“It’s a wonderful story,” said the girl.

“Thank you,” he said. “Didn’t you know it?”

“No.”

“I read it in Chapman’s book, The Golden Dream.”

And he couldn’t help adding, somewhat sadly, “Everything I know, or just about, I’ve learned from books.”

III

A Phone Call from
Sam Peckinpah

“What do you do when you aren’t looking for your brother?” asked La Grande Sauterelle.

“I’m a writer,” said the man. “What are you?”

“A mechanic,” she said. “I studied automobile mechanics.”

“Do you have a diploma?”

“No. You?”

“Me neither,” he said, smiling.

Despite their fatigue, they were happy to be in Quebec City. They had taken the ferry at Lévis. Leaning over the rail on the upper deck, they looked out at the lights of the Château Frontenac and Dufferin Terrace slowly coming toward them. Jack had a blanket around his shoulders. The girl, barefoot as usual, said she wasn’t cold. When they were fairly near the north shore, he pointed out the house where his apartment was. It was to the left of the Château.

“The second house,” he said. “Can you see it?”

“No,” said the girl. “I just see a big black space.”

“That’s the Parc des Gouverneurs. But a little farther, to the left, there’s a house that’s lit up . . .”

“Yes.”

“That’s the American consulate. Then there’s a house with a light on on the top floor.”

The girl drew near and rested her head on his shoulder to get a better look at the lighted spot he was pointing to.

“Oh, yes, I see it now!” She asked, “Does that mean there’s someone home?”

“No, I leave the light on because . . .” He gestured vaguely. “But there’s no one there,” he said.

The boat was approaching the wharf. They returned to the minibus, and after the gangplank had been lowered, they drove off the ferry and the old Volks struggled up the Côte de la Montagne. They drove around the Place d’Armes and under the arches of the Château, then found a parking spot at the end of the rue Terrasse-Dufferin, a stone’s throw from the house where the man lived. Taking a few belongings and the cat, they climbed the five flights of stairs, careful not to make any noise because it was half-past four in the morning.

The apartment had only three rooms: living room, kitchen and bedroom, but the half-moon window in the living room, which had a window seat that could hold two people comfortably, offered a sweeping view of the river, the south shore and even the bridge to the Ile d’Orléans.

“There’s no box for the cat,” said the man.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the girl, who was sitting on the broad window seat. “We’ll make do with newspapers for tonight.”

“Do you want to go to bed right away?”

“No.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

She gave no reply. She was looking outside, and her gaze was lost in the night. He came up to her.