The Winner Stands Alone

Another point in his favor. He doesn't immediately launch into some spiel about how rich and intelligent and talented he is. He simply wants to watch the sunset with her, that's all. They walk to the end of the beach in silence, passing all kinds of different people--older couples who seem to inhabit another world, quite oblivious to the Festival; young people on roller skates, wearing tight clothes and listening to iPods; street vendors with their merchandise set out on a mat, the ends of which have string looped through them so that at the first sign of a policeman, they can transform their "shop window" into a bag; there's even an area that seems to have been cordoned off by the police for some reason--after all, it's only a bench. She notices that her companion keeps looking behind him, as if he were expecting someone, but he's probably just spotted an acquaintance.

They walk along a pier where the boats partially conceal the beach from view, and they finally find an isolated spot. They sit down on a comfortable bench with a backrest. They're completely alone. Well, why would anyone else come to a place where there's nothing to do? She's in an excellent mood.

"It's lovely here! Do you know why God decided to rest on the seventh day?"

Igor doesn't understand the question, but she proceeds to explain anyway:

"Because on the seventh day, before he'd finished work and left the world in a perfect state for human beings, a group of producers from Hollywood came over to him and said: 'Don't you worry about the rest! We'll take care of providing the Technicolor sunset, the special storm effects, the perfect lighting, and the right sound equipment so that whenever Man hears the waves, he'll think it's the real sea!'"

She laughs to herself. The man beside her is looking more serious now.

"You asked me who I am," he says.

"I've no idea who you are, but you obviously know the city well. And I have to say, it was real luck meeting you like that. In just one day, I've experienced, hope, despair, loneliness, and the pleasure of finding a new companion. That's a lot of emotions."

He takes something out of his pocket; it looks like a wooden tube less than six inches long.

"The world's a dangerous place," he says. "It doesn't matter where you are, you're always at risk of being approached by people who have no scruples about attacking, destroying, killing. And we never learn how to defend ourselves. We're all in the hands of those more powerful than us."

"You're right. I suppose that wooden tube is your way of fending them off."

He twists the upper part of the tube. As delicately as a painter putting the final touch to a masterpiece, he removes the lid. It isn't in fact a lid, but the head of what looks like a long nail. The sun glitters on the metal blade.

"You wouldn't get through airport security carrying that in your case," she says, and laughs.

"No, I wouldn't."

Maureen feels that she's with a man who is polite, handsome, doubtless wealthy, but who is also capable of protecting her from all dangers. She has no idea what the crime statistics are for Cannes, but it's as well to think of everything. That's what men are for: to think of everything.

"Of course, you need to know exactly how to use it. It may be made of steel, but because it's so thin it's also very fragile and too small to cause any real damage. If you don't use it with great precision, it won't work."

He places the blade level with Maureen's ear. Her initial reaction is one of fear, soon replaced by excitement.

"This would be one of the ideal places, for example. Any higher, and the cranial bones would block the blow, any lower, and the vein in the neck would be cut; the person might die, but would also be able to fight back. If he was armed, he could shoot me, especially at such close range."

The blade slides slowly down her body. It passes over her breast, and Maureen realizes that he's trying both to shock and to arouse her.

"I had no idea someone working in telecommunications could know so much about killing, but from what you say, killing someone with that blade is quite a complicated business."

This is her way of saying: "I'm interested in what you're telling me. I find you really fascinating. But please, just take my hand and let's go and watch the sunset together."

The blade slides over her breast, but does not stop there. Nevertheless, it's enough to make her feel aroused. It stops just under her arm.

"Here I'm on a level with your heart.

It's protected by a natural barrier, the rib cage. In a fight, it would be impossible to injure someone with this blade. It would almost certainly hit a rib, and even if it did penetrate the body, the wound wouldn't bleed enough to weaken your enemy. He might not even feel the blow. But right here, it would be fatal."

What is she doing in this isolated spot with a complete stranger talking about such a macabre subject? Just then, she feels a kind of electric shock that leaves her paralyzed. His hand has driven the blade inside her body. She feels at first as if she were suffocating and tries to breathe, but then immediately loses consciousness.

Igor puts his arms around her, as he had with his first victim. This time, though, he positions her body so that she remains sitting. He then puts on some gloves and makes her head drop forward onto her chest.

If anyone ventures into that corner of the beach, all they will see is a woman sleeping, exhausted perhaps from chasing after producers and distributors at the Festival.

THE BOY LURKING BEHIND THE old warehouse--where he often hides so as to masturbate while he watches canoodling couples--is now furiously phoning the police. He saw everything. At first, he thought it was some kind of joke, but the man really did stick that blade into the woman! He'll have to wait for the police to arrive before leaving his hiding place. That madman could return at any moment and then he would be lost.

IGOR THROWS THE BLADE INTO the sea and walks back to the hotel. This time, his victim had chosen death. When she joined him, he'd been sitting alone on the terrace, wondering what to do next and thinking about the past. He never imagined she would agree to go for a walk to such an isolated spot with a complete stranger, but she did. She could have run away when he started showing her the different places where the blade would cause a mortal wound, but she didn't.

A police car passes, driving along the side of the road closed to the public. He decides to watch where it goes and, to his surprise, he sees it drive onto the pier where no one seems to go during the Festival period. It had been as empty that morning as it had this afternoon, even though it was the best place from which to see the sunset. A few seconds later, an ambulance passes with its deafening siren blaring and its lights flashing. It, too, heads for the pier.