The two women are not so very far apart. They both grew up under the same tropical sun, they like the same food, the same music, they speak the same language, they have lived beside the sea but have never learned to swim, they could have been sisters. Anita opens her eyes and it is suddenly Melody that she sees, barefoot, her body convulsed with trembling, her mouth emitting a strange gurgling sound. Anita’s legs give way, she crouches on the jetty, desperate, exhausted. That voice in her head, the one that is forever in search of the telling detail, the color, the brand, the word, the thing out of place, the tic, the odd one out, the dust motes in the light, the random flow of tears according to the grain of the skin, the voice that had on one occasion dredged up from the depths of her memory a green plastic apple used for storing balls of cotton, that same voice now said: Adèle stood barefoot on the slippery jetty, she did not know why she was there but she knew she had arrived at the end of her road.
Anita begins weeping because she is suddenly so tired and so appallingly shocked to have heard herself saying and thinking such things—you never know what you are capable of, how many times has this been said to her and only now, close to the age of forty, has she plumbed the depths of her selfish and imperfect heart. Anita weeps with relief too, all right, let it end now, let her take the binder, take the manuscript, and go.
At this moment, now that everything has gone quiet, another way still remains for each of them, there is still another door they can open. They can separate here, as calmly as they had met. One of them can take her daughter’s hand and go home to her wooden house. The other can disappear once more, survive or not.
Suddenly.
“Adèle, give maman back her things. That’s her work. You’re being wicked!”
Almost before Anita has time to turn round, Laura rushes forward. At the very same moment, or just a fraction earlier, a shout is heard from among the trees.
Adam follows Adèle at a good distance behind her. She plunges into the forest, not once looking back, with a sure tread. When she reaches the lake she takes off her shoes to walk onto the jetty. Adèle takes something from her bag and moves into the middle of the jetty. She sits down cross-legged with her back to him and bows her head over what she has taken out of her bag. Is it a book? Is it a photograph? After several minutes Adam retreats a little into the woodland, locates a fallen tree, and sits down on it. From time to time he stands up to check that she is still seated there, her head bowed forward. Perhaps she has finally relaxed a little.
There in the icebound forest, he slowly recovers his spirits, at last he can breathe. This is what he will do: watch out to ensure nothing happens to Adèle, she seemed very strange just now, her eyes dilated, the pupil had covered up the iris. Thinking about this, he unties his shoelaces, one never knows … What possessed him to show her those paintings like that? When she has finished here (reading, looking, contemplating) he will take her back to the house, will speak calmly to her and make her understand that what happened this morning (her body, so broad, so soft, so all embracing, her scent of fresh soap) will not be repeated. He will tell her she is safe here, that the choice is hers, she can leave, she can stay. Yes, that’s a good beginning. In an hour’s time everything can be as it was. He can pick up the threads of his life, get a grip on himself, for heaven’s sake! Telephone David Schtourm to apologize, telephone Imran to say something other than platitudes, and arrange to spend the New Year’s weekend away somewhere (Barcelona, for instance) instead of staying at home. Wood, the fire, the family, hot chocolate, and the Christmas tree scenting the evening are no longer enough, he must pull himself together. Anita is right, he is on the brink of turning into an old stick-in-the-mud. He thinks about that Christmas tree with its strips from Coca-Cola cans and smiles. Tomorrow he will shave off his ridiculous beard.
Suddenly he hears voices and his heart misses a beat.
“But what if the swans aren’t there, maman?”
“We’ll come back another day. But I’m sure they will be. They come every year, you know.”
Anita and Laura are quite close to him, walking past him, hand in hand, and for several seconds he has a vision of them as nymphs slipping between the trees, destined to live for a long time and to love him forever.
Later on when Adam is in his cell, with long blank hours stretching out ahead of him, he will ask himself why he remained hidden like a thief, instead of showing himself to them.
Adam feels as if his head is about to explode. Of course, the swans! Adèle knew as well, is that why she has come here? Is she thinking of telling Anita everything? Adam would like to rewind time, run in the other direction, return to the house, yes, sit down at the kitchen table, act as if nothing had happened, as if he knew nothing. Yes, no, yes, no, he becomes as agitated as a caged lion there among the trees, which barely a few moments ago had seemed to offer him some kind of salvation. He feels stupid, he has failed on all counts, he is nothing but a selfish, flawed bastard. He bends down to tie up his shoelaces and that is when he hears the shouting.
Anita and Adèle are on the jetty and he recognizes the gray
