Free Marie by Madeleine Bourdouxhe Page A

together, and that they have landed. But their legs and arms do not leave each other straight away – they remain entangled, as though still enveloped by damp seaweed.
    He has a secret little nickname for Marie: it’s only an adjective, perhaps one that all men use; but he pronounces it in a special way, stressing the consonant as if it were two syllables. She repeats the name in reply – it’s the same one she uses for him.
    ‘What is happening to us?’ she says.
    ‘I don’t know …’
    He lifts the sheets up towards her, gently, as far as her shoulders, but keeping her close to him. They sleep. How heavily they sleep that second night! Marie no longer has the look of a wild young warrior; this time, no lightning has burned their eyes. As they sleep, their features show signs of fatigue, their faces are more sorrowful, more human. How deep their second night is!
     
    THEY GOT UP LATE – it was already lunch time, and their young stomachs were starving. They ate ravenously andsingle-mindedly. In the afternoon they talked a little more, but not about anything that related to themselves.
    The same torpor soon enveloped them again, and each began to fear that the other was bored. At that point they felt a doleful desire to run away, to be free of each other, but the next moment they were back together again, sitting in front of hot drinks that went cold as they stared at each other with a hard expression in their eyes.
    It was getting late and the departure of the last train was, cruelly, about to release them. Once again they crossed the big deserted forecourt. They had arrived a little early; they walked backwards and forwards in small steps along the platform. They discussed no dates, took no steps at all to ensure that they might meet again.
    The train was ready to leave. Standing on the step his gaze took in Marie’s whole body; she looked into his eyes, but held them only for a moment: the train was leaving. He closed the door, did not lean out of the window. Marie stood absolutely still and followed the long, faceless train with her eyes until the very last moment.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    J EAN CAME BACK from Maubeuge with the dreaded news: the following month he and Marie would have to move there for an as yet indefinite length of time.
    A host of friends descended on the household wanting to make the most of Jean and Marie’s final weeks in Paris; they took up all their evenings. These were noisy times, and Marie became bored with having to listen to so-called intellectual discussions whilst records blared out incessantly, and glasses were filled and refilled. Around midnight or one o’clock, someone would say that the evening could not end so soon. Jean, uplifted by this orgy of pleasure, would propose new places they could go on to: looking exhausted, their enjoyment over, they’d trawl through the city. With luck, they might manage a new wave of excitement if one of the party, laughing uproariously, gesticulated at the longline of Hachette press lorries as they drove at full speed along the rue du Louvre. The night would always climax in a cacophony of delight when they reached Les Halles and saw the beautiful vegetables piled up in the icy dawn. These wan-looking creatures, who knew each other too well, would slacken their pace and look behind them, awaiting Marie. Then, overcome by fatigue, they’d be invaded by a sense of sadness and regret for their wasted lives.
     
    MARIUS DENIS WOULD TAKE Marie’s arm. ‘If you come back to Paris on your own from time to time, will you save your evenings for me?’
    Claudine, shivering in her evening dress, would lean her head on Marie’s shoulder and say: ‘I know you won’t write to me often. But if you managed to arrange your lessons in a bunch, say once a month, you could stay with us. You won’t abandon me completely, will you, Marie? Answer me, please!’
    Walking against Marie, Claudine’s slight, trembling body had to endure the slow, ample pace of her