Tropic Moon by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: nepalifiction, TPB
Publisher: NYRB Classics
Published: 2010-08-16T18:15:00+00:00

7

THE FLATBOAT left the pier at first light. Bouilloux had brought Timar, Adele, and their luggage in his little truck. The truck remained on the pier in the morning dusk, and Bouilloux waved as the vessel heaved over the first swell, righted itself, and disappeared again.

There it was—the ocean. To reach the mouth of the river, they had to cut through the waves. A black with an old sun helmet on his head was at the helm. He wore a cloth vest over black cotton bathing trunks, and it was hard to say why he didn't look ridiculous. He stared straight ahead, his face cryptic. His hands, which were paler than his body as a whole, held the steering wheel.

Adele remained on her feet for as long as Bouilloux and his truck were visible, then went to sit in the stern. She was dressed just as she was every day, except that she had put on rubber boots to protect her legs against the mosquitoes.

This hour was the hardest to get through. They'd woken up too early, in the dark, and nervously packed their bags. Now the swell rocked them. It wasn't full daylight yet.

They didn't speak or look at each other. In spite of last night's scene, or maybe because of it, they seemed strangers. It was still painful to Timar. He couldn't have described what had happened, since he'd completely lost his self-control along with any sense of reality. That had been good.

"Why are you crying? Tell me why you're crying!"

As soon as he'd put the question to her, there'd been a shift. He'd been short with her, almost threatening, because he was sleepy and thought it was going to go on for a long time.

"Go to sleep! It's over!"

He had lit the candle, grown angry, accused Adele of not understanding anything. He was the one who had a right to feel sad, not her! In the end he'd had a genuine fit, and, leaning over him, she had calmed him down. All this in the hot sheets, damp with tears and sweat. The end had been even more ridiculous: he had begged her to forgive him.

"No, Joe, sleep! You're going to toss and turn all night."

Hurt, he fell asleep with his head on her breasts. In the morning everything was forgotten; there was nothing between them, not a trace of feeling, just a coldness.

Half a mile out, they were running parallel to the line of palms. Once they were past the mouth of the harbor, they saw the coastline. A few minutes later, they entered the river just as the sun was coming up.

It was the end of the night—of everything ridiculous and awkward that had come with it. Timar turned to Adele with laughing eyes, his vision caressing the scenery.

"Not too shabby."

"It's pretty."

He lit a cigarette, and at that moment he was full of optimism. Adele was smiling, too. She got up to come closer and to look at the landscape with him, while the black handled the wheel and stared without expression at the horizon.

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