“There. We walk around until we find the barges,” W says, as if it’s all that easy.
But it’s not easy at all. It’s raining hard now, wet below us and above us. And it seems deserted around here, no sound except the steady pounding of rain, the waves against the sides of the hulls, and the clang of the halyards.
A cat streaks out across one of the piers, and behind it, a barking dog, and behind the dog, a man in a yellow slicker, one dot of color in all the gloom. I watch them go and wonder if I’m like that dog, chasing a cat because it’s what a dog does.
The boys take shelter under an awning. I’m shivering now, ready to pack it in. I turn around to suggest a warm bistro, a nice meal, and some drinks before the long drive home. But the boys are all pointing behind me. I turn back around.
The Viola’s blue steel shutters are closed, making her look lonely out here strapped alongside the cement slips and the massive wooden posts. She looks cold, too, like she also wishes she were back in the hot Paris summer.
I step on the pier, and for a second, I can almost feel the rays of sunlight on my skin, can hear Lulu introducing me to double happiness. It was right there we’d sat, by the railing. Right there we’d disagreed about what double happiness meant. Luck, she’d said. Love, I’d countered.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Striding toward us is the man in the yellow slicker, the runaway mutt now leashed and shivering.
“Many a thief has underestimated Napoleon and has paid for it in a pound of flesh, haven’t they?” the man says to his dog. He pulls at the leash and Napoleon barks pitifully.
“I’m not a thief,” I say in French.
The man wrinkles his nose. “Worse! You are a foreigner. I knew you were too tall. German?”
“Dutch.”
“No matter. Get out of there before I call the gendarme or let Napoleon loose on you.”
I hold up on my hands. “I’m not here to steal anything. I’m looking for Jacques.”
I’m not sure if it’s the dropping of Jacques’s name or the fact that Napoleon has started licking his balls, but the man backs down. “You know Jacques?”
“A little.”
“If you know Jacques even a little, you know where to find him when he’s not on the Viola.”
“Maybe less than a little. I met him last summer.”
“You meet lots of people. You don’t board a man’s vessel without an invitation. That is the ultimate violation of his kingdom.”
“I know. I just want to find him, and this is the only place I can think of.”
He squints. “Does he owe you money?”
“No.”
“You’re sure? This isn’t about the races? He always backs the wrong horses.”
“Nothing to do with that.”
“Did he sleep with your wife?”
“No! Last summer he took four passengers through Paris.”
“The Danes? Bastards! He lost almost his whole charter fee right back to them. He’s a terrible poker player. Did he lose money to you?”
“No! He got money off us. A hundred dollars. Me and this American girl.”
“Terrible, those Americans. They never speak French.”
“She spoke Chinese.”