In the event, we arrived right on time. The days are long in June and the French eat late. Nazari pulled the little Peugeot up behind Simone Vaugeois’ big Mercedes S-600. The musky scent of wisteria wafted through the open passenger side window. The limestone cliff loomed above. The white rock-face was lit up by a couple of spotlights on the roof of the house. The effect wasn’t bad. It made the place look like a museum or something classy like that.

We got out of the car and approached the stone steps. Gilles was sitting on the terrace in the rocking chair. Maria had her hand on the chair back and was giving it a little tug and a push every other time it fell back on the rockers. She was singing a song in Portuguese. Sounded pretty sad and sweet, but she stopped when we came up the steps. “Bonsoir, Monsieur-Dame.”

I bid Maria a good evening. Gilles was slumped in the chair. His face slack, but the faint outlines of a smile were present in the turn of his mouth. As if he had enjoyed the rocking motion. The scar on his forehead bulged, purple and angry. Nazari said hello but he didn’t respond. She turned to Maria. “Does he understand what we say?”

“The doctor says no, but I’m sure he does, mademoiselle. One hundred percent.” Maria paused and looked at me.

I said, “Doctors don’t know anything. Like trained mice in a maze.”

Maria nodded profusely. “That’s true. She turned to Nazari. “He never responds.” She looked at Gilles as if trying to elicit a response. Then back to us. “But I’m sure he will. One day he will.”

I said, “I hope so.” Which was the truth. There was a lot that Gilles could tell us. Didn’t look like it was going to happen today though.

Maria said, “Are you staying for dinner?”

“If that’s okay with Madame Vaugeois.”

Maria nodded. “Madame will be happy that you are back.” She said to Gilles, “I’ll only be a minute. Don’t move.”

Gilles twitched an eyelid and the side of his mouth curled up slightly, maybe half a millimeter. Or maybe one of those micro-measurements, like a nano-meter. Whatever it was it would have been imperceptible to most people. Maria disappeared into the house. I squatted down so my head was level with his. Looked him in the eye. Vaugeois’ eyeballs were still and the eyes unblinking. I figured they were working okay. I said, “You recognize me?”

No response at all. Not a quiver, not a ripple. His eyelid didn’t move and his lips had shut.

But he was breathing faster.

Chapter Thirty-Seven