The Grand Banks Café (14 page)

From the cliff side of the town came a
silvery chime: it was the clock of the Palais de la Bénédictine, striking one.

Maigret, his hands clasped behind him,
was walking back to the Hôtel de la Plage. But the further he went the slower he
walked until he finally came to a complete stop halfway along the quay.

In front of him was his hotel, his room
and his bed, a welcoming, comforting combination.

Behind him … He turned his head. He saw
the trawler's funnel, from which smoke was gently rising, for the boilers had
just been lit. Fécamp was asleep. There was a wide splash of moonlight in the middle
of the harbour. The wind was rising, blowing in off the sea, raw and almost
freezing, like the breath of the ocean itself.

Maigret turned back wearily,
reluctantly. Again he stepped over the hawsers coiled round the bollards, then stood
on the side of the quay, staring down at the
Océan
.

His eyes were small, his mouth
threatening, his hands were bunched into fists deep in his pockets.

Here was Maigret in solitary mood,
disgruntled, withdrawn, when he digs his heels in defiantly and is not afraid of
making a fool of himself.

It was low tide. The deck of the trawler
was four or five
metres below the level
of the quay. But a plank had been laid between the quayside and the bridge. It was
thin and narrow.

The sound of the surf was growing
louder. The tide must be on the turn. Pallid waves ate imperceptibly into the
shingle of the beach.

Maigret stepped on to the plank, which
bent into the arc of a circle when he reached the middle. His soles squealed when he
reached the iron bridge. But he did not go any further. He sat down on the seat of
the officer of the watch, behind the wheel and the compass, from which dangled
Captain Fallut's thick sea mittens.

Maigret settled in the way grim dogs
crouch stubbornly by the mouth of a burrow where they have got a scent of
something.

Jorissen's letter, his friendship
with Le Clinche, all the steps taken by Marie Léonnec were no longer the issue. It
was now personal.

He had formed a picture of Captain
Fallut. He had met the wireless operator, Adèle and the chief mechanic. He had gone
to considerable lengths to get a sense of the whole way of life on board the
trawler.

But it was not enough. Something was
eluding him. He felt he understood everything except, crucially, what was at the
heart of the case.

Fécamp was asleep. On board, the sailors
were in their bunks. The inspector slumped heavily in the seat of the officer of the
watch, round-shouldered, legs slightly apart, his elbows on his knees.

His eye settled on random details: the
gloves, for
instance, huge, misshapen,
which Fallut would have worn during his spells on the bridge and had left hanging
there.

And half turning, he looked back over
the afterdeck. Ahead were the full sweep of the deck, the foredeck and, very near,
the wireless room.

The sound of water lapping. A barely
perceptible surge as the steam began to stir. Now that the furnace had been lit and
water filled the boilers, the boat felt more alive than it had in the last few
days.

And wasn't Louis asleep below,
next to the bunkers full of coal?

To the right was the lighthouse. At the
end of one jetty, a green light; a red light at the head of the next.

And the sea: a great black hole emitting
a strong, heavy smell.

There was no conscious effort of the
mind involved, not in the strict sense. Maigret let his eye roam slowly, sluggishly,
seeking to bring his surroundings to life, to acquire a feel for them. Gradually he
slipped into something akin to a state of trance.

‘It was a night like this, but
colder, because spring had scarcely begun …'

The trawler, tied up at the same berth.
A thin spiral of smoke rising from the funnel.

A few sleeping men.

Pierre Le Clinche, who had dined at
Quimper in his fiancée's house. Family atmosphere. Marie Léonnec had doubtless
shown him to the door, so that they could kiss unobserved.

And he had travelled all night, third
class. He would
return in three months.
He would see her again. Then another voyage and after that, when it was winter,
around Christmas time, they would marry.

He had not slept. His sea-chest was on
the rack. It contained provisions made for him by his mother.

At the same time, Captain Fallut was
leaving the small house in Rue d'Étretat, where Madame Bernard was asleep.

