At our feet the women held their heads in their hands. We too dropped to our knees, arms outstretched, crying for mercy. Over on the other roof, Aimée was still standing with her children at her breast, howling into the night sky.
4
I don’t know for how long we stayed in a daze. The water was higher by the time I came back to my senses. It was up to the tiles now; the roof was nothing more than a than a narrow island in a vast sheet of water. Houses must have collapsed on both sides. The sea spread out as far as you could see.
‘We’re moving,’ Rose murmured, gripping on to the roof tiles.
She was right; we all felt like we were swaying, as if the roof were now a raft. The strong currents seemed to be carrying us along. Then when we saw the church steeple standing still in front of us, our dizziness ended; we were exactly where we’d been before, amid the rolling waves.
The water started to attack. The current had been following the road, but now it was blocked by rubble and it was forced to surge back on itself. There was method to its violence. When ever a beam or some other passing hunk of wreckage came in reach of the the current, the water snatched it up and rammed it into the house. And now there was no relief; the water would scoop up the tossed beam and hurl it back to hammer the walls even harder this time. Soon a dozen beams attacked us from all sides. The water bellowed, spraying our feet with foam. The house groaned under the weight of water. Already there were cracks in the walls. We were getting battered. We thought that we were done for; the walls would give way and throw us out into the river.
Gaspard had ventured to the very edge of the roof. With his mighty wrestler’s arms he had managed to get hold of a beam.
‘We have to fight back,’ he cried.
Jacques, doing his bit, seized on a long pole that was flowing past in the current. Pierre helped him. I cursed the fact that age had made me as weak as a child. But our defence was prepared. It would be three men versus one river. Gaspard gripped his beam, ready to use it to block whatever driftwood got hurled at us. He managed to fend off the attacks, just, tottering each time he absorbed the impact. Beside him, Jacques and Pierre jabbed their long pole into the water to sweep away the debris. This pointless struggle lasted nearly an hour. Eventually the men lost their heads. They stamped and swore and cursed the water. Gaspard stabbed it as if he was fighting a duel, piercing its surface as though it was his opponent’s heart. The water couldn’t care less. It was calm, unhurt. It was imposssible to hurt. Jacques and Pierre gave up, exhausted; Gaspard, running in for one last swipe, lost his beam to the current, which grabbed it from him in order to batter us mercilessly. There was no point fighting.
Marie and Véronique had thrown themselves into each other’s arms. They were hoarse, crying over and over the same frightened words that are still ringing in my ears today. ‘I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!’
Rose put her arms around them. She tried to reassure them. Then she looked up, trembling and, despite herself, screamed out. ‘I don’t want to die!’
Only Agathe said nothing. She wasn’t praying or crossing herself any more. Looking around in a daze, she tried to keep smiling whenever her glance met mine.
The water was battering the tiles now. There was no hope of rescue. We still heard voices coming from the church. Two lanterns passed in the distance. Then silence reigned once more. The people at Saintin, who had boats, must have been hit first.
Gaspard was still prowling around when he called out suddenly.
‘There! Come on, help me. Hold tight!’
He had a pole and he was watching an enormous hunk of black rubble drift slowly towards the house. It was a roof. It was made from solid planks that the water had torn from a shed. It was wide; and it floated, like a raft. When it came within his reach, Gaspard caught it with his pole; when he felt himself being dragged away, he called for help. We grabbed his waist and held tight. As soon as the raft entered the current, it smashed against the roof of our house so violently that we thought it would be broken to bits.
Gaspard jumped onto the raft with no hesitation. We had a chance. Pierre and Jacques held it at the roof’s edge while he examined it to make sure that it was sturdy enough.
‘Saved, granddad!’ He laughed. ‘Don’t cry any more, ladies! A real boat – look! my feet are dry. And it’ll carry all of us, easy. We’ll be safe as houses on that!’
