‘Holy balsamico!’ He coughed.
Jean took one gentle drag and let the smoke roll around his palate. Part of him was afraid of losing control; part of him longed for exactly that. Even now it seemed as though a dam of time, habit and petrified fear were preventing his grief from gushing forth. He felt as if there were stone tears inside him that left no room for anything else.
He had not yet confessed to Max or Cuneo that the woman for whom he had cast off from Paris had long since turned to dust. Nor had he confessed that he was ashamed, and that it was shame driving him on. But he had no idea what he was supposed to do when he reached Bonnieux or what he hoped to find there.
Inner peace? He had a long way to go to even merit it.
Oh well, a second drag couldn’t do any harm.
The smoke was searingly hot. This time he sucked it in deep. Jean felt as though an ocean of heavy air were pressing down on him. It was as silent as the marine depths. Even the owls made no sound.
‘Super starry,’ mumbled Cuneo, tripping over his tongue.
‘We must be flying above the sky. The earth is a discus, yeah that’s what it is,’ said Max by way of explanation.
‘Or a platter of cold meats,’ hiccupped Cuneo.
Max and he snorted. They laughed, and their voices echoed across the river and frightened the baby hares in the undergrowth into pressing themselves, hearts thumping, deeper into their sleepy hollows.
The night dew settled on Jean’s eyelids. He didn’t laugh.
‘So, Cuneo, this woman you’re looking for: what was she like?’ asked Max when their laughter had subsided.
‘Beautiful. Young. And extremely brown from all the sun,’ answered Cuneo.
He paused. ‘Apart from you-know-where. There she was as white as cream.’ He sighed. ‘And tasted every bit as sweet.’
They saw shooting stars flare up here and there, flash across their field of vision, and fade away.
‘Love’s follies are the sweetest. But you pay most dearly for them,’ Cuneo whispered and pulled his blanket up to his chin. ‘Little ones and big ones alike.’ He sighed again. ‘It was only one night. Vivette was engaged at the time, but all that meant was that no man should touch her, especially not a man like me.’
‘What, a foreigner?’ asked Max.
‘No, Massimo, that wasn’t the problem. A river man – we were taboo.’
Cuneo took another toke and passed the joint on.
‘Vivette came over me like a fever – and I’ve still got it today. My blood boils at the thought of her. Her face stares out at me from every shadow and from every ray of sun on the water. I dream about her, but each night reduces the number of days we might spend together.’
‘I feel somehow terribly old and parched,’ Max said. ‘All these passions you two feel! One of you has been searching for his one-night stand for twenty years, and the other sets off at a moment’s notice to …’ Max broke off.
In the pause after these words Jean felt a jolt at the very edges of his grass-clouded consciousness. What was it that Max had just stopped himself from saying? But Max carried on talking, and Jean let it go.
‘I don’t even know what I ought to want. I’ve never been that deeply in love with a woman. I’ve always focused on what … what she is not. One was pretty, but a snob about people who earned less than her father. Another was nice, but took forever to get a joke. And another girl was unbelievably beautiful, but she started weeping when she took her clothes off – I’ve no idea why – so I preferred not to sleep with her. I wrapped her up in my biggest jumper instead and hugged her all night long. I tell you, women love to snuggle and spoon, but all the man gets is a dead arm and a bursting bladder.’
Perdu took another drag.
‘Your princess is somewhere too, Massimo,’ said Cuneo with conviction.
‘So where is she?’ asked Max.
‘Maybe you’re searching for her already and you simply don’t know that you’re on your way to finding her,’ whispered Jean.
That was how it had been with him and Manon. He had got on the train from Marseilles that morning with no idea that half an hour later he would find the woman who would shake his life to its foundations and topple all the pillars holding it up. He had been twenty-four, barely older than Max was now. He had had only five years of stolen hours with Manon, but he had paid for what amounted to those few days with two decades of pain, longing and loneliness.
‘But I’ll be damned if those few hours weren’t worth it.’
‘What did you say, Capitano?’
‘Nothing, I was merely thinking. Can you hear my thoughts now? You’ll both walk the plank.’
His travelling companions chuckled.
The silence of the country night seemed to grow increasingly surreal, drawing the men away from the present.
‘What about your love, Capitano?’ asked Cuneo. ‘What’s her name?’
Jean said nothing for a long time.
‘Scusami, I didn’t mean to …’