Ocean Sea (21 page)

Even though he didn’t believe in God, he was a scientist, and had no great religious leanings, if you see what I mean. But he had seen the angels. And he would tell you about it. He would
take you by the arm, on a day like any other, in the street and with wonder in his eyes, he would tell you about it.

“Once I saw the angels.”

How can you not love a man like that?

CHAPTER 6

Savigny

“Y
OU ARE LEAVING US
then, Dr. Savigny . . .”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you have decided to return to France.”

“Yes.”

“It will not be easy for you . . . I mean, people’s curiosity, the gazettes, the politicians . . . I fear that a real hunt is on for the survivors of that raft . . .”

“They have told me.”

“It has almost became a matter of state. It happens, when politics comes into it . . .”

“Sooner or later, you’ll see, they will all forget this story.”

“I don’t doubt it, my dear Savigny. Here: these are your embarkation papers.”

“I owe you a great deal, Captain.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And as for your doctor, perhaps I owe him my life . . . he has worked miracles.”

“Savigny, if we start counting the miracles in this story, we will never finish. Go. And good luck.”

“Thank you, Captain . . . Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“That . . . that helmsman . . . Thomas . . . they say he escaped from the hospital . . .”

“Yes, it’s a strange story. Of course it would not have happened here, but there, in the civilian hospital, you can well imagine how . . .”

“Nothing more has been heard of him?”

“No, for the moment, no. But he cannot have gone very far, in his condition. Most likely he is dead, somewhere or other . . .”

“Dead?”

“Well, it’s the least one may think of one who . . . Oh, forgive me: was he perhaps a friend of yours?”

“I
T WILL NOT BE DIFFICULT
, Savigny, you only have to repeat what you have written in those memoirs of yours. While we’re on the subject you
must have made a pretty penny, eh, with that little book . . . people are reading nothing else in the salons . . .”

“I asked you if it was really necessary for me to appear in court.”

“Oh no it wouldn’t be necessary, but this is a devil of a trial, the eyes of the whole country are on us, we can’t work properly . . . everything done by the strict letter of
the law, absurd . . .”

“Chaumareys will be there, too . . .”

“Of course he will . . . he wants to defend himself, that one . . . he has no chance, none, the people want his head and they’ll have it.”

“It wasn’t his fault alone.”

“That counts for nothing, Savigny. He was the captain. He was the one who brought the
Alliance
to that sandbank, he was the one who decided to abandon her, and, just to finish
things off with a flourish, he was the one who set you adrift on that infernal trap . . .”

“Very well, very well, forget it. We’ll be seeing each other in court.”

“Just one more thing . . .”

“Let me go, Parpeil.”

“
Maître
Parpeil, if you please.”

“Good-bye.”

“No, you cannot go.”

“What now?”

“Oh, a bore . . . a mere trifle, but, you know, it’s better to be careful . . . there’s a rumor going around, it seems that someone has written a . . . let’s call it a
diary, a kind of diary of those days on the raft . . . it seems that this person is a sailor and this already says a lot about the importance of this matter . . . fancy a sailor who
writes,
an absurdity, obviously, but in any case it seems that one of the survivors . . .”

“Thomas. Thomas could write.”

“Pardon me?”

“No, nothing.”

“Well, anyhow, it seems that in this diary there are things . . . in a certain sense . . . embarrassing, let’s say . . . in other words, the tale is a little different from the way
you and the others have told it . . .”

“And he read. Books. He could read and write.”

“By God, will you listen to me?”

“Yes?”

“Try to understand, it takes nothing to cook up a thoroughgoing libel . . . it could even ruin you . . . well I was wondering, if need be, if you would be prepared to utilize a certain sum
of money, you understand me, there is no other way to defend yourself from libel, and besides it’s better to cover up the matter before . . . Savigny! Where the devil are you going? Savigny!
Look, there’s no need whatsoever to take offense, I was telling you for your own good, I know my job . . .”

“Y
OUR TESTIMONY HAS BEEN
extremely valuable, Dr. Savigny. The court thanks you. You may step down.”

“. . .”

“Dr. Savigny . . .”

“Yes, excuse me, I wanted . . .”

“Have you something to add?”

“No . . . or rather . . . only one thing . . . I wanted to say that . . . the sea, the sea is different . . . you cannot judge what happens in there . . . the sea is another
thing.”

“Doctor, this is a tribunal of the Royal Navy: the court knows perfectly well what the sea is.”

“Do you think so?”

“B
ELIEVE ME
, reading this exquisite little book of yours was such a thrill . . . even too much of a thrill for an old lady like me . .
.”

“Madame la Marquise, what are you saying . . .”

“It’s the truth, Dr. Savigny, that book is so . . . how can I say . . . realistic, that’s it, I was reading it and I felt as if I were there on that raft, in the middle of the
sea, it gave me the shivers . . .”

“You flatter me, Madame la Marquise.”

“No, no . . . that book is really . . .”

“Good day, Dr. Savigny.”

“Adele . . .”

“Adele, daughter of mine, one does not keep a man as busy as the doctor waiting for such a long time . . .”

“Oh, I’m sure you will have tormented him with a thousand questions about his adventures, is it not so, Savigny?”

“It is a pleasure conversing with your mother.”

“A little longer and even the tea would have gone cold.”

“You look splendid, Adele.”

“Thank you.”

“Another cup, Doctor?”

“D
ID HE HAVE
dark eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Tall, with black hair, straight . . .”

“Tied up at the nape of the neck, sir.”

