Once more Karim and his companions exchanged words in their guttural Arabic. Then he turned to me again.
‘Excuse me, Monsieur le Curé. I have a lot to do today. When I return, I hope we can talk.’
When I return? My heart sank. I realized how much I’d been counting on the fact that he would let me go.
‘I don’t see what you think you can gain from keeping me here. Do you think you can make me confess? To what? Your sister-in-law’s in no danger, Karim. She’s staying with Vianne Rocher.’
A pause. ‘With Vianne Rocher?’
‘That’s right. Now—’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘Nothing at all. Now will you let me out of here?’
A longer pause. ‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ My anger had grown. ‘What the hell do you want from me?’
Karim took a step closer to me. Now I could see his face clearly, and I saw that what I had taken for calm was a quiet though nonetheless violent rage.
‘My sister, Inès, has gone missing,’ he said. ‘She and the child have been missing since I caught you yesterday, trying to burn the boat in which she and her daughter were sleeping. Of course, we could have called the police. But how sympathetic would they be? And so we will keep you here, curé, until you give us the answers we need. Inshallah, I am very much hoping that next time you will tell the truth.’
And at that he and his companions left, closing the door behind them. I heard the sound of a key in the lock.
I cursed, both in French and in Latin. And then I sat down on the steps and waited and hoped for Maya’s return, and wondered what I had done to God to make him punish me like this, thinking of coffee and fresh croissants, as above me the treadmill and running machines resumed their infernal pounding.
CHAPTER SIX
Thursday, 26th August
OUR FIRST PORT of call in Les Marauds was the one place I thought I could be sure of finding a warm reception. But arriving at the al-Djerbas’ house, we found the dark-green shutters closed, and when Zahra opened the door she looked uneasy behind her niqab.
‘I’m sorry, my mother’s out,’ she said.
I explained we were looking for Reynaud, and asked if she had seen him.
She shook her head. Behind the veil, her colours were shot with turbulence.
‘How were the chocolate truffles?’ I said. ‘Did Omi like her coconut?’
‘Omi is also out,’ Zahra said.
I could see she was still looking troubled. Behind the veil her eyes were moving from me to Joséphine. ‘You’re sure you haven’t seen Reynaud? Or heard anything?’
She shook her head. ‘He is a friend of yours, is he not?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose he is.’
‘Curious, that such a man should be the friend of such as you.’ Her voice was flat, giving nothing away, but under the veil she was all fire; her colours flared and shimmered.
‘It wasn’t always the case,’ I said. ‘In fact, you might say we were enemies. But that was a long, long time ago. Both of us have changed since then. And I found that the fear inside me belonged to me, and not to him, and only by letting it go could I be completely free.’
She thought about that for a moment. ‘You people. I don’t understand you at all. Always talking about freedom. Where I come from we believe that no one can ever truly be free. Allah sees everything, controls everything.’
‘Reynaud thinks that, too,’ I said.
‘But you don’t?’
I shook my head.
‘What about Shaitan?’
I shrugged. ‘I think there are plenty of human causes for the wrong that people do without bringing the devil into it. And I was brought up to believe that we should learn to control our own lives, write our own rules, and accept the consequences.’
She made a small, ambivalent sound. ‘How different from what we are taught,’ she said. ‘But if there are no rules, then how do you always know what to do?’
‘I don’t think anyone always knows,’ I said. ‘Sometimes, we make mistakes. But to follow rules without thinking, to do as we’re told, like children – I don’t think that idea comes from God. It comes from those who use God as an excuse to make others obey them. I don’t think God cares what we wear, what we eat; I don’t think He cares who we choose to love. And I don’t believe in a God who wants to test people to destruction, or to play with them like a little boy with an ant farm.’
I thought she might comment on that, but as she began to speak there came a sudden commotion behind her, and Maya came bounding out, carrying Tipo under her arm.
She looked at me with interest and said: ‘Is Rosette with you?’
‘Not today.’
She pulled a face. ‘But I’m so bored! Can’t I go out and play with Rosette? There’s something I want to show her.’ She gave Zahra a mischievous look. ‘A secret. Just for me and Rosette.’
