not a minute could be lost.
In the back of the truck, among pictures and sculptures, the ruby was still wrapped and encased in its cartoon box. Because of its relatively small size and its light weight, it had been put on top of the other boxes. There, it balanced to and fro according to the movement of the truck. It still had a long path to cover, but soon it would be free of plastic, paper, cloth, and only curious and amazed eyes would be greedily wrapping it.
About three hours later, the truck arrived in Calais and made its way straight to the port. They had to show passports and have the cargo sniffed by dogs to make sure they weren’t transporting drugs. Then they embarked on the ferry where cars and trucks were neatly parked just like pencils in a box. The different drivers left their vehicles and walked in a straight line to the bridge. The American tried to argue with a guard, saying his job was to escort the truck, but at last he was forced to go to the bridge as well. He was nervous as one ought to be when in charge of such an expensive item. Yet, right in its little space, squeezed between a large picture and the ceiling of the truck, the ruby was intact and undisturbed.
It would take an hour and a half to cross the British Channel. While the vehicles were lined up inside the ship, their former occupants were lined up outside. Some of them were staring vacantly at the sea, waiting for the arrival. Others were taking family pictures or selfies, and laughing heartily. And others were playing Leo DiCaprio, standing at the end of the bridge and shouting “I’m the king of the world!”
The American did none of these things. He stood near the entrance of the parking lot and simply waited for its doors to open again. He’d seen so many movies that he couldn’t help imagining finding the truck with its back door slung open and the art scattered on the floor.
Of course, none of that happened. When he and the driver went back to the truck, everything was just the way they had left it. They slowly drove out of the ferry and were instantly stuck in the traffic jam. Again they had to show their passports. And after long minutes they finally drove into Dover where they were to meet the person who would take them to London. Although they arrived quite quickly, the driver had spent his time swearing; it was difficult to drive on the left side of the road with his French truck, that’s to say with the wheel on the left.
It was around seven in the evening when they were welcomed by a man wearing a brown coat over a dirty white t-shirt and red trousers. He helped the driver park in the backyard of a big storing house. The American asked when they would go to London.
“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning,” the man with the coat answered.
“Tomorrow? Why not tonight?”
“Well, we have to transfer the items in my truck, which might take some time. We’ll do that tonight. And the flight is scheduled tomorrow afternoon, so there’s no need to hurry.”
The American growled some answer, but wasn’t paid any attention. He helped unload one truck and load the other. The action was horribly repetitive and boring; it seemed endless. However, they eventually finished the task, putting the ruby back on top of the boxes.
Early in the morning on the next day, they were ready to leave after a quick breakfast. The French driver went back to the port as he was going back to Paris. The American and his new colleague drove to London. The box containing the ruby was again moving back and forth in the back of the truck. Some of the pieces were left in Dover, and others would stay in London. But for now, the boxes were being scratched one against the other. The movements of the truck made them bump into each other, and the ruby was constantly pushed against the door. Fortunately, and thanks to the French worker’s care, it was wrapped well enough and would not be spoiled before reaching its destination.
When they arrived in
In the back of the truck, among pictures and sculptures, the ruby was still wrapped and encased in its cartoon box. Because of its relatively small size and its light weight, it had been put on top of the other boxes. There, it balanced to and fro according to the movement of the truck. It still had a long path to cover, but soon it would be free of plastic, paper, cloth, and only curious and amazed eyes would be greedily wrapping it.
About three hours later, the truck arrived in Calais and made its way straight to the port. They had to show passports and have the cargo sniffed by dogs to make sure they weren’t transporting drugs. Then they embarked on the ferry where cars and trucks were neatly parked just like pencils in a box. The different drivers left their vehicles and walked in a straight line to the bridge. The American tried to argue with a guard, saying his job was to escort the truck, but at last he was forced to go to the bridge as well. He was nervous as one ought to be when in charge of such an expensive item. Yet, right in its little space, squeezed between a large picture and the ceiling of the truck, the ruby was intact and undisturbed.
It would take an hour and a half to cross the British Channel. While the vehicles were lined up inside the ship, their former occupants were lined up outside. Some of them were staring vacantly at the sea, waiting for the arrival. Others were taking family pictures or selfies, and laughing heartily. And others were playing Leo DiCaprio, standing at the end of the bridge and shouting “I’m the king of the world!”
The American did none of these things. He stood near the entrance of the parking lot and simply waited for its doors to open again. He’d seen so many movies that he couldn’t help imagining finding the truck with its back door slung open and the art scattered on the floor.
Of course, none of that happened. When he and the driver went back to the truck, everything was just the way they had left it. They slowly drove out of the ferry and were instantly stuck in the traffic jam. Again they had to show their passports. And after long minutes they finally drove into Dover where they were to meet the person who would take them to London. Although they arrived quite quickly, the driver had spent his time swearing; it was difficult to drive on the left side of the road with his French truck, that’s to say with the wheel on the left.
It was around seven in the evening when they were welcomed by a man wearing a brown coat over a dirty white t-shirt and red trousers. He helped the driver park in the backyard of a big storing house. The American asked when they would go to London.
“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning,” the man with the coat answered.
“Tomorrow? Why not tonight?”
“Well, we have to transfer the items in my truck, which might take some time. We’ll do that tonight. And the flight is scheduled tomorrow afternoon, so there’s no need to hurry.”
The American growled some answer, but wasn’t paid any attention. He helped unload one truck and load the other. The action was horribly repetitive and boring; it seemed endless. However, they eventually finished the task, putting the ruby back on top of the boxes.
Early in the morning on the next day, they were ready to leave after a quick breakfast. The French driver went back to the port as he was going back to Paris. The American and his new colleague drove to London. The box containing the ruby was again moving back and forth in the back of the truck. Some of the pieces were left in Dover, and others would stay in London. But for now, the boxes were being scratched one against the other. The movements of the truck made them bump into each other, and the ruby was constantly pushed against the door. Fortunately, and thanks to the French worker’s care, it was wrapped well enough and would not be spoiled before reaching its destination.
When they arrived in
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