To The Lighthouse

Ouvert was fuming. He must leave Pointe des Minimes at once! But it was dark. Ouvert pulled himself up onto a seat at the edge of the sand, under the pine trees. He unfolded the envelope gingerly.

He heard a slight cough. He peered into the darkness at the far end of the seat. There was a man sitting there. A man with wild hair. A boy, really. He looked something like Arthur.

Hello, said Arthur.

Arthur! said Ouvert. Is it really you?

Yes, said Arthur. I wondered if I'd find you here. I promised to take you to La Rochelle, remember?

And you didn't, said Ouvert.

I would have, said Arthur. If you'd waited.

I'm here, said Ouvert.

So am I, said Arthur. Are you pleased?

NO! said Ouvert. All the pebbles have changed, and don't know me. And nobody here has a name. I don't fit in any more.

Travel changes you, said Arthur. It's changed me as well.

Never mind about you, said Ouvert. This is about me.

Oh is it? said Arthur. What's that you've got there?

It's an envelope, said Ouvert. Belle et Bonne gave it to me. But it's wet.

Let me see, said Arthur. Hmm. It's too dark to read the address.

Address? said Ouvert. I thought I was meant to get in it, not deliver it.

Get in it? said Arthur. Alright, but you must want to know where it's going.

It isn't going anywhere, said Ouvert.

Yes it is, it's got stamps, said Arthur. I can see that much at least. But there must be a light somewhere. Yes look over there. There's a lighthouse. Come on.

He picked up Ouvert and shoved him into his pocket.

The pocket was full of dirty bandages. Ouvert had been there before. He ought to warn Arthur about the lighthouse, but needed to keep both mouths closed.