Heatwave Page 5

  “Who?”

  “Friends.”

  “Who?”

  “I have a friend called Louis.”

  “Oh, the one who sweats? I’ve seen him.”

  “Everyone sweats, Alma.”

  “I don’t. Adrien sees people, too, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I think he has a girlfriend.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why are you sad today?”

  “I’m not sad.”

  I smiled at her and she looked happy. We continued searching for Bubble. Maybe he’d left the campsite and gone north, toward the beaches with their cool gray pebbles. It was nicer there. I felt a gentle sadness move through me at the thought of never seeing my dog again.

  Now I had more hours to get through. The day opened up like a wound. The vacation started over. There would be another night. I could avoid thinking about it, keep walking for a long time with Alma, keep following the paths and searching for Bubble. But the fear would grow. The SNSM, whatever that was, would spread through the campsite. Claire’s eyes and my mother’s eyes would blend into the same unbearable gaze. Nobody slipped away for two nights running. By the second, you had disappeared. You might even be dead, if they found the body, buried in the sand by my own hands. I thought about erosion. I wasn’t sure about the word. Erosion: a breeze comes off the sea, like a whisper in the sand, and reveals Oscar… Oscar’s open eye staring from the sky.

  And then, all of a sudden, I felt fine. These hours and hours were a tunnel. I would walk through it with her—with Luce—until morning.

  “CAREFUL ON THE beach, people! The waves are getting bigger and the orange flag might turn red soon. This is the Landes! But waves mean wind, and wind means coolness… In fact, I’m hearing in my earpiece that there might be a storm tonight… I’ll keep you informed!”

  Luce was hanging out her freshly washed laundry. “Is that your little sister?”

  “Yeah.” I felt proud. I wanted Luce to meet her.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Alma. What’s yours?”

  “Luce.”

  “Alma,” I said, “can you find your way back to Mom and Dad on your own?”

  “They said you have to stay with me.”

  “I know, but I’d rather stay with Luce. You understand?”

  “I understand!”

  She vanished like a flower. I walked over to Luce, feeling quite emotional. I felt like she’d just returned from a long journey. “I missed you.”

  “That’s nice of you, Leonard… What did you do while I was away?”

  “Waited for you.”

  She continued hanging up her laundry. She didn’t touch me, barely even looked at me. I paced around near her tent, thinking: What, has she forgotten? I’d thought she would kiss me. Suddenly she burped and came toward me as if I were an old friend.

  “Did you hear the bunny? There’s going to be a storm. See that, in the sky?”

  “What am I supposed to see?”

  “Way over there, look. Black clouds. I can’t wait. At least it’ll break up this crappy routine. Do you want to go swimming?”

  “Okay.”

  She doesn’t love me. Not anymore. Those two hours were an eternity for me, but for her they were nothing. She went to wash some clothes and then she came back.

  I smiled, trying to stay dignified. I started looking around for cameras again, for a group of people hidden in the bushes ready to jump out and laugh at me. What did she want from me? She was good-looking. Better-looking than me, anyway. If she wanted, she could get a boy who was way calmer and more confident. But she persisted. She gave me her time. This was all I’d wanted, and now I felt guilty. I thought: She’s hanging out with me because she doesn’t know I killed Oscar. She touched my arm as she went past. I took a step toward her, but she moved away.

  “Do you want me to lend you a towel?”

  “Okay.”

  She threw it at my head, then she took my hand and off we went. I followed her awkwardly to the beach. There was no point denying it: I was like a weathervane in her wind; my heart fluttered every time she even glanced at me. Why had I chosen her, this girl who dragged me around like a little dog? I was always too late: sometimes her eyes seemed loving, but before I even had time to believe it, she seemed to ignore me again; then, just as I’d start feeling sad, she would hold my hand. I was at her mercy. If she asked me to jump… We passed the hole and I didn’t even look at it.

  LUCE KISSED ME at about six o’clock, without warning. We looked at each other and she leaned down to take my face in her hands. The beach disappeared; there was nothing but her lips. I lost myself in them. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried a few movements that did not match hers. Gradually I got the hang of it. It developed like music; our solos combined. It was a long kiss, and to me it felt like a rebirth, like an immense door opening up in the sky. Afterward, it was just the two of us, but it was like we spread ourselves over the beach so our joy could flow between the bodies on the paths like sunlight. I loved this beach. I played volleyball. I took off my T-shirt and walked around bare-chested, without waving my arms to cover up my skinniness, without thinking at all, melting into the crowd as if it were water. A plane flew overhead with a banner advertising Fanta, and that made me want a drink. I called out to a soda vendor and bought a can of Fanta to share with Luce. I had become part of the system; I was making the most of it, like the others. The smell of donuts and the noise of Jet Skis no longer sickened me. The heat wasn’t oppressive; it intoxicated me, made me sweat with pleasure. Luce and I went swimming. The waves cut us down, knocked us over. The lifeguard whistled and yelled at me several times. I laughed. I couldn’t feel the sun on my head anymore or the sea that was stronger than I was. I listened to the music and recognized a song: Vamos a la playa… A mí me gusta bailar… Sounds of fiesta… When at last my tiredness made everything spin, Luce dragged me back to the towels. I kissed her, then she started reading under the sun umbrella, the shade tracing a delicate line on her legs again. I lay in the sun to tan my body, which now wanted to dance with the others.

