Southern Wind (extract)
(translation: Antoine Cassar)
"Are you going to the funeral?" Melanie asked him, as
she reached over to the bag to take out the bottle of sun cream.
"The whole village is going," replied
Jason, his eyes hidden behind his chunky sunglasses.
"Let me put a little cream on you," she
said to him, and before he had a chance to answer, she had already
squeezed out a fistful of sun cream and was spreading it over his
chest.
A chill went up Jason's spine, but he pretended
to be in the habit of having girls apply sun block to him. And,
at that very moment, it occurred to him that this was perhaps the
most beautiful moment of his life. With Melanie spreading sun cream
over his chest just as the holidays were starting, he couldn't have
had a more delicious prelude to the summer.
"But something doesn't seem right," said
Melanie. She threw the bottle of sun cream back into the bag, and
turned with her belly flat on the towel and her face five inches
away from Jason's.
"I don't know," he replied. "And
I don't think we'll ever find out."
"Really?"
"Just think of how many strange things have
happened in the village over the years and remained a mystery. This
just adds to them."
"But do you think Jonathan is dead somewhere?"
"Who knows?"
"Sometimes I think there are people who know
everything, but avoid uttering even a sound so they don't get into
trouble."
"Aren't we like that too?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we know about that affair with the dog,
for example, and we decided not to tell anyone, not even Albert.
I mean, say you were to find out something, would you go and tell
the police?"
"Well definitely! Of course!"
"Even if you knew that by telling the police
there would be someone ready to take revenge on you? And if not
on you, on someone in your family?"
"Yes but... how would they know it was me who
went to the police?"
"Whoever it is might have friends in the police
force and find out from them... After all, the police are not exactly
a bunch of robots detached from the real world. They have friends
too."
"We could always make an anonymous phone call,
or create a Yahoo account and send an e-mail with a false name."
"Yeah sure, that would solve it. The police
would need evidence. Everyone can write and say whatever they like."
"I'm not too sure about that..."
"As Mario was saying this morning, for example.
Yesterday Vitor made a bet that the police would discover there's
someone else involved. He won it of course. But this business with
Vitor is weird. So what do we do, go to the police and tell them
that Vitor may have something to do with it?"
"Don't shout, Jason, someone might hear you!"
"My point exactly." And for a few minutes
they said nothing. Instead, Jason stared at the freckles on Melanie's
cheeks, whilst Melanie delighted in her reflection on Jason's huge
sunglasses. He could hardly overcome the impulse to move his head
slightly closer and kiss her, even if just a peck on the cheek...
yet something inside him told him the time hadn't yet come.
"Sometimes I wish I hadn't been born in such
a small village," he said to her after a while. Melanie looked
at him, waiting for him to go on. "Here everyone knows each
other. Everyone wants to know everything about everyone. If you
go out in the street you have to say hello to everybody. You practically
cannot walk from your house to the square with your hands in your
pockets. You can't do anything. It's as if they set your whole life
from the day you're born, and if you try to stray away from it even
a little - Christ - everyone notices you and goes round talking
about you behind your back. But then there comes a time when we
really need people to speak, and everyone goes quiet. Either because
whoever's involved is related to you, or 'cause they're your friend
or you're going to have to see them every day, or 'cause you're
scared of them, or because, well, you say to yourself, why should
I change anything? And so everything stays as it is, and nothing
changes. Everyone pretends to be a saint. Everyone goes to church.
Everyone smiles when they meet the chaplain, like he's on some higher
level. Goodness personified. Everyone puffs up their chest in pride
at the village feast and mucks around in front of the statue. But
then, away from people's sight, everyone does what suits them."
"So what do you suggest then?"
"It's not a matter of what I suggest, Mel.
I think you either accept things as they are, forget who you are,
not give two hoots about anything and just let it roll, and do what
everyone else does, or else you get up and leave. And it's easier
to leave today than it was before. Sometimes I wish I had been born
in a different place."
"Not me. I never want to leave this place."
"No, no - don't misunderstand me, Mel. Nor
do I," replied Jason hastily, not wishing to show in any way
that there could be something they didn't agree on.
|