CHAPTER 12

"… for the adventure to really come to an end."

They were busy all day long. Tintin kept running here and there to bring a tool, save one of the Thompsons tangled in a rope, hold a ladder, deliver instructions. The captain groaned, ranted, stormed, gave around orders like if he was still on the deck of a ship, frightened the young girls, made the children laugh, was strongly criticized by the old ladies. Calculus was floating absently in this mess with his pendulum, regularly avoiding an accident with a strand of unheard-of-luck that came to an abrupt end in the late afternoon, when a garden hose tripped him and he fell into the fountain. Convinced a trap had been set for him, the professor then retreated furiously to his apartments, from which Nestor only managed to get him out barely a few hours before the party.

The Marlinspike fanfare, pompously rechristened "orchestra", was to animate the guinguette and rehearse in the crypt where, had decreed the captain, the air being fresh it would limit the amount of refreshments needed for these bottomless throats: they had experienced enough concerts given by the Harmonie de Moulinsart where a third of the musicians had a little too much 'watered' the rehearsals.

Snowy ran barking in the middle of this mess, causing everyone and his neighbor to stumble, while the Siamese cat put herself in the most improbable places: they ended up locking them in the kennel with the horse and the parrot to have free rein.

Finally, everything was ready and the lawn emptied for a good forty-five minutes. In the golden twilight the park was finally silent and looked peaceful out of the window, like some fairy-tale glade awaiting princes and princesses, with its tall dark trees swishing softly in the evening, the lanterns and garlands of flowers gently swaying to the light breeze, the slight flutter of the immaculate fabric of the tents and the tablecloths.

Then the gates opened up and the May Day ball began with laughter and applause and the first squeaks of the violins.

From his bedroom window, Tintin grinned as he watched the captain below, sandwiched in between Cutts the butcher and the Mayor.

The Thompsons were sipping a glass of fruit punch, their canes hanging at their elbows, bowler hats pushed high over their foreheads. Snowy was frolicking with Joylon Wagg's brats, who were stuffing him with canapes and petit fours under Mrs Bolt's disapproving eyes. Nestor busied himself with serving, occasionally dipping his lips in a glass of champagne set aside on his tray. The parrot had escaped and was croaking its repertoire of insults and Italian songs on an oak branch, swelling its feathers. The cat was crouched between two columns on the large steps and lost nothing of the celebration. Calculus was nowhere in sight and the young reporter frowned as he picked up the camera he had come for.

He took a quick snapshot, briefly illuminating the park with a white lightning bolt, then went back down and mingled with the crowd, looking for the professor among the grandmothers who were knitting and the old men beating the beat with their canes and dentures, the vast bellies and the bony shoulders rubbing at the buffet, the entwined couples giggling under the trees and the ribbons.

The dancers were twirling around him, laughing and calling out loudly to be heard above the blare of the orchestra, in a flight of frilly petticoats, puffy hairstyles, slicked back hair and checkered shirts, and he couldn't help but think of the popular song* when he found himself jostled and received in his arms a skinny little figure topped with a sauerkraut of chestnut curls.

- "Tintin!" Martine gasped, straightening her askew oval glasses when the waltz that had ended gave them a few seconds of respite.

He smiled.

- "I thought you weren't coming," he said gently, stepping aside to give her some space.

- "I wouldn't have missed it," she began, smoothing the folds of her straw-yellow dress and pulling the sleeve of her white waistcoat up over her shoulder. "I…"

The big knot in her slightly disheveled hair had also slipped aside and Tintin reached out mechanically to put it back in place. She flushed even more, her eyelashes fluttering wildly behind her myopic glasses.

The music started again and the mass of the dancers tripped them, throwing them in each other's arms, dragging them into its whirl.

- "I'm afraid we have no other choice than waltz if we want to get out!" laughed Tintin.

She answered something he could not hear, squealed like a frightened mouse as she clutched at him and the crowd carried them away.

Tintin had not lied when he had said he was a bad dancer, but he could have mentioned how clumsy she was too, Captain Haddock thought, as he watched them from the window of the marine room, where he had found refuge after having succeeded in getting rid of Joylon Wagg by abandoning Doctor Leech to a sorry fate (he could hear from here the insurance broker laughing heartily at his own jokes).

- "A very charming little girl," said a voice beside him.

He nodded with a sigh.

- "No style, but she has a sure taste for art, I must say", added the voice. "Don't you think so too, Captain Bartok?"

An icy drop trickled down his spine and he turned slowly, mechanically, to the person who had just spoken.

La Castafiore offered him a delighted smile. She was dressed in a beautiful red gown signed Christian Bior and her jewelry shone with a thousand glows.

- "Ma… m-m-madame," Haddock stammered. "What… what, uh… a surprise."

She hooted with joy, waving her fan.

- "Isn't iiit? It was the professor who had this blessed ideaaa! I was hooorrified when I heard what haaappened to you last winter, cher ami… I couldn't stay still - well, I had to finish my tour in Russia**, of course, huhuhu, one is enslaved to one's art, isn't it so? You understand, of course, Caaapitan - but I came running as quickly as pooossible and here I aaam!"

