flops, that’s about all I’ll see from now on, whoops is that them back again, here come the boys, yep I can hear them below in the cabin talking about something, okay time to let them have it, boy if I’d known, I want no poachers on my boat, well first maybe just a nice quiet beer with no talking, then tomorrow I’ve got Kim and Fleur coming, and the bicycle, the bright, shiny yellow bike and who knows, maybe, just maybe a surprise visit from the grey heron, he’s probably changed his timing, could be because he knows Yvan and Lukas are around and he’s not too sure, what with not being keen on the northerlies and whatnot, ah that huge bird’s a gift from Heaven, a messenger from out of the clouds, an archangel of the waters, you never know, maybe he’ll come thought Eddy, yep I know he will, Kim was wondering about Rafael, why was he so hyper with his tarot predictions and all that, and why didn’t he tell Fleur he would leave and have lots of musical success far from Kim and the street, no, back to the great cities of Europe where it had been so good for him before as a child prodigy, and close to her, to Clara the virtuoso violinist, in fact he said there was an echo of her and her music in his own compositions, Clara at the violin, yes, oh if only he had a studio like Paul the trumpeter, some real technology to work with, if only, he’d shut himself up all day and never stop working on the voice mix, the strength of the chorus, and far off the strident notes from Clara’s violin, and there he would be, and there he would, Kim knew he talked that way when he’d had enough bad champagne to get drunk or when he smoked bad pot, Brilliant supplied that too for a lot of poorer folks like them, he didn’t sell it, it came from his strolls through bars on Bahama Street, as well as his black panhandling friends and the unemployed vegetating on their front porches, oh here it was, you could hear the noise of the bikers making their entry into town for the week, not too close yet thought Kim, but enough to startle the hens that hadn’t yet fluttered up into the trees, the big heavy bikes were shaking the walls already as they parked along the edge of the beach, yes now you could hear them alright Kim said to herself, yes, now Rafael was usually so calm, a hopeless optimist, so why, she wondered, was he so disturbed when he told her not to get on that boat tomorrow, and Eddy too was remembering his nightmares, they came and went, those begging soldiers, old friends still wearing their helmets and blowing up whales and schools of sharks with grenades in the Pacific, then the chase, when suddenly one of them said to him the hour has come for you too Eddy, he had his hideaways, cubbyholes in the shadow of the rocks, he woke up uneasy these nights with the feeling he was being watched, spied on by some ghost or other, this was a recent thing this vague sense of fear, he’d always lived safe and sound on the boat, his haven of peace, nowhere could he be freer than he was here, remote and serene in his travelling home, just a modest boat he’d fixed up himself after a storm, he hadn’t looked at the pictures of his wife and children for ages, he had them wedged between pages of a book in his sea-chest, so long their features must have dissolved, how was life for them far away without him, he’d had no girls, just boys, less trouble that way, and they were getting by without him, no longer boys, they must be men by now, he could no longer imagine their faces or their bodies, and in the pictures their features had been washed away as if by water, and maybe they had, water soaks up everything the way it does a shipwreck at sea, strange though, no visit from the heron on the gangplank today, not even a trace of him circling the waves, it always got a bit choppy under the hull about this time, what were those boys talking about down in the cabin anyway, nope, Eddy hadn’t given it enough thought before letting them on his boat, he’d been warned, they just got out of a juvenile detention centre, they’re squatters and thieves, other sailors nearby had told him but Eddy never acted except according to his lights, luck is for everyone not just one man, and up till now he’d never made an enemy with his charitable principles, and who else could brag of being so happy living up to them for so long, a free man on his boat, the Old Salt could certainly crow about that, too bad about those nightmares though, but they weren’t that frequent after all, they just sort of came and went like the waves, not too high nor that often really, and Adrien could see the officer who said from atop his horse, Mr. Adrien, sir, the tennis court is closing soon, you know I never noticed this grillwork fence before answered Adrien in astonishment at suddenly seeing a man on horseback next to him, what a magnificent animal, I’d so love to ride one as lively as this, Mr. Adrien the officer repeated, we’re closing any minute now, besides, what are you doing here at this hour well after sunset, well you see replied Adrien, for a writer time is nothing but an illusion, I was so absorbed in writing this poem, in fact I was trying to think of a title, giving account, time to settle accounts, you