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LOVE ON TAP

A LOVE BY DESIGN NOVEL

M.C. CERNY
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 A NOTE ABOUT THE LOVE BY DESIGN NOVELS

Welcome to New Paltz, NY. The town is real, but these characters
are…made up – just don’t tell the voices in my head.
The Love By Design Novels are a small town romance with a big
heart. Second chances to get it right, surprises, babies, and house
flipping fun. Each book in the series is written to be read as a
standalone, but most readers prefer to follow the general series
order.

First Love - Prequel

Love Under Construction
Unlovely Things
Heartburn
Tailwind
Love Actually
Mission For Love
Mine To Keep
Love On Tap
 CONTENTS

Love On Tap

1. Sierra
2. Andy
3. Sierra
4. Andy
5. Sierra
6. Andy
7. Sierra
8. Andy
9. Sierra
10. Andy
11. Sierra
12. Andy
13. Sierra
14. Andy
15. Sierra
16. Andy
17. Andy
18. Sierra
19. Andy
20. Sierra
21. Andy
22. Sierra
23. Sierra
24. Andy
25. Sierra
26. Andy
27. Sierra
28. Andy
29. Sierra
Epilogue
Excerpt from Love Under Construction
Books by M.C. Cerny
About the Author
Copyright
 LOVE ON TAP

Sierra Occho ran as far and as fast as she could the moment she
realized Andy Easton was her forever. Forever wasn’t in the cards for
her and getting close to anyone only brought on heartache and
disappointment. She knew better, and yet the heart wants what it
wants.

Andy Easton fell in love with the shy girl holding tight to her Poppa’s
pants. He fell in lust with the teenage rebel with the reckless attitude
and mouth to match. The night she left town leaving behind his ring
and heart, he grew cold waiting for her to return as days turned to
weeks, then months, and years.

A decade later and Andy finds himself floundering on a promise

kept. A family will forces him to make a decision, but he didn’t count
on Sierra’s return changing everything.
1
 SIERRA

T en years was a long time to be away. I catalogued the scars

both inside and out. I didn’t have a passport filled with
stamps unless you counted the casinos in Las Vegas
pretending to teleport you to Italy, Paris, or the Pyramids. I didn’t
have a photo album stuffed with pictures unless I counted that one
trip to Mexico hazed in a blur of tequila and bikinis in a club across
the border. I didn’t have a passel of personal belongs, just my
backpack and a small storage unit with nothing sentimental. Even
the rent was due on that and I considered letting the owners sell it
to a pawn shop.
I snorted thinking how they’d be disappointed to find old dishes,
fake wooden bookshelves, and few boxes of overdue library books. I
didn’t have the heart to return them timely. Especially if I was the
only one who’d taken them out and read them over and over again
as evidenced by their blank cards inside the pocket. I loved those
books and I knew what it was to be a blank card hoping someone
would take you out and lovingly turn your pages with appreciation.
I’d heard a rumor library fines could become warrants, and if that
was the case, it was best I left Nevada and all her attempts to numb
my past behind.
I didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse the way time passed.
The rain continued to pelt the sides of the silver greyhound bus as it
pulled up to the stop on the corner of Main Street. Anxiety zinged in
my veins like electric. My backpack was already in my lap and I was
glad to be getting off the bus now that the snoozing college boy
next to me had woken up and was chatting for the last hour. I didn’t
have much to say, I seldom did, that was my personality, but I also
didn’t want him to think me rude, so I made soft sounds committing
to a conversation I wanted desperately to be over.
So many missed opportunities for words to be exchanged. I was
good at that too. Missing things. Avoiding things. Running away. The
fog on the window was thick and blurred the lights outside like
greasy smudges of a diner burger on parchment paper. I rubbed
with my elbow and watched cars pull up to the light, wait, and then
proceed in an orderly fashion. I was anything but orderly. Controlled
chaos as my Nona liked to say.
I reached inside my bag for the worn envelope I’d been carrying
with me for weeks. White paper dirty from travel back and forth
across the country in my bag. I rubbed the paper, thick, and
foreboding like the catch in your throat right before you’re about to
be sick. I’d memorized every word and traced the jagged curves of
his signature at least a thousand times. He wanted closure. It was
the one thing I denied him because I was selfish and cruel. My time
had finally slipped through the sand leaving me few choices.
A decade passed since I’d been here last and with it the turning
of seasons, missed holidays, birthdays, friends gathering,
anniversaries, and deaths… I picked at the hole in my jeans as the
bus emptied out enough for my row to stand up. I’d taken a window
seat thinking I’d find a little solace before the penance, but no luck
with the boy sitting next to me.
He stood up but didn’t move except to grab his fancy backpack
filled with electronics and clean laundry. He had a clean-cut preppy
way about him, but nothing stirred my interests. Despite my thin
frame and pixie looks, I was also old enough to know better than get
involved with a college townie. I pulled my leather jacket tighter
together and mentally repeated the Greek alphabet in my head over
and over willing him to move down the aisle.
No such luck.
 He smacked his puffy lips and asked, “Hey, are you hungry?
There’s this great pub up the street that serves appetizers and
drinks.” The boy, named something like Toby, Robby, or something
jabbered on, but my eyes caught site of the dance studio across the
street. My veins chilled recalling a dark and rainy night ten years ago
not so unlike the one tonight. Memories flooded my mind the way
water overtakes a boat on the ocean, relentless and unforgiving. The
lights were out, but I wondered who owned it now.
There was a time dancing gave me solace and a place to hide
from my critical family. There was a time those childish dancing skills
paid for a roof over my head and enough food to fill my stomach,
but not the empty pit of shame in my soul. Dancing was a savior and
a sinner wrapped up in a pretty bow and lies we tell ourselves when
the lights flash and the curtain closes on another performance. It
keeps us going when we have no other choices, and it stops when
the final pirouette ends. I blinked my eyes hard coming back to the
conversation pushing down the memories as the rain continued to
fall.
He ran a hand through his hair looking impatient with me, but I
couldn’t take my eyes off the studio and glanced back. I went after
those memories like a bad shiny penny, I wanted to pick it up, turn it
over and see if the other side was different then expected. It’s the
sort of thing you know the answer too but can’t help asking like a
glutton for punishment.
Doing the same thing over and over was the very definition of
insanity and here I was like a kicked puppy starved for affection.
He blocked my exit off the bus and I felt antsy wanting to push
through him. “You in?” His phone lit up and he looked down texting
someone back, frowning.
“Uh, sorry.” I muttered glancing back out the window which
fogged back up blocking my view.
“Darn. Looks like my ride back to campus is early.” He had that
expectant look on his face. If he thought I wanted to catch a ride
with him, he was mistaken. “Want to exchange numbers?” His thick
boyband eyebrows perked up and internally I rolled my eyes. Doing
anything with this guy who looked like he barely skated through high
school in designer jeans and then decided to attend an overpriced
college was a bad idea. While I was a connoisseur of such bad ideas,
even I had limits.
“Sure.” I faked my smile, grabbed his phone from his hand and
saw his backscreen was a picture of some emo band that was super
popular right now. A message comes through asking Bobby why he’s
still on the bus. Probably so he can be a creeper and get my number,
but I don’t scroll up to see his replies. Instead, I typed in a number
wondering how the recipient will feel getting a message from an
entitled college boy. That was me letting my chaos out in spurts and
spits. My current phone was a prepaid drugstore brand and I wasn’t
pulling it out to exchange numbers–least of all with bus-boyband-
Bobby.
“Great, catch you later!” He sang, practically bouncing off the
bus. I sighed. The only thing that boy would be catching was a
chlamydia scare if he was lucky.
Grabbing my bag, I hefted it over my shoulder and wobbled
toward the bus door. So many things had changed for me since I left
here and I wondered if this would be it. Could I make peace, move
on? I had more questions than answers and no idea where to start.
Nodding at the driver who looked a bit worse for wear having driven
here by way of Philadelphia, I knew he still had a stop in Albany a
good ninety minutes away. I didn’t envy his job, but at least he had
one. I bet he even had a wife to go home to, maybe some kids, or a
loyal dog that missed him.
What did I have? The sum contents of a single backpack weren’t
impressing anyone. I breathed in the evening air and looked up the
street to that pub the boy mentioned. The signage looked fresh and
I imagined a pair of brothers spending a summer painting it, lining
the green, orange, and gold up just right. Flower boxes lined the
windows, a holdover from the previous owners. I recalled many
discussions about taking them down, but unanimously they
remained filled with a combination of fake, but well-maintained
clovers and violets.
My hand instinctively went for the delicate gold chain inside my
shirt making sure my one and only treasure remained. My finger
touched the gold clovers lining it. Three inlaid on a short chain. They
could have been the holy trinity, the phases of the moon, or the
dominions of earth, sky, and sea. In reality, my clovers were a charm
against evil having saved me on three occasions, but just barely. No
matter how difficult life got, my clovers were the one thing I never
gave up and my lips turned upward for a second remembering a
happier time. I doubted the gift giver of my clovers would have felt
the same way, but soon enough I would find out.
The damp evening chilled my bones and I hiked the sidewalk up
the street to the entrance. My anxiety revved up as I brushed past
bodies lingering outside. My hand touched the golden knob of the
wooden door with a little more than just trepidation. Easton’s Pub
was still a favorite local hangout and I followed its owner’s success
with micro-brewing over the past few years. He’d won awards and
grown a successful business like he said he would.
Andrew Easton was a man who was good at making promises
and following through. Bobby probably came here with his college
buddies to scope out girls and eat nachos like they were going out of
style. It was a good life to live if you had the opportunity. He wasn’t
wrong about it being a good place and the curiosity that should have
killed my inner cat a long time ago won out as I pushed through the
door.
The last time I had been here, I’d walked through these doors as
a happy eighteen-year-old bride. Tonight, clutching my backpack and
the letter that summoned me here, I had no idea what I’d find of the
tattered past I left behind.
2
 ANDY

