LIKE A TRAGEDY

BY LAURENT MARTIN
Place de la Nation

Translated by David Ball

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
—William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

1.

Still the same smell same view same disgust. Nothing’s changed.

My bedroom window looks out on the night. The night where the lights of the city all around are shining. The night where hidden men are patiently waiting for the next day. When I was a kid, I used to think dead lights left the earth and went up to the sky in the form of stars. Dinner’s over. They’ve left. My sister Sophie and her husband. In actual fact they’re getting married tomorrow. That’s why I’m here.

A few groggy steps around my room. Nothing’s changed. The worn-out furniture. The wallpaper. The dreary smell. Took a whole day to get here. The fatigue and boredom of being here, I’m going to collapse.

When I got here, the table was already set. They had already come. His name is Patrick and my sister’s in love. That’s all I know. Mom made soup for us. Soup’s a family tradition. It’s lasted thirty years. “Eat while it’s hot.” Mom doesn’t look any older. Or hardly any. Still something sad in her eyes, and pink cheeks and jet-black hair. Not like me, verging on brown and now white. Man, do I look older. Dinner. Pretend to be interested in Patrick. With a bitch of a headache. Patrick is tall and kind of good-looking. My sister’s pretty too. The years seem to have made her look even better. Say anything at all to fill up the time and now Sophie’s urging me to tell them some of my adventures. My adventures, when I was in the submarine corps. “That’s such a different life!” “So tell us about it.” So I tell about it. The dives, the trips, the ports of call. The dangerous situations that make you shudder when you have no idea how a submarine works. I worked in the engine room. A very important job and Patrick thought I was interesting. Everybody was happy I was back, happy with my stories, and I played the prodigal son come home, as if nothing had happened, whereas I would have liked to have been very far away from here. Patrick asked me why I’d left Paris. “To see how it is somewhere else.” He could feel I was lying. There are stories I’d rather not tell. Discreetly, Sophie thanked me for coming. “Without you, something would have been missing from my wedding.”

We all separated. Till tomorrow. I was alone again in my lousy room where I spent so many shitty years looking at the stars leaving the earth, wondering if someday I’d have the courage to leave. I had to have a good reason to run away from this city and find myself in a submarine, sealed in half the time. No wonder I already have white hair and tired eyes.

2.

The first morning. Up early, first one. A Navy habit. Six o’clock, every day, never lose crappy habits. Mom’s still sleeping. I feed the cat. He must be fifteen or sixteen. I’m the one who found this cat. Lost and wet right outside the building. The only good deed I’ve ever done. I believe. I make myself a cup of coffee. Mom’s coffee’s still just as bad. From the kitchen window you can also see the city the railroad tracks the high-rises that stand out and try to wake up. It’s still almost night. I grab an old issue of the paper lying on the table. Pages are missing. I skim through some news items as I drink my coffee.

In the silence of the early hours I look for the iron. It hasn’t moved. In the hall closet. Nothing has moved. I wonder if I really left, if it’s not the morning after a rocky night of drinking that made me think I’d disappeared for ten years. My only suit has to be ironed. Keep up appearances. Patrick’s parents have money. They rented a big room in a restaurant in the Bois de Vincennes that has a little garden. We don’t have the money for that. So we keep up appearances. A family tradition. Like the soup. But I don’t hold it against her: Mom did what she could when my father died. A perfectly pressed suit. A wedding in September when the days are getting shorter, what an idea. I put it in my room on the bed and I close the door so the cat won’t come in and sleep on it.

Mom’s up now. She’s surprised. She forgot I was here. Yet it’s the first time I’ve been here in ten years.

“Did you sleep well?” “Yes! You left the room just like it used to be.” “What did you expect me to do with it?” “I don’t know.” She grabs a cup and helps herself and takes a sip. “Your coffee is very strong.” “That’s the only way I like it.” She adds a little water. “I ironed my suit for the wedding.” “I could have done it for you.” “I’m used to it. We did everything ourselves in the subs.” “So it’s not like it used to be.” She smiles sadly and adds: “Are you okay?” What can I answer? I lie: “Sure! Work, life … everything’s okay.” She finishes her cup. I tell her I’m going out for a walk. “Do you need something?” “No! I feel like taking a walk.” “You’ll see, there’ve been some changes.” “I’ll bet.”

I walk downstairs. Fifth floor. Fifty-seven steps. I still remember the jerky tempo of the descent. Back in the day, the light used to go on the fritz a lot and you had to keep count of the steps in your head so as not to fall. Outside. A kind of square where two buildings face each other. Ours and Olivier’s. Olivier was a friend of my father’s. Anyway he doesn’t live there anymore. The air is cool. A strange feeling that this new old world is much smaller than the one I left. A few shouts in the distance, and the background noise that never goes away. A mix of all the activities of the city. Never have I heard silence around here. I go up rue de Fécamp, cross boulevard Daumesnil, and I take rue de Picpus to reach the little park where I used to hang out a lot. The place where I smoked my first cigarettes with Marco and the other guys. The mix of new and old apartment buildings gives a rhythm to what I see. Nothing has really changed, but everything is different. Ten years is an eternity. After the little park I walk up to Place de la Nation. I leave the neighborhood. Our neighborhood our universe where we thought we dominated the city and the world. What a laugh. We were just fragile little insects running around in a space that was too vast and noisy for us.