see officer, for us time doesn’t exist, no but the law does replied the policeman still in the saddle, and it exists for everyone sir, even you Mr. Adrien, and there’s no escaping from time, the hands keep moving around the dial for everyone sir, then what am I to do asked Adrien, well you ought to think about leaving before we shut the gates said the officer in a threatening tone this time, fortunately a white butterfly had landed on his notebook and woken Adrien up, indeed the horse was a magnificent animal, a pleasant apparition on waking from a nap on a sleepy afternoon, what could be more reassuring on opening one’s eyes, except that it was an illusion, there was no man on horseback giving orders while Adrien finished up his poem, sitting there in complete innocence on his stone bench in the cool shade of the silvered palms as he did each evening, how was it then that he no longer dreamed of Suzanne, where had she gone, was it in the hope of finding her in his arms that he drew out these naps at day’s end, so this was it, she was no more, not even in dreams, his confidante and best friend, she added verve to his thoughts and without her his books on Voltaire and Racine were boring, and nothing was more painful than a boring author he thought, it may be that his students still owed him a debt for his discoveries but it was Suzanne who had stood up for Cyril when he produced the musical comedy of Phaedra, what an outrage, that which is divine cannot be a musical comedy Adrien said, what pretentiousness on Cyril’s part, who does he think he is, just because his lover is a great poet and only a passing affair at that, Frédéric was Charles’s one and only passion, Suzanne had silenced Adrien, saying Cyril was a gifted young actor and director, part of an avant-garde that was way over Adrien’s head and his opinion was really old hat, and as for the affair, well, if it brought Charles’s inspiration to its highest level, yes a peak in his sexual life too, why not, perhaps forgetting that Adrien was her husband, Suzanne came to Charles’s defence as if he were the misunderstood spouse and sole object of her ardour, yes well let me tell you, Adrien cut in with his natural insolence, let me tell you my dear Suzanne that if God exists that would suit Charles to a “T” because he’s most certainly closer to Him than to the company of men, and what is a man of his high intellectual calibre doing with Cyril eh, the flattery of adventure perhaps, untrammelled sex with an adventurous young man, nothing more if even that, while God, if He exists, and nothing proves He does, God would really be much more to his liking, at least he would be speaking the same language and be on an equal footing with Him instead of wandering in a desert composed of no one but ourselves, when he considered Suzanne’s defence of Charles, Adrien remembered all of them, loyal couples, sure an occasional fault here and there, like Jean-Mathieu and Caroline, Adrien and Suzanne, Chuan and Olivier, Ch
arles and Frédéric last and possibly least thought Adrien, who saw his own as one of the most sublime in all its secular legitimacy, indeed Adrien and Suzanne, when she was no longer there, not even in dreams, had no doubt admired her friend Charles and been on the sunlit path that led to him, united now in the sphere where spirits convene in mutual agreement, forgetting Adrien who was much more down-to-earth, much lower on the scale of knowledge, especially spiritual knowledge, something virtually unknown to him, Adrien was moved by the turtledoves cooing this late in the evening only a few feet from his bench. I should tell someone it was a mistake to fire the math teacher, thought Lou, but which one should I tell, Mama or Papa, José had been taken away in handcuffs by the sheriff and a detective and she wondered which one to tell, Ari or Ingrid, maybe I should just keep quiet and say nothing, still he’d be in jail for nothing, without pay for a week or a month, they said an investigation at school showed he had touched an eleven-year-old on the hip, but I know the kid and she lied, Sophia always lies, but the principal said we cannot tolerate such behaviour in our schools, maybe I should tell her Sophia’s a liar, she said he put his black hand on my breast and my hip during volleyball, yes he touched me a few times, there and there, well I was right there with her and it’s definitely not true, not true at all, he’s been unjustly accused, now it’s in the paper so they aren’t going to believe me, they’ve written everywhere that he’s guilty, no, we can’t tolerate this sort of behaviour in our school, not just a school, we’re really more of a family the principal said, it’s the law of the county and the nation, this must not be allowed to go on, in getting rid of an undesirable teacher we have our students’ best interests at heart, they arrested José on Wednesday and he won’t be getting out for a year, it was just friendly he said in his own defence, I’ve never done any of those things they say I did, he touched me inappropriately on the leg said Sophia, she couldn’t remember exactly where though or even how and began getting mixed up in her lies thought Lou, yes lies, while