The Lost Sailors (11 page)

Down below, the once strategic narrows, through which you reached the Vieux-Port. Once through them, boats sailed on toward the harbor. He watched a shuttle returning, empty, from the islands of the Frioul and the Château d'If. It would moor at the quay, facing the Canebière, which was barely visible from here.

His gaze shifted slightly to the left of the Fort Saint-Jean, as far as the pompous gray fake-Byzantine Cathedral of La Major, surrounded by main roads as improbable as they were ugly. Behind it, the harbor of La Joliette stretched as far as L'Estaque. Its cranes and gantries seemed to clutch the sky. Not much was moving. It was as if the heat had banished all motion. The open sea had the color and stillness of the Sahara. Any dreams of faraway places stagnated like the air, and vanished beneath the sands.

In the distance, somewhere at the far end of the waterfront, the
Aldebaran
, which he couldn't see, was subject to the same stillness. But that didn't matter. From here everything suddenly seemed futile. He thought this, but in a lazy way, without even making the effort to formulate it in his mind.

He took out a tomato, tuna, and olive sandwich from a bag and started eating it, taking care the oil didn't drip over his fingers. As he ate, he let happiness steal over him, simple, incomprehensible happiness that descends from the sky to the sea. Cephea gives him her hand. They have just married. They are walking in silence through the ruins of Byblos.

“If I have a history, this is where it starts. In these ruins. When Byblos becomes Jbeil again.”

He tells her about Jbeil. The little Mediterranean port founded by the Phoenicians. One of the most ancient cities in the world.

“According to an old legend, Adonis died in the arms of Astarte, at the source of the river Nar Ibrahim. His blood made the anemones grow and turned the river red. Astarte's tears brought Adonis back to life, and irrigated and fertilized the earth . . . My earth.”

Cephea has huddled close to him. She looks up at him, smiles, and kisses him on the cheek.

“Your country is beautiful.”

The same happiness had flowed down from the sky to the sea. He had told himself at the time that this was the true glory of the world. The right to love without constraint. He wanted to embrace Cephea, as he had done that day. To love her surrounded by the scents of fig and jasmine.

His memories and thoughts were gaining the upper hand again. Why not go back to Byblos and live there? The two of them and the children. Lebanon was being rebuilt, as his brother Walid kept drumming in to him. The tourists would come back, and commerce would be reborn from the ashes of war. Walid had money to invest. With or without him, he would invest. He'd inherited that business sense from his father.

He opened a can of beer and drank greedily. Why couldn't he make up his mind? What did he have to gain by being at sea, far from those he loved? What curse had fallen on him one day, on him and so many others who couldn't find any meaning to their lives unless they were far from any shore?

In the Grande Joliette dock, the freighter
Citerna 38
was maneuvering. Slowly, it sailed along the Sainte-Marie sea wall, and turned to face the open sea. A sublime movement, which gave the harbor, and the city, its life and color. Its bustle. Its reason for being. All Abdul Aziz's questions melted away. He stood up.

A few yards farther up, he passed two lovers sitting on a stone bench, embracing and watching the freighter. Behind them, the huge sculpture of the heroes lost at sea. Two men, one supported by the other, who had his arm outstretched toward the open sea. Abdul Aziz thought for a moment of himself and Diamantis, then, as he passed, smiled at the two lovers. They didn't take any notice of him. They were both gazing out toward the horizon. Where dreams die, and tears are born.

 

By chance, Diamantis and Abdul Aziz found themselves on the same bus. Diamantis was carrying a bottle wrapped in newspaper, which he waved above his head as soon as he saw Abdul Aziz.

“Cutty Sark,” he said, sitting down next to him. “Not bad, huh?”

He'd bought it from Toinou. At cost price.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yes,” Abdul muttered.

He didn't feel like talking. He knew he could confide in Diamantis, he was sure he'd give him good advice, but his pride stopped him. He wanted to say, “Diamantis, I've thought it over, and I've decided to leave the
Aldebaran
. I'm letting it all go.” But if he said that, he'd have to tell him everything. What would he think of him, abandoning everything for a woman? Hadn't Diamantis chosen once and for all? The sea. Nothing but the sea.

