At last it was the end of the day. I’d tried so hard to avoid Marie, but now I was getting the feeling that it was she who was trying to avoid me. I could see Haisam settling into a game of chess with his father in the lodge, as if they were in a goldfish bowl. I waved and he gave me a firm little nod, as though to boost my morale. One day he was going to stop talking altogether, but it wouldn’t matter because some people don’t need words to communicate. Just like others don’t need eyes to see.

I started strolling home. Strangely, I no longer felt any hatred for Van Gogh. Haisam had explained that in the Nimzo-Indian Defence a full understanding of your situation is more powerful than your opponent’s attack. Or something like that. I tried again to make sense of it all, but my brain worked too slowly.

Once my Honourable Egyptian had said, “I’m no more intelligent than you are, it’s just that my brain works much faster.”

It was a big difference, all the same. Imagine a champion cyclist winning the Tour de France and saying, “I’m not a better cyclist than you, I just pedal faster.” These thoughts were going through my mind when my world fell apart. There she was, just in front of the church, in the square where we’d seen the boules players and where the fair had taken place. The look on her face was exactly the expression I imagined Jupiter would have worn when he was raging against his fellow gods. The only things missing were the thunderbolts and lightning. If it wasn’t for the fact that I still had a shred of dignity, I’d have hurtled straight into the church like a torpedo. I’d have prayed in whatever way I could, on my knees, flat on my stomach or standing on my head. I’d have begged forgiveness from everyone, even Jupiter, because you never know.

Marie must have recognized my footsteps. She began to speak in a very low voice, even lower than usual, and that made it still worse – I’d have preferred her to shout at me.

“I know about the photos.”

I tried to say something, but no sound came out. I must have looked like a fish without its fins.

“You could have told me,” she said. “Because obviously, I can’t see anything, as you know.”

I was still unable to speak. I thought about the old films I used to watch on TV with Dad, in which the unmasked villain always copped a slap on the face.

“I felt a bit ridiculous when they told me who you were with in the photos. Not so much because of what the others would think – I don’t really care about them – but still, it hurt my feelings.”

“Feelings?” I asked, with a slight delay, as though we were in different time zones.

“Yes, feelings … you know what I mean…”