As Jean, his wife, and son entered their house located nearby, Pierre headed towards the beach to the north of Saint-Pabu, where he had gotten used to swimming. The place was deserted, and the wind even stronger. Gusts whipped his face, and sometimes he could feel a few drops on his skin.
The sea was as gray as the sky, and the air was fragrant. Winds pushed tons of water onto the Breton coast, luckily it was low tide. He walked further along the beach, covered with seaweed, small mollusks, old wood, and some plastic items. Waves formed imposing rolls that crashed with an explosive noise when they were close enough to the shore. The wave rolled and then slid on the gray-white sand until it exhausted all its energy and died before giving way to the next.
Before him stretched the ocean, dark and menacing as far as the eye could see. He couldn't imagine anyone foolish enough to venture into the sea now.
A few rocky islets added a little something to this marine landscape that seemed to come out of a fantasy story. Some seabirds soared in the sky flying low.
Then he saw a small one-masted ship approaching swiftly with the help of the west wind. It was the Carmen, a small pleasure boat converted into a fishing boat. It wasn't even seven meters long, was white and sky blue, and had an inboard propulsion system running on gasoline. The engine hadn't worked since the blackout, so it had to be modified a bit.
It hadn't been too complicated because just behind the cockpit were four metal bars forming two robust triangles on each side connected by a fifth bar. All of this was meant to provide the pilot with protection from the sun. It was this part that had been transformed to propel the boat with the wind.
It wasn't very efficient, but it was the best they could do until they could modify the other boats in the Aber Benoît.
The one piloting this small boat was none other than Yvon, still proudly sporting his ponytail.
Pierre followed the boat along the sea to the Stellac'h port, a kind of concrete platform slightly advanced into the river from which small boats were launched.
The Carmen moved at a moderate pace, but not by choice. Its sail was made of a humble bedsheet. Yvon guided his boat on the Aber Benoît river as he had been doing for months. When he reached a certain point, he left his post and folded his sail only with his large, tired, salt-worn hands.
The small boat came to a complete stop at a red buoy in the middle of the river. Yvon securely tied the boat before boarding a small white dinghy. With the strength of his arms, he made his way back to the port where he was greeted by Pierre. It surprised him a little.
He was standing near a lamppost, hands in the pockets of his long black coat, a deep gray hat deeply embedded in his head, his face still as unexpressive as ever.
"Hi, Pierre! It's blowing, huh?
Yes, and I think it's going to get worse during the night."
Yvon looked sternly at the increasingly darkening sky. Occasionally, a distant rumble could be heard.
"Hmm, I think so, yes. There are already some big waves out there. I hope the boats will be okay. Is everyone back?
I don't know. I was just taking a walk before heading back. How was the fishing?Not good. I'll try another spot next time. Maybe I'm doing it wrong too."
Yvon had a bit of a belly when Pierre arrived in the commune five months ago. His change in diet had transformed him. He had lost over thirty kilos, which had led him to punch a few extra holes in his leather belt. It now hung loosely on him, whether it was his pants or his shirts. Since he started this new job, he wore a hat almost every day, the style of which varied, and sunglasses.
The first few weeks had been particularly tough for him. That said, he wasn't the only one to have suffered during this transition period.
The fisherman grabbed his thick jute bag and headed towards the town hall, the heart of Saint-Pabu. Gwen Le Gall had to take care of everything with a handful of people to keep the commune running smoothly, which often led her to work until very late.
Yvon and she spoke very regularly to the point where some suspected that they weren't just talking when they locked themselves in an office. There was nothing wrong with that, quite the contrary. After all, they were both single, and Saint-Pabu needed some good news.
Several couples had formed in a few months, which was encouraged by Madame Le Gall. People living alone, whether they had children or not, quickly realized that in this new world, this situation was untenable. Both men and women needed help and companionship to avoid sinking into despair. The number of residents living alone had thus decreased significantly, freeing up many housing units.
There had also been a few births. This was a whole different story because Saint-Pabu already lacked the necessary facilities before the blackout. The maternity ward in Saint-Renan, fifteen kilometers away as the crow flies, had closed in the early 2000s. Before the blackout, expectant parents would have gone to Brest to give birth, five kilometers further!
