We were at the train station in Marseille. When I turned around, he was gone. Disappeared. I didn't move from the spot. I was standing in the middle of the ticket hall; passengers were passing me left and right. What's more, my battery was dead. I thought about what I should do. I tried to imagine: Where would he look for me?
I took the bus back to Mallemort, to the small hotel where we had spent the last few days. The lavender fields on both sides of the road still shone all lavender. Astonished, the receptionist gave me the same room, number nine.
The window was wide open, I leaned out: the same plane trees, the same old men playing the same thing, boules. Freshly showered into a freshly covered bed! That is unsurpassed. I stood under the jet of water. Then I slipped under the covers. I was daydreaming when I heard him say, 'Oh, there you are.'
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