“W ell would you look at what the cat dragged in.” I

raised my head listening to my brother David mutter
over the slow pouring of beer from the tap. Tilting
the cup, I let the right amount of foam touch the rim. It formed the
perfect amount of white froth, thick and heavy against the glass. It
would taste bittersweet with berry and caramel hints. I placed the
pint of cold beer in front of the customer and followed David’s head-
bob and hard eyes to the door.
We had just cleaned up a bunch of red, white, and blue
streamers from the election and I wasn’t in the mood for more
drama. In a landslide poll, if you counted eight hundred and twenty-
seven voters, I lost the mayoral election by about fifty votes. I
guessed that the Elks Club wasn’t my biggest supporter despite the
free keg of beer. Personally, I blamed the Ladies’ Bridge Club who
started this nonsense by lobbying to write me in. Those ladies were
savage as they knitted winter items for the homeless and held
annual fundraisers for the animal shelter. You simply didn’t say no to
a grandmotherly woman who babysat half the adults in this town
when we were in diapers.
“Unreal.” My brother grunted swinging back to me with a, what
the fuck, Andrew, look on his face.
David was never one to hide his cynicism despite getting laid on
a regular basis these days. If I had been honest with myself, the
sour pit in my stomach was a well-formed knot of jealously because
David finally found someone to take away the pain, whereas I had
not.
Glutton for punishment?
It should have been my middle name.
I thought after the last decade, I had been tortured enough and
paid my penance. Instead, what I saw in the bar’s entrance was
either a ghost from the past or my newest nightmare in the form of
slender curves my hands itched to touch and cat shaped eyes with
the power to destroy me all over again. She still wore skin tight
ripped jeans in black to match her cold heart and I smiled inside
thinking that some things never did change.
Her graceful swagger was the same and if you didn’t know Sierra
Occho, you would have thought she was the lead in Swan Lake with
her fluid movements and princess perfect appearance. A dead ringer
for Natalie Portman on the outside. What she really was amounted
to the level of Black-Swan-Mila-Kunis-crazy you only survived once.
My stomach flip flopped and if I could have jetted into the back
office to sort through orders and upload them to David’s idea of slow
torture, aka Quick Books hell, I would have.
David’s brow raised and I put more elbow grease into the
sweeping movements of cleaning the polished bar top. For once in
her damn life, Sierra could get her ass over here. I wasn’t chasing
her inside my own bar.
Easton’s was our family pub for as long as we could remember,
well before either my brother or I were born. Its roots were in the
family for over sixty-nine years. We grew up here barely able to
reach the bar top, our grandmother Gloria tended bar and cooked
appetizers while chasing grandpa out back at the end of the night
snapping her dishtowel. They always carried on about something,
but they loved each other deeply up until the day they died, a year
apart from each other lingering with bad health and a plethora of
memories I regretted not writing down. Even death wasn’t about to
keep them apart.
Dad sold the pub five years ago to me with a promise to keep it
going. Mom wanted sunshine year-round and dad needed a break
from long nights. Despite David’s army deployment early on, I
managed it with his help, and my business degree was proving
useful.
I worked on the home brew concoctions and David updated the
technology. With a few changes we renovated the inside and paid off
the loan to our dad. Easton’s had been a staple here in New Paltz
and the gust of wind that blew through the door revealed a face I
hadn’t seen in years. She stripped me bare and left me a self-
flagellating mess blowing raw in the wind. A rather unwelcome one
at that leaving me with a sour taste in my mouth like those first
hops I tried brewing unsuccessfully until I got it right.
Practice made perfect.
Or in my case, it made you painfully aware of all your faults.
I still juggled the winery, had controlling interest over it, although
little desire to set foot on the dark soil that stained both my boots
walking through fields of lush purple grapes. My bruised ego and
bitter heart were not in the mood for this, and now she was back
and I had no idea how to process this new information even though
it was my letter with a final ultimatum that likely prompted her
return.
Dressed in a burnt orange leather jacket with fringe that seemed
out of place, reminding me of our darkest stout, Sierra Occho sat
down in front of me. More like she slid onto the barstool with a
feline grace and stealth I didn’t appreciate given the chasm of hurt
between us. Her fluid movements fit her devious she-devil persona
and it was clear she was still dancing in one form or another.
She looked thinner then when I saw her last if that was possible.
Her skin was always translucent, even in summer with a golden hue.
Her jeans were threadbare, painted on her legs. Over the bar
counter, I spied the ripped fabric exposing a tattoo I’d never seen
before, but then again, Sierra was always marking herself. Caramel
eyes and freckled honey skin greeted me with a smile I would never
forget. Front teeth spaced with a slight gap made her grin infectious
no matter how angry I felt with her or that a decade had passed
since I last saw her. She was more than a sleek cat; she was a
fucking ninja who haunted my dreams and stomped on my heart
mercilessly.
I hated her.
I spent the last decade exorcising her from my soul with booze I
didn’t drink and women I didn’t fuck.
I loved my firefly still.
I wanted to tear her clothes off, maybe hate fuck her tiny little
body over the bar countertop pressing her into the hard polished
wood. I’d make her bruise the way she always begged me to when
all I ever gave her was tenderness. Little did I know, she wasn’t
wired for comfort, and I wasn’t wired to be an asshole. I guessed it
was just dumb luck that polar opposites attracted like summer
lightening. She was chaos wrapped in silk and deceptive the way
oatmeal raisin cookies break your trust with steadfast chocolate chip.
She was my hail and thunder shipwrecking my heart. I couldn’t be
what she so obviously needed, and I had neglected the truth.
Fireflies only came out in the summer heat illuminated for a brief
spell and ours flickered out before I learned the hard truth that I had
no power in winning that age old argument.
My love for Sierra was an unconditional commitment to an
imperfect person. I spent years numbing myself with work because I
couldn’t get it up for another woman. She left me an impotent mess
and I hated myself for letting her have that kind of power over me. I
had accepted her for who she was from the moment I met her, but
she had been unable to accept herself, and that was what destroyed
us before we began.
I wanted to scream at her for leaving me. I wanted to scream at
her to stay. I wanted to fuck her until I forgot why I was so angry at
the world for keeping us apart.
So now, I needed to protect my heart, I needed that hate to
build a fortified wall around me from anything she might say or do
that twisted me up in a dirty rag of alcohol and lies. She was my
kryptonite and along the way I had learned to choose self-
preservation over internal destruction for someone who I didn’t think
could ever love me back.
 “Andrew.” She placed her small backpack on the bar and no
matter what I told myself, her money was no good here. I spied the
envelope peeking out of her bag with my return address and knew
exactly why she was here. All it took was one word from her, my
name on her treacherous coral lips, and she molotove cocktailed her
way back in. She was a full-on sucker punch, and I was helpless to
resist her despite the festering wound she’d left last time she blew
through town.
“Sierra.” Curtly, I nodded and wondered what made her return to
rural New York state after all these years besides a letter demanding
a dissolution of a will, of us, of our sordid history. Ten fucking long
years when my life should have gone on instead of staying stagnate
and waiting for her return. I doubted she came back for the
mountain views or the winery, and I held my tongue, letting it
cement in my mouth.
From the far end of the bar, my brother stepped in to save me,
“So you’re back, what brings you here?”
Obviously, David was planning on carrying the conversation since
I was silently stewing in my corner gathering my thoughts. He had
no idea I had invited this hurricane. I waited years for Firefly to
return home. What were the odds on the night she walked back into
my bar, my life–I’d made my vow to finally let her go–fucking
Murphy’s Law–but it didn’t mean I had to make this easy on her
either. David glanced at me, his eyes asking if I was okay. I didn’t
know what to say and I shrugged trying to resume some form of
normalcy in the wiping down of the already immaculate bar. My
brother was good like that picking up the pieces when I clearly
couldn’t.
“A few things, David.” She smiled with shark teeth and her acid
tone, a mix of sweet and sour which nearly took a bite from my
brother. David didn’t deserve her ire, though I couldn’t say those two
had a good history between them. Much like of all of her
connections, she burned a lot of bridges on her way out. For me, if
anything, maybe Sierra’s return would be a good experiment in
exposure therapy, get it all out and done with for once and all. I
didn’t have a clue, but I knew this was going to fucking hurt. She
was my terminal infection, a cancer on the idea of love.
David, not one to let anything go bit back hard, “I hardly think
you’ll find what you’re looking for here. Everything you touch turns
to dust, darling.” David grunted.
Ouch. I couldn’t expect David to have the soft spot for Sierra that
I did once upon a time. I’m only intervening to save them both and
stop a scene from blowing up in the bar. At least that was what I
convinced myself by stepping around the bar between them. Why
did it always feel like I was intervening on her behalf? Hadn’t I
learned by now that she was a tough girl? After all, she did the
leaving while I spent years wallowing in misery for something that
was never mine. A beautiful butterfly, she flitted away and our spring
had come and gone leaving me in a harsh state of winter.
And here I thought Jon Snow knew nothing.
It was I, who knew nothing while the dragon girl burned the
world.
I put my hand on David’s chest pushing him back a little. He
could have resisted, but he backed off with my request.
“Easy you two.” I glanced back at my ex. “Put your money away,
Sierra. You know it’s not necessary.”
“Because you feel sorry for me?” Her coral lips were glossed and
pouty stunning me for a moment before I cleared my throat and
approach this situation from a different angle.
I sighed.
She was damn exhausting and I was getting sucked back in.
“Because we have history.” I said examining her pinched
defensive expression. Again, I had to quell the auto-pilot response of
tapping into my well of sympathy. I kept telling myself the well was
bone dry and not worth the expense of my sanity.
“History.” Her tone made it sound like a question.
I answered. “Be careful, the doors you slam today won’t be open
tomorrow.” I pushed the glass of whiskey down the bar. Her favorite
and something she drank even as a hellfire underaged brat. I never
knew where she got the whiskey, but I knew it made her braver and
reckless, a dangerous combination in a woman who looked like she
was barely hanging on.
I didn’t want to know what happened to her over the past
decade. Mostly because it hadn’t included me and that hurt worst of
all. I wasn’t a part of that history. I was a part of the long-forgotten
past she walked away from. Where had she been hiding all these
years besides Vegas? And yes, I knew that much. I hired a private
investigator to find my wife when her grandparents died and saddled
me with her inheritance and the winery.
Was she involved? Kids? The questions rounded my head over
and over cutting tiny bits of flesh from my body pouring salt into the
wounds. Sierra Occho destroyed me once. I spent the last decade
reorganizing my soul without her and coming back from the shell of
a man I had become in her absence. I couldn’t go back to living like
a ghost all over again. If anything, I needed to exercise her from my
mind so I could start living.
But seeing her here in the flesh did something to me, and I knew
this could only end one of two ways.
3
 SIERRA

