A Fine Passage by France Daigle Read Free Book Online

concludes once and for all that he is not here to talk about himself.
    â€œDid you know that it was the fires more than the earthquakes that devastated San Francisco? The earthquakes certainly didn’t help, but misfortunes travel in pairs. Nor does good fortune come alone, for that matter.”
    The woman turns back towards him. Hans notes that her swivel chair is well oiled.
    â€œAt this moment, you’re not thinking about what I just said, are you?”
    As a matter of fact, Hans is thinking that he must buy some oil for the squeaking armchair in his room.
    â€œWell, that doesn’t matter either. The important thing, really, is that many people come here with the ultimate hope of finding themselves, of making something of their lives. And every year, several hundred of them throw themselves off the Golden Gate Bridge. Speaking of which, have you ever walked across that bridge?”
    As a matter of fact, no, Hans has never walked across.
    And as if the accident hadn’t been enough to shatter me completely, did the investigators have to botch their job as well? If they had done it properly, they would have realized that I was trying to close the glove compartment when that damned tug on the steering wheel pitched me into the way of the semi-trailer. Didn’t they find me partly stretched out over the passenger seat, my fingers cut off in the open compartment? And if they had taken the trouble to check whether it was the radio or the tape deck that was on at the moment of impact, don’t you think they might have asked themselves a few additional questions? After all, the music to which one chooses to die is not without importance.
    Here, when I throw a tantrum, they barely look at me; they don’t even give me the satisfaction of a what’s-the-use. To them, it’s simply laughable. I suspect that they wish I’d be reborn, reincarnated, and leave them in peace. In their eyes, my explanations don’t hold water. As far as they’re concerned, and here I choose my words carefully, to err is only human. I admit that, with time, such a vision tears gaps and punches holes in one’s reasoning.
    â€œYou’ve experienced some small happiness recently. Perhaps yesterday or the day before. It’s done something to you. I can see it.”
    It was true that in the light of his room on Telegraph Hill, Hans had discovered the grey-greenish tone of the ice at the foot of the mill in his jigsaw puzzle. The colour had struck him as exactly right and delightful, and he’d succeeded in assembling that entire section. The puzzle is advancing, and that too is a source of joy for Hans. He even hoped to see the Napa vineyard cowboy again, to tell him of the progress of his peculiar enterprise.
    â€œWell? And how do you like your panties, then?”
    Terry and Carmen are sitting at a terrace drinking coffee.
    â€œPhew! I didn’t think you were going to talk to me today.”
    â€œAnd why’s that?”
    â€œDon’t know. You haven’t said barely a word since morning, have you? I sure would like to know what’s on your mind.”
    â€œAw, not much. I’m just in my head, is all.”
    Terry’s mood was all the more unsettling because the weather was truly gorgeous, a real spring day.
    â€œAnyhow, I’d sure like to be in there as well. Inside your head, I mean.”
    Terry shrugs. “I suppose it’s as good a place as any.”
    The therapist continues to chat to Hans about one thing or another until she wraps up the session. As she walks him to the door, she asks:
    â€œWhat will you be doing tomorrow?”
    Hans had not thought about it yet.
    â€œOf all the days of the week, Tuesday is the one most often chosen by suicides to throw themselves off the Golden Gate. It’s a good day to go on the attack.”
    Hans freezes on the spot, but he can feel something like an air current sweep through his body.
    The man who’d