Out of the Dark Read Free Page A

was only a formality, since the man behind the desk had never asked me for any further information. All he asked was that I pay for the room every week. One day as I was leaving with a load of books I was planning to sell to a book dealer I knew, he asked me:
    'So, how are your studies going?'
    At first I thought I heard something sarcastic in his voice. But he was completely serious.
    The Hôtel de la Tournelle was as quiet as the Lima. Van Bever and Jacqueline were the only lodgers. They had explained to me that the hotel was about to close so that it could be converted into apartments. During the day you could hear hammering in the surrounding rooms.
    Had they filled out a registration form, and what was their occupation? Van Bever answered that in his papers he was listed as a 'door-to-door salesman' but he might have been joking. Jacqueline shrugged. She had no occupation. Salesman: I could have claimed the same title, since I spent my days carrying books from one secondhand dealer to the next.
    It was cold. The snow melting on the sidewalks and quais, the black and gray of winter come to me in my memory. And Jacqueline always went out in her leather jacket, far too light for that weather.

IT WAS ON one of those winter days that Van Bever first went to Forges-les-Eaux alone, while Jacqueline stayed in Paris. She and I walked with Van Bever across the Seine to the Pont­Marie métro stop, since his train would be leaving from the Gare Saint-Lazare. He told us that he might go on to the Dieppe casino as well, and that he wanted to make more money than usual. His herringbone overcoat disappeared into the entrance of the métro and Jacqueline and I found ourselves together.
    I had always seen her with Van Bever and had never had an opporrunity for a real conversation with her. Besides, she sometimes went an entire evening without saying a word. Or else she would curtly ask Van Bever to go and get her some cigarettes, as if she were trying to get rid of him. And of me too. But little by little I had grown used to her silences and her sharpness.
    As Van Bever walked down the steps into the métro that day, I thought she must be sorry not to be setting off with him as she usually did. We walked along the Quai de l'Hôtel-de-Ville instead of crossing over to the Left Bank. She was quiet. I expected her to say good-bye to me at any moment. But no. She continued to walk beside me.
    A mist was floating over the Seine and the quais. Jacqueline must have been freezing in that light leather jacket. We walked along the Square de I'Archevêque at the end of the Ile de la Cité, and she began to cough uncontrollably. Finally she caught her breath. I told her she should have something hot to drink, and we entered the café on the Rue Dante.
    The usual late-afternoon rush was on. Two silhouettes were standing at the pinball machine, but Jacqueline didn't want to play. I ordered a hot toddy for her and she drank it with a grimace, as if she were taking poison. I told her, 'You shouldn't go out in such a light jacket.' Even though I had known her for some time, I had never spoken to her as a friend. She always kept a sort of distance between us.
    We were sitting at a table in the back, near the pinball machine. She leaned toward me and said she hadn't left with Van Bever because she was feeling out of sorts. She was speaking in a low voice, and I brought my face close to hers. Our foreheads were nearly touching. She told me a secret: once winter was over, she planned to leave Paris. And go where?
    'To Majorca …'
    I remembered the letter she had mailed the day we met, addressed to Majorca.
    'But it would be better if we could leave tomorrow …'
    Suddenly she looked very pale. The man sitting next to us had put his elbow on the edge of our table as if he hadn't noticed us, and he went on talking to the person across from him. Jacqueline had retreated to the far end of the bench. The pinball machine rattled oppressively.
    I too dreamt of