A ndrew Easton would always be the one that got away, my

North Star in the storm. The one statistical outlier I didn’t
account for when I made my break with small town life.
Handsome like his brother, but without the covert hero complex
David always carried even as he joined the military. The Easton
brothers were something special. Andrew was a different kind of
hero. Patient. Tolerant. Accepting when he should have run like the
hills meeting me. I bet their mother didn’t realize how lucky she had
become getting two sons as near perfect as these two were. No one
compared to them and I knew even then I wasn’t good enough to
stay with him forever. He was my foolish indiscretion, a rest stop on
my journey to hell, and my one allowance at temporary happiness.
Good looking and friendly was how I remembered them on my
fast track out of town. I was a scared little girl who turned into a
washed-up stripper just like Nona said I would. I had lofty goals of
being a world class poker player, but no capital to get in the game
unless I sold my one remaining asset now that the inheritance
clause had run out, but that damn winery was filled with haunting
memories.
Andrew and David taught me cards in the beginning when we
would meet up in the backroom of the bar waiting on one of their
parents to finish up the books for the night. As we got older both
brothers would bike the mile and a half outside of town to the
vineyard making sure I got home. Years would pass, David would
join the football team and then it was only Andrew who followed me
home. Those days pushing pedals over the hot summer asphalt with
flies biting our ankles were some of my most treasured memories.
I knew Andrew wouldn’t like my return to New Paltz, but I didn’t
expect his semi-frosty welcome either. Afterall, he was the one who
summoned me to this godforsaken place. Suffice it to say, I had no
idea what to expect. He always had a special softness for me, one I
selfishly exploited from the beginning. From the day we meet, I
couldn’t understand why he continued to give me his forgiveness
and love when I deserved it least of all. Despite all of it though,
meeting him was both the happiest day and the worst of my life.
Fast forward to being eighteen when we had broken up.
Correction, I broke up with him on bad terms putting it delicately,
my fault, and I left him without a backwards glance cutting the ties
cleanly and efficiently like a razor blade to spare us both any
unsolicited amount of heart break. In the years since, I got
accustomed to those exacting slices. Sharp and precise the scars
remained. I guessed I was wrong. Really wrong.
“So?” This time the question about my return came from Andrew.
I picked up the tumbler of whiskey focusing on not having my hand
shake and took a fortifying sip shunning my past.
I smiled, shaking my head watching him clean the bar with a bit
more gusto than he needed. My eyes transfixed on the ropey
muscles winding up his thick arms. They flexed under his t-shirt and
I sighed remembering those arms, a younger version, embracing me
and free of the ink that peeked out from the bottom edge of his shirt
sleeves now. I wondered what story that ink would tell. Andrew was
warm, hot like a heater when our bodies joined together. I had been
so cold since I left New York and it was more than just a bone deep
chill the hot Vegas sun had no control over, it was a hollowness that
filled my heart.
I didn’t think I could tell Andrew the real reason behind my
return. My selfish need to see him again. So I gave the next best
thing.
 “I came back to figure out what to do with the winery.” A half-
truth which had Andrew cease wiping the bar, throwing the rag
down. The movement was quick, and jerked me back on my seat. A
half-truth which had Andrew cease wiping the bar, throwing the rag
down. The movement was quick, and jerked me back on my seat. It
wasn’t like him to be violent, but the motion startled me. He wasn’t
that guy. He wasn’t the immediate past and I wouldn’t have to worry
about him finding me or the money I lifted from him which was my
share from the club anyway. I was good at disappearing. I had
perfected my ability to blend in and vanish from a young age.
“Crushing grapes by hand or just hearts this time.” He leaned
over the bar. The words gritted between his teeth. I shook looking
into his eyes and seeing the pain and hate coming from their depths.
“I want to apologize.” I fisted my hands under the lip of the bar,
hidden, letting my nails pinch the skin.
“You know what, it doesn’t matter what you want. What I want is
for you to get out of my bar. We have an appointment with the
lawyer, that’s all you needed to show up for.” Andrew turned and
walked away leaving me in silence. A few patrons watched our
awkward exchange. The door to the kitchen swung open and close
on its hinges in time to my beating heart.
“Well, that went surprisingly well.” David put a shot of tequila this
time in front of me and I slung it back without flinching at the bitter
taste.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, he didn’t come around the bar and cart you off over his
shoulder rekindling whatever hot mess you’ve decided to lay at his
feet.” David had a point. I mused what an Andrew like that would be
like. I would know what to do with that far better than this cold and
distant one with his walls far too high to scale.
“I’m back David.” The words surprised even me coming from my
mouth full of conviction.
“To stay?” I looked up at the bulkier version of Andrew’s genetic
code. I sharp pang pierced my heart and I wondered what if… but
pushed it back down as quickly. I had done plenty of self-harm in
the past and needed to let go in order to move forward.
 “I don’t honestly know.” But I did know, and David sensed it too.
“Get that look off your face.” He pointed at me. “I have a girl,” he
said.
Well, that answered that question.
“You’re kind of the last mistake I’d ever make.” I taunted him
over the rim of another tequila shot.
“Then don’t bring my brother down with you. I was just starting
to get him back.” He stalked away leaving me shocked.
“David.” I pleaded, but he walked away clicking the remote on
the radio jukeboxes that filled the bar. A familiar song played and
made me smile. ELO’s Evil Woman filled the silence in my head.
Good to know David developed a sense of humor over the years he
likely spent hating me. Either that or a head injury finally knocked
his funny side out.
“Cute David.” I called out as he waved me on. I slipped from the
stool and made my way to the sidewalk. I didn’t have a vehicle here
unless I counted my grandfather’s boat. He kept his 1990 Chevrolet
Celebrity laid up at the house and if my Nona hadn’t sold it when he
died chances were pretty good it was still there. For now, I’d walk
the three blocks to the student hostel that still operated for hikers,
and international students in town. In the morning, I’d figure out
what I needed to tackle next. The prodigal wine heiress returned,
but the prince had given up his kingdom for peasants and pints of
beer.
4
ANDY
 A DAY I WOULD NEVER FORGET. THE FIRST TIME I SAW FIREFLY EYES…

“D amn it boys, what the hell am I going to say to your

mother?” Our heads hung down in shame, but also
because we couldn’t stop the grin from cutting across
our faces. Dad was trying to hold it together, but failing miserably
attempting to yell at us between chuckles.
Dad punished us for breaking the window during our touch
football game in the backyard. Since neither of us had the money to
pay for the window outright, he was making us haul the shipment of
wine crates inside the bar. The two of us could get the job done
quicker than Dad’s staff and the punishment wasn’t as bad as the
alternative. Mom was more upset about the window than Dad. We
saw him trying to hide his smile as he dragged us both to the garage
where he proceeded to fake yell at us and then told us to act
apologetic to mom the rest of the week while he came up with extra
chores for us to do while we were grounded. David griped a bit
because it meant missing out on football practice, but we were polar
opposites in that David loved the game while I could take it or leave
it. For me, it had become about spending time with friends goofing
around and watching cheerleaders.
The bar was empty this time of day with just one guy sitting at
the end of the bar nursing a whiskey neat in his rumpled suit and
dark tie. The main waitress, Janice, who ran the appetizers and
drinks from the bar to the few tables wiped down the old shinny
tables and filled the salt and peppers for the week. It smelled like
lemon cleaner and nips of spilled vodka and I loved how it
permeated the wood of the floor and walls for as long as I could
remember.
Easton’s had been in the family for decades. If we were counting,
David and I were the third generation to earn our allowances here
afterschool and on weekends. If you looked closely at some of the
black and white photos that lined the wall behind the bar you would
find baby pictures of David and me sitting on our grandfather and
dad’s shoulders while our mom and grandmother held up wine
glasses in a toast. It was nostalgia that had no price tag and love
that ran deep in the genes. Someday this was going to be ours, but
for now it felt like a prison carting these boxes of wine from the
delivery truck into the cellar downstairs.
“Hey, who are you?” I looked up to find a pair of skinny tan legs
standing in front of me as I picked up the box. My eyes followed the
natural course of things and found defiant hands perched on boney
hips that barely held up a pair of ratty blue denim shorts. Her t-shirt
was knotted tight to the side and her face was sharp. Her barely
filled out cheek bones and slightly sunken in eyes reminded me of
toffee or caramel, and stared right back. Freckles dotted her skin
and my fingers itched to touch them connecting what looked like
thousands of stars against a pale morning sky.
“You know if you take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Her voice lilted
sounding foreign and unexpected in a body so small and hair so
shaggy. She looked ill groomed, my mother would say, and a little
scrappy. Those arms crossed around her middle and she tapped her
foot angrily. Her lips parted in a half smile showing her front teeth
were slightly crooked giving her the perfect imperfection because it
left me staring slack jawed until she cleared her throat reminding me
how rude I was being.
I stepped forward extending my hand.
“I’m Andy. My dad owns the bar. Who are you?” She made a
harrumphing sound and blew out air from her mouth that made her
limp hair lift and fall back over her face. She ignored my hand and
took a while to answer me. I wondered if she was mentally
translating what she was going to say next.
“Sierra. My grandpa owns this wine.” Ah, that explained the
mystery girl. I knew we were getting a new wine shipment and it
looked like we got a free gift of a pain in the ass girl with it. I was
glad I didn’t have a sister if this was how girls reacted.
“Do you go to school here?” Sierra looked close to my age and I
wondered if I would see her in the halls when summer ended.
“Nope. My Nona homeschools me.” My chest deflated a bit at
hearing this. I wouldn’t see her in school which was a shame. I
would place bets that her exotic looks and funny little voice would
make her the popular flavor of September while we waited for the
leaves to falls and boys my age to calm their hormones down
enough to ask girls to the homecoming dance.
“How come?” She followed me a bit as I carried the wine inside
putting it near the door so David could take over and bring it
downstairs where Dad was sorting the inventory.
“Oh, you know, my Nona thinks you regular kids are a bad
influence on me and she’s a retired school teacher. I dunno.” Sierra
shrugged her shoulders and I felt like there was way more to this
skinny freckled girl.
I liked the mystery.
“Is that so?” I said.
“Actually, Nona thinks I don’t know enough English yet and she
doesn’t like me taking a bus or my bicycle so far on my own.”
I mulled those thoughts over for a while.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around here.” I picked up
another crate and moving around her while she watched me work
under scrutinizing stares.
“I told you I just moved.” That smart mouth of hers would be the
death of me and I barely even knew her. Her hips swayed back and
forth while her brow creased and her stance registered a bit more
belligerent than before. I wondered if she might want to join my
friends and I in some lake swimming this weekend.
“Nah, like not American I meant.”
 David poked his head around the corner to give me a puzzled
frown and I shrugged reaching for another crate.
“I’m Greek,” she said and I heard the stubborn streak within her
a mile wide. I was a bit in love with her. I knew it was ridiculous and
David would ream me out, but her caramel candy-colored eyes and
wild hair sucked me down a sticky sweet path and I suddenly
wanted to know everything about her.
“Like the restaurant down the street?” I’d never seen her before
today, but I swore she blanched when I mentioned it and takes a
huge step back.
She shook her head.
“No, I live with my grandparents. I have to go.” She panicked
stepping from side to side. She looked like a caged animal and I
didn’t understand what I had said to make her so wary. She left me
there jogging out the door in her stupid shorts that made me want
to tackle her to the ground to cover her up in some protective
fashion. She confused me and sparked a curiosity.
Dad joined me in the hallway squeezing my shoulder. “That one
right there is trouble, mark my words.” He walked outside to talk to
a man who I presumed was her grandfather at an old truck in the
back lot.
“Hey, moon eyes, you gonna bring me another box?” David
yelled and I turned around to glance at my brother smirking.
“I’m coming.”
“Yeah, you uh might want to finish that elsewhere.” He nodded
his head in my direction and I looked down awkwardly, hard in my
pants. I didn’t even know it happened looking at Sierra in her short
shorts and snarky attitude. I was embarrassed shifting my stance
around to cover it up.
“Shut up!” Stalking off, I head for the bathroom ducking out of
the way so my dad doesn’t see me slacking off. I hid in the
bathroom, but there’s only one stall and it’s currently occupied by
the suit that had been sitting at the bar. Damn.
I accidentally walked in on David rubbing one out last summer so
I figured we’re even on the bleaching eyes.
 The man from the bar groaned and I could tell he’d be awhile so
I run the cold water from the tap and stick my hands under it hoping
the temperature change calmed my dick down. I hoped that’s not
why Sierra ran away, but I guess I’ll never know.
5
SIERRA
 BAD DREAMS AND BEAUTIFUL BOYS

