Beach Outing
Setting: French Atlantic Coast, 1892.
It was a bright, sunny morning. The sky was clear and open above the wide stretch of sand. The tide had gone out and left the beach broad and smooth; only a faint sheen of water marked where the waves had been. Near the rocks, small pools lay in the uneven ground, bright and unmoving, each one holding a pale piece of the sky. Tiny crabs darted along the edges and disappeared between stones. Beside them a small river moved quietly toward the sea.
Within that quiet expanse, movement began to take shape. Seven children ran across the smooth sand as their voices carried over the water, and the wind softened the small prints they left behind. They were playing le jeu du cerceau, the hoop game, a favorite of children along the coast. Each carried a short stick with which they guided a wooden hoop, keeping it upright as it rolled ahead of them. They played near the edge of the water, where the tide had gone out and left the sand firm and smooth beneath their feet, just hard enough for the hoops to glide without sinking. The hoops turned easily, glinting in the sun, and the children followed them in long, sweeping paths that joined and crossed until their tracks formed the shape of an eight upon the sand. They moved together in perfect rhythm. Laughter carried in the breeze as their bodies turned and bent as one. For a moment it seemed as if the beach itself were alive in their motion, the wind, the light, and the sea all part of a single, unbroken harmony.
Their clothes were light and perfect for the occasion. The boys wore sailor blouses of white cotton, some with blue collars, others plain, and all with shorts that reached the knee. One had lost a cap to the wind, and it lay forgotten halfway up the beach. The girls wore light dresses, mostly white and pale blue. The fabric lifted and fell around their knees like small waves as they ran.
A little farther up the sand, three women sat together beneath the bright sun. A white blanket lay spread before them with a basket and a bottle of wine on it. Their dresses were soft colors – ivory, lilac, and faint blue – and their hats were wide and trimmed with ribbons. One of them had a parasol open, glowing faintly where the sun passed through the silk. They spoke quietly, their faces turned toward one another, their words lost in the wind. From time to time, one would raise a hand to shade her eyes and look toward the children, smiling for a moment before returning to the soft drift of talk and the warmth of the afternoon.
Louis was the strongest among the children, a sturdy boy with sun-touched skin and hair the color of wheat. His bangs fell loosely across his forehead, stirred by the wind as he ran. He moved with an ease that belonged to the sand and the air, each step sure and measured. His legs carried him faster than the others, though he was not trying to win anything, and as the minutes passed, Louis began to feel something separate take shape within him. He could sense his own rhythm, different from theirs, stronger, quicker. The hoops beside him wavered where his held steady. He saw the smaller children stumble on the soft patches of sand and felt the sure weight of his own steps. The awareness came gently at first, almost without thought, then more clearly with every turn. He was still part of the game, part of their laughter and the bright air, yet a quiet knowing stirred in him that he was himself, apart from them, and that he could do this better than anyone else on the beach.
Then, without knowing why, an idea flashed in Louis’ mind. Break free. It came like a spark, and before he could think, he had slipped from the line, his feet carrying him away from the others. The rest of the children went on, still tracing their perfect loop across the sand, unaware that he was gone. His hoop rolled before him, steady and bright, and he began to run, faster and faster, his whole body drawn forward by the smooth turning of the wood. The wind rose against his face, the sand flew beneath his feet, and for a moment it felt as if he could run forever.
When he reached the rocks, he let the hoop go, watching it tilt and fall quietly on its side. He stood breathing hard as the salty air filled his chest. Before him lay a shallow pool left by the tide, and in it he saw his own faint reflection trembling on the water’s surface. He stared at it for a long moment. The sunlight made the image waver until it seemed like a face he had never seen before. Then he lifted his head toward the dark rocks ahead, and another thought, faint and sudden, crossed his mind.
The women kept talking and did not notice anything at first. Then one of them fell quiet as her eyes drifted toward the water. She shaded her brow and counted the children. Once, then again. Her face changed and she rose to her feet. “There are only six,” she said. The others turned, startled, and stood beside her. “Children,” one called, “where is Louis?”
The play broke at once. The hoops slowed and fell, the laughter faded. The children looked at one another and scanned the beach, uncertain what to do. One of the women, fair and graceful, no more than twenty-eight, stepped forward. She was Louis’ mother. Her hand trembled slightly as she called again, “Louis, where are you?” The other women spread out and called toward the rocks. “Where did you last see him?” “Has anyone seen him?” The wind seemed to carry their words away before they reached the sea.
Then she saw him. A small head of blond hair just visible beyond the rocks, bright against the darker stone. Relief and anger came together in her voice. “Louis,” she called, “come out of there at once.” He rose from behind the rocks, laughing, his face full of mischief. He had wanted to trick them, to see if they would notice. His mother hurried to him and caught his arm. “How could you do that? I was worried sick.” Her words came low and breathless, more shaken than harsh.
When they walked back together, the others gathered near the water. The game was over. The laughter had drained from the air, and something still and uncertain hung in its place. One of the women said quietly, “It’s time for lunch now. Come, let’s eat.” They returned to the blanket where the basket waited in the sun. The children sat down, still quiet, while Louis’ mother scolded him softly under her breath. The sea went on moving, steady and indifferent, but the rhythm that had once bound them to it was gone.