“A sailor?”

“He could have been. But he was dressed . . . normally, almost elegantly.”

“And he did not say his name.”

“No. He only said he would return.”

“That he would return?”

“W
E FOUND HIM
at an inn on the river . . . pure chance . . . we were looking for two deserters, and we found him . . . he says his name is
Philippe.”

“And he did not try to escape?”

“No. He protested, he wanted to know why on earth we were taking him away . . . the usual stuff. This way, Savigny.”

“And you, what did you say to him?”

“Nothing. The police are not obliged to explain when they put someone in jail these days. Of course, we won’t be able to hold him for long unless we find a good reason . . . but you
will see to that, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Right, then, come. No, do not lean out too far. He’s there, do you see him? The second last in the row.”

“The one leaning against the wall . . .”

“Yes. Is it him?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“No?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“But the description, he fits it perfectly.”

“Perfectly, yes, but it is not him.”

“Savigny . . . now listen to me . . . you may well be a hero of the Realm, you may also be a friend of all the ministers in the world, but that one down there is already the fourth that .
. .”

“It does not matter. You have already done a great deal.”

“No, listen to me. We shall never find him, that man, and do you know why? Because that man is dead. He escaped from some lousy hospital in some stinking corner of Africa, he managed a few
miles in some infernal desert and there he got himself roasted by the sun until he croaked.
C’est fini.
That man, now, is on the other side of the world, busy fertilizing a heap of
sand.”

“That man, now, is in this city, and is about to reach me. Look here.”

“A letter?”

“Two days ago somebody left it in front of my door. Read it, read it by all means . . .”

“Only one word . . . ?”

“But a very clear one, don’t you think?”

“
Thomas . . .
”

“Thomas. You are right, Pastor. You will never find that man. But not because he is dead. Because he is
alive.
He is more alive than both of us put together. He is as alive as an
animal stalking its prey.”

“Savigny, I assure you that . . .”

“He is alive. And, unlike me, he has an excellent reason for remaining that way.”

“B
UT IT IS MADNESS
, Savigny! A brilliant doctor like you, a celebrity by now . . . now that the doors of the Academy are about to be thrown open
before you . . . You know very well, that study of yours on the effects of hunger and thirst . . . well, even though I deem it more romantic than scientific . . .”

“My Lord Baron . . .”

“. . . however, it has made a great impression on my colleagues and I am happy for you, the Academy bows before your charm and . . . also before your . . . painful experiences . . . I can
understand it . . . but what I cannot understand is why you have got it into your head, now of all times, to go and hide in some godforsaken hole in the provinces to play, hear ye hear ye,
the
country doctor,
am I right ?”

“Yes, My Lord Baron.”

“Oh, congratulations . . . there is no doctor in this city who would not want, but what am I saying, who
would not love to have
your name and your brilliant future, and what do
you decide to do? To go off and practice in some village . . . and what kind of village would it be, come to that?”

“In the country.”

“I have understood that much, but where?”

“Far away.”

“Must I deduce that one may not know where?”

“That is my wish, my lord Baron.”

“Absurd. You are pitiful, Savigny, you are worthless, unreasonable, execrable. I can find no plausible justification for this unpardonable attitude of yours and . . . and . . . I cannot
think other than this: you are mad, sir!”

“It’s the other way around: I don’t wish to become so, my lord Baron.”

“L
OOK
. . . that’s Charbonne . . . do you see it down there?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a fine little town. You will like it there.”

“Yes.”

“S
IT YOURSELF UP
, Doctor . . . that’s it. Hold this a moment for me, that’s it . . . You have been raving all night long, you must do
something . . .”

“I told you that there was no need to stay on here, Marie.”

“What are you doing? . . . you are not thinking of getting up . . .”

“Of course I am going to get up . . .”

“But you cannot . . .”

“Marie, I’m the doctor.”

“Yes, but you did not see yourself last night . . . you were really ill, you seemed a madman, you were talking to ghosts, and you were shouting . . .”

“Shouting?”

“You were angry with the sea.”

“Ohhh, again?”

“You have some bad memories, Doctor. And bad memories spoil life.”

“It’s bad life, Marie, that spoils memories.”

“But you are not bad.”

“I did some things, down there. And they were horrendous things.”

“Why?”

“They were horrendous. No one could forgive them. No one has forgiven me for them.”

“You mustn’t think about it anymore . . .”

“And what is even more horrendous is this: I know that, today, if I were to go back down there, I would do the same things again.”

“Stop it, Doctor . . .”

“I know I would do the same things again, the exact same things. Isn’t that monstrous?”

“Doctor, I beg you . . .”

“Isn’t that monstrous?”

“T
HE NIGHTS ARE
getting colder again . . .”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to take you home, Doctor, but I don’t want to leave my wife alone . . .”

“No, don’t put yourself out.”

“However . . . I want you to know that conversing with you is a great pleasure for me.”

“For me, too.”

“You know, when you came here, a year ago, they said you were . . .”

“A haughty and arrogant doctor from the capital . . .”

“Yes, more or less. The folk here are suspicious. Every so often they get hold of strange ideas.”

“Do you know what they said to me, about you?”

“That I was rich.”

“Yes.”

“And taciturn.”

“Yes. But also that you were a good man.”

“It’s as I told you: the folk here get hold of some strange ideas.”

“It’s curious. To think of staying here. For a man like me . . . an arrogant doctor from the capital . . . to think of growing old here.”

“It seems to me that you are still a little too young to start thinking about where to grow old, don’t you agree?”