Lovers on All Saints' Day Read Online Free PDF

came out.”
    “So? We’re going now?”
    “We’re going now.”
    “What a shame. It’s so nice here, all so fresh.”
    “We didn’t come to look at the landscape. We came to hunt,” I said. “And we haven’t even seen a rabbit.”
    —
    W E FOUND P IERRE sitting beside the path, playing with the dogs. Isis was biting the sleeve of his jacket and Pierre was letting her. Othello was lying in a puddle to cool off, and his fur looked like a vagabond’s blanket. Pierre stood up when he saw us coming. He told Michelle he was sorry, that not all days were like this, that it was a shame she’d been bored.
    “But I wasn’t bored,” said Michelle. “Just the opposite.”
    “Ah,” said Pierre. “Well, well. But next time will be better, I’m sure.”
    “I was just fine,” said Michelle. “We had a nice time. I don’t know about you guys, but I was breathing and I felt alive.”
    Michelle was walking with her shoulders raised, looking at the sky.
    “I want a nice hot coffee,” she said. “Come back and have some
tarte au riz
, Pierre.”
    She didn’t want us to talk anymore or, at least, she’d voluntarily forgotten. I was grateful. Michelle felt light. With a bit of luck, it might be contagious.
    “A nice big piece, some good coffee, get the fire lit,” said Michelle. “What time is it? I can’t believe there’s still light.”
    “It’s starting to get dark now,” I said.
    “That doesn’t matter. There’ve been years when you can’t see a thing by this time.”
    “I’m glad you came.”
    “Me too, love. I feel different now.”
    Suddenly, Pierre moved his arm in the air. He pointed at the planted field next to Michelle. I raised my rifle. Pierre snapped his fingers and the dogs understood.
    Isis and Othello broke through the curtain of yellow flowers, barking. Then a pheasant took flight and I aimed and the sight traced its movements and the barrel followed its desperate flapping and when the shot rang out the pheasant’s left wing was broken in midair, paralyzed, and I knew I’d hit it, then the body turned sideways and fell slowly, like the silhouette of an airplane, into the yellow flowers. The dogs were barking, but I heard the thud of the body hitting the ground. It all happened in a couple of seconds.
    “I’ll get it!” said Pierre, and ran toward where the body had fallen. “I’ll bring it!”
    “Come on,” I said to Michelle.
    I jumped over the shoulder of hardened earth between the path and the field and began to look for the pheasant. My boots got tangled in the stalks and sunk into the damp soil.
    “Where are the dogs?”
    “Isis!” shouted Pierre. “Isis!
Cherche!
”
    “Do you see it? Pierre? Can you see it?”
    I’d only wounded it. A pheasant is very fast on the ground. The flowers reached our waists, and it was impossible to find, unless we stumbled across it or it tired itself out, or its heart had stopped and it was already dead. I tried to look for traces of blood, but all I could see was the earth under my feet. It was like wading across a muddy river.
    “He’s going to get away,” said Pierre. “Isis!
Cherche-le, merde!
”
    The barrel of the gun was like a machete and I used it to move the stalks out of my way. The damp soil at my feet came suddenly into view and then disappeared again. But the pheasant was nowhere to be seen. We couldn’t hear it, the dogs hadn’t found it, and they leaped among the flowers and kept looking.
    “Shit,” said Pierre. “Shit, we’ve lost him.”
    “We haven’t lost him,” I said. “Othello! Find him!”
    “Useless dogs. We’ve lost him.”
    We stopped running. Pierre and I looked like bronze busts on a yellow carpet. We started to walk back to the path. Pierre called the dogs again.
    Michelle was waiting for us.
    “You didn’t come,” I said. “Looking for it is the best part.”
    “I didn’t want to,” said Michelle.
    “We lost him. It was a magnificent pheasant and we lost him.”
    “You’re not