the accused man’s career went into limbo maybe forever, what else was it she said, something moved in his trousers while he touched her here and there, though exactly where on her body she couldn’t really remember anymore, was it an erection, maybe, yes, she even said the word while everyone listened in amazement, everyone, the principal, students, sheriff, and detective, and had he raped her, but Sophia could only answer, rape, what is that, she’d accused José the math teacher she disliked of all sorts of horrors but she couldn’t really say what rape was, Lou knew perfectly well that the man who had supposedly touched Sophia on the leg, breast, and waist had done nothing of the sort, but how could she stand up in class and say no, he’s innocent, I was with Sophia and she’s just a liar, but he had an erection right in front of the child the principal said, we just can’t allow that in our schools, and three other girls besides Sophia had lied on the police report, yes we saw it all and it’s true what Sophia says, we saw the whole thing, no, none of it was true thought Lou, not a thing, all three of them lied when they said José touched Sophia just above the knee, how to tell one and all it was totally untrue, will Mama or Papa believe me if I tell them, Lou had said it to the female officer who questioned her in the principal’s office, Sophia’s lying, she’s just a liar, Sophia’s got it in for him, she always said she didn’t like him or his smell or the colour of his skin, she never did, she always said what’s someone like him doing in a good school like this, no, Sophia’s lying, none of it’s true, none of it, but she was the only one so nobody believed her, not the sheriff or the detective or the lady officer, they decided Lou was Sophia’s enemy in school, who could she tell now that the man had been arrested, yes it had to be Papa or Mama or else no one, there were men just as vulnerable as the most fragile of women it turned out, so nobody gets much justice she realized, and lies could kill, what would Papa say, that Sophia, like his Lou, was rather precocious, and Mama, well she might say it was all because of that private school, she’d never wanted Lou to go there in the first place, Ari and Ingrid had intolerable arguments about it again and again, right over her head, her parents hated one another, it was always like that, harsh words between them and what with Sophia’s lies they wouldn’t want to hear about it so she said nothing, it was unfair to José but already the female officer had disbelieved her, no, the real reason for Sophia’s lies was the C grade she got in school, José had no choice but to put that on her work because she never did her homework, so this C was why she now claimed he had touched her several times above the knee and under her skirt, or was it that she couldn’t remember which lie she had told before, and it wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this, once on a trip to Cuba she’d accused a man of having sat her on his lap and no, you couldn’t say out loud what he’d done, that had been her first lie, and her father, Cuban himself, had beaten the man, Sophia always managed to get someone else punished in her place, must have been carrying on like this for a long time, because if she didn’t get enough attention Sophia went to a very dark place and started lying, yet no one ever realized her accusations were false, and now because of her José had been humiliated and arrested in front of the whole class when the real reason was that she lied and no one would listen to or believe her otherwise, her killer lies stood thick in front of the truth, no, not even Ingrid or Ari or anyone else could see through them. As he set off to pick up his daughter at Rosie’s for the week, Ari wondered when Asoka would be back, for only he, her godfather, could have a healthy influence on her, the tranquility of positive thoughts without artifice, this was how the pilgrim monk had once described himself writing from Sri Lanka, well you see, said Ari, I’m kind of volatile and so’s my daughter, between the instability of Ari’s love affairs and the split from his wife only this Buddhist monk could fathom the life of a man, an unchaste man forever unable to feel the exaltation towards goodness, a man like so many others, not to mention an artist’s dissatisfaction with his own black marble sculptures or painted aluminum ones, could Asoka still be travelling through Russia without a coat, not that he possessed anything even at the best of times, his modesty no doubt had let him accept a coat from his Russian disciples, ephemeral is the life harboured by one’s body he had written to Ari, who immediately reacted inwardly, no, no, no, one needs to be more resilient and appreciate one’s own vitality, and behold a message from Asoka in Uganda, fragile as he appeared, Asoka must have this all-embracing resilience because there he was alone and fighting side by side with those stricken by malaria in the giant swamps infested with crocodiles and suffocating lilies and papyrus plants that propagate the parasite, he wrote my dear Ari, blessings on you and Ingrid and Lou and bless you tenderly for remembering me and for