The Lost Sailors by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis Page B

the very moment his hand had touched Cephea’s cheek. As if to cushion the blow. And he told himself there were no acts that were irreparable. His father had always said that. He hoped it was true.
    Cephea didn’t move. She stood there in front of him, straight and proud. Naked. He realized how beautiful she was. No other woman could replace her in his heart. But he couldn’t find the words to apologize for what he had done. She was the one who broke the silence.
    There were no tears in her eyes now. Only determination.
    â€œI love you,” she said softly.
    â€œI love you, too.”
    â€œSo think about this, Abdul. I won’t mention it again.”
    She went back to bed. When he left the room, to get a cigarillo, she turned out the light. That was the moment he lost her.
    â€œThat was the moment I lost her,” he admitted finally, finishing his coffee. There are irreparable acts, but we don’t know what they are. He looked at the sailboats moored in the harbor, on the other side of the street. Doing that had a soothing effect on him. He ordered a second coffee.
    Â 
    Abdul Aziz had gotten up early and left the
Aldebaran
without even taking the time to have breakfast or drink a cup of instant coffee. He hadn’t wanted to run into Diamantis. He had no desire to talk to him. He felt tense and nervous. “There’s no shipwreck worse than a life being wrecked,” he had said to himself when he got back to his cabin the night before.
    He had lain on his bunk, listening to Duke Ellington.
Money Jungle
, one of his favorite albums. Ellington playing in a trio with Charlie Mingus and Max Roach. The album included the most sublime version ever of
Solitude
. But the track he particularly liked was
Fleurette africaine
. He had played it four times, then had fallen asleep, exhausted, when
Caravan
started up.
    He had gone early to the Seamen’s Mission. To phone Cephea. He’d been trying for three days now, but in vain. He had told himself he would have more luck early in the morning. But Abdul Aziz had no sooner entered the building than the deputy director, Berthou, hastened to inform him of the latest setbacks suffered by the
Aldebaran
’s owner, Constantin Takis. The
Aldebaran
was no longer the only ship of his unable to leave port. Thirty-nine of his ships were now at a standstill around the world. In addition, Berthou said, a lawsuit was in hand against Constantin Takis. The Greek courts had just sentenced him to three years in prison and a fine of twenty thousand dollars for violation of commercial laws.
    Abdul Aziz made no comment on this news. He merely nodded as he listened to Berthou. He didn’t really give a fuck about the future of his freighter this morning. He wanted to talk to Cephea. To hear her voice. He needed reassurance. He needed to know that if he got home in the next two or three days, she would be there.
    The idea had been running through his head since last night. He had thought about it again on the bus taking him to Place de la Joliette. He could go back to Dakar. There was nothing to stop him. He and Cephea would talk. They loved each other, so there had to be a solution. When he had negotiated the crew’s departure, he had been given to understand that the International Federation of Transportation Workers could arrange his repatriation if the situation got worse. He could make sure that both he and Diamantis went home.
    â€œTakis has appealed.”
    â€œI’m not surprised,” he replied, evasively. “He’s smart.”
    In less than ten years, Constantin Takis’s line had become
the twelfth largest Greek shipping line by tonnage, and second largest for the number of ships. He had started with two small tankers, and his fleet had grown until he had ninety vessels: tankers, bulk carriers, roll-on roll-off ferries, and refrigerator ships.
    Abdul Aziz knew him well. They had been in the same class at the merchant-navy