Too Close to the Edge by Pascal Garnier

Author:Pascal Garnier [Pascal Garnier]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910477267
Publisher: Gallic Books
Published: 2016-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

The microcar carried them along the winding, practically empty roads that criss-crossed the region for the whole afternoon. They dipped their feet in the emerald-green pools of the Escoutay and lay on the warm flat stones beside the river. From time to time a fluffy little cloud drifted across the sky above them and they would watch until it thinned and disappeared as if by magic. The babbling water mingled with birdsong like an advert for paradise, a bucolic, pastel-painted scene extolling the virtues of the afterlife. They stopped off in Alba where, after wandering down unevenly paved alleys that seemed to be populated only with cats, they enjoyed an ice-cold drink at a café under the plane trees in the square. A pair of pensioners were getting some air, sitting in their front garden. Side by side in their deckchairs, they didn’t say a word to one another, looking straight ahead at a future that already belonged to the past.

‘It’s fascinating how still they are, isn’t it? It’s as if they’ve been there for ever.’

‘They probably have. Look at their hands and feet – they’re like roots!’

‘It would be nice to live like a pot plant.’

‘What’s stopping you?’

‘I don’t know. I always feel like there’s someone prodding me on, as if I’m shuffling along in a queue.’

‘Why not leave the queue, Étienne?’

‘I’ve tried, but I’m scared shitless of breaking ranks. Fact is I’m just an average Joe.’

The sun was beginning to yawn above the Roman-tiled rooftops. A handful of people had emerged out of nowhere and were crossing the square, a baguette under their arm, a shopping basket in their hand, everyday people, life’s walk-on parts; Étienne would have liked to swap roles. He sighed and his eyes met Éliette’s lavender-blue gaze. She was smiling.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. You’re sweet when you’re sad. Shall we go?’

In the car, they heard on the news that a twelve-year-old English girl had just given birth. The father was thirteen. When the child reached the age of twenty, it would have a thirty-two-year-old mother. Éliette remarked that, given we were all living longer, it would soon be hard to tell grandfather from grandson in family albums. But another news item, this time from the United States, suggested the opposite: two twelve-year-old kids had just been shot dead by police after gunning down half a dozen of their classmates along with their teacher. Christ dying at thirty-three seemed like a doddery old man in comparison.

They said no more to each other but sat thinking how quickly our time on earth is up, all the way back to Éliette’s house. A crow was nailed to the gate by its wing, its head smashed in. Éliette hid her face in her hands while Étienne pulled the bird free and sent it on one last flight before it landed beyond the bushes.

‘He’s mad! My God, what am I going to do? I can’t stay here any longer! I’m calling the police.’

‘Calm down, Éliette. I’m here. I’m sure we can find a way to sort this out without making a song and dance about it.

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