H e’s so beautiful it hurts. From the bones under my skin to

the charging beat of my heart, that boy was something else.
My grandmother would probably wax poetic about him, but
as beautiful as he was, there’s always a dark side. Boys. Men. All of
them predators of some sort and I wanted nothing to do with them.
I had enough on my plate if I was ever going to get to school
someday. My parents sent me to live with my aunt and uncle who
ran Mykonos the Greek restaurant in town. When Andy mentioned it,
my stomach did a somersault and I had to get out of there or vomit
on the spot. I’d curl up and die if he ever learned what went on
behind those walls. Dirty things girls like me shouldn’t know about.
None of that mattered now because I’m out of there. I only came
into town with Gramps because we were picking up the
Guardianship papers they filed and dropping off a shipment of wine
to a local pub. I was supposed to stay in the truck, but I couldn’t
help myself and then I saw him hauling crates of wine from the back
of the truck. It was a hot day and I couldn’t bear to stay inside the
truck waiting, squinting my eyes from the sun glare. In some ways,
he was like the sun and I leaned closer his way with every burning
ray. I was Icarus flying dangerously close. Curiosity got the better of
me and like melting wax wings, I followed behind him until he
turned and noticed me. I couldn’t run off without making a scene so
I let it play out and with it my fears about the male gender under his
direct gaze.
If I had another nightmare tonight, my Nona might think about
sending me back to Greece or worse and I didn’t want that.
Something had been stolen from me under the cover of night, I
believed in nothing, saw no goodness in kindness and let cynicism
wrap her talons around my heart. Her nails were deep anchors that
held me steadfast and bitter clinging to the pain. As long as I felt
pain, I wasn’t numb and I knew I was still alive.
I didn’t have to tell anyone something was wrong. My
grandmother just knew and in her wise wisdom she took me right
out from the back of the restaurant where I had been washing
dishes from sun up to sun down before the night terrors found me at
the end of each day. She had words for her son shaming him and his
wife for neglecting me. It seemed to be the end of the discussion. I
would come to live with them and nobody needed to get involved.
Those papers would make it official and I need never tell anyone
what happened there.
We would never speak of it again and all would be forgotten.
It was in a way, a breath of fresh air, but unsettling at the same
time. I wasn’t confined to the restaurant’s kitchen slaving away, but
I wasn’t free to go to school just yet either. Nona worried about my
cousins bullying me and I tended to agree. My English was good,
passable even, but her anxiety set the rules. Greek had been
forbidden in her efforts to acclimate me though I often heard my
grandparents speaking it under the cover of dark and my mouth
would silently form the words pretending.
I was okay with this. I needed to find my own way and maybe
time would help. I only wish someone had told my brain that
message because whenever I closed my eyes I simply could not
forget.
The nights in my small bedroom decorated in pale pink were
restless. The clammy sweat I woke in was just as bad as the
humidity of back home. The only difference being the lemon groves
I used to stare at under moonlight. Now I had fields of black dirt and
indigo grapes. Location didn’t change the feelings, didn’t alter the
reality of my dreams. Every night like clockwork I woke in a panic
unsure if it was safe to come out from the covers despite sweating
under the thick and heavy blankets.
The saving grace was not screaming the house down and having
to explain that to my grandparents. I wouldn’t do anything to get me
sent back. I would stay at home, attend school in my grandmother’s
office and pretend everything was okay until it really was okay. That
American saying, fake it until you make it, yes, that’s exactly what I
would do.
So, I stayed under those hot stuffy blankets until exhaustion took
me. Sometimes I’d sneak a small flashlight into bed with me and a
stolen book to read until my eyes grew heavy and the words blurred
together. I preferred fantasy, stories like Alice in Wonderland, or The
Wizard of Oz. Anything that would transport me far away from this
place. Other times, I would think about the boy at the pub where
grandpa and I went to drop off the crates of wine. The sweet boy
with light brown hair and kind eyes that promised he wasn’t
anything like my hulking dark-haired cousins or mean aunt and
uncle. His face centered in my dreams and chased the bad ones far
away. He didn’t know it, but thoughts of him saved me on the
darkest of nights.
When the terrors came and stole my breath away, he gave me a
purpose to keep going. Seeing him one more time, even fleeting
from the backseat of a rusted pickup truck.
6
 ANDY

