Sometimes the man had doubts about what she said.
That night, they walked for about an hour, then La Grande Sauterelle declared that they had come full circle.
“Are you sure?” asked Jack.
“Of course,” she said. “Look over there: that’s the park we just crossed. The post office is just on the other side.”
“Oh, yes? Do you think so?”
The girl saw a man making his way along the sidewalk towards them. He was carrying a violin case and a bag of groceries.
She asked him, “Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me where the post office is?”
“Right over there,” said the musician, aiming his violin case in the direction the girl had indicated to Jack.
“On the other side of the park?”
“Yes. A few streets beyond it. Five-minute walk or so.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you very much,” said Jack.
“You don’t live around here?” asked the musician.
“No,” said the girl.
“We are from Quebec,” said Jack.
The musician looked at them for a moment with a sort of fellow feeling, then he said, “Go back to your hotel . . . The sun’s gone down and it’s getting real dark.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the girl.
“This is a rough town. You don’t go out on the street after sunset.”
They looked at each other, taken aback.
“Go back to your hotel if you want to stay alive!” said the musician abruptly.
They thanked him and very quickly crossed the street. They were about to step onto the path that ran diagonally through the park when a cry made them turn around.
“NO!”
Planted on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, the musician was watching them.
He shouted, “DO YOU WANT TO GET KILLED, YOU FOOLS? DON’T GO THROUGH THE PARK! GO AROUND IT!!!”
IX
The Saddest Song in the World
La Grand Sauterelle took over the wheel in Detroit and drove the Volks along route 94 for two hours without stopping, then traded places with Jack. He announced that he felt good and that he would drive to Lake Michigan and perhaps even as far as Chicago.
The man had a number of strange little habits. When he drove he was always nibbling on cookies that he took out of a bag he kept between the seat and the door, and from time to time he would talk to the old Volks; he would say all sorts of things such as, for example: “How’s everything, pal? Not too tired? Want to stop for a while?”
The man and the girl had a tacit agreement: the one who was not driving had to talk to the other so he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel.
They talked a little about the Rivera mural. They agreed that the red car was a symbol for happiness and that Rivera had wanted to express something very simple: happiness is rare and getting it requires a lot of trouble, fatigue and effort. The girl said that the same idea was expressed in a song by Georges Brassens, which she started to sing: