Missing Person by Patrick Modiano, Daniel Weissbort Read Free Book Online Page B

him?"
    "Maybe not."
    I did not dare suggest to him that Freddie Howard de Luz was myself. I did not yet have formal proof of that, but I was full of hope.
    "The Freddie I knew was ten years old... my father took me along to Valbreuse to play with him ..."
    The wine-waiter had stopped at our table and was waiting for Claude Howard to make his choice, but the latter did not notice his presence and the man stood there very stiff, looking like a sentry.
    "To tell you the truth, I think Freddie is dead ..."
    "You shouldn't say that..."
    "It's kind of you to take an interest in our unfortunate family. We didn't have much luck ... I think I'm the sole survivor and look what I have to do to earn my living ..."
    He banged his fist on the table, while waiters brought the fish bouillon and the proprietress of the restaurant came up with an ingratiating smile.
    "Mr. Howard... Did the Golden Tripe go well this year?" But he had not heard and leaned toward me. "Really," he said, "we should never have left Mauritius..."

11
    A LITTLE OLD railway station, yellow and gray, with elaborate cement barriers on either side, and beyond these barriers the platform onto which I disembarked from the rail-car. The station square was deserted except for a child roller-skating under the trees on the raised strip.
    I've played there too, I thought, a long time ago. This quiet place really did remind me of something. My grandfather, Howard de Luz, used to meet me on the Paris train or was it the other way round? On summer evenings, I used to wait on the station platform accompanied by my grandmother, born Mabel Donahue.
    A little further, a road wide as an autoroute, but with very few cars passing. I skirted some public gardens surrounded by the same cement walls I had seen on the station square.
    On the other side of the street, shops under a kind of awning. A cinema. Then an inn, hidden among trees, at the corner of a gently ascending avenue. I stepped out unhesitatingly, as I had studied the map of Valbreuse. At the end of this tree-lined avenue, a surrounding wall and an iron gate on which was a rotting board with the half-obliterated words: E STATE M ANAGEMENT . Beyond the gate stretched a neglected lawn. At the far end, a long brick and stone structure, in the style of Louis XIII. In the middle, a pavilion, one story higher, stood out, and the façade was completed at either end by two side pavilions with cupolas. The shutters of all the windows were closed.
    A feeling of desolation swept over me: I was, perhaps, standing before the château where I had spent my childhood. I pushed the iron gate and it opened without difficulty. How long had it been since I had crossed its threshold? To the right, I noticed a brick building which had to be the stables.
    The grass reached to mid-calf and I crossed the lawn as quickly as I could, walking toward the château. This silent structure intrigued me. I was afraid I would find that behind the façade there was nothing but tall grass and sections of crumbling masonry.
    Someone called to me. I turned around. Over by the stable buildings, a man was waving his arm. He walked toward me and I stood still, in the middle of the lawn which looked like a jungle, watching him. A rather tall, heavily built man, dressed in green velvet.
    "What do you want?"
    He had stopped a few paces from me. Dark-haired, with a moustache.
    "I would like some information about Mr. Howard de Luz."
    I stepped forward. Perhaps he would recognize me? Each time, I have the same hope, and each time I am disappointed.
    "Which Mr. Howard de Luz?"
    "Freddie."
    I said "Freddie" in a different tone of voice, as if it was my own name I was throwing out, after years of having forgotten it.
    He stared.
    "Freddie..."
    At that moment, I really believed he was addressing me by my first name.
    "Freddie? But he's no longer here ..."
    No, he had not recognized me. No one recognized me.
    "What is it that you want exactly?"
    "I'd like to know what became of