After the Circus by Patrick Modiano Read Free Book Online Page B

same man from various angles, alone or with others.
    â€œSo what does he do?” I asked in a shy voice.
    â€œA highly honorable profession,” Ansart said, without elaborating. “So, you wait for this man to show up and you give him my message. This will take place in Neuilly, right near the Bois de Boulogne.”
    â€œAnd what happens afterward?” Gisèle asked.
    â€œAfterward, you’re free to do as you like. Andsince I’m not in the habit of asking people to work for nothing, I can offer you two thousand francs apiece for handling this chore.”
    â€œThanks very much, but I don’t need any money,” I said.
    â€œDon’t be silly, my boy. One always needs money at your age …”
    The man’s paternal tone, and the expression in his eyes, so gentle and so sad, suddenly made me feel warmly toward him.

There was bright sunshine all afternoon, but we were in that time of year when night falls at around five o’clock. Ansart proposed that we all go have lunch in his restaurant. It was located a bit farther north in the 16th arrondissement, on Rue des Belles-Feuilles. Ansart, Jacques de Bavière, and Martine got into a black automobile, and we followed them down the empty Saturday streets.
    â€œDo you think we should do his favor for him?” I asked Gisèle.
    â€œIt doesn’t commit us to anything …”
    â€œBut aside from this restaurant, you don’t really know what he does for a living, do you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt would be useful to know …”
    â€œYou think so?”
    She shrugged. We caught up with them at a red light on Boulevard Suchet. The two cars waited side by side. Martine was sitting in back and smiled at us. Ansart and Jacques de Bavière were absorbed in a serious conversation. With atap of his index finger, Jacques de Bavière flicked the ash from his cigarette through the half-open window.
    â€œHave you ever been to his restaurant?”
    â€œYes, two or three times. You know, I haven’t known them all that long myself …”
    In fact, she had known them for only three weeks. There was nothing binding us to them, unless she was hiding something from me. I asked if she intended to keep seeing them. She explained that Jacques de Bavière had been very nice to her and had done her a huge favor the first time they’d met. He had even lent her some money.
    â€œThey’re not the reason the police called you in the other day, are they?”
    The idea had suddenly occurred to me.
    â€œNo, no, of course not …”
    She knitted her brow and shot me a wary look.
    â€œListen, they absolutely can’t find out that I was questioned …”
    She had already urged the same thing the night before, without adding any details.
    â€œWhy? Will they get in trouble because of it?”
    She had pressed on the gas pedal. The dog sat up on the back seat and leaned his head in the crook of my shoulder.
    â€œThey called me in because they found my name on a hotel register. But in any event, I would have gone to see them on my own …”
    â€œHow come?”
    We had passed Ansart and Jacques de Bavière’s car. We were driving very fast, and it seemed to me we had run a red light. I could feel the dog’s breath on my neck.
    â€œI left my husband and he’s looking for me. The last months I was with him, he was constantly threatening me … I told the whole story to the police.”
    â€œWere you living with him in Saint-Leu-la-Forêt?”
    â€œNo.”
    She had answered curtly. She was already regrettinghaving taken me into her confidence. I ventured another question:
    â€œWhat kind of man is your husband?”
    â€œOh … Average …”
    I realized I’d get nothing more out of her for now. The others had caught up with us. Jacques de Bavière leaned out of the open window and shouted:
    â€œYou think you’re racing at