your material help my dear Ari, it has allowed me to buy hundreds of mosquito nets for children in the refugee camps near Lake Kwania, here the swamp mosquitoes are deadly indeed and feed greedily off human flesh, eventually the survivors go back to fishing in the swamps and promptly get reinfected, between the malaria and malnutrition a great many babies die each day wrote Asoka, towns are gradually being decimated, we do have medical centres and quite a few volunteers, bless you Ari for not forgetting me, I shall soon be joining you and your daughter, but when would that be Ari wondered, with calls for his work as a monk from all over the world, and how would he explain Lou’s imperfections to this exemplary man, her bad moods as puberty drew near and her personal secrets were pulling them apart, perhaps the little girl and her father bent over a sheet of drawing paper or solving a puzzle on the computer were gone forever, a new era of suspicion had crept up on them, faced with this precarious imbalance, Asoka might remind Ari of his own flightiness, womanizing and other indulgences he might disapprove of, well even Ari considered himself to be indulgence personified, and how could an artist in constant search of new forms be otherwise, the positive thinking espoused by his friend just wasn’t enough to assuage the thirst that drove him, it’s surely too late Ari thought, and what was a positive thought anyway, could it even exist in t
he middle of all this tumult we call modern life, still it would truly be a joy to see his daughter waiting in front of Rosie’s for him, Lou had probably tired quickly of all her friend’s brothers and sisters, Papa, she’d yell coming towards him and that’s how their week together would start off, cranky or sweet or maybe constantly on the cellphone to her mother, I’d rather be with you Ingrid, what sort of disarray were they bound for, somewhere between love and betrayal, yes when you thought about it Asoka would have been good for Lou, for both of them, a healthy influence on Lou, were all the fathers of this world doomed to dwell in lack of understanding and exasperating solitude Ari wondered, these hard little heads, so quick to anger, always ended up outstripping their parents though they might never know it, of course it hurt to feel oneself left behind, in fact what Lou really needed from her father and didn’t get was severity, so Ari would be stricter, a bit late he thought, especially after spoiling her so and providing no tangible direction, now this kind of severity would be a bit like trying to stop a wild pony in full flight, yes, there it was he thought, when Adrien glanced back over the poem “Giving Account” he caught himself wondering why he had been so hard on Augustino’s writing, such a charming young man, always scruffy and badly dressed, was it his appearance that made him a target, perhaps more so than his actual books, as to that, Adrien had to admit he’d hardly read them and scarcely remembered anything of them, a superficial reading was inexcusable, and as for Cyril, well, Suzanne had been right to remind him in dreams that he hadn’t been very flattering in that regard either, be it Cyril himself or his stagings, his librettos, the contemporary fluidity in his creations so praised by other critics, but to remove Phaedra from her myth, her ancient foundations in Euripides and Seneca, not to mention Racine’s tragedy, with her drama of fatality and predestination and turn her into an incestuous biker-lover, well that really was an abuse, you couldn’t just drain all the classicism out of her, really Cyril had gone too far, this wasn’t uncharitable on Adrien’s part; he was right, he was merely defending the great against the crazy, as he had always done with integrity, oh but here was his wife again, she’d returned to his dreams and was asking him, really now wasn’t there some repressed nastiness in those reviews of yours Adrien dear, better yet, perhaps you were jealous, yes of course, that’s it isn’t it, jealous of Augustino and of Cyril, jealous that they had, each in his own way, so much imagination, always he awakened from these vexing dreams just in time, some vague sense of guilt dogged him and for the longest time he thought he heard Suzanne saying again and again in his ear Adrien, my dear Adrien, as the young and beloved face she wore in these apparitions faded into the mist, he’d seen himself too in all the ardour of his twenty years, oh what a trap these dreams were, leading you to reach out to air, nothing, Suzanne fading into the far distance with her own preoccupations, for she seemed to have a lot to do, what could that possibly be in motionless time, what was Adrien himself thinking of every night and day when he waited for her during his afternoon naps under the silvered palms right after tennis, yes, Adrien waited tirelessly for Suzanne with such longing, would he ever realize his wife was never coming back, not tonight or tomorrow, he was so unused to pain that he thought his soul would always be full of joy and confidence, that any moment Charly’s convertible would pass by in the glow of the setting sun, and as for the poem, well, he’d change the title, this