S ierra was like the greatest recorded music single. I could have
listened to her over and over again never getting tired of her
melody. The problem was that the rest of her album scared
the shit out of me. One pop song followed by a rash of dark edgy
slasher rock indie shit was not how I planned on spending the rest
of my life. Since she had skipped town and left me high and dry at
the altar, I busied the years in between trying to fill my life with the
good stuff, upbeat, and yet I always seemed to come back to her in
the dark. Her siren call kept me captive in a prison of my own
making. A part of me would always love Sierra without a doubt, but
it also meant I had to leave her wild and to keep my sanity walk
away while I was still sane.
I was fucked up if I thought she was good for me. David would
kick my ass and our parents… well I can’t imagine how they would
feel after welcoming her into our house when she had nowhere to
go. I was partly glad they were enjoying retirement at their
bungalow in Florida. She had slapped us all in the face with her
deception and lies, but the bigger question I had to answer was why
I had already forgiven her? If I spoke the words, I knew my parents
would trust my judgment. Oh, they would have their reservations, a
decade full of them, but I also knew their love for me would temper
their vocalization.
 Part of me was devising ways to make this all right, but I wasn’t
confident I could pull it off. Sierra would be the biggest coup this
town had ever seen and maybe it was because I now had controlling
interest in her grandparents’ vineyard and she had absolutely no
idea. Buying it from them cemented my connection to her because I
had the one thing she wanted. The one thing she thought she
deserved to have and wouldn’t that be a shock to her system. I had
ways I could bend Sierra to my will, but would she want to bend?
The last time I tried something like this she ditched me, skipping
town, and crushed my heart. What everyone didn’t know was that I
knew where she had been the entire time after I confronted her
grandparents, I had been foolishly holding on to hope that she
would come back to me.
Nothing like unfiled annulment papers and a will to make the trip
down memory lane one rocky road.
Vegas could be just as small town as New Paltz if you knew the
right people. One of the reasons I kept my apartment above the bar
was that it let me save enough money to hire a private investigator
to find her and keep her on his radar. Seems weird given how mad I
was with her, but I couldn’t let her go. I couldn’t abandon her the
way everyone else had. She expected that. I also expected my
scared little wife to come home, but hey, here we are playing out the
rest of this movie that was slated to end in a fiery crash and burn of
disappointment.
Although I hadn’t seen Sierra in years, only keeping infrequent
tabs on her from afar when the mood struck me and my skin itched
with anxiety knowing she was out there all alone, the scars on her
skin told a story I wanted desperately to know. To see her visceral
pain up close washed away the hurt of being shut out from her
choices for a decade. I wanted the free access I once had to caress
her, kiss her, love her like a good book with the freedom to turn her
pages. It seemed the folly of youth would forever haunt our
decisions about things we could never take back. That saying about
never being able to go home, well it made my chest ache thinking
that this was how our story ended, right here, right now on a humid
night in July so thick the glow bugs laid low and the sky rumbled
threatening to say all the things our mouths wouldn’t. Truth be told,
I was perfectly fine staying stuck here in this moment because it
meant that nothing could hurt us if we just kept our damned secrets
to ourselves.
Today was the day we’d meet with Francesca, my lawyer who
was handling the all the legal documents. I already knew what they
said because Francesca and I had read through them all at the
reading of her grandparents’ will. A will, her grandmother petitioned
to change once she realized nothing was going to bring Sierra home.
I could have given her the current address I had for her in Las
Vegas but I doubted the woman who was so strict with her
granddaughter wanted to be reminded of all the ways she had failed
her. The ways I had failed her because I hadn’t known about her
past until it had been too late.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Andy?” Francesca
leaned against her desk. Her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a
much more relaxed version of her power suit. She looked at me
sympathetically. She had come to New Paltz by way of her fancy
NYU law degree and a need to keep her hair highlighted by the best
colorist our town had to offer. She and Tommy were a romance that
transcended all the stereotypes I knew. I’d never call her a cougar,
but she did have a solid number of years on her guy and salary that
easily tripled his with her private law practice. I’d never known this
but as a student, she’d clerked for a summer with my friend Chase’s
mother who was a local judge. It was definitely a small world feeling
with six degrees of separation.
“I feel good about doing this. She should have the cottage. The
workers still live in the main house but the cottage and a stipend
would give her some security while I figure out if I can keep the
business going overall or hire someone to manage it.”
Francesca sighed and I knew she was firmly wearing her lawyer
hat.
“And the other issue?”
I gulped back my unease.
“I don’t know if I want to file them, yet.”
“Andrew.” She chided.
 “I know, but before her grandmother’s passing, I had annulment
papers drawn up because it seemed easier, and then I couldn’t do
it.” I’d sat on them for years because I had hoped she’d come back.
“It’s more complicated now because you waited. I’d recommend
a simple divorce and since you’re giving her significant assets, I
could argue in a way she won’t be able to say no.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m not ready.”
Francesca moved to her filing cabinet pulling out a drawer and
dropping a folder on the table in front of me.
“Read it. Sign it when you’re ready and move on.”
I opened the file and found that Francesca had done all the hard
work for me and all it required was my signature. Nope. My stomach
churned and shut the file.
“I’ll review it later.”
“See that you do.”
The phone buzzed and she answered it.
“Ms. Occho is here.” The receptionist said.
“Thanks, send her in, Molly.” She looked at me and sighed. “Molly
is single.”
Chuckling I said, “yeah, no thanks.”
“Stubborn, but alright.”
The door opened and Sierra popped into the office dropping her
backpack on the floor. Her hair was wet like she just showered and
her face was free of makeup. Her smile was tentative and I returned
one of my own politely.
“Ms. Occho thanks for coming. It hasn’t been easy tracking you
down.”
“I’m here now.”
“Yes, she is. Francesca.” I warned my lawyer to behave.
“So, we’re here today at the request of my client to transfer
some property and funds into your name that were left to him in an
uncontested will. I have advised my client against this and if you
would like legal counsel of your own, we can wait before we proceed
for you to obtain a lawyer familiar with these matters.”
“No, that’s alright. I hadn’t planned on staying long, but if we can
wrap this up, I’d appreciate that.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
paisible et profond… Un instant, je pus croire avoir rêvé tout ce qui
était advenu depuis notre arrivée au Pôle.
En face, le hublot encadrait un beau cercle de lapis pâle incrusté
de points d’or. Mes yeux se tournèrent vers lui et restèrent fixés sur
le tremblotement lumineux des étoiles ; je compris que le sommeil
venait, mais, à présent, il ne m’effrayait plus : il était consenti et non
subi. Mes pensées devinrent nébuleuses, je me demandai en quel
endroit de l’espace, à quel moment du temps, je pouvais bien me
trouver… Puis je ne pensai plus à rien.
Soudain dans le cadre du hublot une blancheur apparut. Du fond
de ma somnolence, je constatai que cela ressemblait à une face
grossièrement sculptée dans de la neige et qu’elle se détachait
nettement sur le bleu grisâtre du ciel, environnée d’une indécise
auréole d’étoiles. Je dus rester ainsi quelques secondes, dans une
demi-conscience, à regarder la chose vaguement, sans y attacher
plus d’importance qu’à une de ces visions baroques qui précèdent
souvent le sommeil. Puis, dans un brusque éclair de raison, je
sursautai et me dressai sur mon séant ; mais, alors, j’eus beau ouvrir
mes yeux tout grands : le hublot n’encadrait plus que le ciel sans
fond et les étoiles lointaines. Je me jetai à bas du hamac sans trop
comprendre ce qui s’était passé ni savoir ce que j’allais faire. Mes
regards errèrent sur Ceintras endormi, sur la bouteille de cognac à
moitié vide et, peu à peu, je repris complètement le sentiment de la
réalité : « Je me serai endormi, j’aurai rêvé, pensai-je… Cela doit
être un rêve, cela ne peut être qu’un rêve… » Mais c’était en vain
que je me répétais ces mots ; je ne parvenais pas à bien me
convaincre.
Je résolus de lutter énergiquement contre la fatigue afin de me
rendre compte de ce qui se passerait. Je m’assurai que mon
revolver était chargé, je le posai près de moi sur une planchette et
j’allumai un cigare. Des minutes longues comme des siècles
s’écoulèrent dans l’anxiété de l’attente. Je ne vis rien. Ensuite il me
sembla entendre comme un frôlement au dehors ; je fis deux pas,
m’arrêtai… Tout était déjà redevenu absolument silencieux. Alors,
ayant reporté mes yeux sur le hublot, je vis la face qui m’épiait.
 Je la vis, ou plutôt je l’entrevis à peine, durant une demi-
seconde ; mais ce temps m’avait suffi pour ressentir la plus intense
impression d’horreur. Comment la rendre ici ? où trouver des mots
pour me faire comprendre ? Imaginez l’effet que peut produire
quelque chose d’impossible… et de quasi tangible en même temps.
Car, cette fois, je n’avais pas rêvé, j’en étais sûr, j’avais vu, bien vu
la face de cet être : un front proéminent, surmonté de peaux
plissées, ridées, qui retombaient de chaque côté comme les boucles
d’une chevelure neigeuse ; point de menton, une bouche de reptile,
des narines rondes au bout d’une sorte de nez camard et, au-dessus
de ce nez, des yeux, de grands yeux profonds qui donnaient à cette
monstruosité une apparence odieusement humaine !
J’avais vu, mais je voulais voir mieux encore et cette fiévreuse
curiosité fut plus forte que la terreur et le dégoût. De nouveau ce
furent des bruissements confus et comme des chuchotements
derrière la porte. Alors, sans réfléchir plus longtemps aux
conséquences de mon acte, je la poussai violemment ; il y eut un
choc, des cris étouffés, des bonds, une débandade éperdue… Je
regardai : les fourrés de cactus et de fougères s’agitèrent au
passage d’invisibles fuyards. Je me lançai à leur poursuite ; un
instant j’aperçus, tout près du fleuve, dans un endroit découvert,
deux ou trois formes blanches ; je précipitai ma course, mais quand
j’arrivai à cette clairière, il n’y avait plus rien, — rien qu’une porte
aménagée au flanc de la berge, et pareille à celle que Ceintras et
moi avions découverte le jour précédent.
Mais la porte, cette fois, était ouverte. M’agenouillant sur le sol,
au seuil même de la galerie ténébreuse, j’essayai d’abord vainement
d’y apercevoir quelque chose : il n’y avait devant moi que de l’ombre
et du silence. Puis un faible bruit me parvint, analogue au tic-tac
d’une pendule ; seulement je me rendis compte qu’il devait en réalité
être très fort et venir de très loin. Un instant encore je prêtai l’oreille,
mais soudain la porte se referma automatiquement avec un bruit sec
que multiplièrent de lointains échos.
Je consultai ma montre. Elle s’était arrêtée durant notre premier
sommeil, mais je l’avais remontée depuis, afin qu’elle nous indiquât
au moins la durée du temps, à défaut de l’heure des hommes. Je
constatai alors que la lumière violette n’avait pas disparu depuis plus
de trois heures ; sans nul doute, « la nuit » allait durer longtemps
encore ; inquiet de ce qui pouvait se passer autour du ballon
pendant mon absence, je revins lentement sur mes pas. Sous les
plantes basses et touffues, dans tous les coins où s’amassait
l’ombre, je devinais que des êtres m’épiaient. Plusieurs fois même,
j’entendis derrière moi des bruits de feuilles froissées ; mais j’eus
beau me retourner brusquement, écarter les branches, fouiller les
buissons des mains et des yeux, m’élancer en courant sur une piste
imaginaire, il me fut impossible d’entrevoir de nouveau les formes
blanches vaguement aperçues quelques minutes auparavant.
Je ruisselais de sueur ; la rage et l’exaspération tendaient
douloureusement mes nerfs. Je me dirigeai de nouveau vers le
fleuve, afin de boire et de rafraîchir mon visage. Alors, pour la
première fois, je me trouvai en face du plus prodigieux spectacle que
jamais homme ait pu contempler.
Sur le fond sablonneux de la rivière, au-dessous de la sombre
transparence de l’eau, apparaissaient çà et là de phosphorescentes
lueurs violettes qui, s’étendant peu à peu, recouvrirent aussi les bas-
fonds de gravier et les petits rocs enguirlandés de plantes
aquatiques. Bientôt le fleuve eut l’air de couler sur des améthystes
illuminées contre lesquelles je voyais se découper en noir les
silhouettes de grands poissons qui fuyaient… Lentement, la clarté
violette s’élevait dans l’eau, se mélangeait à elle et, quand elle en
eut atteint le niveau, le fleuve, dans la pénombre du Pôle, ressembla
à quelque Phlégéthon ou à quelque Cocyte qui aurait roulé du soufre
enflammé. Mais après avoir envahi l’eau, la clarté monta dans l’air,
s’épandit sur les rives, et ce fut comme si le fleuve avait débordé
soudain ; instinctivement, je me reculai, je me plaçai sur un petit
tertre ; la clarté atteignit mes pieds en moins de cinq minutes. La
tranquille régularité de son ascension et de sa diffusion donnaient
l’idée d’une force inévitable, fatale. Déjà, sur les points les plus bas
de la plaine, la terre en était inondée ; cela montait du sol comme
une végétation de lumière ; des faisceaux minces et palpitants
surgissaient, se multipliaient, se rapprochaient les uns des autres et
se confondaient enfin en une nappe immobile de clarté.
Je me répétais : « C’est le jour, le jour polaire qui se lève… » Et
cependant, j’étais étreint d’une angoisse contre laquelle ma raison
ne pouvait rien ; j’avais l’illusion de me noyer, d’être submergé par
une marée immense ; je demeurais immobile, crispant les poings. La
clarté dépassa mes épaules, effleura mon menton ; alors, cela devint
horrible, car il me semblait que, dans quelques secondes, j’allais
suffoquer, m’étouffer, lorsque j’ouvrirais la bouche pour prendre
haleine… Si puéril ou insensé que cela puisse paraître, je me
baissai brusquement, à peu près pareil au baigneur qui se plonge
dans l’eau d’un seul coup, afin de faire durer le moins possible une
sensation désagréable de froid. Quand je me relevai, mes yeux
étaient encore au-dessus de la nappe de clarté ; seuls jusqu’à
l’horizon, les sommets du ballon à ma gauche et du coteau à ma
droite restaient encore dans la pénombre, et, — chose que bien des
hommes auront peine à concevoir, — tandis que l’azur du ciel
devenait plus sombre, les étoiles pâlissaient ; elles s’éteignirent
complètement derrière le rideau violet… Je levai les bras, et mes
mains, en sortant de l’atmosphère lumineuse, me parurent être tout
contre le ciel.
Peu de temps après, je m’assis pour me reposer un peu avant de
continuer ma route. Je me souviens d’avoir, un instant, tenté
d’ordonner quelque peu les milliers d’images et d’idées confuses qui
tourbillonnaient dans ma tête. J’y renonçai vite : j’étais à bout de
force, accablé, brisé… Et soudain le monde, autour de moi, sembla
véritablement s’écrouler dans les ténèbres ; il m’est impossible de
dire si je venais de m’endormir ou de m’évanouir.
 CHAPITRE IX
HEURES D’ATTENTE