She sighed dramatically and wiped real tears from the corner of her eyes.

- "I am sooo happy that you are all safe and sound, caro mio… I never would have recovered if you haaad disappeared in this terrible accident!"

She clung to his arm before he could pull away, choked on a sob, dabbed her heavily made-up eyes again.

- "Who would welcome me with ooopen arms if you weren't there? Moulinettes is my nest, my haven of peace, the only refuuuge where I know I am welcomed at any time of the year ..."

The captain gave up correcting the name of his poor mansion, flayed once again like its owner's. He vaguely patted the singer's chubby wrist, then made a cautious attempt to escape the sticky embrace.

- "Get over it, madame, all's well that ends well. We all came back in one piece. How long did you say you were going to stay this time? I… uh… I have to tell Nestor, to make sure your stay is, ahem… comfortable."

- "Oh, but only a few days! Barely enough tiiime for the bird to land on its branch…. Alas, I can't get aaaway from my audience for too long, huhuhu," simpered Bianca. "Are you dancing, captain?"

- "Not at all, ma'am", Haddock replied immediately, desperately seeking for an excuse in his suddenly empty brain at the thought of being dragged down to the dance floor once again by the Milanese Nightingale. "My… uh… my doctor forbade it. The age, the… the heart! My condition, you know. It's a shame. But do go have fun, don't you deprive yourself for me. A boring old sea dog like me would be poor company to you."

The valient attempt failed in a wave of applause as the waltz ended in the garden.

- "Oh, but you're not boring aaall!" cooed the Castafiore with another of her throaty laughs. "Madonna mia, but it's quite the opposite, Captain Vostok! One is never bored for a minuuute in your company. As I always tell Irma, the captain is the best ... now, where is she again? Irma! Irmaaa!"

Haddock took advantage of the fact she had turned to look for her maid to escape, but he was unfortunately caught again at the threshold of the marine room.

- "I was going to get you a glass of champagne," he muttered, seeing himself spotted.

She had frowned but she melted again, picked up the train of her extravagant evening gown and hung on his arm again, overwhelming him with her heady luxurious perfume.

- "Let's go together! Oh, how fun! I adooore these little village festivals, this rural chaaarm! You always have the best ideas of the wooorld, mon ami."

He resigned himself to his fate, let her re-comb his hair and babble as they went down the steps like a royal couple, endured without flinching the multiple blows of the fan she gratified him with in her excitement, introduced her to the whole crowd, rolling his eyes whenever he saw a heard nod.

Revenge was a dish eaten cold. Calculus would get his one day.

Where was the old goat, anyway?

Tintin came to greet the signorina and took the opportunity to ask the same question to the captain. He was out of breath, but his eyes were shining, and his big smile reached his ears.

- "I'm looking for him too," Haddock replied, distracted by what he had just noticed and that the Castafiore was also whispering in his ear behind her fan.

Tintin was holding Martine's hand firmly in his.

- "Pardon, Monsieur, but the professor has prepared a small event and asks if we can gather near the pond", Nestor intervened, a little out of breath, after clearing himself a passage through the villagers.

- "What a delicate attention!" Bianca chirped, immediately dragging away the captain, who was still lost in his thoughts, visibly leaving it to Tintin and Nestor to regroup the crowd.

There were no lanterns near the pond, only a few candles floating on the water among the water lilies. The indistinct mass of people in the bluish twilight was rustling and swishing. Far above the wonderfully illuminated castle, thousands of stars were sparkling on the black vault.

- "It's beautiful", whispered Martine next to Tintin.

He didn't say anything, but squeezed the small hand he still held. Against his legs, Snowy was yawning.

- "I hope this isn't a television test again," the captain muttered not far in the dark.

- "Tut-tut-tut, how bad are you!" cooed the Castafiore, still pressed against him.

The first comet that shot above the lab almost went unnoticed, before it blossomed in a shower of golden droplets, in many ooooohs and aaaahs from all over the garden.

There was a slight commotion where the Thompsons had been standing, for they had been surprised and believed it to be an attack, but the calm returned as soon as the one who had fallen into the water was pulled out of it. Nestor came running up with towels and the policeman watched the rest of the show rolled up in a blanket, teeth chattering but marveling at the fireworks that were blazing one after another into the night.

At the end of the show - a rocket that looped and plunged towards the crowd before soaring to the moon and disappearing without exploding ("that would have been very bad taste", growled the captain), all the audience applauded and whistled happily, as Calculus finally came out of his lab, looking absolutely delighted, rubbing his hands together - his curly hair slightly charred at the ends, soot smearing his face and the collar of his shirt.

The captain went to congratulate him and make sure the crowd gave him another cheer, then everyone returned to the pergolas where sweets and coffees had been served. The youth wanted music again, but as most of the musicians had taken advantage of this break to get a drink (or two), only a violin was still in shape to play.

