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André stood up and started waving. The tug ploughed slowly on with its heavy load and shifted course towards the quay. We could see a small man with a large moustache at the helm. Suddenly a hatch opened on the flat roof of the black box. A boy with blond curly hair climbed out. He stood on the roof, like a field marshal following the course of a battle from a hilltop. He raised his hand. To us, or perhaps it was a sign to the man in the tug, who pointed in our direction.

‘Ahoy, steady as she goes!’ shouted André. The boy and the man did not react. It took about another fifteen minutes before the captain managed to manoeuvre his way to the quay. ‘Hey!’ he shouted in our direction. ‘H-h-help us a minute!’

We ran to the quay. The boy was still standing on the roof. The captain, who was wearing overalls covered in oil stains, had climbed from the pushing boat onto the gangway of the black box, and threw a thick rope towards the shore. André, who had been to sailing camp, grabbed the rope and wound it around a bollard.