Nothing Can Erase You by Michel Bussi

Author:Michel Bussi [Bussi, Michel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

Shit, let’s just get this over with. Now what the hell does blue gentian look like?

Jonas walks a little farther along the path. He orients himself using the dikes, those huge blocks of granite that rise above the forest, in shapes as strange as their names—the Tooth of Bitterness, yes, and the Cockerel’s Crest, the Monk’s Needle. According to his memory, which dates back to the previous millennium, gentian usually grows at the base of trees. The plant needs shade, but sun too. A bit like Didine, it’s hard to please, never satisfied with . . .

“Hello, Jonas.”

The tattooed giant looks up, unsurprised. All he sees is a backlit silhouette, but he has no problem recognizing the other person.

“You got my message, then?” he says. “Perfect. I think this place is about as discreet as it gets.”

“True.”

He continues searching among the ferns, more concerned for now with crossing another item off his list than engaging in conversation.

“Do you know what blue gentian looks like?”

“No idea.”

“Ah well . . .”

Jonas pushes tufts of grass out of the way with his foot.

“Let me know if you spot something blue, or maybe even yellow, with a long straight stem and pointed leaves . . .”

The surfer is amused by the idea of making his visitor stew for a while. And stews are always better with some herbs.

“In your message, you said the matter was urgent. I got here as quickly as I could. What’s so important that—”

“Tom told me everything,” Jonas says.

He pulls three grass stems out of the ground and stuffs them into the bag on his back, without even turning around. He takes another three steps into the forest, forcing the visitor to follow him through ferns and brambles.

“It wasn’t easy, getting him to talk,” Jonas continues. “I had to shake him up a bit, but he spilled it all in the end. All the stuff you put in his head. You groomed him with your bullshit, like a fucking cult leader preying on the vulnerable.”

Jonas bends forward. He thinks he’s spotted some motherwort, the most precious of all the ingredients on the list. Maybe this is his lucky day . . . He’s found this flower. And he’s about to cut out the tumor that’s been making Tom sick.

“You can tell the cops all about it,” Jonas says. “But first, I’m going to let you defend yourself. Tell me why. Why did you do it?”

He crouches down, thumb and forefinger pinched together in such a way that they won’t damage the petals of the motherwort when he cuts its stalk. Behind him, a foot crushes a piece of fallen bark. The approaching figure blocks out what little light remains in the undergrowth. Jonas glimpses a dark shadow on the tree trunks, an arm raised, a branch held like a sword.

He spins around, faster than a cat.

He’d expected this, anticipated it. With a powerful backhand, Jonas knocks away the heavy branch. With the other hand, he grabs the shadowy figure by the throat and shoves it against the nearest pine.

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