That Devil's Madness Read Free Page B

she knew she would die. But all she wanted now was to last as long as Renaude. She lowered her head and the little horns began to dance. The wolf pounced.
    Hmm… excuse me a moment, Monsieur.’ The man rose and went into the café. Louis looked at his father, aghast, and Marius hid a smile beneath his hand. Shortly the man returned, opened a new packet of tobacco and refilled his pipe.
    â€˜What happened to Blanchette?’ asked Louis.
    â€˜Ah, poor Blanchette… All night long she fought the wolf. A dozen times, I’ll swear, she forced the wolf back to catch his breath. Occasionally she would look up at the stars and think Let me last till morning. If I can only last till morning. ’ The man struck a match on the sole of his shoe and sucked at the pipe.
    Louis waited, silent but impatient.
    â€˜Then the stars disappeared from the sky one by one. The sky lightened. Blanchette redoubled her thrusts, the wolf his bites. Deep in the valley, a cock crowed. At last! she thought, and she lay down on the grass, her beautiful coat soaked in blood…’
    The man finished his wine.
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜And, young man? Well, the wolf ate her, of course. The wolf ate her.’
    The man sucked on his pipe. Marius refilled their glasses and sipped his wine thoughtfully. Louis stared into his glass. But for a while, he thought, she had her freedom . Even if only for a while…

3
    Louis woke to the screech of seagulls and found he was alone. The day promised to be warm, but at this time the air was still soft and limpid, enriched with the smell of brine and spices. The buildings of the port were brilliantly defined by sunlight, every colour a shade more intense. In the harbour two sailing ships lay at anchor, and a number of steamships were docked by the wharf. Most of the fishing boats had left before dawn, and would not return for some hours.
    Louis disentangled himself from the coils of rope on which he and Marius had slept and hesitated, unsure whether to search for his father or stay where he was and wait. He watched the disorder of nationalities that made up Marseille argue and laugh and work, some dressed in the European style, whilst others still wore a vestige of their original costumes. But it was the Negro stevedores loading boxes onto the steamships that captured Louis’ attention. They were dressed in a sort of cape made of rough sacking with a kaleidoscope of patches, with a corner folded to form a hood, and the whole outfit was held to the body by a rope fastened around their necks. Bare legs and arms protruded from the capes, and from below the frayed edges of the makeshift hoods he could see glistening faces with wide toothy smiles.
    â€˜Hey, gamin, get away from there!’ a fisherman yelled, gesticulating at Louis.
    â€˜He’s with me. He’s my son.’
    The fisherman turned and looked at Marius. He took in the duffle bag on his shoulder, the freshly baked bâtard in his hand, and nodded.
    â€˜Come, Louis,’ Marius said.
    â€˜Where are we going?’
    â€˜The market square. I have to arrange for our passage.’
    Away from the fisherman Marius pulled a chunk off the still-warm bread then halved it and handed a piece to his son. They walked towards the square savouring this simple feast, appreciating the soft white centre and smooth crispy crust, so different from the rough brown country bread they knew. When they reached the square Marius dug into his pocket and handed Louis a few coins.
    â€˜Your brothers wanted you to have this. Don’t waste it.’
    Louis took out the large square of cotton that his mother had cut from a sheet worn thin and hemmed into handkerchiefs, and tied the coins into a corner of it.
    â€˜Do you want to explore?’
    Louis nodded, smiling.
    â€˜All right. Meet me back here in an hour. And don’t get yourself into any trouble.’
    #
    â€˜It’s all arranged,’ said Marius when he met up with