He woke because he felt eyes staring at him. At first he could see only the teeming stars, but the sound of water splashing brought him to his feet. There was a dark figure standing in the water some ten metres from him. Its head was covered by a large hood, it was faceless. Still groggy with sleep Victor’s mind conjured fantastical visions. Death was standing before him, here on the riverbank. In its invisible hand it probably clutched the mooring rope of the boat and would stop him from leaving. Then the creature move and took shape.
Ears pricked. An eye glittered in the moonlight. A horse. It advanced soundlessly. Standing up to its belly in the water, it stretched its muzzle towards the boy. A white stripe ran from its forehead to its nose. It was black or possibly brown, the colour of night. It did not move.
And yet the power of the river was palpable, the murmur of the current lapping against the bank, the boat, tugging at the mooring line. The current wove its way between the horse’s legs and the animal stood, impassive, or perhaps surprised, staring at this boy who had washed up here.
Victor leaned forward and the animal gave a quiet whinny that echoed in the boat. The boy clicked his tongue softly, reached out his hand, stretching his whole body, and petted the nose of the horse which bent its neck slightly, allowing itself to be stroked. Victor could feel hot breath against his fingers, could feel the nostrils flaring, the soft warm skin. “What are you doing here?”
He wanted to wrap his arms around its neck and press his face to this large, gentle head. The horse moved closer. Victor leaned his forehead against the animal’s muzzle and the animal stood, motionless, and the boy could hear nothing but the muffled roar of its breath, all the power in a chest that cleaved the water and forced the river to flow on soundlessly.
The horse jerked imperceptibly then moved its head away. It sniffed the water and tapped its hoof. Victor could see it better now, could see the gleam in its eyes, the tuft of hair falling over its forehead. The sky had brightened and gradually everything became visible. The river became bluer. The horse half turned and heaved itself onto the bank. Once on dry land, it looked at the boy and then disappeared into the trees.
The river was once more flowing towards the ocean. Victor could now see the broad mass of water gliding slowly, peacefully, untroubled by the eddies of the rising tide. It seemed to be governed by a universal harmony. The boy untied the rope and used the plank of wood to propel himself into the current. He watched as the island disappeared into the distance, the mass of emerald trees framed against the brightening sky and the fading stars.
He saw the horse between two thickets. It was grazing in a field, black against the shifting brightness of the long grass. Victor kept his eyes on the animal for as long as it remained in sight, then he settled in the bow, staring straight ahead, making no attempt to work out where he was, but simply watching the landscape broaden as the sun rose. He waited, expecting at any moment to see the wall of spray where the river hurtled into the sea. He felt as though he were speeding towards rapids that would hurl him over a waterfall or into dangerous whirlpools. Instinctively, he clung to the sides of the boat. He felt the rush of air against his face.
He had drifted into the very middle of the estuary. The banks flashed past, and quickly disappeared, a single line underscoring the horizon while before him the sky was becoming infinite. He was not thinking about anything, utterly focused on this solitude. He reached behind him and touched the metal urn in his backpack and as he did so, a deafening wail rent the air making him jump in alarm.
Two hundred metres behind was the bow of an ocean liner, white, and sharp, that seemed to fall inexorably towards him like a giant sword. He picked up his plank and struggled to change tack, but the boat simply swung around without moving away from the path of the ship. The siren blared again. He could hear the keening of the water beneath the bow, could see the muddy swell it pushed before it, tall as a ridge carved out by a ploughshare. His arms began to cramp from rowing, the boat seemed locked in the current which dragged it onward and made it impossible to turn. Victor saw the white blade bearing down, now barely twenty metres from him. People leaned over the bulwark, screeching and waving like great dumb birds. A huge wave lifted the boat, tossing Victor sideways, and he barely had time to jump before the boat tipped over and capsized.
Muddy water filled his mouth. The churning of the motor was deafening, a terrifying racket that threatened to burst his eardrums. He surfaced, the sun’s glare forcing his eyes closed, water coursing into his lungs until, coughing, he went under again, flailing wildly and in vain to find some purchase. He surfaced once more and saw the capsized boat some metres away. He tried to swim, thrashing around at random and managed to float despite the gobbets of mud that sprayed from his mouth or lodged in his throat until he could hack them up.
His hand slid over the curve of the hull as his head slipped under the water again, but he managed to grab the side and hang on, keeping his head above water, spewing out water and sucking in lungfuls of air. He coughed and spluttered and every time he did so his head banged against the wood.
Then he remember the backpack. The urn. “Manou!”
He plunged back into the water, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, his ears ringing, but very quickly found himself engulfed in a cold, murky heaviness where light itself died as he got deeper. He had to resurface, blinded by the mud, his mouth filled with dirty water. Grunting, he managed to hoist himself onto the upturned boat and lay on his belly, gasping for breath. He spat and breathed in between groans and sobs. The sun and wind dried his hair and his skin leaving him grey with dust, he kept his arms and legs outstretched so as not to fall back into the river, because suddenly this mass of water hurtling towards the ocean frightened him. Because he had been more frightened to die than to live.
When he had got his breath back and his eyes were clear of mud, he thought about his mother at the bottom of this filth and sobbed and asked her to forgive him. He was not sure that she heard him and he could not imagine what her answer would have been. She was gone. The absence stretched away before him across this immensity that dazzled in the sunlight.
He let himself be overwhelmed by exhaustion and grief.
He raised his head when he heard a voice calling his name and the roar of an engine. The sun was higher now. A man was leaning over the side of a patrol boat, reaching out a hand towards him. Another man was holding a red buoy. He felt hands and arms pressing around him and voices asking if he was alright. Faces and peaked caps. Uniforms.
He managed to explain that it was possible that his backpack was stuck under the boat. Two men used a grapnel to turn it over as he watched, holding his breath. There was nothing at the bottom of the boat but a little brownish water.
They offered him water and a sandwich. He reluctantly ate everything he was given and got some of his strength back. Sadness replaced tiredness.
Settled in a narrow cabin, he saw nothing of the return journey. One of the crew sat with him and gave him some chocolate. The boy said nothing. He was thinking of Her at the bottom of the estuary. He wept silently. His tears traced pale tracks through the drying layer of mud. He went up to the bridge as they came alongside in Pauillac. The quay was thronged with police and firemen. Once again he found himself surrounded, being asked if he was alright. Hands pressed against him.
He felt the dry river tug at his skin.
He walked through the crowd and then he saw them and he felt a twinge of happiness. First Nicole and Denis, hugging each other, their eyes red, their faces drawn. Then Marilou, who was smiling, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Julien was there, his face swollen, one eye black, a bandage on his chin. Victor waved and walked towards them.
Further off among the crowd of onlookers, Rebecca called to him. She waved her tanned arm and the gesture made her body sway. She was smiling as he had never seen her smile before.