The party ended slowly, peacefully, until all that remained in the night were the faltering lanterns, the empty chairs and the arches on which the flowers had withered.

Tintin and Martine had disappeared. The Mayor was ordering another fireworks display from Calculus for the twenty-first*** of July. Haddock was yawning repeatedly as he greeted the last departing guests, the Castafiore still glued to his arm. The Thompsons had fallen asleep in garden armchairs after taking off their shoes. Nestor was stacking dirty plates and empty glasses on a tray, a very interested Snowy at his heels.

- "It's so sad when it ends…" whispered Bianca, nestling her sleepy blond head on the captain's shoulder.

He nodded, for once without rebuffing her. He was looking for Tintin, wondering with mixed feelings if the young man was somewhere in the garden… behind a bush… with Martine… when the motorbike roared outside, dazzled the last group of leaving guests at the gate with its headlight then followed the curve of the path to come stop in front of the steps.

Ah. So he took her home.

The reporter turned off the ignition and took off his helmet. He lifted his head as he climbed the stairs and, in the light falling from the wide-open doors, Haddock saw an almost painful resignation on that young face that was trying to remain impassive.

He then detached himself from the Castafiore, passed her on to Calculus who had finished waving goodbye to the mayor and was hopping back in, and followed his friend inside.

Tintin went up to his room and, without a word, began packing.

- "I take it she was not thrilled to hear you were going off on a report overnight", said the captain softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

The young man shrugged as he piled a few spare shirts into his suitcase.

- "I made her cry again," he said with a tone meant to be indifferent.

But his eyes carefully avoided Haddock's, his voice quivered in spite of himself, and his jaws were clenched.

- "That's all they have left", said the old sea dog. "To cry, and to wait. Women's lives are not easy, lad."

Tintin groaned.

- "I'm not asking her to risk her life!" he mumbled, stuffing toiletries into a leather case that had seen better days.

Haddock shook his head.

- "What you're asking of her is much worse, son! Not knowing anything about what's happening to you and being left to imagine everything and anything. Spending nights with nightmares, going around in circles all day long, watching the hours go by slowly, fearing at each ring of the doorbell that it'd be the postman with a telegram saying you're dead..."

His throat tightened up and he fell silent. Tintin had stopped packing the suitcase and he was looking at him with emotion.

- "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I did not know."

- "I didn't know once either," breathed the captain.

The young reporter walked around the bed to come sit next to the old sea dog. For a few moments they were silent. Snowy was snoring on the quilt and the night was peaceful, through the open window.

In the bedroom with blue curtains, the light of the bedside lamp was casting on the walls shadows of a cargo ship cruising through a storm, a seaplane tacking over yellow dunes, the half-buried wreck of a three-masted ship guarded by sharks, llamas climbing up the Andes, a raft tossed about at dusk, the desert craters on the surface of the moon ...

- "You and I had some great adventures together," Haddock said after a while. "And you know what, lad? I don't regret any."

He took his pipe out of his pocket, stuffed it quietly, then lit it and took his first puff.

Tintin closed his eyelids for a moment, breathing in the warm smell of Belgian brown tobacco that had become so familiar, so reassuring.

- "I don't regret anything either," he said fervently.

- "That's good", said the captain. "So don't shy away from this adventure either. I'll be waiting for you, son. We'll all be waiting for you: Snowy, Calculus, the Thompsons, Nestor, la Castafiore… each of our friends. And your readers too. Go check on what is happening on the other side of the world, Tintin, then come back and tell us about it."

The young reporter nodded, throat clogged with emotion. The captain patted him on the back gruffly, then stood up. He stopped at the doorstep of the bedroom, turned around.

- "I'll take a nap. Shake me awake when you're ready to go, I'll take you to the station. The Thompsons are drunk as skunks, Nestor has put them up in the guest room."

- "Give my best regards to Madame Castafiore tomorrow morning, please. Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye to her."

Haddock groaned and Tintin, chuckling, went back to his packing.

oOoOoOo

Dawn was shrouding the cypresses in cold white, and the river was exhaling a light golden mist, when the train let out a long whistle before leaving Marlinspike station huffing and panting.

On the platform, the captain readjusted his sailor's cap and pulled up the collar of his black jacket as he walked back to the station gate. The dawning sun was blossoming, pink and fragile, above the red roofs of the still sleeping village.

The wire white fox terrier had not budged, still sitting where his master had asked him to remain seated and stroked him one last time before boarding the train. Snout up, sniffling, he was wiggling his ears slightly.

- "Snowy!" called the captain. "Come on, old chap. We're going home. Nestor saved a big marrow bone for you."

- "Whoof!" replied the dog.

Then, after a last glance in the direction the train had taken, he turned back from the railroad tracks and trotted over to the breakfast he was promised.

* 'La Foule', Edith Piaf, 1957.

** It was called the Soviet Union at the time, but Bianca is too romantic to pay attention to politics, of course.

*** July, the 21st is Belgian National Day.

You can stop here. Or you can read the bonus chapter coming after this one, but I decline all responsibilities about whatever feelings it'll make you go through…