In partnership with Rocambole, the app for reading differently, we are offering a new episode of Tina Bartoli's literary soap L'Ancre Noire every day at 5 p.m.
Summary of previous episodes: Clémence, consultant overwhelmed by her success, dreams of becoming a writer. She won a three-week coaching session with Jean De Saint Geores, an author whom she admires. He welcomed him to his property in the Vosges, the former home of the ruined colonial merchant of the 18th century. The atmosphere is heavy in the house, the coach imposing on the young woman a frantic pace.
Venturing into an unexplored wing of the boat, Clémence came across four 18th century anchors, one of which particularly disturbed her, that of L'Espérance. The young woman indeed knows very well the history of this boat, since her former companion Abel, professor of history had reconstituted this frigate with a group of pupils. Together they planned to recreate the route of this ship converted at the end of the 18th century in the slave trade, and disappeared during a storm in the Caribbean, swallowing up a treasure that Abel had the ambition to find. But the professor had never returned and Clémence had since tattooed "L'Espérance" on his shoulder blade. Discovering her secret, De Saint Geores enters into a mad anger and hits her with her car when she wants to escape. He locks her in a cellar, hits her and summons her to finish the book she is writing, otherwise she will disappear without a trace ...
EPISODE 8 - We don't die like that
The door slammed behind him and, once again, I heard the key lock the lock. Shocked, vaguely disgusted at the sight of this stream of hemoglobin, I remained helpless. I tilted my head back hoping to stem the hemorrhage, but soon my nostrils and my throat overflowed and the sticky liquid flooded my sweater. Desperate, I made up my mind to lie down on the floor, urging me to calm down: no one had ever died from a broken nose. I waited. I felt blood beating my temples, hot liquid running down my neck, filling my mouth. The pain in my nostrils was intolerable. Apart from the ringing in my ears, everything was silent again, and I stubbornly followed the breath of my breath to try to find a little serenity. I was hot, thirsty and I was terribly afraid.
Afraid of what ? I asked myself, we don't die like that. The gruesome reality of my situation suddenly clutched my chest: kidnapped by a threatening madman, in an isolated dwelling in the heart of a dark forest, yes, death became a likely option. At first terrified by this morbid observation, I had to draw on my deepest resources to find the courage to light a small light at the bottom of my soul. It was at first only a very small night light, which I forced myself to believe, knowing full well that it was only a mirage.
But by willpower, the glimmer of hope became more present and, watching his desperate fight against powerful and voracious fear, something in me made me want to follow it. Finally, dazzled by its intensity, I decided to try everything to let it shine, to hope to see the sun again one day. I got up carefully and saw that the continuous flow of blood had dried up. Slowly, hesitantly, I reached the bathroom.
While leaning over the sink, I sprinkled copious amounts of ice water, small white balls scattered on the floor caught my attention. Turning off the water, I looked more closely: it was pieces of cotton scattered next to a spilled bottle of disinfectant. How did this emergency equipment get there? Since the shattering departure of my torturer, no one had entered my apartments, I was sure. After taking care of my bruised nose, I sat on the bed, concentrated. I absolutely had to find a way out of here. Observing the wooden planks that blocked the window door, I concluded that it would be impossible for me to sell them without tools. I started poking around the rooms, looking for a solution. Suddenly, looking at the barbed wire from the other small window, an idea occurred to me. I ran into the bathroom and, rummaging in my toiletry bag, I pulled out, victorious, a small travel nail clipper. Admittedly, the site promised to be titanic, but, wire by wire, with great patience, overcoming this tangle of iron did not seem impossible. To carry out this mission I would have to save time first. For that, I had no choice but to produce the rest of the story that De Saint Geores demanded: I would have to manage the timing and my nerves with strategy. Did I really have a choice?
Overcoming my disgust, I cleaned the pools of curdled blood from the desk and patiently, using the mysterious little bits of cotton found in the bathroom, I started to clean the soiled computer keyboard. I was thinking at the same time what I could write to satisfy the appetite of the ogre De Saint Geores.
In the early morning, I was able to return to my torturer half the chapter ordered under threat the previous evening. Exhausted, I went to bed and fell asleep in the seconds that followed. But I was quickly woken up by the door of my room opening with a crash, revealing a furious De Saint Geores:
- Who are you kidding, you moron?
- ...?!
"Stand up, feignasse!" and he ejected me from the bed, shaking me violently. He rekindled the terrible pain of my broken nose. I could only burst into sobs:
- But I'm tired, I need rest to produce the rest!
- Nothing to do, the time is running out, you work and you do not negotiate.
A puff of hatred strangled me, I exploded:
- Time is running out ?! And what is the outcome, huh? I am sequestered here by a mental patient who wants me to write in his place the book that he is not able to lay. What is the deadline, what is the urgency? Your patience or mine? And what happens if I decide not to spit it out your shitty novel? I yelled.
Deafeningly calm, he simply declared:
- But you're dying, idiot. I'll be back in five hours, if you haven't finished your chapter, you're going to die.
When he closed the door behind him, I collapsed. Given the pace he seemed determined to keep me going, my project glimpsed last night in a ray of hope seemed to me impracticable. How, under such pressure, choose between the vital need for sleep and the work of section of the barbed wire for my escape, no less vital. Whatever I do, I am stuck I noticed frozen with terror: if I do not write anymore, he gets rid of me without state of mind and if I finish this book, I am also doomed. Dying right away seemed to me the best of conclusions. Time, in all its forms, is the most cruel of tyrants.
Going around in my room and rehashing my desperate situation only increased my terror, at the risk of making me lose my mind. So, to stop thinking, I opened the computer and started typing the rest of the story for which I had lost my freedom. When De Saint Geores, five hours later, came to collect his order, she was ready.
- It's very small, I see you have regained your senses, he said satisfied.
Without thinking, the words came out of my mouth:
- An award.
- Sorry ?
- I want a reward.
He smiles :
- Do you want a reward like a good doggie who claims his sweetness?
- Yes.
- I like the idea. What do you want ?
- A walk in the park.
He seemed surprised:
- Ah yes ? Why not.
He must have read the relief on my face because he barked, stern:
- But for that you will have to beg me
- Please.
- Better than that.
- Please, let me walk in the park, I beg you.
- It's okay, Octave will pick you up in half an hour. "
Where did this crazy idea of asking for a walk come from when I was falling from fatigue, when I could have used my last strength to start my work of barbed wire cutting? I didn’t know. Why had I agreed to be so docile, to let myself be humiliated once again? I couldn't have said. Was physical and psychological exhaustion starting to have an effect on my rough-necked reason?
The fact remains that when I saw Octave disembark in full hunter uniform, lattice, cap and brand new camouflage jacket, I was taken with an uncontrollable laugh. He was taken aback at first by my reaction, his mouth twisted in question mark, then won over by my hilarity he began to laugh heartily with me. It was the first time I saw him like this: his large body shaken by noisy hiccups, he was tapping his thigh and his capricious mouth twisted in all directions, like a big buzzing insect. He was terrifying.
When we finally found our calm, he handed me a long rope which ended with a noose:
- Dad said you should put this on for the walk.
It was a leash.
(…)
Check out the next episode right here on April 1 at 5 p.m. or on the Rocambole app for iOS or Android.
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