one was too heavy, too nebulous, there would be no accounting, no judgement for his mistakes, the weight of them laid him low, and then he felt a sudden relief, he mustn’t forget to visit old Isaac on his island, no he’d not forget, one must visit one’s friends when there are so few of them left. Hit me, that’s what they did, thought the Old Salt, what did they do, they hit me with an iron bar, yeah Yvan and Lukas, now I never should have, no the others warned me, there’s no iron bar anywhere on this boat, or was it the broom or a weapon and maybe they took one look at my long scrawny neck from behind while I was at the wheel wondering if the grey heron would be back today, they said get the old guy, but no blood said one of them, just one whack will do it, we just want to knock him out, no busting him up any more than that, find the keys, he keeps them on him or in his rain-slicker pocket, it’s up there on the nail in the hold, just one whack or maybe two with the iron bat thought Eddy, his eyes were giving him trouble, no I never should have invited them aboard, have they done me in or can I get up now, all they’re going to find are some yellowed old photos of my wife and kids, some banknotes, the bike, let’s take the bike too Lukas had said, don’t rough him up, he’s old, why not just finish the job said Yvan, like those lobsters in the trap, they’re old so why not put an end to him now, he won’t feel a thing, we’ll just paint the bike black and make it look battered, maybe change the tires said Lukas, don’t forget the money in the chest, hey stop hitting him will you, we don’t want to leave any marks on him, see he’s barely breathing already, right so let’s finish him off said Yvan, that way he can’t talk, I’ll do it, you’ll see, it’s easy, boy my eyes are really acting up thought Eddy, something fierce, like waves are starting to cover me up, geez why did I ever let them on here, never should have, I wanted to give them a chance and lookit how they thank me, are they going to kill me, help he murmured, help, but the words wouldn’t leave his lips, no voice and no words Eddy thought to himself, leave him on the gangplank Yvan said, like he fell asleep after his beers, yeah right, like he’s sleeping, c’mon quick, let’s go said Lukas, we’ve got to get out of here, he’s still alive, either gasping or crying, who knows, now see that’s why I wanted to finish him off said Yvan, enough said Lukas, I just wanted him out of it, do you really want to get us accused of something serious, no, no way, let’s take the money and the bike, that’s it, hey that’s enough, let him alone, he’s old, c’mon before it gets dark on the water, c’mon will you, how is he, asleep, only sleeping, good so let’s get out of here. My girlfriends the rappers from New Orleans will be there Robbie was telling Petites Cendres, they’ve been at it for ages, it’s a good way for ordinary folks to get the word out, revolt and the joy of living need to mix it up and explode in the body somehow, for a rapper like my friend Fred it’s a way of life, even existence itself, hip-hop artists live at this fine edge of dance Robbie said to Petites Cendres who from the taxi was reacting to the haggard face of Herman under his orange wig, then his thoughts turned to Robbie’s friend Fred who had danced and sung so much of his life in the hottest shows and videos and in all the hottest places, there was no keeping track of time or thinking about retirement, he just went on singing and dancing without letup, while Herman, still young, was definitely on his last run, however courageous and formidable he might be he weighed very little and had to be virtually carried onstage by Yinn, such a shipwreck this life of ours thought Petites Cendres yet he held on to it just as tight as Herman, he willed himself with all his might to dream of what he’d long forgotten swinging in his hammock and refusing to get up for all these months while Mabel watched over him like a mother, the sheer voluptuousness of being alive, it was now coming back to him along with his taste for things of the night and the memories of so many giddy times with his friends at the Porte du Baiser Saloon, my rapper friends will be there tonight for my coronation said Robbie, what a party, oh yes and Fred up on the stage as wicked and wired as ever, and perhaps Martha was right when she told her son the Music Council and the jurors would be a little too wise for Fleur, he had no fixed address and lived in the street amid all that filth, would he be brave enough to submit his composition to them, these people are too sharp for you she said, great conductors and musicians, and what you’ve given them is a sombre story of demolition, is it even music she said, his mother, who had once been so proud of him and bragged to one and all, now seemed to enjoy humiliating him, there’s this older musician Franz, I’ve heard his Requiem, well they say he gives a hand to young composers and lets them conduct his symphony orchestra, even young women who he says will provide the next generation of conductors, well, that is
