Jack had taken a shower and was in the washroom shaving when he heard a loud exclamation.

He ran out of the washroom, half of his face covered with white lather.

The cat was home!

La Grande Sauterelle was holding him in her arms and dancing on the asphalt. She was laughing like a loony. A number of people had come out of their trailers and were watching the scene.

“He must be starving!” said Jack.

“You’re right,” said the girl. “What am I thinking about?”

She brought the cat to the Volks, set him on the table and poured him a big bowl of milk.

The cat sniffed it, but refused to drink.

“That’s funny. He doesn’t want the milk,” she said.

“Hold on,” said the man. “I’ll give him some ground beef. There isn’t a cat in the world that can resist a nice raw hamburger.”

He took some meat from the fridge and set it on the table.

The cat refused to eat it. He was purring, but he wasn’t eating.

“The meat looks fine to me,” said the man. “I don’t understand. Maybe he’s been hurt . . .”

He examined the cat, but saw no wounds.

The girl said, “Maybe he’s sick . . .”

She touched the cat’s muzzle: it was cool and damp as usual. The cat was in fine fettle.

“It’s simple,” she concluded. “He isn’t hungry and that’s all there is to it.”

“You’re right,” said Jack. “He managed perfectly well on his own. He found something to eat.”

“Maybe a mouse,” said the girl.

“Or a bird,” said the man.

“A drumstick!”

“Shepherd’s pie!”

“Chop suey!”

XVII

The Middle of America

It was very hot in Kansas City, and after they had walked in the sun for just two minutes they were soaked in sweat. Rather than go to Independence Square and do research in the old newspapers at the Jackson County Historical Society, the man stayed in the minibus, leafing through books.

He didn’t really feel like reading; he would put a book on his lap and turn the pages or simply stroke it with his fingertips.

There were books in every nook and cranny of the Volkswagen. To the books the man had packed when he left Quebec City had been added those he had bought or the ones the girl had “borrowed” along the way. There were books in the compartment behind the driver’s seat; in the glove compartment where the cat slept; behind and under the passenger seat; on the second shelf in the medicine cabinet; in the compartment for saucepans and other kitchen utensils; at the back of the little cupboard where they hung their rain gear; and on the shelf overhanging the back seat. No matter where you were in the minibus, there was always a book within reach.

“I wish I were at the seaside,” said the man.

The girl gave him a long look. She had just come in and was sitting in the passenger seat. Taking care not to waken the cat, whom they’d christened Chop Suey, she took the big map of the United States from the glove compartment.