Not since the moment he learned to read, René had been so many days without even touching a book. Those damn fever. Francine Sweet, who knew their crystalline laughter brighten up the darkest day of winter, lying in bed dying. And he, with all his wisdom, his whole philosophy, with all his science, all he could do for her was hold his hand until it became hot-cold glass. He kissed her and was like kissing the marble. Gently closed the bedroom door, wrapped himself in his cloak and went out aimlessly. Unconsciously his steps took him to a favorite of small Francine. The workshop Mr. Duivel dolls.
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Dutchman was speechless, and I resigned to ask more questions. He suddenly stood up and powered by a spring to look at the window above my head. I turned around to see what he was looking. From the small window could be seen vessels entering and leaving the port of Calais.
- You expect a boat?
In reply, the Dutch began to run around the room, screaming and howling.
- Liberate! Liberate! Deliver us, Lord!
All around no one seemed surprised by her screams, before they continued with their puffs and dreams without giving any importance. After the Dutchman fell exhausted on his knees, his hands joined in prayer and murmured a litany of which I understood only a few fragments.
- Free et tempestate us to flashes ... a perpetual morte ... Libera nos a spiritu fornicationis, diaboli insidiis ab ... frees us, Domine . A boat, yes, yes. The Free We is a good ship, proud and light, so fast that seems to float a foot above the waves, such as the albatross flies over the water when fishing. And knows his way without anyone draw a map or directions on your wheel spin. A road that leads to hell itself ...
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