when his musicians aren’t on strike, Fleur had gone and sat on his beach mat wrapped in his coat a short distance from Kim and Brilliant while Damien stood guard by his side, as always in a stoic position with his ears upright and paws straight out in front as he sniffed the air, the same as he would in the street, good dog murmured Fleur, where would I be without you, Kim could just hear the murmur of Fleur’s voice as he repeated, good dog, good dog, Kim had never known him to speak this affectionately to the dog and confide in him like no one else, especially Kim, she also heard the sound of the waves and it reassured her, yet still she felt that sharp inexplicable fear in her breast, no point in thinking about tomorrow or the future or even Fleur’s plans of which she knew nothing, all she did know was that the only reason he went to his mother’s was to work on his music in his old bedroom covered with posters of him when he was a little boy with Clara and her violin, Fleur wondered about the musicians on the council that supported modern artists, if only two or three of them could understand him, and his mother’s words came back to him, they’re merciless in their verdicts and they won’t be on your side, son, reading and listening to music all day on your earphones, you’ve joined the ranks of the self-taught with no real training, you have no idea what you’re dealing with, just a shiftless soul flitting from one thing to another said Martha, to them you’re just an ignorant barbarian, you mustn’t forget you’re a street kid now, unwashed and barefoot, and when they set eyes on you they’ll be let down, but Fleur was thinking at least one or two must have been exposed to music when they were kids, yeah sure I’ll dress properly with shoes when the day comes, they won’t even guess my street life, it’ll be a day of rebirth, they mustn’t find out and I’ll tell my mother that too, we’re surrounded by demolition, nothing but demolition, the space shuttle and the astronauts blowing up in the sky, the glaciers too exploding and sliding down into the depths with the polar bears, implosion and destruction wherever you look, even the air I breathe is loaded, you do realize this don’t you Mama, don’t you see the song of Clara’s violin is going to be the one note of purity and hope, I can hear the solo even now, yes, crystalline and increasing in speed as it weaves in and out of the other instruments as the orchestra comes in with cadences, and rapidity, while the voices provide structure to it all, a high-pitched ascent for anxiety to be felt, yes thought Fleur from under the hood, we need the effect of speeding up so the instruments can provoke an uneasiness, the rhythms must be troubling too and any harmony between instruments must seem unusual, they’ll explode in dissonance and autonomy, yes one or two of those judges will understand me if they were exposed to music as kids, yes they’ll understand he thought, now if Lucia’s sisters go on mistreating her this way what’s going to become of her, Brilliant wondered still standing by the smoking grill and watching the sky darken over the waves, Lucia my lover just wants to have some fun once in a while, get out from under them, the reign of those tyrant sisters, they want to steal her away from me she said, and take away everything I’ve built up over the years, my store and my business and my jewels, lock me up and take it all, it’s a scandal, a crying shame thought Brilliant, ah but never fear, I Brilliant will be her protector and defend my beautiful and righteous friend, I’ll fight for you like a son, don’t you worry, Misha and I will always be there to look out for you, the vet says he’s doing much better, then we’ll never be apart, no, now Misha’s survived floods and hurricanes and we’ll soon be together again, and there isn’t going to be any Third or Fourth Great Devastation, nossir, I can go back to my room and they won’t always be hounding me, all these dead and drowned people begging for rescue, even my brother, my black Nanny’s son, never again to see his blue coveralls ballooning up amid the foam, no and I no longer see his face either now, his face eaten away by the flood, no longer see my mother walking across the stinking water, elegant and denatured and pious enough to send her birthday flowers back to me, sure, walking on the water and aloof from the sorrows of all those bobbing drowning heads, walking, even running and laughing and saying to me it’s your own fault Victor died, I don’t ever want to see you in my house deviant son, that drumming, what is it, must be Jérôme the African with his metal buckets summoning people to us at the edge of the sea to hear his wounded chants and rhythms, bang, bong, it gives me a start like the far-off thunder, yes tomorrow I’m going to see Misha and bring him home, yessir my future’s with Misha and Lucia, gotta get my loving Lucia out of there, she who so loves kissing me, kissing the stigmata scars on my arms and saying what abominable hellish mother could force her black servant to whip her son, yes there now, a few kisses more and you’ll feel better, a kiss and a caress here and all will be forgotten Brilliant, my lovely Brilliant, I’m not crazy about your sideburns, they look old on a young man like you, oh I do it to look more like Misha, Brilliant