So, women had to do their job at home in the presence of other women who had been through it and the only doctor in the commune, a man in his fifties named Sylvain Roche. Without an epidural, without anesthesia, without the comfort of a modern clinic, they fought to give birth. Fortunately, nothing terrible had happened, but Madame Le Gall feared that this luck wouldn't last and that a tragedy would occur one day.
Saint-Pabu had thus gained two inhabitants over the period. It was far from compensating for the losses since the power outage.
Pierre went home after saying goodbye to Yvon and locked the door behind him.
Everything was so quiet. There was only the sound of the wind against the walls and windows of the house whose real owners still hadn't shown up. It had been a long time since the ex-trader turned farmer expected to see them arrive. He saw himself at home here.
He threw his gym bag containing his work gear near the small shoe cabinet, carelessly removed his mud-covered boots. He then entered his living room. The brightness was low because of the storm, but the solar calendar also had to be taken into account: the days were gradually getting shorter.
September had been superb, almost worthy of a July or August month, but all good things must come to an end. Soon, it would be cold and rain for days on end. He was preparing for it by stocking up on wood for his fireplace. He was lucky, not everyone had one. For now, it was off since he didn't think it was cold enough to use it. He simply wore a thick sweater at home.
While letting out a deep sigh, Pierre sank into the deep sofa that majestically stood in the darkened living room. It was deep, designed to accommodate many guests around a large glass coffee table.
In front of him, against a tall wall painted light gray, was an elegant low and narrow TV stand, perfectly suited to modern televisions. It was imposing, but perfectly useless like all the others.
He could vaguely see himself in the reflection.
A stronger gust than the others howled and made the large bay window overlooking the garden shake. From his position, he could see Dakota peacefully eating flowers and grass as if nothing mattered. She did a very good job as a lawnmower because without her, the grass would be much higher than it was now.
Indeed, he had noticed that during the summer it had grown well everywhere in and around the commune. Herbivores were the only ones who could handle this problem because without lawnmowers, humans couldn't do anything. And even if they could, it certainly wouldn't be their priority.
Pierre stayed like that for a while in the deepest of silences, perfectly still. Then he decided to light two candles placed at the ends of the coffee table. He had placed small dessert plates underneath to catch the wax when they finished melting. Both were well started, but he still had time before they naturally extinguished.
The living room seemed a little warmer now, but the room remained terribly empty and silent.
Pierre headed towards the large bookcase, probably from Ikea or Conforama, located directly to the right of the fireplace. There were many books there, but also some trinkets belonging to the former owners. The photos had long been moved to a large box stored upstairs. He didn't want to see the faces of these people.
He had had time to read several of these books. He had deduced a number of things about his predecessors. To begin with, they were believers. He had noticed this quite quickly because above the entrance was a small golden engraving of Mary holding the baby Jesus. He hadn't tried to remove it. He had found a Bible and some books about the apostles and various saints in the bookcase. There were also comics, including adventures of Tintin and Asterix and Obelix. Some of them were clearly old editions and seemed to have been read dozens of times. There were also more serious books like those about the history of Brittany, local tales and legends, World War II, French painters of the 19th century, and some detective novels.
He had read the comics first, then the novels. He had then leafed through the serious books. He had then started to read more carefully the books on art, a subject he was quite resistant to in the past, especially contemporary art. He didn't understand it. However, these French artists, Gauguin, Cézanne, Renoir, Monet, Manet, Degas, he understood them. They wanted to represent something beautiful to share with the world, sometimes adopting an original point of view with strange colors or shapes.
He stopped at a painting depicting an everyday scene at the time. Three women working in a field with a charming little village in the background. The work was by a certain Jean-François Millet and dated back to 1857. This work spoke to Pierre because, like these three women, he spent the day breaking his back. The opposite of another painting presented a little further away depicting men and women resting in a park by a charming little lake where people enjoyed having fun. He would have liked his daily life to look like that.
I wonder what happened to all these paintings? Probably stolen or put in safekeeping if they haven't been destroyed. Hmm, it would be such a shame. Surviving historic events only to be burned in a riot...