  “Luce, you coming?” said a boy on his way past.

  “No, thanks!”

  No, thanks! I couldn’t stop smiling. Everything that wasn’t me was like water off a duck’s back.

  “How old are you, Leo? You look young.”

  “Seventeen.”

  “One year younger than me, then. And apart from Alma, do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

  “I’ve got a brother. He’s fifteen.”

  “Does he look like you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Is he good-looking?”

  “I don’t know… I’ve never thought about it…”

  I frowned, which must have made me look stupid, because she laughed. What did she want from me? She came closer.

  “I don’t know anything about you. Like… what was the best day of your life?”

  “Probably the day my parents gave me Bubble. My dog.”

  “Would you sell Bubble for a lot of money?”

  “Never.”

  “Is there anything that really disgusts you?”

  “Um… inequality, maybe.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Inequality is really bad. You’ll be old enough to vote at the next election… Will you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Because you don’t understand enough about it?”

  “No, because I don’t feel like it.”

  “What do you feel like doing?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “What do you want, deep down?”

  “I don’t know… I don’t know.”

  I was embarrassed. That amused her.

  “It’s okay if you don’t know. Anyway, maybe you’re only interested in your music at the moment.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So what kind of music do you listen to?”

  “A bit of everything…”

>   “I always want to slap people who say that.”

  “Sorry. I like… classical music.”

  “I don’t know much classical music, but I love Chopin.”

  “Chopin isn’t really classical music, technically speaking,” I corrected her, blushing. “It’s more like romantic music.”

  She smiled and tilted her head apologetically. I wanted her to keep asking me questions.

  “Okay, so I like romantic music, then. What else would you recommend? Something that goes well with the moment.”

  I thought about it while looking out at the beach. Melodies collided in my mind and I felt good. I felt I belonged here as much as anyone else.

  “Maybe the prelude to Lohengrin, by Wagner.”

  “I’m going to listen to that right now.”

  She took out her earbuds and her phone and looked it up on YouTube. I went into a panic at the idea that she wouldn’t choose a good version, that her earbuds wouldn’t do justice to the sound, especially here, that she would be disappointed. I wanted to tell her not to listen to it, but I forced myself to stay quiet. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. After finding the music, she lay on her back, hands over her ears, eyes closed. I was alone. Luce was listening to the prelude to Lohengrin on my beach of suffering, which was now my beach of bliss. I couldn’t believe it. The piece lasted about nine minutes, sometimes longer—it depended on the conductor. Would she listen to the whole thing? I hoped she would wait until the forty-sixth bar. I knew she wouldn’t open her eyes right away, so I watched her without fear for a long time, and as she listened, I followed the music on her face and on the beach. It felt as though all of us were held in suspense, Luce and me and the others, as if we were one gigantic body lying on the sand, waiting for something to happen. Had Luce reacted to the forty-sixth bar? I heard the strings quiver and I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Hot tears filled my eyes, blurring everything. The joy came to a head, and everything slid downward into peace, into silence. Luce sat up. I heard the sound of waves and shouting again.

  “Not bad at all. Thanks.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to listen to it.”

  “Why did you choose that piece of music?”

  “I don’t know… It just seemed obvious.”

  “When you talk about music, your eyes change. It’s like everything’s better.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. A pleasant tightness squeezed my heart, prevented me from speaking. I looked at her. I thought she was fantastic—that was the word that came to mind: fantastic. But I knew nothing about her. I had answered her questions and she had listened to me. I wanted to ask her things, too, but she beat me to it.

  “You’re not happy at this campsite, are you, Leonard?”

  “I’m happy right now.”

  “Let’s take a photo, then!”

  Without waiting, she lifted up her phone and took a selfie, arms outstretched to get us both in the frame. She showed it to me, and I realized that I would never forget our faces, no matter what happened afterward: Luce looking away, her face pensive, and me smiling shyly. She lay down and closed her eyes.

  “Luce? Actually, my parents have decided to stay one more day. I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s cool. Let’s sleep a bit now. And you should lie in the shade.”

  I tried to sleep, because she wanted me to.

  I wished there were more music. A long time had passed since dawn: the sun had crossed the sky and was already drifting toward the sea; soon it would disappear behind it, taking with it all those frustrated desires, those caresses never given, those words never spoken. Around us, people continued to laugh and run. The tide was rising. We had to hurry to be happy. I remembered a book that my parents used to read to me when I was a child, La Chèvre de Monsieur Seguin, about a brave little goat who fought hard to drive back a wolf during the night. I had heard the story many times—I knew exactly how it ended—but I would always hope: “From time to time, the stars danced in the clear sky and the goat thought: ‘Oh, if only I can hold out until dawn…’ ” I remembered each word, and the sadness returned with them. With my eyes closed, I could no longer feel the sunlight; I could imagine that it was another time of day, that we were somewhere else, and that nothing was dead.

