IT BEGAN WITH THE NOISE OF BRANCHES down by the river, where Michèle said she had seen the cars. Ania got up and walked through the grass to see what was going on. Someone appeared to be in the process of hoisting himself up an elder tree to climb onto the house of the artisans. Ania couldn’t see who it was, only a blur of color through the branches, then an agile silhouette landed on the cement roof. Almost simultaneously, there was a noise of broken glass that led to raucous laughter over by the cars. “Do you think they’re trying to come here?” Ania asked, turning to Michèle. “No, they would have come by the gate; they saw me enter a little while ago.” Ania took a few more steps. The young man on the roof had jumped back into the trees to climb down. There was a great shaking of foliage, then his friends could be heard laughing and the cars accelerating rapidly. Ania had moved to the middle of the field to get a better view. Smoke began to rise from the small house and she could hear the cracking of dead wood. Suddenly, the door flew open and the neighbor ran toward the river screaming “Fire!” Ania watched him pick up a rock and threw it at one of the departing automobiles. She turned around, concerned about Théo. But he was collecting his cards under the watchful eye of Michèle, who took him by the hand and led him inside. Ania watched them disappear behind the tall French windows, which Michèle closed behind her, then she moved toward the burning house.

The wind drove the smoke toward the river and the red glow of the fire could be seen throughout the house. Ania moved a little closer when, suddenly, all the windows blew out at the same time. The explosion drove her back. She was waiting for the roof to collapse and sirens could already be heard in the distance. The young men in their cars drove away rapidly, followed by the shouts of passing hikers and the owners of the neighboring properties, who had come running down the path.

Ania reached the small gate by which Michèle had cleared a passage through the thorns. The unaccustomed sound of burning covered the noise of the river’s current. The fire was beginning to reach the reeds and the brush when a stream of water began to snake through the trees like a whip. None of the windows in the house remained, just two gaping rectangles and, behind, a cauldron of flames through which a steady rain of charred debris fell as if in slow motion. The heat was unbearable. The handful of people who had run up pulled back along the path. Closest to the inferno, the man with the red hair cast an incredulous glance from time to time. Surprised in her nightgown by the fire, his wife tried to open the door of the light green van, where the fire was also burning. A few seconds more and they would have nothing. It was the shock alone that seemed to prevent them from giving in completely to despair.

Ania stood there, staring. She was unable to believe that this couple had had anything to do with the desecration of the grave. Nor could she comprehend the depth of resentment that had given those young men, who had been so cowardly, so hesitant to approach them yesterday, the energy for an act of such violence.