Zahra frowned. ‘Maya, be good. Jiddo isn’t feeling well.’
The brown eyes widened. ‘But I—’
Zahra said something in Arabic.
Maya pulled another face. ‘He misses the cat,’ she told me. ‘When he lived with Uncle Saïd, the cat always came to sit with him. Maybe if we brought the cat—’
Zahra looked impatient. ‘It’s nothing to do with the cat,’ she said.
I saw a quarrel looming and intervened before it could erupt. ‘Why don’t I take Maya?’ I said. ‘Then you can all get some rest. I know exactly what it’s like to have a little girl in the house.’ I could see that Zahra was tempted. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be with Rosette. I’ll bring her back before iftar.’
I could see her still considering it. Then she gave a sharp little nod, like a bird pecking at a nut. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘And now I must go. Thank you for coming to see us, Vianne.’
And at that the green door closed again, and the three of us were left outside, with the wind still whistling in the eaves, and the long shadow of the minaret reaching across the sunny street like the needle of a sundial.
Joséphine gave me a doubtful look. ‘I thought you said they were friends of yours.’
‘They are.’ I was puzzled. ‘Zahra seems a little upset. Perhaps she’s worried about old Mahjoubi.’
As we walked back down the boulevard, Maya running ahead of us, jumping in the puddles, I explained about the old man’s illness, and the estrangement between him and the rest of his family. I did not mention his warning to stay away from the water, or his dreams of myself and Inès. We passed the gym. As always, the door was slightly open and the scent of chlorine filtered through to mix with the scent of Les Marauds, that compound of dust, kif, cooking and the river. I noticed that Maya hurried past the mouth of the alley, but lingered in front of a passageway leading on to the boardwalk. An adult might have had difficulty passing between the buildings, but for Maya it would have been easy.
‘That’s where my Jinni lives,’ she said, indicating the passageway.
‘Really?’ I smiled. ‘You have a Jinni?’
‘Uh-huh. He gave me three wishes.’
‘Oh. And does he have a name?’
‘Foxy!’
‘That’s nice.’
I had to laugh. She reminds me so much of Anouk at five, with her vivid face and her brilliant smile, bouncing around in those bubblegum boots. Anouk, my little stranger, who unexpectedly one day came back from the woods with a rabbit called Pantoufle, which only the privileged few could see.
‘Kids, eh?’ said Joséphine.
‘Pilou’s very good with Rosette. You’d think he had a sister.’
She smiled. She lights up at his name. ‘You’ve seen what he’s like. Sweet through and through. You understand why I did what I did? I couldn’t stand to share him with Paul. Not when you know how Paul would have tried to fill his head with his own ideas.’
That was probably true, I thought. And yet, the boy is Paul’s only son. Who knows how fatherhood might have changed him?
&nbs
p; She read my expression. ‘You think I was wrong.’
‘No, but—’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It preys on me, too. At least it does when I’m feeling weak. When I’m strong I know better. Pilou deserves better than Paul-Marie.’
‘You say he changed your life, Joséphine – doesn’t Paul deserve the same chance?’
Stubbornly, she shook her head. ‘You know what he’s like. He’d never change.’
‘Anyone can change,’ I said.
As we reached the end of the street I wondered if that was really true. Some people cannot be mended. But what had it done to Paul-Marie, to share a home with the little boy he believed was the son of a rival? I thought of his bright and baleful eyes, the rage and hopelessness of his mouth. He looks like an animal caught in a trap, snapping at anyone who comes close. Of course, I am not naïve enough to believe that a man like Paul-Marie would melt at the news that he has a son. But doesn’t he deserve a chance? And what has that lie done to Joséphine?
We reached the end of the boulevard. The last time I had come this way, Inès Bencharki’s houseboat had been moored alongside the jetty. Now, I noticed, it had gone; only a neat little coil of rope remained to show where it had been. I saw Joséphine’s eyes widen. Yes, of course, the boat was hers, although she rarely used it.
‘You mean that woman was living there?’ she said, when I began to explain. ‘How dare she break into my boat? And where the hell has she taken it?’