  I WAS WOKEN by a feeling of hardness inside my trunks. Something was straining against the fabric. I lay facedown. No one had seen me. Luce was still asleep. I was covered in sweat and my head ached. I must have gotten sunstroke. Down below, the hardness kept pressing against my towel. This had never happened to me at the beach. I didn’t understand. It was actually painful. My eyes were fixed on Luce. I wasn’t looking at her face but at her breasts and the curve of her butt under her swimsuit. I felt stronger, more stable. I moved toward her and kissed her, stroked her with my fingertips, shivering with a new kind of heat that had nothing to do with the sun or with anxiety but was something else altogether, irresistible.

  “Leo.”

  “Luce…” I kept caressing her, my fingers trailing over her stomach.

  “Leo. We’re at the beach.”

  “Then let’s go back…”

  “No.”

  I wanted to stop but I couldn’t help myself.

  Luce suddenly sat up. “What are you doing?”

  I pulled a face, embarrassed. She looked away.

  Yann and Tom, the two boys from the pool, spotted us from a distance and came over to join us. I put on Luce’s sunglasses to hide my eyes in case I started crying. They checked me out. Yann sat between us and Tom on the other side, close to me.

  “Jesus, this motherfucking heat… How you doing?”

  I nodded behind my sunglasses. They were very practical. I wanted to listen to what Luce was saying, but one towel’s length was enough distance not to hear anything but the waves—and Tom talking to me with his breath that smelled of beer and fries.

  “So… are you with her or not?” He gestured to Luce.

  I shrugged. I felt eloquent, without saying a word.

  “Did you make out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you fuck her?”

  “No.”

  “It’s hard work with her. Yann’s struggling, look at him… Oscar had a hard time, too, you know. She sent him packing last night. He was pissed off, man… I bet that idiot puked. I think he left with his mother without even saying goodbye. Look at the sky… There’s a storm coming. It’s going to explode. Hey, are you listening to me?”

  A lifeguard was yelling. All swimmers had to get out of the water: it was getting dangerous. I sensed Yann moving closer to Luce, trying to seduce her with his words. What’s the point? I thought. Go ahead and try. Anyway, everything was going to explode. The storm would coincide with a massive wave that would sweep away the beach, the campsite, and all the tangled desires of the girls and the boys. A red helicopter was hovering near the water. That was the SNSM. They were checking to see if Oscar’s corpse was floating in the sea. They were looking in the wrong place. They were searching the sea because the sea was obviously violent and cold. The sand, by contrast, was too soft and warm; Oscar couldn’t be there. They’d gotten the wrong enemy, just like I’d mistaken the smiles and the laughter, the joy spreading along the paths. Everywhere, it was the same big misunderstanding. Not many people committed suicide in the water. The helicopter flew farther out to sea and I stayed where I was, in the sun, still hard against my towel.

  THE TWO OF us walked back to her tent without speaking. I sat next to her and lowered my head.

  “You’re an idiot, staying in the sun like that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re kind of weird, you know. I mean, I like you, but you do some weird things.”

  “Sorry…”

  “Say it again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m kidding. I get it.”

  She let me kiss her. Even a pretty chaste kiss sent shivers through my skin and made me start moving my hips despite myse
lf. I was ridiculous: driven into ecstasy by the slightest touch. My breathing grew faster. She kissed me more deeply. Her hand slid up my thigh. I pressed myself against it. We were sweating. I caressed her breasts. Her other hand grabbed my throat.

  “Leo…”

  I looked at her and I didn’t recognize her.

  “Leo, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  She pulled away, but I grabbed her hand. I could feel my skin more than hers—that’s what happens when you touch someone who doesn’t want to be touched. Luce punched me in the ribs. I bent over, doubled up in pain. I didn’t know what to do. Finally I stood up. She wasn’t the same: her mouth was tense, her forehead creased. She didn’t look pretty anymore.

  “You should see your eyes…”

  “You’re playing with me,” I said very quietly. “You make me think there’s something between us, but there’s nothing.”

  “Poor Leonard.”

  “Like you did with Oscar,” I muttered.

  She gave this terrible little laugh, worse than the punch. I almost told her that Oscar was dead: Anyway, Oscar’s dead.

  “Go away.”

  I did. Luce vanished and the whole campsite took her place: the dust, the barbecue smoke, the yells, the pétanque balls heavy enough to smash a skull, and still—always—the music. I gotta feeling… That tonight’s gonna be a good night… That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night…

  NOW THERE WAS only Oscar. He stuck to me, like stagnant water. He clung to my skin. At times I no longer knew how long he’d been dead, how long I’d been dragging him around with me along the paths. Besides, wasn’t I guilty long before the moment of his death? Hadn’t I had a premonition, from childhood, that everything was leading me toward all this? Nothing was new. All lines converged on this campsite where Oscar had been buried forever. All the distractions and tricks to forget it had now stopped working. The trips the campers made were short: to go get water, to go lie down on a deck chair, to go grab a beer from the icebox… I needed something longer. I paced around. “I killed Oscar,” I whispered sometimes, so quietly that the confession was only for me. And I thought: Me, yes, I’m here, I’m staying, I’m not giving up on myself.