Free A Fine Passage by France Daigle Page B

they’re real diamonds. Seems to me, makes no sense.”
    â€œI know. It’s hard to believe.”
    Carmen is sitting on the bed in their tiny room in Arles, looking at the brooch she holds between her fingers.
    â€œWell, it’s a bit nerve-racking, isn’t it? I mean, what if we lost it?”
    Terry looks out the window to think better. He realizes that it’s the first time he’s sensed Carmen so perturbed.
    â€œWell, we can’t stop living, can we, on account of some bauble?”
    â€œI know, but just think about it! Now we’ve got the thing, if we were to lose it . . .”
    â€œThey’re only diamonds. I mean, it’s not like they’re alive. They’re rocks. Dead things. It’s not as if you were to lose the baby.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake! Why’d you go and say that!”
    Terry comes over to sit beside Carmen on the bed, puts his hand on her belly.
    â€œAll I’m saying is, this is the important thing. Not those diamonds.”
    Carmen is quiet, allows herself to be consoled.
    Then: “I never for one second thought we could lose the baby.”
    â€œFine. So don’t go scaring yourself with that now.”
    â€œOkay. Just don’t go saying that again, ever.”
    They lie back on the bed a moment, lost in thought.
    â€œWhat do you want to do now? We ought to go out for a walk, put some fresh air in our heads.”
    Carmen’s reply is slow in coming.
    â€œOdd. It’s kind of like the trip’s not the same any more all of a sudden.”
    Terry understands what she means, tries to figure out what’s changed.
    Carmen adds: “He left in an awful hurry, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œThat’s how it is sometimes. When you gotta go, you gotta go.”
    â€œI suppose so.”
    As he steps off the bus in Baltimore, Hans feels with absolute certainty that he has one thing to do: begin his life again. All those days crossing the United States from west to east, he hadn’t felt it this clearly. On the road, as though he was hampered by too much ballast, by the weight of possessions, he had mainly concentrated on ridding himself of his money, giving it casually to whoever seemed to feel they needed it. He could not bear the head start the money gave him. He did not want a head start, not over himself or over others. He wanted to live at point zero, always. To occupy himself with living, and no more. Sleeping in rudimentary shelters, finding every day something to eat in exchange for some service or menial labour, but without further engagement. Without compromising himself. And without fear of losing his balance. Allowing each day to give birth to its own particular equilibrium or necessary folly.
    As Hans steps off the bus, therefore, the day, and life in general, looks good to him: he slept a little badly; his jacket is wrinkled, having served as a pillow on the journey; and there’s a stain above the knee of one of his pant legs. Only his expensive leather suitcase makes him slightly uncomfortable. He looks over the scene briefly, selects a street that seems promising, sets out with the goal of meeting someone who will take his bag in exchange for a canvas sac he can carry on his shoulder.
    Terry can see that Carmen has done her very best, although without quite managing to regain her good mood. She agreed to tag along with Terry into town, but she seems to have lost her drive, her usual curiosity.
    â€œYou really want to go to the Museum of Pagan Art?”
    â€œSeems to me it’d be something to see. And we’d have been to at least one museum. Might look better — once we got back, I mean — if we did.”
    Carmen stirs her espresso slowly. She prefers it sweet.
    â€œIt’s as though I’ve lost interest in the whole trip. I kinda feel like a delta myself.”
    â€œI can see that, on account of the way the baby’s going to come out from between your legs