Théo showed no reaction. His hair was grey and his beard was more white than grey. He wore a track suit, jogging shoes and a heavy black turtleneck sweater; the collar was really very thick.

He raised his voice. “It’s Jack! It’s your brother!”

Théo’s eyes squinted as if he were making an effort to understand. His cheeks were hollow, and there were creases on either side of his mouth and bags under his eyes. There were tufts of grey hair in his nose and ears. He moved his lips and saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

Jack took a Kleenex from the pocket of his jeans and wiped the saliva. Then he grabbed Théo by the arm and shook him, crying, “THÉO IT’S ME! IT’S YOUR BROTHER!”

When they heard the cries the two men rushed up and one of them set about reassuring Théo.

“It’s all right,” he said several times, then pushed the wheelchair inside the van. The other man pointed out to Jack that disabled people were very sensitive and that one should speak softly to them, especially when dealing with paralysis. Jack said he was sorry. He asked the man to tell him whatever he knew about this paralysis, beginning with the exact name of the disease. The man replied that he was a volunteer and that he wasn’t competent to answer the question; his colleague, though, was a social worker.

Before replying, the social worker took care to shut the sliding door of the van. He began by saying that there was a medical file for every patient at the agency and that information could be obtained from the doctor. As everyone could see, the name and address of the agency, which specialized in helping the handicapped, appeared on the sliding door of the van. Then he made an effort to recall the precise name of the disease. “They call it creeping paralysis,” he said finally.

“Creeping?” Jack repeated.

The man nodded.

Jack looked at La Grande Sauterelle. In the girl’s worried gaze he saw the same image that the word creeping had suggested to him: a man crawling along the earth like an insect.

He didn’t have the strength to protest when the social worker pointed out that it was time for him and his colleague to return to the agency with their passenger.

XXXIII. La Grande Sauterelle

XXXIII

La Grande Sauterelle

That morning, for once, the sun was shining over San Francisco Bay. As they drove along route 101 toward the airport, the girl said that she remembered how the sun had been shining over the Baie de Gaspé on the day in May when they met.

“I remember,” said Jack. “It was a beautiful day.”

“Yes, I was on my way to Gaspé to see my mother . . .”

They were early and the girl was driving slowly.