La période qui suivit fut pénible et trouble. Avant que rien de

définitif se manifestât, neuf fois s’éteignit et reparut la lueur violette.
Les sensations humaines s’émoussent si vite que, maintenant, dans
l’anxiété des nuits, j’attendais véritablement le jour polaire avec
impatience. Je devinais que les nuits étaient hantées de présences
sournoises, mais je ne voyais pas très clair en moi-même et, aux
heures où, recouvert de son manteau violet, le pays redevenait
paisible et désert, il m’arrivait de me demander si les visions
nocturnes étaient réelles ou si mon cerveau surexcité les enfantait.
C’eût été pour moi un grand soulagement de faire part à Ceintras
de mes impressions et de mes découvertes ; il retrouvait parfois sa
raison et il me semblait que chaque jour apportait dans son état
mental un mieux sensible ; mais je craignais justement de retarder
ou de compromettre par ces révélations trop troublantes une
guérison dont il ne fallait pas désespérer.
Je vis venir sans trop d’appréhension la nuit qui suivit celle où je
m’étais tenu éveillé. Comme j’avais pu échapper une fois au
sommeil magnétique, je m’en croyais délivré pour toujours. Ce fut au
milieu de cette belle confiance qu’il me saisit brutalement ; je n’eus
même pas le temps de lutter et les songes terrifiants
recommencèrent.
 A mon réveil, Ceintras était assis par terre devant la porte de la
cabine et sanglotait, le front dans les mains.
— Pourquoi pleures-tu ? lui demandai-je.
Il ne parut pas m’entendre et ne cessa pas de gémir. Alors,
écartant doucement ses doigts sur son visage, je renouvelai ma
question avec plus de force :
— Voyons, Ceintras, pourquoi pleures-tu ?
Il fut secoué d’un brusque frisson, puis son regard égaré, après
avoir erré çà et là, rencontra le mien.
— Pourquoi je pleure ? pourquoi ?… Eh bien, je croyais que mes
malheurs étaient finis, que je pourrais dormir tranquille : je m’étais si
bien reposé, l’autre nuit !… Et voilà : à présent, ils reviennent…
— Qui, « ils » ? questionnai-je en m’efforçant de dissimuler mon
trouble.
— Eux ! Je ne sais pas comment les nommer, tu comprends…
Mais je les sentais bien, ils se penchaient sur moi, me palpaient, me
retournaient, me flairaient, et j’étais comme une chose, une pauvre
chose qui ne peut pas se défendre, ni crier…
J’essayai de donner à ses idées un autre cours. Mais comme
tout ce qu’il me disait concordait avec ce que j’avais éprouvé moi-
même ! Pendant mon sommeil en effet, — je m’en rendais bien
compte à présent, — j’avais dû subir avec la plus complète inertie le
contact mou et froid de tentacules, de pattes, de mains… Et, d’autre
part, puisque Ceintras avait dormi tranquillement la nuit où j’avais pu
rester éveillé, que conclure de tout cela, sinon que les monstres
entrevus, dont la crainte seule entravait l’inquiétante curiosité,
avaient profité de notre sommeil et de notre impuissance pour venir
nous observer méticuleusement.
Mais que fallait-il penser de ces monstres ? Devais-je dès à
présent me résigner à voir en eux l’intelligence du monde polaire, ou
n’étaient-ils en définitive que des animaux merveilleusement
domestiqués et dressés ? Cette dernière hypothèse me parut
d’abord la plus logique, peut-être parce qu’elle me plaisait
davantage. Pour mieux me la confirmer à moi-même, — car, bien
entendu, je continuais à ne parler de rien à Ceintras, — je cherchais
des preuves et je me disais : « Nulle part, ni aux environs des
trappes, ni près du ballon, je n’ai relevé l’empreinte d’un pied
humainement conformé. Ceintras avait raison : nous devons avoir
affaire à des troupeaux qui viennent paître durant la nuit. » Pourtant
c’était en vain que je tentais de chasser de mon esprit l’image de la
face par deux fois aperçue dans le cadre du hublot ; implacable était
l’obsession de son regard presque humain, de ce regard que
quelque chose éclairait… Et, malgré tous mes efforts, j’en arrivais
constamment à cette supposition, qui pour moi représentait le pire :
« Si c’était là l’homme du Pôle ? »
C’est qu’alors cela devenait horrible. Puisque la race polaire,
retranchée du reste de la terre, n’avait pas évolué dans le même
sens que les autres races humaines, il paraissait peu probable
qu’aucun point de contact intellectuel et moral existât entre elle et
nous. Si vraiment il en était ainsi, je ne pouvais plus garder l’espoir
d’entrer jamais en relations avec mes hôtes.
Du moment que ces êtres se tenaient cachés durant le jour, il me
fallait veiller pour éclaircir le mystère ; mais je n’étais même pas le
maître de mon sommeil ! Je cherchai désespérément les raisons qui
avaient bien pu une fois me prémunir contre la torpeur irrésistible.
Ce n’était pas, comme je me l’étais imaginé tout d’abord,
l’accoutumance, puisque, encore la nuit précédente, force m’avait
été de céder au sommeil. Soudain avec une brusque netteté je me
revis dans la cabine, les paupières alourdies déjà, avalant du cognac
pour me redonner du courage, et j’eus aussitôt l’intuition que l’alcool
avait suffi à m’entretenir dans un état de relative lucidité.
La provision d’alcool que nous possédions était par bonheur
considérable ; même, au moment de notre départ, je l’avais trouvée
exagérée, mais Ceintras, uniquement sans doute dans le dessein de
me contrarier, s’était refusé à me faire grâce d’une bouteille.
Comme l’on pense, je ne mis pas mon compagnon au courant de
ma découverte. Profitant d’un moment où il s’était éloigné, j’enlevai
toutes les bouteilles que je pus trouver dans les coffres et les
enterrai à l’arrière du ballon après avoir dissimulé dans ma poche
une petite fiole destinée à prévenir les premières attaques du
sommeil. Ce n’était pas, naturellement, l’égoïsme qui me poussait à
agir de la sorte, mais la simple prudence ; il suffisait en effet qu’un
seul de nous demeurât éveillé, et ce devait être, en toute logique,
celui qui n’avait pas perdu la raison. Je dois dire aussi que Ceintras
manifestait depuis quelque temps un penchant immodéré pour les
liqueurs, et que, si je n’y avais pas mis le holà, notre précieuse
provision eût été rapidement épuisée. Enfin je craignais qu’en
restant lui aussi éveillé durant la nuit, il ne gênât, avec sa folie, les
observations que je pourrais faire.
Le jour même où les bouteilles furent mises en sûreté, Ceintras,
après le repas, ne manqua pas de réclamer la ration que je lui
autorisais d’habitude. J’avais préparé à l’avance une petite comédie
destinée à lui donner le change ; de l’air le plus naturel du monde je
me dirigeai vers le coffre ; l’ayant ouvert, je feignis une extrême
stupéfaction et m’écriai :
— Ah ! par exemple !… Toutes les liqueurs ont disparu…
Il s’avança, regarda le coffre, puis tint ses yeux fixés sur moi… Il
avait l’air de m’examiner avec méfiance. Alors, afin de dissiper ses
soupçons, je fis semblant de réfléchir quelques minutes, puis, me
frappant le front, je hasardai :
— Ce sont les habitants du Pôle qui nous les ont volées !
Idée malencontreuse. Ces simples paroles suffirent à rendre
furieux mon compagnon ; les poings crispés, le visage congestionné
il se répandit contre les pillards en invectives effroyables. Durant
près d’une demi-heure, sans qu’il me fût possible de le calmer ou de
le retenir, il courut dans tous les sens, fouillant des pieds et des
mains les buissons du voisinage. Enfin, épuisé, baigné de sueur, il
se laissa tomber sur le sol et ne tarda pas à s’endormir. C’était, du
reste, peu de temps avant le crépuscule, et je sentais déjà moi-
même une lassitude infinie peser sur mon esprit et mon corps.
J’essayai vainement de hisser Ceintras jusqu’à la cabine. Alors,
utilisant ce qui me restait de force, j’allai chercher le petit matelas de
la couchette et j’y installai le dormeur aussi bien que je le pus ; puis
je ramassai par brassées des fougères sèches qui jonchaient le sol
et j’allumai un grand feu destiné à effrayer les monstres ou à leur
prouver que nous ne dormions pas. Il est probable que la tactique
réussit. En tout cas, c’est à peine si je pus distinguer, tant elles se
tinrent éloignées, les quelques formes blanchâtres qui, la nuit venue,
apparurent un instant du côté du fleuve pour disparaître presque
aussitôt.
Ceintras, en s’éveillant un peu plus tard, ne fut pas
médiocrement étonné de constater qu’il avait passé la nuit à la belle
étoile, confortablement installé sur le matelas et enveloppé de
couvertures.
— Tu dormais si bien, lui expliquai-je, que je n’ai pas pu me
décider à te déranger. Au reste, tu vois que cette nuit, bien que nous
ne fussions pas à l’abri d’une porte, « ils » ont cru devoir nous laisser
tranquilles.
Il me manifesta une grande reconnaissance des soins que j’avais
pris de sa personne. Même, se jetant dans mes bras, il me demanda
pardon de l’ennui qu’avait dû me causer l’accès de fureur auquel il
s’était laissé aller la veille.
En somme, la succession rapide d’événements déconcertants
avait seule déterminé la folie de l’infortuné garçon. Dans le calme
relatif des jours qui suivirent, son trouble cérébral diminua peu à
peu. Pour épargner nos provisions, toujours en vue d’un retour dont
je n’avais pas le droit de désespérer encore, je m’étais mis à tuer
avec ma carabine les oiseaux au plumage azuré que nous avions
aperçus lors de notre première exploration. Je ne tardai pas à
renoncer à cette chasse, car, véritablement, le gibier, maigre et de
goût médiocre, ne valait pas la poudre. Ceintras avait été plus
heureux. Il s’était fabriqué une ligne tant bien que mal, avec des
épingles et de la ficelle, et pêchait dans le fleuve. Encore que son
engin fût très primitif, il attrapait des quantités de poissons
excellents.
 — C’est merveilleux ! s’écriait-il triomphalement à chaque
nouvelle prise. Je ne m’ennuie plus du tout ici : le pays est plein de
ressources !
Cette distraction utile eut en outre l’avantage de contribuer pour
beaucoup à le calmer et à le guérir. Moi, afin de ménager mes forces
et de rester plus facilement éveillé durant les heures sombres,
j’avais pris l’habitude de dormir pendant que Ceintras pêchait.
— Quelle sacrée marmotte tu fais, me disait-il en riant. Vraiment,
mon pauvre ami, tu n’es guère l’homme de la situation et, si je
n’étais pas là pour te fournir ta nourriture, je me demande ce que tu
deviendrais.
Mais, à d’autres moments, je voyais se marquer sur sa
physionomie les traces d’une angoisse et d’une inquiétude
profondes. Par suite de cette acuité de sensation que possèdent
certains malades, il s’avisait de mille petits faits qui m’échappaient,
mais qui prenaient dans son esprit une énorme importance en s’y
déformant ou en s’y exagérant. Il lui arrivait de me réveiller
brusquement :
— Tu n’as pas vu ? Tu n’as pas entendu ? criait-il.
Qu’avait-il entendu ou vu ? J’aurais donné très cher pour le
savoir ; seulement, dès que je le questionnais, il faisait un geste
vague ou prononçait des paroles plus vagues encore :
— Ce que j’ai vu ? Ah ! voilà !… C’est très difficile à expliquer…
Au fait, suis-je bien sûr d’avoir vu quelque chose ? Non, non…
certainement non : j’ai eu la berlue ! Dors tranquille, ne fais pas
attention, excuse-moi…
Et il recommençait à lancer tranquillement sa ligne dans le
fleuve.
D’autres fois il avait des intuitions, des pressentiments de la
vérité qui me remplissaient d’une indéfinissable terreur. Il me dit un
jour :
— Tu les as vus, tu dois les avoir vus ? Comment sont-ils ?
Effrayants, n’est-ce pas ?
 — Mais non, je ne les ai pas vus, je t’assure…
— Si ! si ! tu les as vus… et il me semble les voir encore dans tes
yeux quand je t’en parle… Oh ! ferme tes yeux, je t’en supplie !…
D’autres fois encore, dans ses instants de lucidité parfaite, il
revenait sur le même sujet, mais d’une manière plus rassurante.
— Dis donc, il faudra bien, tout de même, prendre nos
dispositions pour les rencontrer, ou pour aller, s’il n’y a pas moyen
d’agir autrement, reconquérir le moteur de force.
— Sans doute ! Mais comment pénétrer dans leurs souterrains ?
— Nous avons des cartouches, de la poudre. Nous ferons sauter
une de leurs trappes… Oui, c’est cela… Et le plus tôt possible. Cette
incertitude est exaspérante… Dis, que penses-tu qu’ils soient, en fin
de compte ?
Sur ce point, même si j’avais cru devoir le mettre au courant de
ce que je savais, je n’aurais pas pu encore être bien précis. A
présent, durant les quelques heures où le soleil seul éclairait le Pôle,
les êtres mystérieux ne se laissaient entrevoir que de très loin.
Naturellement, j’étais partagé entre la curiosité et la crainte ; il
m’arriva souvent de laisser le feu s’éteindre et de simuler le sommeil
pour mieux observer les nocturnes visiteurs ; bientôt j’entendais les
branches craquer sur leur passage, puis les bruits devenaient plus
proches et je distinguais à quelques pas de moi des sortes de
chuchotements ; alors la crainte devenait plus forte que la curiosité ;
je me levais brusquement, j’enflammais une allumette… et je ne
voyais rien que de confuses blancheurs s’évanouissant dans la
pénombre.
Cependant, j’avais la persuasion que, bon gré mal gré, je ne
tarderais pas à m’instruire davantage sur leur compte. Évidemment
ils s’enhardissaient peu à peu ; le feu ne tarda pas à ne plus les
intimider outre mesure et ils apparurent alors à la limite même du
cercle lumineux. A plusieurs reprises, réfléchissant que somme toute
ils ne nous avaient jamais fait de mal alors même qu’ils eussent pu
nous tuer sans aucun risque, je me levai et allai à leur rencontre.
Mais le moindre de mes mouvements les mettait en fuite.
 Le soir du neuvième jour, énervé au delà de toute expression par
mon ignorance anxieuse, j’étais résolu à tout pour les examiner de
près et savoir, — savoir, enfin ! — Je m’arrêtai même au dessein
d’en abattre un d’un coup de carabine, quelles que pussent être les
conséquences de cette téméraire cruauté. Je me revois encore
marchant à grands pas au bord du fleuve, le sang brûlé par la fièvre,
et répétant à haute voix, comme un dément :
— C’est dit ! Sitôt la nuit venue, j’en tuerai un !
Et je fis halte un instant devant une des portes de fer, gardiennes
inexorables du mystère ; je cherchai du regard un arbuste ou un pli
de terrain où je pourrais me mettre à l’affût… Soudain, j’entendis le
grincement du métal le long des rainures, le bruit sec de la plaque à
fond de course ; je me retournai : dans l’encadrement de la porte,
cloué par l’étonnement ou la peur, livide au milieu de la clarté violette
qui abondait sous la voûte du souterrain autant que sous celle du
ciel, l’être, en face de moi, se tenait debout.
 CHAPITRE X
L’ÊTRE SE MONTRE

