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Authors: Jean-Claude Mourlevat
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breathing.
There was a light on in the barracks, on the second floor. They entered the building and went up a metal staircase. Pastor was waiting for them in his office, smoking a cigarette. He was a flabby,fat man with thick lips, and at present he had the untidy hair and reddened eyes of someone who has been hauled out of bed.
“Hi, Bombardone! Hi, Ramses! Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No, it couldn’t wait,” Mills said. “Is the pack ready?”
“I picked the five best: Cheops, Amenophis, Chephren, Mykerinos, and Teti. I suppose you’re taking Ramses, so that makes six. OK? ”
“OK.”
“When do we leave?”
“Right away.”
Without further comment, Pastor rose to his feet, put on his heavy sheepskin-lined jacket, and picked up the knapsack hanging from a hook. He was obviously anticipating an immediate departure.
“Starting where?”
“Starting with the consolers. That’s where they were last seen.”
“Off we go then.”
Pastor liked his dogs but not manhunts. Chasing around the mountains for days and nights like an animal, shivering with cold under a blanket, going without food for days on end did not appeal to him. He had never had the predatory instinct of a man like Mills, who would put up with anything for the thrill of the chase.
The five dog-men were waiting in the dark near the barracks gate, rigid arms hanging by their sides. Two of them were smoking. They wore clothesand shoes, and from a distance might have been taken for factory workers waiting for a bus to pick them up at dawn. When Ramses joined them, they hardly looked at him.
Pastor crossed the yard, dragging his feet, a bunch of keys in his hand. He yawned, opened the gate, and whistled through his teeth — a short, sharp sound. The little troop set off behind him. Mills brought up the rear, glad not to have Ramses trailing along behind him anymore.
They reached the consolers’ village just before three in the morning. Mills stopped the pack outside the library, the last place the fugitives had been traced. He pushed the door open with his foot and glanced inside. The lighted lamp was on the table; a flame was still dancing behind the glass door of the stove. He went into the room on his own and gave it a brief inspection. The two young people had run away over a week ago, and he couldn’t expect to find any sign of them here now. Mills went over to the bookshelves and swept his forearm over the lower one, sending twenty or so books flying to the ground. He scattered them farther with a kick.
“Found anything?” asked Pastor, putting his head round the door.
“No, nothing,” said Mills, leaving the library. “We’d better give the dogs their things to get the scent.”
Pastor opened the travel bag and took one of the boots out of it. “I’ll give this to Cheops, Amenophis, and Teti. And we’ll let the other three have thegirl’s scarf. That way we’ll know if our two birds parted company.”
“Good thinking, Pastor!” remarked Mills with sarcastic approval. “Brighter than you look, aren’t you?”
“I just want to get this over and done with quickly,” grunted the dog-handler, and he held the boot out to Cheops. “Here, Cheops, find! Find!”
The dog-man stuck his entire muzzle into the boot. He tilted his head to one side in a comical way and kept his eyes closed. When he had sniffed it at his leisure, he passed the boot to Teti, who did the same. Mills watched them out of the corner of his eye, observing the agitation that gradually came over them. He had always been fascinated by the moment when the dog-men shed their humanity and became all dog. Seeing them quiver with excitement and hearing them whine made him jealous. He too would have liked to be able to register his prey’s precise scent in the appropriate part of his brain and begin tracking it down, nose raised to the wind.
“Find, Ramses, find!” he said, holding the scarf out to his favorite.
“Uuu-nt,” said
There was a light on in the barracks, on the second floor. They entered the building and went up a metal staircase. Pastor was waiting for them in his office, smoking a cigarette. He was a flabby,fat man with thick lips, and at present he had the untidy hair and reddened eyes of someone who has been hauled out of bed.
“Hi, Bombardone! Hi, Ramses! Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No, it couldn’t wait,” Mills said. “Is the pack ready?”
“I picked the five best: Cheops, Amenophis, Chephren, Mykerinos, and Teti. I suppose you’re taking Ramses, so that makes six. OK? ”
“OK.”
“When do we leave?”
“Right away.”
Without further comment, Pastor rose to his feet, put on his heavy sheepskin-lined jacket, and picked up the knapsack hanging from a hook. He was obviously anticipating an immediate departure.
“Starting where?”
“Starting with the consolers. That’s where they were last seen.”
“Off we go then.”
Pastor liked his dogs but not manhunts. Chasing around the mountains for days and nights like an animal, shivering with cold under a blanket, going without food for days on end did not appeal to him. He had never had the predatory instinct of a man like Mills, who would put up with anything for the thrill of the chase.
The five dog-men were waiting in the dark near the barracks gate, rigid arms hanging by their sides. Two of them were smoking. They wore clothesand shoes, and from a distance might have been taken for factory workers waiting for a bus to pick them up at dawn. When Ramses joined them, they hardly looked at him.
Pastor crossed the yard, dragging his feet, a bunch of keys in his hand. He yawned, opened the gate, and whistled through his teeth — a short, sharp sound. The little troop set off behind him. Mills brought up the rear, glad not to have Ramses trailing along behind him anymore.
They reached the consolers’ village just before three in the morning. Mills stopped the pack outside the library, the last place the fugitives had been traced. He pushed the door open with his foot and glanced inside. The lighted lamp was on the table; a flame was still dancing behind the glass door of the stove. He went into the room on his own and gave it a brief inspection. The two young people had run away over a week ago, and he couldn’t expect to find any sign of them here now. Mills went over to the bookshelves and swept his forearm over the lower one, sending twenty or so books flying to the ground. He scattered them farther with a kick.
“Found anything?” asked Pastor, putting his head round the door.
“No, nothing,” said Mills, leaving the library. “We’d better give the dogs their things to get the scent.”
Pastor opened the travel bag and took one of the boots out of it. “I’ll give this to Cheops, Amenophis, and Teti. And we’ll let the other three have thegirl’s scarf. That way we’ll know if our two birds parted company.”
“Good thinking, Pastor!” remarked Mills with sarcastic approval. “Brighter than you look, aren’t you?”
“I just want to get this over and done with quickly,” grunted the dog-handler, and he held the boot out to Cheops. “Here, Cheops, find! Find!”
The dog-man stuck his entire muzzle into the boot. He tilted his head to one side in a comical way and kept his eyes closed. When he had sniffed it at his leisure, he passed the boot to Teti, who did the same. Mills watched them out of the corner of his eye, observing the agitation that gradually came over them. He had always been fascinated by the moment when the dog-men shed their humanity and became all dog. Seeing them quiver with excitement and hearing them whine made him jealous. He too would have liked to be able to register his prey’s precise scent in the appropriate part of his brain and begin tracking it down, nose raised to the wind.
“Find, Ramses, find!” he said, holding the scarf out to his favorite.
“Uuu-nt,” said
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