Fred Vargas - An Uncertain Place

‘Spit it out, Veyrenc.’

‘Zerk’s right. And his mother’s right. The young man down by the bridge was Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg. Without any doubt.’

Veyrenc got up, slight sweat breaking out on his forehead.

‘So that makes you the father of Zerk, or Armel if you prefer.’

Adamsberg clenched his teeth.

‘Look, Veyrenc, how can you know that, if I don’t know it myself?’

‘It often happens. Life’s like that.’

‘Listen, only once have I done something and completely lost any memory of it, and that was in Quebec, when I had had too much to drink. This was thirty years ago you’re talking about, and I didn’t drink then. What are you suggesting? That not only am I amnesiac, but have the power of being everywhere, and I made love to some girl I have never met? In my whole life, I have never slept with or even talked to a girl called Gisèle.’

‘I believe you.’

‘That’s better.’

‘She hated her name, she told boys she was called something else. It wasn’t Gisèle you went with that night, it was a girl called Marie-Ange. Down by the bridge.’

Adamsberg felt himself pitch down a steep slope. His skin was on fire, and his head was throbbing. Veyrenc went out of the room. Adamsberg dug his fingers into his hair. Yes, of course, he had made love to a girl called Marie-Ange, the girl with the urchin haircut, the girl with slightly buck teeth, by the bridge over the Jaussène, a slight rain falling and the wet grass which had almost put an end to it. And yes, of course, there had been a letter, received some time later, a weird letter of which he couldn’t make head nor tail, and that was from her. And yes, of course, Zerk did look like him. So this was what it was like to be in hell. To find you have a son of twenty-nine on your back, and to have that back broken on an anvil. To be the father of the man who had chopped Vaudel into bits, the man who had tied him up in the vault. Know where you are now, scumbag? No, he didn’t know where he was at all, except that he was inside a skin that was sweating and burning, with his head fallen on his knees, and tears stinging his eyes.

Veyrenc had come back in without saying a word, carrying a tray on which were a bottle and some bread and cheese. He put it down looking at Adamsberg, poured out a couple of glasses and spread the cheese on the bread ( kajmak , as Adamsberg realised). Head still in hands, he watched. A cheese sandwich, well, why not? The stage he’d reached now.

‘I’m really sorry,’ said Veyrenc, holding out a glass. He pushed it against Adamsberg’s hand, as one tries with a child to get it to unclench its fingers and rescue it from its rage or distress. Adamsberg moved his arm and took the glass.

‘Well, he’s a good-looking boy,’ Veyrenc added pointlessly, as if trying to find a drop of hope in an ocean of calamity.

Adamsberg emptied the glass in a single gulp, an early shot of alcohol, which made him cough. That brought some relief. As long as he could still feel his body, he could at least do something. Which hadn’t been the case last night.

‘How did you know I’d slept with Marie-Ange?’

‘She’s my sister.’

God almighty. Adamsberg held out the glass, and Veyrenc filled it again.

‘Have some bread with it.’

‘Can’t eat a thing.’

‘Try all the same, force yourself. No, I’ve hardly eaten either, since I saw his picture in the paper. You may be Zerk’s father, but I’m his uncle. Not a whole lot better.’

‘Why is your sister called Louvois and not Veyrenc?’

‘She’s my half-sister, from my mother’s first marriage. You don’t remember Louvois? The coalman who went off with an American woman?’

‘No. Why didn’t you ever mention this when you were in the squad?’

‘Because my sister and the kid didn’t want anything to do with you. You weren’t popular.’

‘But why haven’t you been able to eat since seeing the paper? You just said Zerk didn’t kill the old man. So you’re not really sure?’

‘No, not at all.’

Veyrenc put another slice of bread into Adamsberg’s hand and both of them sadly and conscientiously swallowed mouthfuls of bread slowly as the fire died down.

ARMED WITH A GUN THIS TIME, ADAMSBERG WENT BACK along the riverbank, then towards the forest, avoiding the place of uncertainty. Danica hadn’t wanted to let him go, but the need to walk was more imperative than her anxiety.

‘I have to come back to life, Danica. I have to understand.’

So he had accepted an escort, Boško and Vukasin following him at a distance. Now and then, he made a little sign to them, without turning round. This was where he should stay, in Kisilova unravished by the flames of war, with these kind and caring people, and not go back to the cities where he would have to dodge the high-ups, try to escape their clutches, and flee from his hellhound of a son. At every step, his thoughts rose and fell in chaos, as they usually did with him, like fish swimming up to the surface then diving back down, and he didn’t try to catch them. This was how he always dealt with the fish swimming round in his brain, he just let them swim anywhere they liked, to the rhythm of his footsteps. Adamsberg had promised Veyrenc he would meet him at the kruchema to eat a meal, and after half an hour’s walking and looking at the hills, the vineyards and the trees, he felt better prepared. He turned round, smiled at Boško and Vukasin, gesturing ‘thank you’ and ‘let’s go back’.

‘We’ll have to do some thinking now,’ said Veyrenc, unfolding his napkin.

‘Yes.’

‘Or we’ll be here till the end of our days.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Adamsberg, getting up.

Vlad was sitting down at another table, and Adamsberg explained to him that he needed to have a tête-à-tête with Veyrenc.

‘Were you scared?’ asked Vlad, who still seemed impressed at having seen Adamsberg emerge from the earth looking grey and red: he called it ‘the escape from the vault’ as if it was one of his dedo’s stories.

‘Yes, I was scared, and I was in pain.’

‘Did you think you were going to die?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had you lost all hope?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what did you think about?’

‘ Kobasice .’

‘No, please,’ Vlad insisted, ‘really, what did you think about?’

‘I swear to you that’s what I was thinking about: kobasice .’

‘That’s crazy.’

‘Yes, I guess so. What are kobasice anyway?’

‘Sausages. What else did you think about?’

‘I was concentrating on breathing one breath at a time. And on a line of poetry – “ In the night of the tomb, Thou who consolest me .”’

‘And did anything console you? The thought of heaven?’

‘No heaven.’

‘Or some person?’

‘No, nothing, Vlad. I was alone.’

‘If you were thinking about nothing and nobody,’ said Vlad, with an edge of anger, ‘you wouldn’t have thought of that line. Who or what consoled you?’

‘I don’t have an answer to that. Why does it bother you?’

The young man with the sunny disposition hung his head, mashing up his food with his fork.

‘It bothers me that we looked but we didn’t find you.’

‘You couldn’t have guessed.’

‘I didn’t believe any of it, I didn’t care where you’d gone. It was Danica who forced me to go and look. I should have gone with you when you went out yesterday.’

‘I didn’t want any company then, Vlad.’

‘Arandjel had told me to do it,’ he whispered. ‘Arandjel had told me not to leave you alone for a minute. Because you had gone into the place of uncertainty.’