Captain Fallut was probably uneasy and
very troubled, racked in advance by guilt. Was it not tacitly agreed that one day he
would marry his landlady?

Yet all winter he had been going to Le
Havre, sometimes three times a week, to see a woman. A woman he dared not show his
face with in Fécamp. A woman he was keeping as his mistress. A woman who was young,
attractive, desirable, but whose vulgarity gave her an aura of danger.

A respectable man, of regular,
fastidious habits. A model of probity, held up as an example by his employers, whose
sea-logs were masterpieces of detailed record-keeping.

And now he was making his way through
the sleeping streets to the station where Adèle was due to arrive.

Perhaps he was still hesitating?

But three months! Would he find her
waiting for him when he got back? Wasn't she too alive, too eager for life not
to deceive him?

She was a very different kind of woman
from Madame Bernard. She did not spend her time keeping her house tidy, polishing
brasses and floors, making plans for the future.

Absolutely not! She was a woman, a woman
whose
image was fixed on his retina in
ways that brought a flush to his cheek and quickened his breath.

Then she was there! She laughed with
that tantalizing laugh which was almost as sensual as her inviting body. She thought
it would be fun to sail away, to be hidden on board, to have a great adventure!

But should he not tell her that the
adventure would not be much fun? That being at sea cooped up in a locked cabin would
be an ordeal?

He vowed that he would. But he
didn't dare. When she was there, when her breasts heaved as she laughed, he
was incapable of saying anything sensible.

‘Are you going to smuggle me on
board tonight?'

They walked on. In the bars and the
Grand Banks Café, members of the crew went on the spree with the advance on their
wages they'd been paid that afternoon.

And Captain Fallut, short, smartly
turned out, grew paler the nearer he got to the harbour, to his boat. Now he could
see the funnel. His throat was dry. Perhaps there was still time?

But Adèle was hanging on his arm. He
could feel her leaning against him, warm and trembling with excitement.

Maigret, facing the quayside which was
now deserted, imagined the two of them.

‘Is that your ship? It smells bad.
Have we got to go across on this plank?'

They walked over the gangway. Captain
Fallut was nervous and told her to not to make a noise.

‘Is this the wheel for driving the
ship?'

‘Sh!'

They went down the iron ladder. They
were on the deck. They went into the captain's cabin. The door closed behind
them.

‘Yes! That's how it
was!' muttered Maigret. ‘There they are now, the pair of them.
It's the first night on board …'

He wished he could fling back the
curtain of night, reveal the pallid sky of first light and make out the figures of
the crew staggering, slowed by alcohol, as they made their way back to the boat.

The chief mechanic arrived from Yport by
the first morning train. The first mate was on the way from Paris and Le Clinche
from Quimper.

The men tumbled on to the deck, argued
in the foredeck about bunks, laughed, changed their clothes and re-emerged stiffly
in oilskins.

There was a boy, Jean-Marie, the
ship's boy. His father had brought him, leading him by the hand. The sailors
jostled him, made fun of his boots, which were too big, and of the tears already
welling in his eyes.

The captain was still in his cabin.
Finally, he opened the door. He closed it carefully behind him. He was curt, very
pale, and his features were drawn.

‘Are you the wireless operator? …
Right. I'll give you your orders in a little while. Meanwhile, take a look
round the wireless room.'

Hours passed. Now the boat's owner
stood on the quay. Women and mothers were still arriving with parcels for the men
who were about to sail.

Fallut shook, fearful for his cabin,
whose door was not
to be opened at any
price, because Adèle, dishevelled, mouth half open, was sprawled sideways, fast
asleep, across the bed.

A touch of the early-morning nausea,
which was felt not only by Fallut but by all the men who had toured the bars of the
town or travelled there overnight by train.

One by one, they drifted away to the
Grand Banks Café, where they drank coffee laced with spirits.

‘See you soon! … if we come
back!'