All the same, he thought that it wouldn’t hurt to make it more solid. He caught some floating beams and bound them to the raft with a piece of rope that Pierre had pocketed when he came up from the basement, just in case. Gaspard even fell in the water at one point; we screamed, but he just laughed. He was comfortable in the water; he once swam three miles of the Garonne. He got up and shook himself dry.
‘Don’t waste time. Get on!’ The women got to their knees. Gaspard had to carry Véronique and Marie into the middle of the raft. He sat them down. Rose and Aunt Agathe slid along the tiles and sat near the young girls. I looked over to the church; Aimée was still there. She was leaning against a chimney, keeping her children in the air, at arm’s length – the water was up to her waist.
‘It’s okay, granddad,’ said Gaspard. ‘We’ll pick her up on the way, I promise.’
Pierre and Jacques were already on board, so I jumped on. It was leaning over a bit on one side, but it was up to the job of carrying us. Gaspard was the last to come down from the roof. He told us to take the poles that he’d got ready, and he pointed out which ones would make good oars. He used a very long one with great skill. We let him take charge. On his word, we pushed our poles against the roof in order to get going. The boat seemed to be stuck. No matter how hard we tried, it wouldn’t budge. The current forced us back towards the house every time. It was risky to keep on trying; our raft didn’t look like it could survive these awful smashes.
Yet again we felt helpless. We had thought that we were saved. But the water still had us at its mercy. I was sorry that the women weren’t back up on the roof; I worried that, any minute, the ferocious current would drag them away. I said that we should try to get back to our spot on the roof. ‘No! Let’s take another shot! Better that than die here!’
Gaspard wasn’t laughing now. We tried again, pushing hard on the poles with whatever strength we had left. Then Pierre had an idea. He could go back up on the roof and use a rope to pull us out of the current. Once he jumped back down to the raft, it only needed a few strokes before we were out on the open sea. But Gaspard remembered his promise to rescue poor Aimée, who was still crying helplessly. We had to cross the street and tackle the strong current that we had just escaped. Gaspard glanced at me. I was torn. Never in my life had I made such a difficult choice. We would be risking eight lives. But – even if I did waver for a split second – I wasn’t strong enough to shut out her whimpering.
‘Do it. We can’t leave without her.’
Gaspard’s head dropped. Without saying a word, he took up his pole and got leverage wherever he could, from any wall that was still standing. We drifted past a neighbouring building, and then we passed our own stables. But when we came out into the street, we screamed. The current had us in its grip once more. We lost our balance, twirling like a leaf in the wind. Our screams were cut off by the noise of the raft smashing into our roof. There was a tearing sound as the unattached beams split apart, tossing us into the water. I don’t know what happened. I remember that, as I fell, I saw Aunt Agathe splayed out, floating on her skirts. She sank without a struggle, looking up into the sky.
Pain opened my eyes. Pierre was dragging me by my hair along the roof. I slumped down in a daze and looked around. He had dived back in. I saw Gaspard and not my brother. I was confused. The young man was carrying Véronique. He lay her down next to me and dived in again, pulling out Marie. Her face was like wax, so still and white that I thought she was dead. Then he dived in again. He searched in vain this time. He talked to Gaspard; I couldn’t hear what they were planning. They came back up on
to the roof, worn out.
‘What about Aunt Agathe?’ I asked. ‘And Jacques? Rose?’
They shook their heads. Tears streamed down their faces. Jacques cracked his head open on a beam, they said. Rose wouldn’t let him go, and she was swept away, clinging to his corpse. Aunt Agathe was never seen again; the current must have carried her body into the house through an open window.
I got up and looked over at Aimée on the rooftop. The water was rising all the time; she wasn’t crying now. I just saw her upstretched arms holding her children above the water. Then they were all swallowed up, the water engulfing them under the sleepy light of the moon.
