*
It took only two days for the circus to break up. The big top, the circus ring, the clowns, jugglers, acrobats and horsemen all went, and Wolfgang found himself alone with his beasts. With no trailers or stage, what could he do with his big cats but hide them? He would have to conceal himself as well since he would be classified as a deserter, missing from action. He needed to hide quickly and it would have to be nearby, somewhere in the deserted plains of the causse. On the evening of the fifth of August, after two days of heading due east, he turned up in Orcières-le-Bas with his two wagons and two display cars hitched to four horses. He asked to see the mayor.
This was not the first time the lion tamer had been to Orcières-le-Bas. A month earlier, on the advice of the slaughterman, he had come with an empty wagon to collect the bodies of ten ewes that had died of fright during a storm that had roared down from the summit of Mont d’Orcières, the hill with the abandoned house. The lion tamer had immediately realised that no one wanted to set foot on the hill, believing it to be cursed. Now that he needed somewhere to hide, he remembered the unhappy crag and said to himself that it would be the perfect place for him and his lions and tigers.
There was no one to guide him up the impossibly steep track. And when he reached the house, he found it had no lock, only a hermetically sealed thick door. There were a few panes missing from the windows, but he would have the time to repair them. At least on that benighted hill, he would be protected from the rest of the world. It would be the perfect hiding place for the lions and tigers, because, although they feared nothing and had no predators, in this world of war their days were numbered. They could sense that things had changed. They had already noticed that it was harder for their master to feed them. Everything depended on the lion tamer being able to provide food, for if their master could no longer guarantee their sustenance, he would lose all authority over them. Then he would no longer be able to defend or protect his beasts and they would have no choice but to attack and eat him.
But up there, on the rocky summit, he would be able to re-establish the status quo. And more importantly, he would be forgotten; he would have the mountain all to himself, a mountain less sacred than Noah’s and less noble, no doubt, but no less exposed to the extreme violence of the elements. He settled there with his animals. A Noah without a wife.
August 2017
The Audi was very powerful, but Franck was hesitant about starting up the hill. He got out of the car to have a look at the slope, wondering if the car would make it up a hillside that was almost vertical and full of potholes. There was no signpost, but this must be the turning. From the road, the track went off to the left just as the farmer had told him, an access road that was even steeper than a parking ramp, ravaged by rain, the ground cracked by the sun. He made sure he was in 4×4 mode. From below, the track looked like a tunnel formed of holm oak and box, dense masses on either side that joined at the top. He noticed rocks showing through in some places, so he would have to be careful not to swerve or stray from the track. That said, he was excited by the prospect of testing the motor; at least now he could unleash the three hundred horsepower that he had been holding back, making sure not to exceed the speed limit. They refastened their seat belts and took off as if they were on a fairground ride.
The ascent quickly proved challenging, especially as it was two kilometres long; two kilometres of stony, potholed track with a forty per cent incline. He struggled to rev the engine enough to pull the weight of the Audi whilst trying not to gain too much speed. The rocky ground gave way beneath the tyres; the car tilted so far at every turn that he feared it would roll over or spin off the side of the road. The sensors were beeping on all sides, the monitoring system going crazy, but still, rather than stopping, Franck kept his foot down, the stones spraying out from under the wheels like a hail of bullets. The track seemed to go on and on. Franck was becoming increasingly tense. He felt as if they had fallen into a trap, realising that there was no chance of turning back and that the higher they climbed, the deeper the ravine to his left became. He felt increasingly panicked by how high up they were, while Lise hung on tightly and told him to carry on, as if she were finding it exciting …
This went on for five minutes, five minutes of an arduous ascent, five minutes of driving a car that was far too big while listening to its bodywork screeching. The polished metal had been scratched by branches the whole way up, and in the last few metres the slope had become so steep that Lise and Franck had their backs pressed flat against their seats, as if they were in a plane taking off. Then they were driving through shady pines. They approached the summit through rows of tall conifers. Still pinned against their seats, they could see the sun above the tops of the hills and then, suddenly, they found that they were horizontal once more, as though they had finally landed. From the crest of the hill, the surroundings looked like another world.
The panorama that opened out in front of them left them awestruck. At the end of the shady track the landscape jumped out at them. They had a 360-degree view, bathed in evening sunshine. Even Franck was moved by it. The hill stood like an island in the middle of an ocean of green, and from the top, you could see out over swathes of identical hills that seemed to go on forever. They stayed in the car, gazing at the scenery in total amazement. They felt as if they had entered the highest layer of the stratosphere, rising above the everyday reality of the world. They still could not see the house. The track was bordered by a low drystone wall, and the gîte must be at the end of it. They would just have to keep following the crest above the exposed hillside.
But instead of driving on, they stayed where they were, recovering from their journey and absorbed in the view. The landscape was a wilderness of hills and woods that stretched into infinity. Looking eastwards, Franck imagined seeing the area from above like on Google Earth; he imagined the causses, then the Massif Central, then stepping over the Rhone to the Alps, and Eurasia and the Ural Mountains beyond …
‘It must be behind the trees over there.’
‘What?’
‘The house!’
Lise pointed to a grove of various types of tree surrounded by cypresses on their right. There was a eucalyptus in the centre, and next to it an oak tree that was probably a hundred years old. The house must be on the other side of this wooded sanctuary, which offered a solitary patch of shade on the bare hillside. Lise wanted to go for a walk to take in the view, drinking in the fresh air. It was the perfect place for her; she felt so lucky to be there, outside the world. Franck was speechless. He – who would have much preferred to meet friends in Corsica or on a boat, or to spend two weeks in a civilised seaside setting – was struck by the beauty of the place, then immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of absolute isolation emanating from it.
Yet the sun shining on the glossy emerald hills filled him with wonder. Some landscapes are like faces: as soon as you see them, you recognise them. Franck had gone on shoots all around the world for his job, but he had rarely had this feeling that the landscape was welcoming him. It was probably due to tiredness and the desire to rest. They had been on the road for a long time, and they were as exhausted as they were relieved to have made it up the hill after hours of driving in the summer heat. They still had to see the house and find out what it was like. He was expecting a nasty surprise, but at least they would still have this spellbinding view, even if he knew that, for him, the attraction would last no more than a couple of days.