Lucien and Hélène made up their wedding anniversary. The first day of the year. The day of promises. On December 31, they would close the café at midday to set off on a honeymoon.
It’s the only day of the year that Lucien would share Hélène’s bedroom. Even after the jukebox and Rose’s departure, they always slept in separate rooms.
Hélène’s room never changed in forty years. A white, barred wrought-iron bed. A dressing table, a wardrobe, a standing mirror, pale-blue walls, curtains of voile and lace at both windows, one looking out onto the back of the café, the other onto the Place de l’Église.
As Rose grew up, there were new photos in new frames. Every ten years, Lucien repainted the walls the same color.
On December 31, at 1:00 P.M., Lucien would place the blue suitcase on the wooden floor of Hélène’s room and they would go on the same cruise as in the summer of 1936. Every year, they would change destination, but every year Lucien would want to visit hot countries. Because of the sun. Countries where there was the sea. Because of the sea.
Every year, it was Lucien who was captain for the voyage. His favorite destination was Egypt. The Red Sea. He would dive into the sheets with his eyes closed and tell Hélène that he could see mermaids, one with eyes the blue of her room’s walls.
At midnight, they would wish each other a happy non-wedding anniversary.