5
There were only five of us left on the roof. Only a narrow strip along the ridge was still dry. A chimney had just been dragged off. Véronique and Marie had fainted; we needed to lift them so that the waves didn’t soak their legs. Eventually they came to. But we felt worse seeing them wet and shivering, and crying about how they didn’t want to die. We reassured them in the way that you would reassure a child. Of course they weren’t going to die; Death would have us to deal with first. But they didn’t believe us any more, they knew damn well they were about to die. And each time they said ‘die’, the word tolled like a bell. Their teeth chattered as they clutched each other in despair.
We were done for. There was nothing left of the village; only a few crumbling walls. Yet the church stood firm, its steeple untouched. We could hear voices from inside. It sounded like the murmur of people taking shelter. Water roared in the distance. We didn’t even hear the houses falling down like cartloads of gravel being emptied. It was as if we were shipwrecked in an ocean, a thousand miles from land.
Then we thought we could hear the sound of oars – a gentle swooshing coming from somewhere over to our left, the rhythm becoming more and more distinct. Hope! We perked up, straining our eyes to see. And we saw nothing. The yellow swathe stretched out in front of us, dotted with dark shapes. But these shapes weren’t moving. They were the tops of trees, the remains of crushed walls poking up through the water. Weeds, driftwood, empty barrels – these all gave us false hope. We waved our handkerchiefs, until, seeing our mistake, we remained none the wiser as to the source of this constant noise.
‘I see it!’ Gaspard shouted. ‘Look! Down there, a big boat!’
He pointed at some distant speck. I saw nothing, and neither did Pierre. But he insisted it was a boat. We heard the sound of oars more clearly than ever. At last we saw something too. The shape moved slowly. It seemed to be circling us, without getting any closer. It was as if we had gone mad. We waved our arms around in fury, and we screamed until our throats burned. Then we cursed it – were they cowards or what? The black shape glided away noiselessly. Was it really a boat? To this day I don’t know. It disappeared, and so did our last hope.
From then on we were just waiting to be swept away. The house was weak. It was probably being supported by nothing more than a single wall; when that went, everything would go with it. What scared me most of all was feeling the roof wobble under our feet. Maybe the house itself would have held out all night, but the roof was caving in, battered and pierced by beams. We had retreated over to the left side, where the rafters still held firm. But these seemed to be weakening too. There was no way they could take the weight of all five of us crowding into so narrow a space.
Pierre twirled his moustache, his pipe at his lips. He muttered something, and frowned. All his courage counted for nothing next to the growing threat. He couldn’t bear it. He spat into the water with a sneer. We started to sink further. He made his choice, and climbed down from the roof.
‘Pierre!’ I was scared of having understood his intention. ‘Pierre!’
He turned back. ‘Goodbye, Louis,’ he said softly. ‘All this waiting around – it’s too much. And you’ll be able to spread out a bit.’
He chucked his pipe into the water, then jumped.
‘I’ve had it. Goodnight!’
We didn’t see him after that. He wasn’t a strong swimmer. He’d given up in any case. His heart was broken. He didn’t see the point of carrying on when our loved ones were dead.
The church bells struck two. This awful night of tears and suffering would soon be over. There was less and less dry ground under our feet. The murmur of water grew louder as the waves lapped back and forth over the tiles. The current had shifted again. A procession of debris drifted slowly to our right, as if the water was getting tired. Soon it wouldn’t be able to rise any higher.
Gaspard kicked off his shoes and threw down his jacket. He cracked his knuckles.
‘Grandfather. This waiting’s killing me; I can’t stay here with you. Let me go. I’ll save her.’
He meant Véronique. How could he be strong enough to carry her all the way to the church? I said no.
‘I can! I’ve got the muscle. I’m up to it. You’ll see!’
And he wanted to go now. Hearing the house crumble under us made him feel as weak as a child.
‘I love her,’ he kept saying. ‘I’ll save her.’
I said nothing, holding Marie close. He thought I was accusing him of being selfish, of thinking only about the woman he was going to marry.
‘I’ll come back for Marie, I swear. I’ll find a boat. I’ll get help.’ He was stammering. ‘Trust me, grandfather.’
