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so than the Chinese: the numbering of storeys in a building or houses in a street often goes straight from twelve to fourteen, simply to avoid mentioning the number thirteen. I took a seat on the left-hand side about halfway down the coach. People establish points of reference pretty quickly on this kind of group outing: in order to feel relaxed, they need to find a place and stick to it, maybe leave some personal odds and ends around, actively inhabiting the space in some way.
    To my great surprise, I saw Valerie take a seat beside me, even though the coach was about three-quarters empty. Two rows behind, Babette and Lea exchanged a couple of scornful words. They'd better calm down, those sluts. I discreetly fixed my attention on the young woman: she had long black hair, a nondescript face, a face that could be described as unexceptional: not pretty, not ugly, strictly speaking. After brief but intense consideration, I managed awkwardly: 'Not too hot?' 'No, no, here in the coach is fine,' she replied quickly, without smiling, relieved simply that I had started a conversation. Though what I'd said was remarkably stupid: actually, it was freezing in the bus. 'Have you been to Thailand before?' she went on by way of conversation. 'Yes, once.' She froze in a waiting posture, ready to listen to an interesting anecdote. Was I about to recount my previous trip to her? Maybe not right away. 'It was good . . .' I said eventually, adopting a friendly tone to compensate for the banality of what I was saying. She nodded in satisfaction. It was then that I realised that this young woman was in no way submissive to Josiane: she was just submissive in general, and maybe just ready to look for a new master; maybe she'd already had enough of Josiane - who, sitting two rows in front of us, was furiously leafing through the Guide du Routard, throwing dirty looks in our direction. Romance, romance.
    Just past Payab Ferry Pier, the boat turned right into the Khlong Samsen and we entered a completely different world. Life had changed very little here since the nineteenth century. Rows of teak houses on stilts lined the canal; washing dried under awnings. Some of the women came to their windows to watch us pass, others stopped in the middle of their washing. Children splashed and bathed between the stilts; they waved at us excitedly. There was vegetation everywhere: our pirogue cut a path through masses of water-lilies and lotuses; teeming, intense life sprang up all around. Every free patch of earth, air or water seemed to be immediately filled with butterflies, lizards, carp. We were, Son told us, in the middle of the dry season; even so the air was completely, unrelentingly humid.
    Valerie was sitting beside me; she seemed to be enveloped by a great sense of peace. She exchanged little waves with the old men who sat smoking their pipes on the balconies, the children bathing, the women at their washing. The ecologists from the Jura seemed at peace too; even the naturopaths seemed reasonably calm. Around us, only faint sounds and smiles. Valerie turned to me. I almost felt like taking her hand; for no particular reason, I didn't. The boat stopped moving entirely: we were rapt in the momentary eternity of a blissful afternoon; even Babette and Lea had shut up. They were a bit spaced out, to use the expression Lea later employed on the jetty.
    While we were visiting the Temple of Dawn, I made a mental note to buy some more Viagra when I found a chemist that was open. On the way back, I found out that Valerie was Breton and that her parents had owned a farm in Tregorrois; I didn't really know what to say, myself. She seemed intelligent. I liked her soft voice, her meek Catholic fervour, the movement of her lips when she spoke; her mouth was obviously pretty hot, just ready to swallow the spunk of a true friend. 'It's been lovely, this afternoon . . .' I said finally in desperation. I had become too remote from people, I had lived alone too long, I