Once in Europa by John Berger

us at Nîmes and cut across by the arolle tree to the pass.
    They walked with the dog along the edge of the pine forest. At one moment Danielle left the old man to make a detour to a hollow where you can find mushrooms called the Wolf’s Balls. They are only good to eat when young. When old they turn to dust.
    As she rejoined him, Marius said: You are as fearless as a ghost, Danielle.
    A pity, she replied, ghosts aren’t happy.
    Happiness! He spoke the word as if it were the name of another of his disagreeable cows, like Violette. Happiness!
    Fetch them over! Bring Marquise over!
    Nobody is happy, he announced. There are only happy moments. Like this one now with you.
    The herd was easy to assemble that evening and the two of them had no more to do than follow the cows, who were going home fast, their necks moving up and down like pump handles and their bells ringing wildly. It must have been the massed bells which put the idea of glory into Marius’s head. Glory doesn’t last! he shouted. But he shouted it laughing, waving his stick to the music. Glory never lasts!
    On her way home, Danielle turned around. Marius had put his hat on his stick and was waving it above his head in wide circles. She waved back and continued waving until she disappeared behind the last boulder.

    In the afternoon when the cows were chewing the cud, Marius would lie down on the grass, take a newspaper from his pocket, read it for ten minutes, and then fall asleep. I had noticed this several times when I was spying on him from the pass at St. Pair. One day I visited him whilst he was sleeping. As I approached I made a bet with myself that I would take the newspaper out of his hand without waking him. The difficulty was going to be the dog. I would have to deal with Johnny.
    The two of them were side by side, sheltered from the sun by sweetbriar bushes. The dog was wagging his tail, and I beckoned him to come. The old man was still asleep. He was on his side, his knees slightly drawn up, his hat over his ear. His head rested on a stone covered with moss. In his throat Johnny was moaning a little with pleasure. I gave him my sleeve to bite on. One of his hands lay, palm uppermost, on the grass—he had unexpectedly long fingernails. The newspaper was against his stomach where his belt held up his gaping trousers.
    All the cows were lying down. There was no chorus of bells for they were too still. Just one bell rang, as one cow slowly turned her head, followed, after a pause, by another. It was as if everything had slowed down like the old man’s pulse whilst he slept. I bent down and took his newspaper. It was easy. I had won my bet. Now why should I wake him? So I left the paper on the grass and very lightly I touched his open hand because I did not want to leave furtively. I touched his palm with my fingers, as lightly as if with a feather.
    Why don’t you get a husband? Marius asked Danielle the next time she visited him.
    I’m in no hurry.
    You won’t marry a boy from the village.
    Why shouldn’t I?
    Because you are too independent.
    Is that a fault?
    Not if you have enough money!
    I shan’t get rich looking after Papa’s goats.
    That’s not your job in life.
    Are you saying I’m lazy?
    No. I have a considerable admiration for you. The old man spoke formally as if making a speech. A considerable admiration for you, Danielle. You are clever and you are thoughtful—you let sleeping men lie!
    It was then that she knew he had been feigning sleep. He must have felt it when she touched his hand. And he knew that she knew, but they did not speak of it.
    So the weeks passed and so they learnt more about each other.
    One night at the end of July a little before dawn when it was still dark, a car drove uphill, over the grass, towards the Tête de Duet and stopped a hundred metres away from Danielle’s chalet. The car was a 1960 Mercedes Berlin-18, and it had been painted silver grey with a