HECTOR AND ÉDOUARD ARE GOOD FRIENDS
HECTOR had known Édouard since school, and Hector remembered that, even back then, Édouard had always been in a great rush to do everything. In class, he would finish his schoolwork before anyone else and, since he got good marks, that annoyed the other pupils a little, and sometimes even the teachers, who would say, ‘Édouard, stop discouraging your classmates.’ Later, Édouard went off to study to become an engineer and build bridges or launch rockets, but, in the end, he didn’t become an engineer – he started working in a bank. One day, Hector had asked him why he had chosen this job, because, for Hector, bridges or rockets seemed more interesting.
‘I don’t want to wait,’ Édouard had said. ‘Might as well get rich quick. After that, I’ll have time to figure out what I want to do.’
Édouard did complicated calculations with money, for example to work out if people should buy pieces of big companies or not. Thanks to his calculations, he made people who were already rich a lot of money, and didn’t do too badly out of it himself either. Édouard often changed jobs, because he got bored quite quickly when he stayed too long in the same bank or in the same country. It was a bit like that with his girlfriends. But, once or twice, he’d been very, very badly hurt, because sometimes it’s only after you have broken up with someone that you realise that you really love them. But by then it’s too late, and the nights are very long, even if you wish away the hours until morning when you can call them. Still, Édouard had found time to get married and have two children, but he’d also got divorced. And now he only saw his children occasionally.
The last time Hector and Édouard had seen each other was in China, the very place where they had both met the old monk. Or, rather, Hector had met the old monk and introduced him to Édouard, because the greatest gift you can give someone is to introduce them to someone new. And Édouard had often gone to visit the old monk in his monastery to talk to him.
After a while, Édouard had even ended up getting bored with money. He’d realised that he was rich enough as it was, and that now he wanted to do something useful for others. He started working for a big organisation which sent people like him to help people all over the world who were quite poor (but not necessarily unhappy). Hector was very glad, because he had a feeling that this new job might finally make Édouard happy. As soon as he’d read the story in the newspaper, he’d sent a message over the internet to Édouard to ask if he had any news about someone they both knew. (Hector was very careful not to say ‘old monk’ or his name in Chinese, because if his disappearance was that important it was better to be discreet.) Édouard had twigged straight away and had written back:
Come and see me, my friend. We’ll be able to talk more easily. Here, time has a different meaning. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel as if I’m in a rush any more.
And, besides, some people around here could really do with a good psychiatrist sometimes. Anyway, speak soon.
At the bottom of the message was the name of the place where Édouard was staying. It was so far north on earth that almost all maps stopped just short of it. Well, anyway, it was the land of the Eskimos, or rather, some Eskimos, because, in the same way that for American Indians there are Iroquois, Apaches, Hurons, Mohicans, Arapawash and Algonquians (Little Hector knew lots of others besides), so there are several kinds of Eskimo, or rather Inuit, because that’s what you’re supposed to call them now, ever since well-meaning but rather badly informed people thought, and made everyone else think, that ‘Eskimo’ was not a nice word.
Hector thought that this would be a lovely trip for him and Clara, and helpful too. Going on a trip would perhaps be good for Clara, who had seemed a little sad lately.
But when Clara saw the place where Édouard was staying on the map Hector had eventually found, she shivered and said no, no way, she didn’t want to go and freeze to death up there. Hector was worried, because he’d decided always to travel with Clara from now on to avoid getting up to mischief.
He saw that Clara was looking at him, and then she said with a little smile, ‘At least, in cold like that, I don’t think there’s much chance of you getting up to any mischief!’
But, all the same, Clara’s smile was a little sad, and Hector vowed not to get up to mischief ever again.
Will he manage? You’ll just have to keep reading …
THE last leg of Hector’s journey was on the smallest plane he’d ever been on. You couldn’t stand upright to go to the toilet and, besides, there were no toilets. Sitting in his seat, he could also see the pilot, or rather the back of a big anorak and a big furry hat. It almost looked as if a bear was flying the plane! What’s more, Hector was dressed the same way: he’d bought all his clothes from a list that Édouard had sent him with some rather odd things on it, like silk liner socks and an anorak made out of the same material as the spacesuits of the astronauts who had gone to the moon, and black goggles that looked like the ones you put on when you go to the swimming pool.
Outside, you couldn’t see anything, except the pitch-black night and the snowflakes as they landed on the windowpane. Hector was sitting beside the only other passenger: a big American man with huge hands who was coming back to this bitterly cold country to drill little holes very deep down into the ice to find out what the air was like a long, long time ago. Someone else in search of time! thought Hector.
‘There are little bubbles of air in the ice,’ explained the big American, ‘air from hundreds of thousands of years ago.’
He was talking very loudly to make himself heard over the noise of the engine, and Hector was getting earache from listening to him. Also, he hadn’t caught the big American man’s name the first time round and he didn’t dare ask him again.
‘So, what do all these little bubbles tell you?’ said Hector.
‘That the air was cleaner before!’ said the big American, and burst out laughing.
Then he leant over to pull something out of his bag.
‘Talking of bubbles …’ he said.
Hector couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw what the big American had pulled out of his bag: a bottle of champagne!
‘I brought it for a special occasion,’ he explained. ‘But, up there, no one knows how to drink it. They like stronger stuff. Better to drink it with you – at least you’ll appreciate it!’
Hector had a feeling that he and the big American were going to become very good friends, as soon as he caught his name, that is. The pilot heard the pop of the cork and turned round. This was no bear, but a very pretty woman with ice-blue eyes who looked as if she wouldn’t take any nonsense. What’s more, she shouted, ‘No drinking on my plane!’ But the big American showed her the bottle of champagne and held out a plastic cup for her, and then she smiled. She had a very beautiful smile, pure like snow. Hector thought very hard about Clara. Luckily, the pretty pilot only let them pour her half a cup, perhaps just to be polite, and then she turned round to concentrate on flying the plane for the rest of the journey.
Anyway, Hector was glad to have drunk all that champagne before landing, since it wasn’t exactly a normal landing: the plane touched down on the ice on runners a bit like skis, and it really was quite bumpy and made a sliding noise, which was a little disconcerting.
‘Phew!’ said the big American. ‘I’ll never get used to that.’
Hector had finally learnt the American’s name: Hilton. Like the name of a hotel. After a few cups of champagne, he had even jokingly asked Hilton,