Stripped to the waist, he told Véronique what to do: she mustn’t argue, she mustn’t struggle and, above all, she mustn’t be frightened. She didn’t seem to understand; yes, yes, she repeated, yes. Gaspard crossed himself – he never was a regular at church – and then he slid down the roof, holding Véronique by means of a rope looped under her arms. She screamed, splashing around with her arms and legs, and then she fainted.
‘That’s better!’ Gaspard shouted. ‘Now I can do all the talking!’
You can imagine how afraid I was, watching them. The water was white; I could see everything Gaspard did. Winding the rope around his own neck, he slung Véronique over his right shoulder. At times he buckled under her crushing weight, yet he ploughed on, swimming with superhuman strength. I had no doubts now; he was already a third of the way there. But then he banged straight into a wall that was hidden under the water. It was a horrible thump. They both disappeared. Then I saw him, alone; the rope must have snapped. He dived down twice. He emerged at last, Véronique on his back. But without the rope she weighed him down more than ever. He was making progress all the same. I shuddered as they got nearer to the church. Suddenly – I wanted to scream – I saw beams, crashing down on their blindside. I watched open-mouthed. The water swallowed them up.
I was in a daze from then on. I was nothing more than an animal, finding shelter out of pure instinct. The water advanced; I retreated. I heard someone laugh over and over, not knowing who. It was dawn. It was very fresh and very peaceful. It was like being at the edge of a pond, when the water comes alive before sunrise. But I could still hear laughing. I turned to see Marie, standing in her wet clothes. She was the one laughing.
The poor sweet thing! How lovely she looked under the rising sun! I saw her crouch down to scoop some water into her palms and wash her face. She plaited her beautiful blonde hair. She seemed to think that she was in her bedroom, getting dressed to go to mass, the church bells ringing out merrily. She was still laughing, bright-eyed, her face full of joy. Her madness was infectious; I started to laugh too. Fear had turned her insane. It was a blessing – she was so happy to see this beautiful springlike morning.
I didn’t understand what she was doing, so I let her go about her business, shaking my head tenderly. She was making herself beautiful for all eternity. When she felt that she was ready, she sang a hymn. Her voice was as delicate as cut glass. But she broke off, as if to answer someone who was calling her, someone who only she could hear.
‘I’m coming! I’m coming!’
She started to sing again, climbing down the roof and slipping into the water. It covered her gently, without a ripple. I was sti
ll smiling, looking on contentedly at the spot where she had just disappeared.
I remember nothing after that. I was alone on the roof. The water had risen further. There was still a chimney standing; I must have clung to it with all the strength I had left, like an animal that doesn’t want to die. Then – nothing, nothing, just a black hole. Nothingness.
6
Why am I still here? They told me that people from Saintin came in boats around six, and that they found me lying on a chimney, passed out. The flood was cruel. It took away everyone I loved; why not take me too? I wouldn’t have felt a thing.
I survived. All the others are gone – the children in their swaddling clothes, the girls who would have got married, the young couples, the old couples. And then me: a stubborn weed rooted right down between the stones, shrivelled and stringy – but alive! I’d do what Pierre did if I had the guts. ‘I’ve had enough. Goodnight!’ Chuck myself into the Garonne and join the others. I have no children left. My house is destroyed, and my land is ruined. How happy I was, when we sat down to eat, the old ones in the middle, the children eldest to youngest! How happy I was reaping the harvest, all of us at work together, picking the grapes, coming home proud of our riches! Our beautiful children and our beautiful vines, our beautiful girls and our beautiful crops: all my joy, the living reward for a life’s work! With all that gone, God, why keep me alive?
There’s no consolation. I won’t take accept. I’ll give my fields to the neighbours whose children aren’t dead. They’ll have the energy to clear up the mess and replant the crops. When you don’t have children, all you need is somewhere to die.
There was only one thing I wanted. A final wish. I wanted to find their bodies and bury them in our plot, under the slab where I’d soon be joining them. I heard that many of the bodies had been carried downstream; they had been lifted out at Toulouse. I decided to go.