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stared at the passing canopy of moonlit trees. They were driving on sand, and kept having to shift gears all the time.
    Someone handed the bottle of whiskey to him, half empty and positively hot, its neck sticky. He couldn’t drink. He pretended, though, letting the liquor dribble down his chin and onto his chest.
    â€œâ€¦ but we’ve all had her …”
    He felt an agonizing impatience. There was only one thought in his head: to confront this animal Bouilloux, to demand an explanation. Because it wasn’t true! It wasn’t possible! Bouilloux, for example—he’d never been Adèle’s lover. Nor the one-eyed man, nor …
    He alternated between fury and despair. One moment, he imagined ordering them to stop the truck to let him out. But he didn’t even know where he was. He didn’t have any choice except to see the night through to its end in this company.
    He calculated that they’d traveled something like fifteen miles. The truck came to a stop where the road itself ended, at the edge of a clearing by a river. The uproar started again, outbursts of talk and laughter.
    â€œThe bottle! Don’t forget the bottle!” a shadow yelled out.
    Timar remained alone by the little truck. No one noticed. In front of him, he saw figures going back and forth, sometimes zigzagging through the patches of light and shadow. He heard whispers and murmurs, raucous laughter.
    Maritain’s long shadowy figure was the first to come back. Not expecting it, he discovered Timar when he was only a yard away. Embarrassed, he stammered, “You were here all the time?! A man’s got to have fun …”
    Another shadowy figure—shorter and larger—slipped across the clearing. Suddenly, it came up.
    â€œQuick! Get inside! This is going to be a scream!”
    It was Bouilloux. Another shadow turned, then two, three. A black woman came after that.
    â€œHey, baby, just a second! Whites first!”
    They piled into the truck. The three women waited their turn. The engine started up.
    â€œGo!”
    The truck sped off as fast as possible. The women were running after it shouting.
    â€œBack, girls, back! Bye-bye!”
    They were naked, absolutely naked, like jungle animals. The moon dappled them with silvery light. They were shrieking and waving their arms.
    â€œFaster, faster! They could still catch up!”
    The little truck was straining violently. They hit a tree stump and nearly tipped over. It was a close shave.
    The black women were still running, but they were gradually falling behind. Their outlines grew smaller and more distant, their voices fainter.
    That was it—they’d lost them!
    There were a few giggles, no more, and some stray comments.
    â€œWho was the big fat one?”
    Next to Timar, Maritain bowed his head.
    A few obscenities, too. But as they drove farther, they fell silent. They became increasingly grim and despondent.
    â€œI have a summons from the chief of police for tomorrow.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    â€œAnd Adèle? Speaking of which, we should take up a collection for a wreath.”
    It was hot and cold. Timar’s body was covered in sweat and his shirt was drenched. The air seemed too hot for his lungs and yet the breeze the truck made was freezing him.
    He’d started at the sound of Adèle’s name. The moon was lower, behind the trees, and he could no longer see his companions. But he knew which corner Bouilloux was sitting in.
    â€œSpeaking of Adèle, I want you to tell me …”
    His voice sounded so false that he was thrown off. He lapsed into silence.
    â€œWhat do you want to know? Have fun if you want, like we did tonight. Just don’t knock her up.”
    He said nothing. They dropped him off by the edge of the pier. He’d shaken only one hand, Maritain’s. Maritain had stammered, “See you tomorrow.”
    Timar was alone in the night. There was one light shining on the second