He looked at him furtively. “I don't think we should do this anymore,” he said, in a harsh voice. “Leave the boat unsupervised.”

“What are you afraid of?” Diamantis replied. “It's not going to fly away.”

“I know that. But we need a permanent presence on the
Aldebaran
.”

“You're the captain, Abdul. Whenever you go out, just let me know. O.K.? I waited for you for coffee this morning.”

They didn't talk to each other for the rest of the ride.

Diamantis had had several
pastis
in that bar on Rue d'Endoume. It was called the Zanzi Bar. The radio was tuned to an Italian station. Out on the street, the heat was leaden. He hadn't had the guts to go outside. He ordered a ham sandwich, but the owner, a little woman with bleached hair, stared at him as if he were a Martian and told him he'd do better to have the dish of the day.

“We have pasta with vegetable soup today. It's better than that stodge. A man like you has to eat.” There was longing in her eyes as she said this.

She called to a customer, the only one still eating. “Hey, Renato, is my pasta good or not?”

“Sure. Better than I get at home.” He turned to Diamantis. “It's true!”

“See, what did I tell you? Now, come on, sit down.”

She pointed to a table next to Renato's, the last one still set for lunch, and vanished into the back room.

“Nice songs,” Renato said. “They remind me of home.”

The woman came back with a carafe of rosé and a bowl of ice cubes, which she placed in front of Diamantis. “It'll take eight minutes to cook. Will that be O.K.?”

“I have plenty of time.”

On the way back, he had stopped off at Toinou's to get the bottle of whisky. His daughter Mariette was behind the counter.

“He went to have some tests done,” she said. “His heart. He's been putting it off for months. But this morning my mother nagged him to go.”

“He should have told me. I'd have covered for him.”

“That's nice of you, Diamantis. But it's all right . . . I didn't have any appointments this afternoon. Business is slow at the moment. It's the summer . . . And, besides, nobody wants to buy anymore. Well, not in town, anyway. They all want to live in the country or by the sea.”

“The sea? The sea's right here, isn't it?”

Mariette smiled. Two dimples lit up her face when she smiled. She had an almost round face, framed by a mass of light brown curly hair. It was a pretty face.

“What they mean by the sea is over toward Cassis. La Ciotat. Or Les Leques. Or on the other side, way past L'Estaque. This isn't the sea, this is the harbor. And the beaches are for the working classes, for people from north Marseilles. So other people tend to avoid them . . .” She smiled again. “I don't know if I'm explaining myself well.”

“No, you're doing fine.”

“Would you like a beer?”

She took one for herself, too. Diamantis offered her a cigarette. They drank and smoked in silence for a few minutes. Their eyes met from time to time, then they would look down at their glasses, or out at the square, where a few regulars still lingered. An elderly couple sat down on the terrace.

“I'll be back,” she said to Diamantis.

He watched her walk away. She had a nice body, a little heavy maybe, but far from unpleasant to look at. There was something about her that reminded him of the women in Botticelli paintings. All those curves.

It struck Diamantis that he had only ever loved tall, slender women. Even when it came to hookers, he always chose thin ones, in whichever country he was in.

Mariette served the couple—a very light shandy and a strawberry Vittel—then sat down again on the stool behind the bar and lit another cigarette. Her eyes lowered slightly, she asked, “How would you like to come with me tomorrow when I show a house to some clients? It's in Ceyreste, near La Ciotat.”

She stopped, heart pounding, embarrassed by the proposition she had just made Diamantis.

“That's if you don't have anything else to do. And if you'd like to.”

Their eyes met and Mariette blushed.

“Tomorrow? Why not? I don't know the area.”

“Is that right?”

She'd calmed down again. But she couldn't take her eyes off Diamantis. She liked the guy.

“Not even Cassis?”

“Not even Cassis.”

“We can stop there if you like. I mean, if we have time.”

“O.K.”

“Wow, that's great,” she cried, delighted.

