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):
Far from the sea, 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 took refuge in the Czech Republic. While walking in a village, he comes across a mysterious shop on a salesman who orders him to go back to sea and gives him an old bible.
In Corsica, Clémence is spotted by Octave, accompanied by a man with a disturbing appearance. She manages to escape them and take a flight to the mainland.
EPISODE 4 - Reminiscence
What a disturbing feeling to feel guided by a force beyond Cartesian precepts, which, outside of any form of religion, places you on a precise path, without you even having decided. Cynics will call it chance; for the most mystical, it will be fate. I do not belong to these categories and yet I must admit that at this stage of my history, the strange coincidence struck me. Are we programmed to follow a pre-established path beyond our own consciousness?
When I had jumped in an emergency in the first plane that presented itself to me, it was in mid-flight that I understood my destination: the rumbling propellers of the small ATR led me towards Hyères, in the Var. I knew this city well: it was the place of residence of Abel's parents, my husband who disappeared at sea ten years ago. I loved them very much, but following the death of Abel, I had thrown myself headlong into my work as a consultant and it had been a long time since I had returned to the sweet and comforting house of my in-laws. The evocation of this forgotten part of my life suddenly fills me with nostalgia. The failed jokes of André, my stepfather, the benevolent sweetness of his wife Daphne, the laughter of Abel, my love; so many pretty moments erased by time. And of my marvelous happiness within this simple and loving family, there was nothing left.
When dialing André's number, my hand was shaking a little: shouldn't the memory of this finished life remain intact? By calling my stepfather, I took the risk of sullying the memory of those happy days. I was scared.
While hesitant, I watched the tarmac blurred by the fumes of heat dance, the idea that my presence here was not a chance resurfaced. In this pretty house at the corner of a winding lane in the old town, Abel's small office contained his archives: after his death, overwhelmed by misfortune, I had sent all the fruit of his research work to his parents .
But the ghost of Hope, that frigate that had taken my husband, continued to haunt me. My painful experience in the De Saint Geores manor had finished convincing me that we were not done with both. Paralyzed by the anxiety of this reminiscence, I had at first fled, trying to hide in the secret of the maquis. Octave's appearance in my clandestine retreat and my new run to escape him ended up convincing me that I had to face this haunted fate by a boat that had existed more than two centuries ago.
Suddenly I felt a thunderous anger rise inside me. Never again will I be his victim; I will strike her down. For that, I had to solve its mystery and the key was perhaps hidden a few kilometers away, in an archive box, placed in a small office housed in the heart of the old town.
With a furious hand this time, I called André.
He picked up after a few rings: I recognized in his "hello?" His voice a little drawn and affable; a puff of affection choked me. He repeated "hello?" Hello? "
Muffled by emotion, I tried to articulate:
- Hello, André, it's Clémence.
At the end of the line there was silence. I introduced myself again.
- Clemence! My darling, is that you? How good it is to hear you! How are you ? What do you become ? Tell me, quickly! quick !
- Oh, André, if you knew how happy I am to hear you,
I burst into tears.
- What's going on, my nine? What can I do to help you, tell me! he panicked
- André, please come get me.
Twenty minutes later, I saw my little father-in-law's little Fiat 500 from the 1950s arriving like an arrow. He had never owned any other model: it was perfect for circulating in the narrow alleys of the medieval city. But he had never had a sense of proportion, so much so that he had hung almost all the walls that led to his house and the little car was dented. I had to curl up to take a seat in the passenger seat, and when I was finally able to turn to André, he stretched out his arms and hugged me so tightly that my breath was cut.
- I'm so happy to see you, I'm so happy to find you! he repeated.
This sincere outpouring overwhelmed me as long as I started to cry. Confused, André pulled an old handkerchief from his pocket and patted my cheeks in a gesture so clumsy that I passed from tears to laughter. Ah! this dear old André, I loved him so much! Why had I deprived myself for so long of its tender and muddled affection?
When the horn of the car behind us sounded furiously, my brave André spreads out in insults before starting in a storm; it was my stepfather all spit. Courteous and decent in all circumstances, except when he was behind the wheel: he transformed himself then, and could become perfectly filthy.
We took the road to the old town, and as before, I closed my eyes, squeezing my buttocks so as not to attend André's medieval rally which swept the angles of the alleys, overturned the garbage cans, railing against the deliberately provocative presence of the containers placed in its path. Finally, he pulled the handbrake on the small esplanade that served as a parking space for the tiny Fiat. All smiles, he opened the gate and stepped aside to let me in. "Welcome home," he said as I passed him. I recognized everything, nothing had changed. The small stone house wisely arranged against the wall of the medieval castle, the pergola and its fragrant wisteria, the palm tree enthroned in the middle of the lawn. And especially the impressive view of the red tiled roofs that descended to the flat surface of the Salins, the Gapeau plain, L'Ayguade, the port. In the distance, the Iles d'Or sprawled lazily in the sparkling sea. Tearing myself away from the contemplation of this panorama, I took a few steps in the garden.
At the very back, in its usual place, as if it had not moved since my last visit, I recognized the silhouette of my mother-in-law, lying on her favorite lounge chair. I ran towards her, shouting her first name and, as I was about to throw myself into her arms, I was stopped by the lightning glance that she shot me. Completely cooled by this welcome, I stopped short and approached slowly:
- Hello, Daphne, I'm so happy to find you!
Without smiling, she detailed me from head to toe, then haughty:
- Hello Madam, to whom do I have the honor?
I froze, I lost the use of speech. Where had the sweet and affectionate Daphne I knew gone? Impatient, she repeated:
- Please introduce yourself, what are you doing here? Who are you ? What do you want from me ?
Before I could answer, she got up abruptly and started to run barefoot on the lawn in a completely disorderly manner, shouting
- André! A thief has entered! She wants to kill me! André! Help !
My stepfather rushed towards her and wanted to take her in his arms to reassure her, explaining to her in a calm voice:
- It's little Clemence, don't you remember? Abel's wife.
But Daphne was struggling, screaming all the more, pointing at me:
- Can't you see that she's going to murder us? It's crazy, I can see it! Go get the gun, you have to shoot it, then we will bury it at the bottom of the garden!
Sorry, André turned to me and asked me to leave. I repressed my tears and fled, going around the house to take refuge on the terrace, in the shade of the big pine tree. André returned a few minutes later; he had put Daphne to bed after having calmed her.
- Forgive me nine, I should have told you about it, but I was so upset to see you again that it never occurred to me. Maybe deep down, I was hoping that you would recognize you. It started to decline a few months after Abel's disappearance, then it got worse. We did the exams, the diagnosis fell: Alzheimer's disease at an advanced stage.
(…)
Check out the next episode right here on April 8 at 5 p.m. or on the Rocambole app for iOS or Android.
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