said, yes we’ve gotta get Lucia out from under their surveillance, those sisters of hers are up to no good, so that’s what I’ll do, I’ll talk to the judge, then Misha and I can finally go home with them following us, the drowned ones still gasping for breath, everywhere, under the stairs, yes Brilliant thought, there will be no more devastation, then Kim came and sat next to him on the mat while Max closed in on the grill for a sniff as the salty air took on the smell of smoke, Brilliant was hippity-hopping and laughable, Kim thought back to Rafael the clairvoyant spreading out his cards, here for you Fleur is the best card of all, it’s the World, and for you my sweet Kim, he abruptly fell silent and covered up the Ruined House card with his hand, what a stinking stupid day thought Kim, first thing in the morning you find a dead bird lying on the sidewalk, then you know it’s going to be a dumb unhappy day, yes you do, first you try and lift up the little head, but it just flops back and you wonder how it happened, he must have been singing at dawn, yes I think I heard him, the first one in the frangipanis, guess I’d better put him somewhere out of the way where no one will see, let him rest in a bush, as she caressed the little ball of feathers, you knew that was it and this was going to be one stinking stupid day, yes, a sign and a bad one too, you just knew it when you saw the nestling stiff-legged and on its back, took it in your hands to warm it up knowing it was pointless, even a little consciousness, regardless of its position, and it would have been aware of Kim’s kindness, and if it had managed to fly away it would remember yes remember, she thought, then she’d have the impression she could still hear him singing in the frangipanis again, okay maybe not him but an earthbound echo of his spirit, Rafael the Mexican clairvoyant had told Fleur, you get the best card of all, the World, this card is the supreme victory, oh yes it is, and Kim had felt from the morning as she led Max to Fleur’s spot by his crude rope, not really a leash at all, that this was going to be some stupid stinking day, she absolutely knew it, and here it was evening, nearly nightfall, and the green starboard lights of the boats were coming on and maybe she was feeling a little better about it, though the sensation of fear was still there in her breast, Brilliant said you really need to get another leash for Max, doesn’t matter if he’s a mutt, he should have a nice new one, you and me and Misha and Max ought to go to the bicycle races, I bet we come in first, c’mon let’s have some more champagne Kim, but what if Fleur were to leave she thought, they’d no longer have a family, I’ll buy a leash for Max Brilliant said, and Kim was no longer thinking about Fleur alone and hiding under his hood again so far from them, and Kim barely heard Brilliant’s voice, always the same funny hippity-hopping guy telling stories that Kim had no way of knowing were true or false or maybe just the crazy poetry of a writer who’d had too much to drink, he always did in the bars and taverns along the way, you couldn’t really make a family with him anyway because before long he’d be off at night bumming and wandering with words tripping off his lips, words from books he would never write, well maybe he would, no way Kim could know what the future held for any of them, even Max and Damien, no, no way to know, there had to be a bunch of you to make a family, dogs and all, the dogs needed to be on guard in the street w
hether they were lying down or not, uh-huh and what if Fleur left, he’d have to, like the nestling with its head thrown back she’d be dead, yeah, that or hang out with Paul the trumpeter who flouted his happiness under their noses, with him joy was contagious, it really was, then there was this fearful feeling in her breast, nope, no way to know what would become of them all, while she listened to Brilliant laugh she looked all around them into the night, no, no way to tell, but at least one thing was certain, tomorrow they’d be off to the Old Salt’s boat, just like every Saturday, and hating that sensation of fear when he put his wrinkled hand on her head and said I know you don’t realize it yet but you really are a pretty girl and such a hard worker too, and here’s the bike I promised you, yes it’s for you Kim. What if, what if the reason for the delay is something really serious Laure said to Daniel as he typed on his computer in the terminal, as always she used her plaintive cigarette-deprived voice, I can’t stand it, seven hours, that’s right, that’s how long we’ve been here, seven hours, what if, say, the president or vice-president of some country’s been assassinated and that’s why we’re being held up here, did you ever think of that Daniel, maybe it’s something that serious, well then you can be sure we’re the last of their worries, and smokers last of all, forget ’em, just folks with nasty habits, all they have to do is give it up, simple as that, they’re poisoning and stinking up the air for everyone else anyway, tough, I bet that’s how they think of us, me, you don’t smoke, do you, yes I can see that, sure for something really critical like some