Diamantis would have liked to refuse. But he hadn't been able to say no. She'd asked him so nicely. Besides, Mariette excited him. He had forgotten what that felt like. Being excited when a woman looks at you in a certain way. He didn't know how Toinou would react to the idea of him going out with his daughter. “Good God!” he thought. “Whatever are you thinking of? She hasn't asked to sleep with you. She just wants you to go with her. Because you have nothing else to do . . .”

“O.K.,” he said again.

“Let's meet about . . . ten. Yes, ten is fine. I've arranged to meet my clients at eleven. That'll give us time.”

 

Diamantis turned to Abdul Aziz. They were walking side by side along the quay. The sun, still hot, was tinging the arid mountain ridges toward L'Estaque with red.

“I have to go to town tomorrow. Tomorrow morning.”

Abdul looked at him, and shrugged. They walked some more and then he asked, “Do you have a woman on land?”

“You said I could do whatever I wanted on land.”

“Yes.”

“What about you, Abdul? Any problems?”

“Worries. You know that.”

“No, I don't know.”

“I haven't heard from Cephea. Just that. We all have our stories.”

“O.K. It's up to you.”

They found Nedim in the mess, sitting in front of a bowl of instant coffee, smoking a cigarette. He was in shorts, bare-chested, unshaven, hair uncombed. His face was drawn. He looked up as they came in.

“Shit!” he said to Diamantis. “You're here too.”

How come he was still here? Nedim wondered. He was sure Diamantis would have hotfooted it like the others. Maybe they were queens, he thought with a smile, even though he knew it was a crazy idea.

“Well, I'm glad.”

Nedim meant what he said. He got on well with Diamantis, and he was genuinely pleased he was still here. He'd be easier to talk to than Abdul Aziz. He would understand his problems. He'd help him.

“Are there only the two of you here? Or did all the others come back too?”

“No, including you, there are just the three of us,” Diamantis said.

Abdul Aziz had sat down. He gave Nedim a severe look. He wasn't overjoyed to see him. “What happened to you?”

“Fucking truck driver didn't wait for me. Look, Captain, you'll have to go with me to see about my authorization. That fucking watchman didn't want to let me pass. He nearly called the cops.”

“So you're planning to stay on board.”

“Yes, but not for long. I'll find another way to get home. A few days at most.”

“I don't know, Nedim. Officially you've left the ship.”

“Four or five days,” Diamanatis intervened. “We can manage, can't we?”

“That's right. Just four days, five days, not even that. Just until I get organized.”

“But it's not in the regulations,” Abdul said, and stood up. “We'll talk about it later.”

He left the room. Diamantis put the bottle down on the table and took off his shirt.

“What's the matter with him?” Nedim asked. “Is he having his period or something?”

“He has problems. Like all of us.”

“Talking about that . . . I have something to tell you.”

“What?” Diamantis said, sitting down.

Nedim unwrapped the bottle. “Fuck! Whisky! Let's celebrate!”

Diamantis grabbed the bottle from him. “Private property.”

“Just a glass. I need a pick-me-up.”

“After dinner.”

“Fuck, this is like Hell here!” he muttered, taken aback.

Diamantis laughed. “Didn't you know that?”

“Well, it's no laughing matter. By now I could be fucking my fiancée.”

“A few days, did you say? You'll live.”

“Easy to say. I'm broke. Flat broke.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I'm listening.”

“How about a little drink?”

“Tonight.”

“Shit!”

 

Lying on his bunk, with his eyes closed, Abdul worked out several letters to Cephea in his head. He was trying to feel again the happiness he had felt that afternoon. When the light flowed from the sky. The way it did in Byblos. Cephea was there, close to him. But each time he found the right words, he saw the
Citerna 38
. Ready to put to sea. And Cephea was getting farther away. He seemed to see her on the quay. In that pale blue dress he had given her when he returned from Adelaide. She was waving her hand.

“There's no shame in being happy,” he said, sitting up. He didn't know if he was talking to himself or to Cephea. Or mankind in general.