Oh ! cette face horrible, effarante !… En vérité, à présent,

j’attendais les yeux fixés sur elle qu’elle s’effaçât ou s’évanouît,
comme les jours précédents ; mais elle demeurait là, et chaque
minute semblait accroître son atrocité… Toutes mes pensées
m’avaient abandonné ; il n’y avait plus place en moi que pour une
stupéfaction douloureuse et morne, et cette impression s’y est si
fortement gravée qu’elle persiste aujourd’hui encore, que je sois
éveillé ou que je dorme, que cet être soit ou non devant mes yeux…
Non, ce ne serait pas assez de la durée d’une vie humaine pour
s’accoutumer à son odieuse étrangeté. Ah ! mon souhait a été
exaucé autant qu’un souhait peut l’être ! J’ai voulu voir des prodiges,
j’en ai vu, je n’en ai que trop vu… Maintenant j’emporte à jamais en
moi l’image de cette face qui, même si je devais un jour revenir vivre
parmi les hommes, hanterait mes nuits et mes jours comme le pire
des cauchemars ou la plus affreuse folie.
Dès que j’eus observé ce crâne extrêmement développé,
hypertrophié par endroits et comme boursouflé d’un excès de
cervelle, dès que, surtout, les grands yeux éclairés d’un reflet
intérieur se furent posés sur les miens, je compris définitivement que
cette créature était douée de raison. Je me rappelle avoir cherché
sur elle avec une sorte d’acharnement quelque vestige d’humanité,
afin de diminuer dans une certaine mesure le trouble que cette
constatation apportait dans mes plus profondes habitudes
intellectuelles. Mais l’aspect du monstre ne rappelait en rien celui de
l’homme. Il se tenait accroupi sur ses membres postérieurs et devait
marcher de même, en se servant comme appui de sa forte queue ;
ses bras grotesques et courts, au lieu de tomber au repos, le long de
ses flancs, semblaient véritablement sortir de sa poitrine ; point de
mains véritables, mais, attachés directement aux poignets des doigts
très déliés et très longs, plus longs, à ce qu’il me parut, que les bras
eux-mêmes, et à peu près pareils à des tentacules.
Sur la face, nulle trace de poils : une peau blême et terne qui me
faisait penser à la couleur d’une tête de veau écorchée. Les yeux
étaient ronds, légèrement bombés et encastrés sans paupières
visibles dans des orbites proéminentes. A la place du nez, deux
trous béants d’où sortait de la buée ; au-dessous, c’était la fente
démesurée d’une bouche de reptile garnie d’une multitude de dents
aiguës que ne parvenaient pas à recouvrir des lèvres minces et
cornées. Aux deux coins de ces lèvres qui rejoignaient presque des
oreilles mouvantes et minuscules, un peu de salive suintait. Le
menton n’existait pas ou disparaissait sous de flasques replis de
peau molle étagés sur le cou et la partie supérieure du tronc… Puis,
par deux fois, les paupières battirent et voilèrent un instant les yeux,
blanches, ténues, presque diaphanes comme celles des serpents ou
des oiseaux…
Il ne m’était pas possible de chercher plus longtemps à me faire
illusion : cet animal et l’homme actuel ne descendaient pas du même
ancêtre.
Je crois que nous restâmes à peu près cinq minutes, — cinq
éternelles minutes, — à nous regarder fixement. Ensuite je me
souviens d’avoir vu, immobile et glacé par l’horreur, la gueule du
monstre s’ouvrir avec un sifflement doux pendant qu’il faisait un pas
vers moi ; et, je ne sais trop pourquoi, cette gueule me parut alors
menaçante et prête à mordre… Mes yeux se fermèrent ; je ne fus
même pas capable de reculer, et je sentis bientôt une haleine âcre et
glacée sur mon visage. J’aurais vu la mort s’approcher à petits pas
que je n’aurais pas été plus affolé… Quand je rouvris les yeux, la
face était à quelques centimètres à peine de la mienne.
Soudain une furieuse colère s’empara de moi, plus forte que le
dégoût et que la peur. La taille du monstre était légèrement
supérieure à la mienne et la peau flasque de son cou pendait à la
hauteur de mes dents ; dans un inconcevable accès de rage contre
lequel ma raison ne put rien, je me précipitai et je mordis, oui, je
mordis comme font les bêtes au comble de l’effroi. Comment rendre
la sensation sur mes lèvres et ma langue de cette chair pareille à un
caoutchouc compact et difficilement pénétrable ?… Le monstre,
épouvanté, poussa un cri qui résonna comme le grincement de deux
plaques de cuivre brusquement frottées l’une contre l’autre, bondit
agilement en arrière et disparut au tournant du souterrain.
Lorsque le calme et l’ordre furent peu à peu revenus dans mon
esprit, il ne me resta plus qu’à maudire l’imprudence de mon
mouvement impulsif ; je comprenais bien qu’à cette heure décisive
où se jouaient notre avenir et sans doute notre vie, le moindre de
mes actes prenait une importance considérable, et que, dominant
mes nerfs, je n’aurais dû agir qu’avec une extrême réflexion. Et
voilà ! cet être qui s’était évidemment approché de moi sans dessein
hostile, uniquement — après une longue hésitation, — pour
m’examiner de près en plein jour et tenter peut-être d’entrer en
relations avec moi, je l’avais, me jetant sur lui, mordu bestialement !
Ne courions-nous pas désormais le risque d’être considérés par le
peuple du Pôle comme des animaux malfaisants et dangereux ?
Je repris le chemin du ballon, fort irrité contre moi-même. Je
trouvai Ceintras sur la berge, en train de ranger ses lignes et se
préparant au départ. Toute la journée, il avait été aussi raisonnable
que possible, il ne me semblait pas que rien de fâcheux eût altéré
cet état mental durant mon absence et, avec une certaine
amertume, je pensais qu’après l’acte que je venais de commettre je
n’avais guère le droit de me considérer comme beaucoup plus sensé
que lui. Aussi, Ceintras m’ayant demandé les raisons de mon air
pensif, je lui répondis sans préambule :
 — Voilà : j’ai vu un des habitants du Pôle, je l’ai vu de tout près,
comme je te vois en ce moment…
— Ah ! et alors ?
— Eh bien, ce n’était pas un homme, c’était… c’était…
— Quoi donc ?
— Je ne sais pas te dire… quelque chose de pareil à un grand
lézard qui se serait tenu sur ses pattes de derrière…
— C’est bien cela, murmura Ceintras après quelques instants de
méditation.
— Comment ? m’écriai-je, « c’est bien cela »… Tu en avais donc
aperçu un déjà ?
— Oui, répondit-il. Et si je ne t’ai pas mis au courant, c’est que je
ne pensais pas que le moment fût venu d’agir…
— Pourquoi ?
— Pourquoi ? Parce que, — je m’en rendais bien compte, — j’ai
été, ces jours-ci, malade, très malade… sans trop en avoir l’air. Et je
me méfiais quelque peu des pensées qui pourraient me venir durant
cette maladie. C’est fini, je vais bien, tout à fait bien…
— Mon pauvre ami ! dis-je en lui prenant affectueusement les
mains… Mais, à présent, que faire ?
— Je vais continuer à y penser. Nous nous heurterons
évidemment à des difficultés de toutes sortes. D’abord, nous sera-t-il
jamais possible de nous faire entendre de ces créatures ? Leur
gosier doit être aussi incapable d’imiter les sons du langage humain
que le nôtre de produire et d’assembler d’une manière intelligente
les susurrements et les sifflements dont ils usent pour exprimer leurs
pensées…
— Tu sais donc aussi que leur langage…
— Oui.
— Et depuis quand ?
— D’une manière certaine, depuis tout à l’heure. Trois de ces
singuliers personnages sont apparus soudain au bord du fleuve, à
peine à dix mètres de moi… A ma vue, ils se sont arrêtés et après
quelques instants d’ahurissement ou de peur, ils se sont mis à
converser sans me quitter des yeux ; car ils conversaient, il n’y a pas
de doute possible… Si j’étais demeuré immobile, peut-être se
