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 season II (the summary of the first season is here):
A diver delivers his memories of a treasure hunter. He tells how on the occasion of an expedition to the Dominican Republic, he attended the sinking of L'Espérance on August 8, 2008, with Abel and his class on board. For years afterwards, he searched in vain for the trace of the wreckage of this ship, until, targeted by an investigation for wreckage, he had to take refuge in the Czech Republic.
SEASON II, EPISODE 2 - The man with the hat
One clear summer morning, when I opened the tumbling door of my quirky little house, I found a small, dark box on the mat; it looked like the jewel case. I looked around: no one. Only the wind gently stirred the branches of the olive trees. I opened it and my heart stopped: it was a black anchor. A paper folded in four completed the present. A big clumsy and slobbery writing had traced these few words:
"Mom, I have a market to offer you."
As I read this sentence, my blood froze. My hands were shaking as long as the gift escaped me. I had to sit down, my head was spinning. Staring at the white sheet smeared with black ink, all the horror of the nightmare I had escaped suddenly surfaced; sneaky, unhealthy, the breath of terror wrapped itself around my neck and squeezed it so hard that the memory of Jean De Saint Geores ready to strangle me exploded in my head.
Who else but the ghost of Octave could trace these few words? Octave did not exist, the police research on him was formal: no Octave De Saint Geores appeared on the civil registers. However, I had rubbed shoulders with a flickering mentally ill man by the name; he had been killed at close range by the old Machiavellian publisher.
Hagarde, my gaze lost in the olive trees, I mechanically watched the breath of the wind caress them gently. Suddenly, I seemed to distinguish a figure sneaking between the trees. My blood made only one turn: I jumped up and locked myself in the house twice. Feverishly, I prepared a travel bag then ran to pound on the door of the only inhabited hovel in the hamlet. My only neighbor, old Vannina, opened me, grumpy:
- Aiò o pinzuta! Ùn t'agità micca cusì di matina!
(Hey, the mainland, we have no idea of getting agitated like that early in the morning!)
- Hello Vannina, I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's very urgent: can Toussaint take me down to Ajaccio?
- But Toussaint, he's been hunting for 5 hours this morning!
- When does he come back?
- When he has depopulated the bush of all wild boars. Come on in, I'll make you coffee.
- Thank you, Vannina, I can't, I have to leave very quickly.
Joining her hands, she looked exasperated:
- But how tiring you are with your emergencies! You ruin your health, you know it? No wonder they all die from the heart up there on the continent.
I was about to greet her, determined to go down on the road to hitchhike, when she added:
- I'll lend you the bike if you want, you go down to the village bar and you ask Jean-Paul, he's my cousin. He comes down to town every morning around 10 a.m., he'll take you.
- Thank you so much Vannina, kiss Toussaint for me, goodbye!
- Avedeci o ciù, porta ti bè è torna pè u stufatu.
(Goodbye little one, be well and come back for the stew.)
On entering the bar, I rushed towards a fat man who sat enthroned behind the counter and asked to speak to Jean-Paul.
- And what do you want with Jean-Paul? he asked me calmly
- I come from Vannina, her cousin, from the hamlet of Muna.
- Well, it's been a long time since we've seen Vannina, is she all right?
- Yes very well… so where is Jean-Paul?
Raising his hand slowly, he called out in a tenor voice that filled the whole room:
- Ghjuvan-Paulu, c'hè una donna chì ti chjama.
(Jean-Paul, there is a little lady asking you.)
As soon as I entered, all the eyes of the bar turned to me. Following the bartender's announcement, I seemed to guess a few sly expressions. A big guy in a trellis rose and approached nonchalantly under the attentive gaze of the audience.
Somewhat intimidated, I greeted him politely, then repeated my request.
- Vannina… if we let her do it, she would collect all the orphans of the earth: enough to transform Muna into Disneyland!
I heard a few sneers, but did not dismount:
- So, is it possible or not?
- Are you sick in the car?
- Uh no.
- So it's possible, have a coffee first.
Then, without waiting for my response, he launched, addressed to the barman:
- Anghjulu, fà ci dui caffè per piacè.
(Angel, please make us two coffees.)
Despite my pressing concern to flee, I dared not protest and drank my coffee quietly leaning on the bar. However, turning my head, I received a shock in the chest: in the middle of the cars parked along the road, between the few passersby who went about their daily business, a tuft of black hair caught my attention. When she turned, I recognized Octave's annoyed facies; he was about to cross the road to head for the bar.
I grab Jean-Paul's arm:
- Where is your car parked?
- Right there.
- Is there another way out than this? I asked him, indicating the entrance
- Oh you, you're in trouble!
- Yes, I am trying to escape this man
I pointed to Octave, who was already crossing the road.
- Angel, you hold it ordered he, I go around by the inner courtyard.
While this time, all eyes were turned towards Octave who was about to enter, Jean-Paul led me to a discreet door, hidden behind the counter.
We crossed a small dark and cool patio and came out on another artery.
- Wait for me on the porch, I'll get the car, ordered Jean-Paul. He disappeared around the corner to return a few minutes later at the wheel of a large 4 X 4. Tight, I buckled my belt and we started off.
But, a few kilometers away, I surprised the repeated looks of Jean-Paul in his rear view mirror, then he declared in a neutral voice:
- Little one, I think your friends are following us
Turning around, I recognized Octave in the passenger seat of the car. Unable to identify the driver, he wore a wide-brimmed hat.
Jean-Paul accelerated and said to me in a dry tone:
- Hang on and look straight ahead, especially don't close your eyes.
Jean-Paul dragged us into a crazy race, chaining the laces, cutting the corners, taking all the risks to outrun our pursuers. In Sagone's straight line, he dialed a number on his phone and put on the speaker:
- Rose-Marie, what time is the next flight to the mainland?
- Hi, Jean-Paul, wait, I'm watching …… 10.45 am
- Perfect. You reserve me a place please in the name of…. Then, turning to me: what's your name, little one?
- Clémence Duchamp.
- In the name of Clémence Duchamp. You wait for me in half an hour at the reception, ok?
- Ok, where are you there?
At Tiuccia.
- But you're crazy, you'll never be there!
- But if ! You know me, at worst you keep the plane waiting.
He hung up and attacked the San Bastianu pass in a roar of engine.
At 10:30 am sharp, we were at the airport.
My stomach a little tumbled, I took leave of my rally driver, grateful:
- Thank you a thousand times, Jean-Paul, how can I thank you?
- It's nothing zitelleta, it made me happy. Will you come back to see us when you've settled your stuff?
- I promise you. "
I was the last passenger to board, I didn't even know my exact destination. All I knew was that I was rushing out of the refuge that had soothed my fear: a small pebble in the sea that lets you melt in its dense maquis until time and oblivion erase each of your tracks. I had not been so lucky. As security personnel signaled to me to hurry up for checks, I heard the regular sound of a window being knocked. Before I disappeared in the departure lounge, I had time to see Octave's expressionless gaze; he stubbornly banged his forehead against the glass wall. Behind him was the disturbing silhouette of the man in the hat.
(…)
Check out the next episode right here on April 6 at 5 p.m. or on the Rocambole app for iOS or Android.
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