you my favourite.” He led Baptiste to a tent off to the side, above which had been hung a large white canopythat offered some shade. Nonetheless the heat inside was nearly suffocating; in the dim light a swarm of invisible flies was buzzing, while on the sand floor stood a big metal tank filled with water. They approached it and when Baptiste leaned over, he saw a creature unlike any he had ever seen, scarcely bigger than a woman, its tapering, graceful form ending in a flat tail, its body white as milk. It was looking at him with velvety little eyes set in a round and prettily mustached face. Baptiste, stupefied, held its gaze while it rose slowly to the surface as if to have a better look at him, appearing at once curious and infinitely sad.
“Is … is that a mermaid?” he asked.
“A manatee,” Elie corrected him.
The manatee’s head was now out of the water and in its round eyes Baptiste could see his own trembling silhouette leaning forward.
B APTISTE RAN INTO THE RENOWNED J AMES B AILEY only once during the time he was with the circus – by chance, in the train taking them from New York to Chicago. Having arrived a short time before, Baptiste was not yet altogether used to the gasping steel monster, something he’d never seen before he set foot on the mainland and still boarded with a kind of wonder, along with a hint of mistrust. The first time he embarked on it he’d had the impression he was penetrating the entrails of a gigantic metal snake.
Trains often travelled at night and it only added to the strangeness of the journey to speed through a darkness so complete it seemed nearly solid, pierced here and there by the flickering lights of a far-off village, the yellow lamps of small country stations illuminating the deserted platforms. Baptiste sometimes felt that the train was standing still while the landscape was unfolding on the other side of the broad picture windows, like a roll of film – another marvel he’d discovered on North American soil – image by image, in the window frame.
That night, driven by a call of nature, he ventured outside the compartment he shared with Qiu and Quan and explored the rattling narrow corridor. On one side, windows looked onto fields where now and then a farm stood out, or a herd of placid cows, or an occasional thicket of trees; on the other side were doors, all alike, but he thought he remembered that the second-last was the WC . Opening it, he found instead Rochester sitting on a crimson velvet seat next to a slender man whose white shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His head was bald on top, a deficiency compensated for by a short beard; he had a straight nose, and determined features.
Photos and prints were spread on a table in front of them. Baptiste could see a five-legged calf and an odd creature with a hairy muzzle, scales all over its body, and big flippers.
The two men looked up, surprised, when they spotted Baptiste, who stammered:
“Ex-excuse me, I got lost …”
Rochester broke in, fitting onto his face the smile he’d worn the first time they had met, which for the most part, he only took off at bedtime, the way others place their false teeth in a glass on their bedside table.
“James, let me introduce Baptiste Cyparis, whom I’m sure you remember.”
“Of course,” repeated Bailey absentmindedly, extending to Baptiste a stubby-fingered hand. His gaze was both piercing and dreamy. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Basil.”
Rochester gave a little cough, but Baptiste murmured: “That’s all right,” and they left it there.
Bailey had nimbly covered the prints with an open newspaper that he now stared at as if he wanted to be sure they wouldn’t disappear by magic.
“Can I be of any help to you, dear friend?” Rochester asked Baptiste, who was standing stupidly in the doorway, not knowing how to take his leave.
Intimidated, he said the first thing that came into his mind, which turned out to be the
“Is … is that a mermaid?” he asked.
“A manatee,” Elie corrected him.
The manatee’s head was now out of the water and in its round eyes Baptiste could see his own trembling silhouette leaning forward.
B APTISTE RAN INTO THE RENOWNED J AMES B AILEY only once during the time he was with the circus – by chance, in the train taking them from New York to Chicago. Having arrived a short time before, Baptiste was not yet altogether used to the gasping steel monster, something he’d never seen before he set foot on the mainland and still boarded with a kind of wonder, along with a hint of mistrust. The first time he embarked on it he’d had the impression he was penetrating the entrails of a gigantic metal snake.
Trains often travelled at night and it only added to the strangeness of the journey to speed through a darkness so complete it seemed nearly solid, pierced here and there by the flickering lights of a far-off village, the yellow lamps of small country stations illuminating the deserted platforms. Baptiste sometimes felt that the train was standing still while the landscape was unfolding on the other side of the broad picture windows, like a roll of film – another marvel he’d discovered on North American soil – image by image, in the window frame.
That night, driven by a call of nature, he ventured outside the compartment he shared with Qiu and Quan and explored the rattling narrow corridor. On one side, windows looked onto fields where now and then a farm stood out, or a herd of placid cows, or an occasional thicket of trees; on the other side were doors, all alike, but he thought he remembered that the second-last was the WC . Opening it, he found instead Rochester sitting on a crimson velvet seat next to a slender man whose white shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His head was bald on top, a deficiency compensated for by a short beard; he had a straight nose, and determined features.
Photos and prints were spread on a table in front of them. Baptiste could see a five-legged calf and an odd creature with a hairy muzzle, scales all over its body, and big flippers.
The two men looked up, surprised, when they spotted Baptiste, who stammered:
“Ex-excuse me, I got lost …”
Rochester broke in, fitting onto his face the smile he’d worn the first time they had met, which for the most part, he only took off at bedtime, the way others place their false teeth in a glass on their bedside table.
“James, let me introduce Baptiste Cyparis, whom I’m sure you remember.”
“Of course,” repeated Bailey absentmindedly, extending to Baptiste a stubby-fingered hand. His gaze was both piercing and dreamy. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Basil.”
Rochester gave a little cough, but Baptiste murmured: “That’s all right,” and they left it there.
Bailey had nimbly covered the prints with an open newspaper that he now stared at as if he wanted to be sure they wouldn’t disappear by magic.
“Can I be of any help to you, dear friend?” Rochester asked Baptiste, who was standing stupidly in the doorway, not knowing how to take his leave.
Intimidated, he said the first thing that came into his mind, which turned out to be the
Similar Books
