Extraits

Le trajet se déroule dans un silence de mort. La voiture passe devant les maisons familières avec leurs vastes pelouses ouvertes qui s’étendent jusqu’au trottoir, puis devant la papeterie, la boulangerie, le marchand de glaces. Toute cette vie qu’il a appris à aimer.

Donnez un peu de pouvoir à un faible et il en abusera.

Jean-Luc jauge l’individu d’un coup d’œil : costume bleu marine, chemise blanche, cravate passe-partout, regard arrogant. En temps ordinaire, il ne relève pas lorsqu’on écorche son nom de famille, mais ce matin, il se sent piqué dans son orgueil. Peut-être à cause de l’aplomb de cet homme qui vient sonner chez lui de si bonne heure. — Ça se prononce Beauchamps, rectifie-t-il. C’est français. Le regard de l’homme-pélican se durcit presque imperceptiblement et il avance le pied dans l’embrasure de la porte. — Oui, on sait que c’est français, mais ici, on est en Amérique

Conscient du regard de Charlotte sur sa nuque, il ouvre la porte d’entrée et suit les deux hommes jusqu’à la Chrysler noire. Il prend une profonde inspiration, forçant l’oxygène à se frayer un passage dans son abdomen. Il se souvient maintenant d’avoir entendu l’orage éclater en pleine nuit ; l’odeur de la terre gorgée d’eau lui monte aux narines. Elle commence déjà à s’évaporer. Bientôt, l’air sera chaud et humide.

Le trajet se déroule dans un silence de mort. La voiture passe devant les maisons familières avec leurs vastes pelouses ouvertes qui s’étendent jusqu’au trottoir, puis devant la papeterie, la boulangerie, le marchand de glaces. Toute cette vie qu’il a appris à aimer.

When I see they’re far enough in front, I walk home slowly, loneliness threatening to engulf me. I’m half tempted to join them for coffee, but I know I won’t be able to hold myself back from blurting something out. There’s a chance that no one saw the car come for Jean-Luc this morning, but if someone did, I’d need to have a story ready. They’ll want to know all the details. Yes, it’s best to avoid any contact.

She turns towards him, a thin crease across her forehead, her brown eyes piercing him. ‘Two investigators . . . They want me to go with them to answer some questions.’ ‘About the accident?’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what they want. They won’t say.’ ‘They won’t say? But they have to. They can’t just ask you to go with them without telling you why.’ The colour drains from her face. ‘Don’t worry, Charlotte. I think I’d better do what they say. Clear things up. It’s only questioning.’

He senses Charlotte’s eyes on his back as he opens the front door and follows the men to their black Chrysler. He takes a deep breath, forcing the air down into his abdomen. Now he remembers hearing the storm break in the middle of the night; can feel the earth thick with water, starting to evaporate already. Soon it will be humid and hot.

These dreams leave me with a yearning for my family that casts a long shadow. I have been in touch with them; I wrote once we’d settled down and found somewhere to live. My mother wrote back; a short, curt letter saying that Papa wasn’t ready to see me yet. He still had some forgiving to do.

I have no desire to run into anyone today. If someone saw the black car, all the mothers will know by now. I can imagine them hypothesising, getting excited. No, I need to get away and distance myself. I could go shopping to another town, where I won’t bump into anyone; somewhere large and anonymous, like one of those big supermarkets.

The cashier looks at me strangely. ‘Do you want help bagging, ma’am?’ Is she being sarcastic? I shake my head. ‘No thank you. I can manage.’