A loud blast of the ship's horn.
Then two more. The women and children, after one last hug, rushing towards the end
of the breakwater. The ship's owner shaking Fallut's hand.

The hawsers were cast off. The trawler
slid forward, moved clear of the quay. Then Jean-Marie, the ship's boy,
choking with fright, stamped his feet in desperation and thought of making a bid to
get back to dry land.

Fallut had been sitting where Maigret
was sitting now.

‘Half ahead! … One five-oh turns!
… Full steam ahead!'

Was Adèle still asleep? Would she be
woken up by the first swell and be nervous?

Fallut did not move from the seat which
had been his for so many years. Ahead of him was the sea, the Atlantic.

His nerves were taut, for he now
realized what a stupid thing he had done. It had not seemed so serious when he was
ashore.

‘Two points port!'

And then there were shouts, and the
group on the breakwater rushed forward. A man, who had clambered
up the derrick to wave goodbye to his family, had fallen
on to the deck!

‘Stop engine! … Astern engine! …
Stop engine!'

There was no sign of life from the
cabin. Wasn't there still time to put the woman ashore?

Rowing boats approached the vessel,
which was now stationary between the jetties. A fishing boat was asking for right of
way.

But the man was injured. He would have
to be left behind. He was lowered into a dinghy.

The women were demoralized. They were
deeply superstitious.

On top of which the ship's boy had
to be restrained from jumping into the water because he was so terrified of
leaving!

‘Ahead steam! … Half! … Full!
…'

Le Clinche was settling into his
workplace, headphones on head, testing the instruments. And there, in his domain, he
was writing:

My Darling Girl,

It's eight in the morning!
We're off. Already we can't see the town and …

Maigret lit a fresh pipe and got to his
feet so that he would have a better view of his surroundings.

He was in full possession of the
characters in the case and, in a sense, was now able to move them around like
counters on the boat which lay spread out before him.

‘First meal in the narrow
officers' mess: Fallut, the first
mate, the chief mechanic and the wireless operator. The
captain announces that henceforth he will be taking all his meals in his cabin,
alone.'

They have never heard the like of it!
Such an outlandish idea! They all try in vain to come up with a reason for it.

Maigret, clasping his hand to his
forehead, muttered:

‘It's the ship's
boy's job to take the captain his food. The captain opens the door only part
of the way or else hides Adèle under the bed, which he has propped up.'

The two of them have to make do with a
meal for one. The first time, the woman laughs. And no doubt Fallut leaves nearly
all his share to her.

He is too solemn. She makes fun of him.
She is nice to him. He unbends. He smiles.

And up in the foredeck are they not
already muttering about the evil eye? Aren't they talking about the
captain's decision to eat by himself? And moreover, who ever saw a captain
walking around with the key to his cabin in his pocket!

The twin screws turn. The trawler has
acquired the sense of unease which will continue to fill it for three months.

Below deck, men like Louis shovel coal
into the maw of the furnaces for eight or ten hours a day or keep a drowsy eye on
the oil-pressure gauge.

Three days. That's the general
view. It has taken just three days to create an atmosphere of anxiety. And it was at
that point that the crew began wondering if Fallut was mad.

Why? Was it jealousy? But Adèle stated
that she didn't see Le Clinche until about day four.

Until then, he is too busy with his new equipment. He
tunes in and listens, for his personal satisfaction. He makes trial transmissions.
And with his headphones constantly on his head, he writes page after page as if the
postman was standing by to whisk his letters away and deliver them to his
fiancée.

Three days. Hardly time to get to know
one another. Perhaps the chief mechanic, peering through portholes, has caught sight
of the young woman? But he never mentioned it.

The atmosphere on board builds only
gradually as the crew are drawn together through shared adventures. But as yet there
are no adventures to share. They have not yet even started to fish. For that they
must wait until they reach the Grand Banks, yonder, off Newfoundland, on the other
side of the Atlantic, where they will not be for another ten days yet, at the
earliest.