I didn’t know. I stood on the jetty and scanned the riverbank. There was no sign of the black houseboat, either on the side of Les Marauds or on that of Lansquenet. Could Inès have left for good? There are only a few safe places here to moor a riverboat of that size, and right now, with the floodwater, the swollen Tannes is at its least forgiving. In addition, Joséphine’s boat has no working engine, so the best Inès could hope for would be to drift with the current downriver, and maybe find another place in Chavigny or Pont-le-Saôul. Why had she gone? Had she taken Du’a? And when – if at all – did she mean to return?
And then I saw something on the bank, half trodden into the muddy grass. It was a necklace, I thought at first; a little string of green glass beads, connected by a silver chain. Perhaps Du’a had dropped it, I thought as I picked it up – and then I saw the crucifix at the end of the chain—
‘It’s a rosary.’
Joséphine came to look. ‘This belongs to Reynaud,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it on his mantelpiece. What do you think he was doing here? Do you think he took my boat?’
I shook my head. ‘I have no idea. I assumed Inès had.’ Could she still be in Les Marauds? If so, did she know where he was?
I tried asking Maya, to no avail. She seemed more concerned about Du’a than about the boat’s disappearance, mostly because of the puppies that she and the others were keeping in the old chocolaterie.
Joséphine raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
Maya clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I wasn’t supposed to tell,’ she said. ‘Snappy and Biter. We’re hiding them there. Monsieur Acheron wanted to drown them.’
‘You think Du’a might still be there?’
Joséphine shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday, 26th August
WE ARRIVED AT the old chocolaterie to find it outwardly derelict. Sheets of thick plastic covered the door, the windows and a part of the roof. A crudely painted wooden sign across the door said: DANGER. KEEP OUT.
Inside, however, was a frenzy of activity. Behind the door, we found Luc Clairmont, Jeannot Drou, Anouk, Rosette, Pilou and, most surprisingly, Alyssa; along with Vlad; a stepladder; some pots of emulsion; sponges, rollers, brushes and the cardboard box with the puppies inside. Between them, they had managed to paint most of the kitchen, the landing and what had once been the front of the shop in a cheery shade of primrose, while on one wall I could see an unfinished mural beginning to take shape; a mostly abstract tangle – with the occasional animal shape hidden inside the pattern – very like the one in the Café des Marauds. Pilou was clearly the creative force behind this, though the others were working equally hard, while also managing to transfer paint liberally on to themselves, their clothes and Vlad, who seemed to be joining in with verve, if not with efficiency.
As we entered, everyone froze, except for Vlad, who, recognizing a friend, set off a volley of barking.
Luc started to explain. ‘I said I’d do some work on the house. Just to repair the damage. Then I found all this—’ he indicated Pilou and the box of puppies. ‘I thought that while they were here, they might as well make themselves useful. And so I brought in a few supplies, and—’ He broke off with a sheepish grin. ‘Things kind of took over from there,’ he said.
‘I can see that,’ I told him, trying to curb Vlad’s enthusiasm.
Pilou admitted that Vlad had been more of a hindrance than a help, although he maintained that a guard dog was essential to protect the work-in-progress.
‘So. What do you think?’ said Anouk. She was standing next to Jeannot Drou. Both of them were covered in paint; yellow handprints adorned Jeannot’s T-shirt, while Anouk’s face bore a similar print right across one cheek. ‘Did we do OK, Maman?’
For a moment I could hardly speak. To see the place like this again – brightly if not expertly painted; filled with the sounds of activity; all of its shadows and whisperings driven out by their laughter—
Evil spirits, get thee hence. I smiled at her. ‘I think you did.’
She looked relieved. ‘I knew you would. Luc came to find us. I thought it would be OK if we all came together.’
I looked at Alyssa curiously. She was wearing a straw hat to protect her hair from the wet paint, and seemed to have cast off her troubles as easily as her hijab.
‘It turns out no one notices me unless I wear hijab,’ she said. ‘I walked right past Poitou’s bakery, and no one even looked at me.’
