Marie by Madeleine Bourdouxhe Page A

was a man she would never love.
    Outside, she thought: Poor Denis, he’s only a little boy, really, but at a deeper level continued to be angry and repelled. She was hot – she hadn’t taken her coat off even for a moment – and she was still nauseated by the taste of the cocktail. She was stifling, she needed air. She passed Alésia Métro and made her way on foot up the avenue d’Orléans.
    At a crossroads she was attracted by the sight of a neighbourhood fête. It was like a little funfair – you didn’t often see them in Paris.
    She stopped in front of a large merry-go-round of the roller-coaster type, a vast multi-coloured moving machine supervised by a tall young man wearing a navy-blue pea-jacket; his cap was set sideways on his fair hair. For the moment he had no customers, but it didn’t seem to worry him. As he leaned against the picture that concealed the rotating wheel,he had the air of an indifferent but all-powerful master, like a god who might enjoy watching his world revolve whilst awaiting the moment when he feels the urge to fill it with people. He stopped the merry-go-round then started it again – out of habit, or perhaps out of caprice. Then he spotted Marie standing nearby, watching him. He cried out: ‘Hey, big beauty, come over here!’
    Smiling, she jumped on to the floor, which was already vibrating, all ready to go. The man held out his hands, then seized her just as the merry-go-round was starting, and sat her on a horse. ‘I’m putting you on the biggest one – for the same price as the smallest!’
    He rode pillion behind her, taking hold of her wrists and reaching his arms over hers in a double cross. Without holding on to anything, they were carried faster and faster, around and around. He propelled her along from his torso and arms, transmitting to her chest a long, deep, come-and-go routine – depending on whether the merry-go-round was moving up or down. ‘It’s like waves in the sea!’ he said. ‘A very stormy sea!’ she retorted.
    The phrase pleased him so much that he began to sing it, to the restrained, cracked melody of the carousel. They were now going at maximum speed, and when they were on the downward slope, Marie’s hair streamed behind her. The man was no longer singing, but breathing like a siren, softly going up, briskly going down; on the flat bits he held on to her more tightly.
    When the machine had slowed down and he’d pulled up the brake, Marie held out her thirty sous, the advertisedprice for the ride. He hesitated, wanting to refuse but not daring to do so. He found a solution: he accepted the money and said: ‘Shall we go and have a drink in the café opposite, so I can keep an eye on my stand?’
    ‘Yes!’ she said, delighted.
    They went into the bar. The man was so tall that in order to lean his elbow on the counter he had to stand in an unnatural position, but he managed it gracefully, his thighs in an elegant curve.
    Looking at Marie, he said: ‘I can’t make it out, it’s very unusual: a young woman like you in such a nicely cut coat, so well turned out and so smart – all alone at a fair, without even a hat on …’
    Marie smiled and shrugged her shoulders. She looked across at the merry-go-round and said, as if by way of explanation: ‘They’re wonderful, fairs.’
    ‘They’re not bad,’ he conceded.
    They talked for a while, about this and that, and, when they’d finished their coffees, left the café.
    They shook hands and he said: ‘It’s funny – you meet someone, you become pals, then you say goodbye …’
    ‘Yes, it’s funny,’ she said.
    He returned to his merry-go-round and Marie went on her way.
    The machine was moving gently. The man sat sidesaddle on a horse, opposite to the movement of the circuit, so that he could watch Marie walk away. A few metres on, she turned back towards him and raised her hand; he tookoff his cap and held it at arm’s length in a motionless farewell, observing her with a solemn smile.