Journey to the end of the world - Chapter 9, by @vincentleroy (translated from French)
This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by Vincent Le Roy (@vincentleroy): Le voyage au bout du monde • chapitre 9
As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.
Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (@vcelier), but Vincent Le Roy (@vincentleroy), a French guy.
Journey to the end of the world
The early riser wakes up. It is 7:00. Marine is awake too. Her eyes are not very nice. She could not sleep with my snoring. Ah ...? Personally, I did not hear anything. I just want a good coffee and I slowly go down the stairs and walk on the alley.
The day before, I spotted a coffee on the dock. I may be a little early when I arrive at the door, a sign greets me: "gone fishing". And shit! Even the bar is at a standstill. The island is still sleeping. I walk the streets in all directions. Nothing. I finally realized it. I immortalize the waves crashing on the pier.
Back to Sylvie. The smell of the coffee welcomes me. She smiles. "You went for a coffee?" I nod, giving her back her smile. She goes on: "Nothing is open until ten o'clock! Especially since today the boat only arrives at 16:00! ". I swallow a first sip. It's better and I ask her what the people do until 16:00. No irony in my words that she captures immediately. The answer is slightly confusing: "Nothing, we do nothing. There is nothing to do anyway. What is painful with the boat in the afternoon is that we have the paper very late."
Indeed! She tells me about her life. She has always known only this house. Her husband, who has already crossed the road ten years ago. And the 4 children who study on the continent. She does some housework for the older ones and she rents both rooms when the kids are not there. She says it to me very simply. Seen from the outside, she survives. In fact, not at all, she lives to the rhythm of the island. Everyone knows each other, and the old-timers, with their little canoes, bring back something to eat.
In fact, Sylvie is like all islanders. She's waiting for the fucking boat.
Continue to Chapter 10