feeling that even if the spirit moved you to piss against all the lamp-posts down one side of the road, you’d say to yourself, “That’s the way it is, and God help the lamp-posts,” but you wouldn’t go and consult a psychiatrist. Sorry, I know I’m talking too much, I’m fed up. I’m getting on my own nerves.’
Mathilde took a cigarette from Adamsberg, saying ‘May I?’ and pulled off the filter.
‘Perhaps you’re going to see the psychiatrist about the chalk circle man,’ she went on. ‘Don’t look at me like that – I haven’t been snooping. It’s just that you’ve got those newspaper cuttings about him tucked under the base of your lamp, so naturally I wondered.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Adamsberg admitted, ‘it is about him. Why did you come into the station?’
‘I’m looking for this man I don’t know.’
‘Why are you looking for him, then?’
‘Because I don’t know him! What a question!’
‘Touche,’ said Adamsberg.
‘I was following this woman in the street, and I lost her. So I ended up in a cafe, and that’s how I met my beautiful blind man. There are an amazing number of people walking round on the pavements. You just can’t imagine it, you would have to follow everyone to do any good. So we chatted for a few minutes, the blind man and I, about something or other which I’ve now forgotten – I’d have to check in my notebook – but I liked him. Generally, if I like someone, I don’t worry, I’m sure to bump into them again. But in this case, no, nothing. Last month, I followed twenty-eight people and got close to nine of them. I filled two and a half notebooks. So I’ve covered a lot of ground, OK? But not a whisker of my beautiful blind man. That was disappointing. He’s called Charles Reyer, and that’s all I know about him. Tell me something: do you keep doodling all the time like that?’
‘Yes, all the time.’
‘I suppose you won’t let me see.’
‘No, that’s right. You don’t get to see.’
‘It’s funny when you turn round on your chair. Your left profile is tough and your right profile is tender. So if you want to intimidate a suspect, you turn one way, and when you want to soften him up, you turn the other way.’
Adamsberg smiled.
‘What if I keep turning from side to side?’
‘Then they won’t know where they are. Heaven and hell.’
Mathilde burst out laughing. Then she controlled herself.
‘No, stop,’ she said again. ‘I’m talking too much. I’m ashamed of myself. I’ve got a friend who’s a philosopher, who says to me, “Mathilde, you play fast and loose with language.” I said, well, in that case, tell me how to play slow and tight.’
‘Look, let’s see what we can do,’ said Adamsberg. ‘Do you have a work address?’
‘You’re not going to believe me. My name is Mathilde Forestier.’
Adamsberg put his pencil back in his pocket.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Mathilde Forestier. Famous oceanographer. Am I right?’
‘Yes, but don’t let that stop you doing your doodling. I know who you are too, your name’s on the door, and everyone’s heard of you. But it doesn’t stop me rabbiting on about one thing and another, at the end of a section one, what’s more.’
‘If I find your beautiful blind man, I’ll tell you.’
‘Why? Who would you be doing the favour for?’ asked Mathilde, suspiciously. ‘For me, or for the famous underwater specialist whose name is in the papers?’
‘Neither one nor the other. I’m doing a favour for a woman I asked into my office.’
‘OK, that suits me,’ said Mathilde. She remained for a moment without speaking, as if hesitating to take a decision. Adamsberg had brought out his cigarettes and a piece of paper. No, he wouldn’t forget this woman, a fragment of the earth’s beauty on the point of fading. And he was unable to guess in advance what she was going to say.
‘Know something?’ Mathilde asked suddenly. ‘It’s at nightfall that things start happening, under the ocean the same as in the city. They all start stirring, the creatures who are hungry or in pain. And the searchers, like you, Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, they start stirring then too.’
‘You think I’m searching for something?’
‘Absolutely, and quite a lot of things at the same time. So, anyway, the chalk circle man comes out when he’s hungry. He prowls, he watches, and suddenly he draws his circle. But I know him, I started looking for him right at the beginning, and I found him, the night there was a cigarette lighter in the circle, and the night of the doll’s head. And then again, last night, in the rue Caulaincourt.’
‘How did you manage that?’
‘I’ll tell you some other time. It’s not important, it’s my little secret. And it’s a funny thing but you’d think he was allowing me to watch him, the chalk circle man, as if he was letting himself be tamed from a distance. If you want to see him some night, come and find me. But you must only watch him from a distance. No going up to him and bothering him. I’m not telling the famous policeman about my secret, I’m just telling the man who asked me into his office.’
‘That suits me,’ said Adamsberg.
‘But why are you looking for the chalk circle man? He hasn’t done anything wrong. Why are you so interested in him?’
Adamsberg looked at her.
‘Because one day it’ll get bigger. The thing in the middle of the circle, it’ll get bigger. Please don’t ask me how I know, I beg you, because I can’t tell you. But it’s inevitable.’
He shook his head, pushing back his hair from his eyes. ‘Yes, it will get bigger.’
Adamsberg uncrossed his legs and began aimlessly reorganising the papers on his desk.
‘I can’t forbid you to follow him,’ he added. ‘But I really don’t advise it. Be cautious, take very good care. Don’t forget.’
He was uneasy, as if his own conviction made him feel unwell. Mathilde smiled and left.
Coming out of his office a little later, Adamsberg took Danglard by the shoulder and spoke quietly to him.
‘Tomorrow morning, try to find out if there’s been a new circle in the night. And if so, give it a thorough examination. I’m counting on you. I told that woman to watch out. This thing is going to get bigger, Danglard. There have been more circles over the last month. The rhythm’s picking up. There’s something horrible underneath all this, can’t you feel it?’
Danglard thought for a moment, then answered with some hesitation.
‘A bit unhealthy that’s all. But perhaps it’s just some long-drawn-out practical joke…’
‘No, Danglard. There’s cruelty oozing out of those circles.’
III
CHARLES REYER WAS ALSO JUST LEAVING HIS OFFICE. HE WAS FED up with working for the blind, checking the printing and perforations of all those wretched books in Braille, the billions of tiny holes that communicated their meaning to the skin of his fingertips. Above all, he was fed up with the desperate attempts he made to be original, on the pretext that he ought to become exceptional in some way, to distract people from his loss of sight. That was how he had behaved towards that woman the other day, now he thought of it, the warm-hearted one who had accosted him in the Cafe Saint-Jacques. An intelligent woman she had been, a bit eccentric perhaps, though he didn’t really think so, but a kind-hearted and lively person, obviously. And what had he done? As usual, he’d begun showing off, trying to be original. To impress her by his conversation, to say out-of-the-way things, just so that a stranger would think, hey, this man may be blind, but he’s certainly not ordinary.
And she’d gone along with it, the woman. She’d tried to play the game, to respond as quickly as she could to his mixture of false confidences and stupid remarks. But she had been sincere. She’d told him about the shark, just like that, she’d been generous, sensitive, helpful, willing to look at his eyes and tell him what they really looked
