Sail of Stone

48

He heard them talking behind his back. He wanted to know who they were, and why they were there. He didn’t move. He had seen them arrive, and he understood.

She didn’t say anything when they ordered.

Maybe she understood too.

It was only a small favor. He knew that he could ask her. A single conversation. A simple question.

But he didn’t trust her anymore.

He had decided to tell everything. It was time. When had he made his decision? It had to do with the sea. The loneliness.

After all these years. It was easier at first.

When he was going to leave it all, it was harder. Not hard to leave; he had longed to do that. Longed. But he didn’t want to do it alone, not now.

Who could believe it would happen like this? That the boy…

Take the car, the boy had said. I don’t need it.

There was a shine in the boy’s eyes.

It’s all over now, the boy had said.

The boy prayed, he prayed all the time. His good sense seemed to disappear.

It had been tranquil by the sea. It was a peaceful beach.

Drive! the boy had screamed. He had hesitated.

Drive! The boy screamed again and his white hair stood straight up. His body looked old. It was old, but not as old as his.

The boy was blue in the face. His heart. The blue color disappeared. The boy walked on his own on the other side of the little lake, and he prayed.

Jesus!

A cry over the mountains.

We are all lost, he had said afterward. I will wash away our sins, wash us. I am glad that you sent for me. Drive now!

At night the dreams came back. Dreams of gold, of silver, of the money that destroyed everything.

How often had he sat with this pistol in his hand? First it was the threat, soon after. When he was staying hidden in cliffs, huts, on rotten ships. He had shot once.

Then there were the thoughts of doing it by his own hand. On his own.

He didn’t know what would happen.

He carried it with him night and day.

He’d had it when he heard the voices in the Three Kings, when he saw them. They came from the other world.

Now his memories flowed on, flowed up. There was water everywhere; the sea washed over him. He had placed the dinghy in the shadow of the waves. The Marino had already begun to sink.

It was necessary. Egon had already been lost then. The trawler was lost.

He had felt Frans’s face in his hands. Jesus! There had been no one to listen out there. God wasn’t listening; not God’s son. On the beach there were only stones. He made his choice. No, not then. It was long before.

There was still money in the oilcloth bags. The weapons were on the bottom or had been carried farther north, like the bodies.

The boy’s boy hadn’t asked any questions.

The boy’s boy.

Here!

Bring it here!

They would never find him. Never! His face was different, his body. His name. His life, what was left.

He saw them out on the street, but it was a coincidence. They had been standing in front of the telephone booth, a coincidence. They had walked by.

None of them would find out!