‘We got in through the fire escape,’ said Pilou. ‘No one knows we’re here. Except for you two, and Sputnik—’
‘Sputnik?’ I said.
‘My cat,’ said Pilou.
‘Your what?’ said Joséphine.
Pilou gave his summery grin. ‘I caught him in here the other day, trying to steal the puppies’ food. Biter bit him.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Do you want to help, Vianne? I could use some help with the mural. And Rosette keeps wanting to paint monkeys on everything, and we haven’t even started on the bedrooms—’
I said: ‘Not today. I’m looking for your friend Du’a and her mother.’
I explained to them what had happened. As I’d expected, no one had seen Inès or her daughter since yesterday. But why did she leave so suddenly, and without even telling anyone? And what about Monsieur le Curé? No one seemed to know.
We left them to their painting and went back outside into the square. Rosette had joined Maya, and both of them ran out of the shop and into the sun, where Poitou, sitting outside the church, was moodily eating a cheese baguette. He looked surprised to see us.
‘What are you doing in there?’ he said. ‘Don’t you know that’s the burqa woman’s place?’
‘That’s who I was looking for.’
He pulled a face. ‘Good luck with that. Isn’t she staying somewhere in Les Marauds?’
‘I think she might have gone,’ I said.
‘I haven’t seen her here in days.’ A sudden thought occurred to him. ‘Maybe she ran off with Monsieur le Curé. He was working here last week, you know. Cleaning up the mess he made.’ He laughed uproariously at this, though Joséphine and I did not. The thought that Reynaud’s departure might be linked with the disappearance of Inès Bencharki’s boat was not entirely implausible. After all, we’d found his rosary not twenty paces from where it was moored. Could Reynaud have taken it?
Joséphine didn’t think so. ‘I think that woman took it,’ she said. ‘Maybe she fixed the engine. Or maybe she steered it downriver,
or maybe she sold it to someone else. Honestly, if she has, I don’t care. It would be worth it, to see her gone.’
‘So Karim was right. She has disappeared.’
I turned and saw an unwelcome sight: Caro, approaching purposefully across the little square, with her husband, Georges, looking sheepish, in tow. Père Henri was with them. He gave me a flashy, meaningless smile and patted Maya on the head.
Maya shot him a dark look. ‘My Jinni doesn’t like you,’ she said.
Père Henri looked startled.
‘My Jinni lives in a hole,’ she said. ‘He has rats. He’s given me three wishes.’
Père Henri’s smile broadened grotesquely. ‘What an original child,’ he said.
‘A pity she’s allowed to run wild,’ said Caroline, looking meaningfully at Rosette. ‘With everything that’s been going on in Les Marauds recently, I would have thought that the last thing people wanted would be for their children to be running about all over the place without proper supervision.’
Rosette made one of her noises – an impudent little popping sound. At the same time, one of Caro’s stiletto heels stuck in a crack between the cobbles. Caro tried to dislodge it, but the heel was stuck fast.
‘Rosette!’ I said.
Rosette gave me an innocent look and made the popping sound again. Caro’s heel was released so abruptly that the shoe went flying off into the square. Père Henri ran to retrieve it.
Maya and Rosette exchanged looks and giggled.
‘You spoke to Karim?’ I asked Caro. ‘He told you his sister had left Les Marauds?’
She nodded. ‘He’s a good friend of ours. A very nice man; progressive; polite; totally non-political, unlike old Mahjoubi. If only they could all be like him.’
‘I didn’t know you were so close. What about his sister?’
‘Inès. If you ask me, he’s better off without her.’
It was almost what Joséphine had said.
‘Why?’
Caro pulled a face. ‘The woman’s a liability. She’s alienated everyone. Karim’s been trying so hard to help to bring the community into the twenty-first century. Look how supportive he’s been of his sister – not the most stable of characters – and of that poor child of hers. He was the first one to understand why old Mahjoubi needed to be replaced; he was the one who made the gym into what it is today. Before he came, the place was just a concrete box with a few running machines in it. Now it’s a social club; a meeting-place; a place for healthy young men to go instead of drinking alcohol.’ She arched her eyebrows at Joséphine. ‘If only our boys had something like that.’