He was overawed by her open, fearless affection. Was this why people liked friendship so much? Tiny Samy almost vanished in his embrace.
‘I, um … I’d like to give you something,’ Perdu rejoined. Sheepishly he pushed the keys to the barge over to Cuneo.
‘My esteemed world’s worst liar and greatest cook west of Italy, I must travel without my boat from now on. Therefore and herewith, I give Lulu into your hands. Always keep a corner free for cats and for writers in search of a story. Do you accept? You don’t have to, but if you do, I’d be delighted to know you are looking after my boat. On a permanent loan, so to speak, so …’
‘No! It’s your job, your office, your soul surgery, your getaway and your home. You are the book barge, you stupid nerd. You can’t give something like this away to strangers, however much they’d love to take it!’ yelled Samy.
They all stared at Samantha in bewilderment.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I … eh … I mean what I said. It’s not on. Swap a mobile phone for a book barge? No way! How distressing!’ She let out a stifled giggle.
‘This inability to lie seems a real gift in life,’ Max remarked. ‘And by the way, before anyone asks me: No, I don’t need a boat, but I would be grateful for a lift in your car, Jean.’
Cuneo had tears in his eyes.
‘Alas, alas,’ was all he could say. ‘Alas, Capitano. Alas, everything. I’m … cazzo … and all the rest.’
They discussed at length the pros and cons of the matter. The more Cuneo and Samy appeared to hesitate, the harder Jean argued his case. Max kept his counsel, except once when he asked: ‘Don’t they call this hara-kiri or something?’
Perdu ignored him. He felt that it had to be done, but it took him half the morning to convince Samy and Cuneo.
Solemnly and visibly moved, the Italian said at last: ‘Fine, Capitano. We’ll look after your boat until you want it back. It doesn’t matter when: the day after tomorrow, in a year or thirty years from now. And cats and writers will always be welcome.’
They sealed the pact with an emotional group hug. Samy let go of Jean last and stared at him fondly.
‘My favourite reader,’ she said with a smile. ‘I couldn’t have dreamed of anyone better.’
Max and Jean packed their belongings in Max’s kit bag and a few large shopping bags, and stepped ashore. Other than his clothes, all Perdu took with him were the first pages of his book: The Great Encyclopedia of Small Emotions.
Perdu felt nothing at all as Cuneo started the engine and steered Lulu expertly out into midstream. He could hear and see Max beside him, but it seemed as though Max were drifting away too, like the book barge. Max waved with both arms, shouting ‘Ciao’ and ‘Salut’; Perdu, by contrast, could not even muster the energy to raise his hand.
He gazed after his book barge until it had vanished around a bend in the river. He stared after it when it was long gone, waiting for the numbness to subside so he could feel again. When he was finally ready to turn around, he found Max sitting quietly on a bench, waiting for him.
‘Let’s go,’ said Perdu, his voice rough and dry.
For the first time in five weeks they withdrew money in Avignon from branches of their banks, though this required dozens of phone calls, faxed signatures for comparison and close examination of their passports. Then they rented a small milk-white car at the train station and set off for the Luberon.
They took a minor road southeast from Avignon. It was only thirty miles to Bonnieux. Max gazed raptly out of the open windows. To the left and the right fields of sunflowers, lush green carpets of vines and rows of lavender bushes painted the land a mosaic of colours. Yellow, dark-green and purple, spanned by a saturated blue sky dotted with white cushions of cloud.
Far away on the horizon they could make out the Big Luberon and the Little Luberon – a great, long table mountain with a matching stool to its right.
The sun was beating down on the land, eating into earth and flesh, flooding the fields and towns with its imperious brilliance.
‘We need straw hats,’ Max groaned languidly, ‘and linen trousers.’
‘We need deodorant and sun cream,’ Perdu snapped in reply.
It was obvious that Max was in his element. He slipped into this landscape like the right piece into a jigsaw puzzle. Unlike Jean. Everything he saw seemed strangely remote and foreign to him. He still felt numb.
Villages were perched like crowns on top of the green hills. Beige sandstone and light roof tiles to ward off the heat. Majestic birds of prey patrolled the air. The roads were narrow and empty.
Manon had seen these mountains, hills and colourful fields. She had felt this mild air; she had known these hundred-year-old trees in whose dense canopies cicadas crouched, producing a constant clicking that sounded to Jean’s ears like: ‘What? What? What?’
What are you doing here? What are you looking for here? What do you feel here?
Nothing.