big politician they might leave us stuck here for days, who cares about a bunch of plane passengers, borders’d be closed anyway, ever think of that Daniel, all these flights delayed and now they’re closing the airport, could be something really big, look how nice it is outside, she was agitated and yelling by now, then Daniel answered her the way he would one of his children, whatever it is we need to stay calm, there’s no good in getting worked up like this, it’ll all pass, just keep believing we’ll leave soon said Daniel, paternalistic as always, the man and father had no choice but to speak to the annoying woman as though she were his daughter though they were probably the same age, how condescending thought Laure, they’re all alike, this was why she was still single she reminded herself, they’re always patronizing like this one, oh he was likeable enough, maybe not irresistible but likeable enough, too wrapped up in his own thoughts though, well he was a writer wasn’t he, maybe not quite as patronizing as she made him out to be, maybe just being polite and exercising his curiosity as a writer, she believed he considered her interesting, he might find her exasperating but not necessarily attractive and this was the first real flesh-and-blood writer she’d met, he’s not like anyone else and he’s brought a pile of books he’s constantly dipping into and making notes, quiet and fully absorbed, worst of all, when he wasn’t at his computer, he wasn’t about to have a smoke either, that’s what really riled her because he couldn’t understand the hunger, the thirst she suffered, he couldn’t even share with her that little wavelength she was on longing for a smoke, let alone offer to sneak her one, but this imagined discussion got on her nerves even more, you think something like that could’ve happened he asked her, I mean a president for instance, and they wouldn’t tell us first of all, and as he said that she managed to catch his eye under those substantial brows that expressed his wordless perplexity even when reading or writing, despite his uncertainty, and she realized she’d troubled him without meaning to, all she wanted was for him to listen, to see that the situation might be a tragedy in the making with some unknown repercussion about to blow up in their faces, instant annihilation in seconds, or maybe she was it, because here he was calmly reading from his computer, so here she was alone again and feeling the boredom and irritation rise in her, along with the desire to smoke of course, god it was awful she exclaimed, not knowing Daniel had heard her anyway, he always did and he too wondered what they were all waiting for, possibly nothing at all, if the worst came to the worst his final thoughts would be of the little pink baby and the golden curl on top of the tiny head held close against her mother’s breast while the pink legs protruding from the travel bag as both danced so she’d go to sleep, a last recollection of Mai or Rudy when their parents carried them that way, dancing to get them drowsy, one foot then the other, a soft cadence, a little jazzy and a little slow, what a last thought that would be if one imagined the worst as Laure was doing, her conscious chaos actually took several forms, erasing all their existences with a fiery arrow, whether this were actually to happen or merely apprehended, Daniel’s next thought was that he was too young and unfulfilled to die yet, okay there were his books and his kids, but what else had he accomplished that was so overwhelming he could leave the world and feel contented, well, really nothing all that tangible, nothing to compare with Olivier’s scale of grand social and political transformation, true he was Daniel’s senior by several decades and no longer able to manage his exhaustion or his corrosive fits of depression, such was the bitter fruit of a life dedicated to all, already fighting racial segregation as a young student in Birmingham, watching so many black houses, churches, and businesses being firebombed, now a man of laws living with the constant threat of violence, even chained and beaten, no Daniel would never be that kind of liberating militant, odd he should be thinking of Olivier now paralyzed by depression, barely able to get out of bed in the morning, as though the burden of bile from burnt churches and schools in his native Birmingham still crushed him beneath its weight and the thought that despite all the sacrifice everything might possibly go on as before, had he lost faith in the redemption from ancestral hate, it tortured and oppressed him this overwhelming hate of one part of the Earth for another pondered Daniel, then words from Samuel shone out from the screen, Papa, dear Papa I’ve got a second dance in mind to follow the one you saw in New York, I’m writing this while Rudy plays with his toy planes on the table and sends them gliding around the world as though counting on a smooth landing on the kitchen table again just for him, Rudy loves it and it’d be true they’re everywhere we want them, this autumn I’d love to see everyone on display in this choreography, disinterred from their asphalt and cement tombs:
Nothing for You Here, Young Man Page 4