The Mad and the Bad by Manchette Jean-Patrick

Author:Manchette, Jean-Patrick [Manchette, Jean-Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fluffer Nutter, dpgroup.org
ISBN: 9781590177402
Publisher: NYRB Classics
Published: 2014-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

20

FOR THE second night in a row Julie had not slept at all.

Peter woke up at six in the morning after sleeping for seventeen hours. From about midnight his sleep had gradually become more normal. When he awoke he cried out. Julie leapt from her bed and hurried over to the little boy. He was sitting up and gazing uncomprehendingly into the gray half-light of the room.

“I’m here. Don’t be afraid.”

Peter flung his arms around the girl’s neck, squeezing with all his might and almost strangling her.

“Where are we, Julie? Where are the bad guys?”

“Shh! We’re in a hotel. We got away.”

“Are they chasing us?”

“No.”

“Did the police catch them? Did you tell the police?”

Julie disentangled herself, shivering. The boy looked around the room. It was a very large room, with white roughcast walls, an old-fashioned rustic wooden washstand with a built-in bowl and a pitcher, and a large oval mirror mounted lengthwise between two wooden uprights.

“The police!” Peter repeated. “What about them?”

“I didn’t go to the police.”

“Why?”

Julie shook her head in exasperation and her dark hair swirled about her white neck.

“You’re all naked,” noted Peter with interest.

“I’m getting dressed. You get dressed too. We’re going to have breakfast.”

“What about the police?”

Oh, the little devil! The rotten little devil! thought Julie. But then she thought: No, it’s me that’s screwy.

“I didn’t go to the police because I’m afraid of the police. I hate the police. Police! Police! Police! That’s why! Now you know!” Sotto voce, Julie was ranting.

“Why?”

“Oh Christ!” the girl exclaimed, and she sat down on the edge of the bed.

She did not know whether to cry or burst out laughing. She was still in doubt as she slipped on her shorts and sweat-soaked T-shirt. After abandoning the Peugeot 204, she had walked for kilometers and kilometers with Peter in her arms, following lanes and back roads and cutting across fields. Ten, twenty kilometers—she was not sure. Her head weighed heavy and all her joints ached.

“I used to be a criminal,” she blurted, and she looked at Peter to see what effect her words had on him.

He gulped. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’ve been in prison.”

“What for? Murder?”

“Get dressed.”

Beyond the window shutters it was daylight. Ever since Peter had uttered the word “police,” Julie had been feeling stifled in the dimness.

“I want you to tell me!” cried the boy. “When did I go to sleep?”

The girl took his head between her hands.

“Do you really want to know? Really see things the way they are? Listen, I’m an escaped prisoner. Do you believe me?”

“Sure I do. You mean like in Branded. And you have to prove your innocence?”

“That’s right.” Julie sighed.

“What are you supposed to have done?”

“Murder. Okay?”

“Well, I trust you,” Peter said firmly.

“Get dressed then.”

The girl helped the little boy get dressed.

“How are you going to prove you are innocent?”

“We’ll go and find Uncle Hartog,” said Julie, “and I’ll explain everything to him.”

She stood slack-jawed for a moment or two.

“No, what am I talking about? I’m such a fool. I’m horribly confused, it’s stupid.

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