seraient-ils encore plus approchés de moi.
— Mais tu as bougé, et alors… Raconte ! raconte !
— A quoi bon ? tu en sais aussi long que moi. Et ce n’est guère le
moment de parler en vain…
— Oui ! mais que faire ? mon Dieu ! que faire ?
— … Voient-ils seulement les choses de la même façon que
nous ? dit Ceintras, sans avoir l’air de prendre garde à mes
dernières paroles. Ils vivent en société, ils sont intelligents, peut-être
même le sont-ils dans des proportions qui dépassent tout ce qu’il est
humainement possible de concevoir… Mais ce n’est nullement là
une raison pour que leurs sentiments ne diffèrent pas profondément
des nôtres. Et s’ils ignorent la pitié, la clémence, que va-t-il advenir
de nous ?
— En tout cas, dis-je, ils semblent éprouver la peur, tout comme
les hommes. Qui sait ? nous sommes pour eux des objets d’horreur,
des cauchemars réalisés…
— Ils ont peur, évidemment. Mais ils paraissent aussi, —
heureusement ! — tourmentés par une grande envie de s’instruire
sur notre compte. Dire qu’il serait si simple de nous entendre !…
Mais regarde, voici la nuit qui, dans un instant, va nous condamner à
l’impuissance !…
Il n’eut pas plutôt prononcé ces mots que ma résolution fut prise.
Je m’approchai de lui et, lui posant la main sur l’épaule, je lui
expliquai qu’il existait un moyen d’éviter le sommeil. Je lui exposai
également les raisons pour lesquelles je n’avais pas cru devoir le
mettre au courant. Il m’approuva, — il lui était bien difficile de faire
autrement, — mais je compris qu’il ne pouvait tout de même se
garder d’une certaine irritation à mon endroit. Pour y parer, je
continuai à me justifier de mon mieux :
 — Tu vois, à présent que tu es… que tu es guéri, je me hâte de
mettre un terme à cette cachotterie nécessaire.
— Parfaitement ! je ne t’en veux pas. Pourquoi t’en voudrais-
je ?… C’est égal, tu fais tes coups en dessous, tu sais dissimuler !
Mes compliments. Ah ! ah !…
Il riait ; mais ce rire sonnait un peu faux.
— Je suis guéri, reprit-il, et je constate avec plaisir qu’il te tardait
de le reconnaître. Seulement, je t’en prie, évite bien de me faire
sentir, en prêtant à mes paroles et à mes gestes une attention
spéciale, que tu crains encore une rechute… Ceci, je ne te le
pardonnerais pas.
— Mais qu’est-ce qui te fait croire ?…
— Tu tiens à me faire parler au delà de mon intention ? Qu’à cela
ne tienne ! Eh bien, si par hasard tu l’ignores, la maladie que j’ai eu
s’appelle folie, et chacun sait que quelqu’un qui a été fou peut le
redevenir un jour ou l’autre… Je ne veux pas que tu m’y fasses
penser à chaque instant. J’ai été fou, je ne suis plus fou ; oublie que
je l’ai été.
Il répéta plusieurs fois encore d’un air de menace et de défi : « Je
ne suis plus fou ! » Et moi, devant cette exaltation de mauvais
augure, je craignais qu’au moment même l’affreuse démence ne
posât de nouveau ses griffes sur lui !
Dix minutes plus tard nous étions embusqués derrière un
buisson, aux environs de la trappe la plus proche. Ceintras, qui avait
emporté dans sa poche une bouteille de cognac, buvait de temps à
autre une gorgée, avec délice… Notre attente ne fut pas de longue
durée. Avant même que la lumière violette eût tout à fait disparu, les
monstres sortirent en assez grand nombre. Sur le seuil, ils
échangèrent des susurrements en se dandinant et en balançant la
tête ; puis ils se tournèrent presque tous à la fois vers le ballon et
agitèrent avec animation leurs bras trop courts.
— Vois-tu, dis-je à Ceintras en abaissant autant que possible le
ton de ma voix, je suis persuadé qu’un jour nous pourrons parvenir à
nous faire comprendre… Fais abstraction de leur aspect odieux et
inouï : est-ce que le sens de ce qu’ils pensent ou disent ne t’apparaît
pas clairement ? La traduction se fait tout naturellement en mon
esprit : « Que deviennent les êtres qui nous sont arrivés par les
chemins du ciel ? Irons-nous voir ce qui se passe ? — Sont-ils
dangereux ? — Non ! — Si ! — En tout cas, ils ne sont pas pareils
aux poissons du fleuve ou aux oiseaux des bosquets : ils
construisent comme nous des machines et leur voix semble
exprimer des pensées… »
— C’est entendu, interrompit Ceintras en haussant les épaules,
je te confie le rôle d’interprète… Mais pour le moment, essayons de
nous approcher d’eux.
Nous sortîmes lentement de notre cachette. Un monstre nous
aperçut presque aussitôt et poussa un cri d’alarme. Une vive
émotion parut régner au milieu de leur troupe ; Ceintras et moi,
décidés à en finir, continuâmes à nous avancer en évitant tout
mouvement trop brusque. Nous ressemblions aux enfants qui
guettent les papillons et se dirigent vers eux sur la pointe des pieds,
en retenant leur souffle. Nous redoutions à chaque instant que l’un
des monstres ne donnât le signal d’une débandade éperdue. En
vérité, c’eût été pour nous un grand désappointement… Mais, grâce
à la prudence avec laquelle nous effectuâmes nos travaux
d’approche, tout se passa comme nous le désirions et, un instant
plus tard, les habitants du Pôle s’étant contentés de poursuivre leur
conversation en nous regardant avec une attention extraordinaire,
nous nous trouvâmes au milieu d’eux.
Alors Ceintras, — qui devait avoir préparé de longue date cette
plaisanterie d’un goût contestable, — s’inclina de l’air le plus aimable
du monde et dit :
— Messieurs nos hôtes, bien que vous soyez absolument
répugnants et que nous ne nous plaisions guère en votre
compagnie, j’ai bien l’honneur de vous saluer.
Leurs chuchotements redoublèrent. A présent ils ne paraissaient
pas autrement effrayés ; seuls, les gestes trop vifs qu’il nous arrivait
de faire sans y prendre garde provoquaient de temps à autre un
brusque frisson dans la petite troupe à peu près alignée devant
nous.
— Par où commencer ? demandai-je à Ceintras en me tournant
vers lui.
— Dame ! je crois que le mieux est de s’en remettre au hasard…
Tiens ! si nous tentions de nous faire suivre par eux jusqu’à la
cabine ?
— Je ne vois pas très bien à quoi cela nous avancera.
— Moi non plus. Seulement, je me rappelle que notre habitation
d’aventure avait l’air, ces jours-ci, d’exciter leur curiosité. Peut-être
se montreront-ils enchantés de notre invitation… Mais comment la
leur transmettre ?
Nous cherchâmes les gestes les plus naturellement intelligibles,
nous fîmes les signes qui en pareil cas se seraient imposés entre
hommes ne parlant pas la même langue : les monstres ne parurent
pas comprendre ; ils nous regardaient, se regardaient les uns les
autres et ne bougeaient pas. A la fin, risquant le tout pour le tout,
Ceintras, sans manifester du reste la moindre répulsion, en prit un
par le bras, aussi doucement que possible, et se mit en devoir de
l’entraîner.
Je regardais cette scène affolante, le cœur battant à rompre…
Qu’allait-il se passer ? Avec une joyeuse satisfaction, je vis que le
monstre cédait d’assez bonne grâce au désir de Ceintras. Il poussa
plusieurs cris, dans lesquels je vis, assez puérilement sans doute,
une prière qu’il adressait à ses semblables de ne point
l’abandonner ; ceux-ci de nouveau se dandinèrent et secouèrent la
tête pendant quelques secondes, puis s’ébranlèrent et nous suivirent
sans hésitation apparente.
Quand nous fûmes arrivés au ballon, Ceintras conduisit
immédiatement son compagnon devant l’emplacement du moteur et
le lui désigna du doigt à plusieurs reprises. Le monstre reproduisit
ces gestes de son mieux en se tournant vers les autres qui crurent
bon de l’imiter. Évidemment, ils s’étaient mépris sur le sens du
geste. Mais comment les détromper ?