And the back streets around there, like little islands, where life was organized around a café. That’s where we would meet, in those cafés. We rarely went any further away. Rarely to the other neighborhoods—for us that was elsewhere, too far away. I gulp down a cup of coffee in one of those cafés. I don’t know if the sign has changed. It’s a little blurry in my memory. A few old guys are talking over a beer. They were already there in the same spot ten years ago, a hundred years ago.

Store after store, like everywhere else. The same signs, the same colors. Standardization settling in and taking over. Just shadows. Buildings, cars, men, women, these people. Just shadows I ignore.

I walk back toward Daumesnil, until I find another sad café to sit down in. A young woman barely twenty comes to take my order. Just a coffee. This return to the past is awful. It forces me to think about myself, and all I’ve done so far is hide, in order to forget myself. I’m the same. Nothing has changed. The main thing is the only thing you hold onto. Thick heavy vapors coming from the souls of things. Light, superficial, intoxicating things … I’ve forgotten all that. I come up to the surface again, suffering from a painful illness. Stinging nostalgia.

Mom was getting worried. “You could have said where you were going.” “What for? I’m here.” “The wedding.” “D’you think I’ve come six hundred miles to miss my sister’s wedding?” She made me a dish of meat in sauce. I hardly ate any. “It’s not good?” “I’m not really hungry.” “But it’s sauté of veal, you used to like that.”

Yes! I used to like that. She thinks I’m pale for someone who lives on the Riviera. “You know, at my job we’re not outside a lot.” And she makes some comments about my white hair and my father who didn’t have any at my age.

We get ready for the wedding. Mom doesn’t want to be late. She has even ordered a taxi. “We’re not going to your sister’s wedding by bus!” “She could’ve left us her car.” “She still needed it.” Mom bought herself a dress for the occasion. She asks what I think of it. I say it’s fine without looking.

3.

About a hundred guests. Eight to a table. I’m entitled to the table of honor. I occupy the seat of the father of the bride. The worst table at a wedding. I listen politely to what Patrick’s parents say. Real assholes who own a business. “Our children are so charming!” Sure! He’s their only son, so they wanted to do things right. And you can tell. A band. Food, and more food. Drink, and more drink. At this moment I hate my sister but I send her loving smiles. Between two yeses and two meaningless comments, I look the guests over. All of them from Patrick’s class. A business school. You can’t change yourself. I don’t know any of them. And a few of my sister’s friends I met years ago; their faces are totally dark in my memory. Time. The feeling that I’m falling headfirst into what I wanted to leave for good. I gulp down wine, good wine, to get drunk. Patrick plays the nice brother-in-law. I gulp down wine. I hardly listen at all. I gulp.

And suddenly I see her.

Sitting at a table, vaguely smiling at the people around her. She wasn’t there at the start of the celebration. She just came in. The same somber face, the same sad smile, and her short hair shorter. I ask my sister: “Is that Valerie over there, in blue?” “Yes.” “You still in touch with her?” “A little. Why?” “Just curious.” A strange emotion in my sister’s face. Fear, almost. I don’t know why. My heart stirs, jumps, the way it jumped ten years ago. I watch Valerie for the rest of the meal. I’m pretty sure she has seen me too.

Before dessert, we’re entitled to a pause for the champagne. I take a bottle and two glasses. I get up. Valerie is there, alone, absent. I walk up to her. A feeling of staggering, plunging into a bottomless pit, one of the dark places alcohol generously throws you into before it asks you to pay the toll. Charon works on earth now. Three breaths. I’m at her table.

[He walks over to her with a bottle in his hand. She’s sitting at a table.]

HIM: Hello.

[She jumps.]

HER: Hello … I haven't had the courage to go up to the table of honor yet … You came back?

HIM: For the occasion. That's all.

HER: I didn't think I'd see you again. Sophie hardly ever talks about you.

HIM: I've been kind of quiet these past few years. I have some champagne. Want some?

HER: Yes, please.

[He serves her. They drink to cover their embarrassment.]

HER: What are you doing now?

HIM: Not much. A few years in submarines. Now I'm working at a garage in Toulon. How about you?

HER: I stayed here. Not much either. It's a nice wedding.

HIM: I don't know what “a nice wedding” means.

HER: Your sister and mother seem happy.

HIM: That's true. Are you alone? No escort?

HER: No! No one.

[Silence.]

[They cross glasses.]

HIM: Cheers.

HER: Cheers.

[The potion acts.]

We spend the rest of the night together. Talking a little about our memories. She talks to me about submarines. What’s with all these people with their submarines? Valerie. Years ago, we went out together. She was a friend of my sister’s. She was beautiful. She still is. A rather sophisticated charm that contrasted with my raw, almost animal state. We finish the bottle of champagne, we take another one. The world fades out around us. We’re alone, surrounded by the deafening crowd that sings, howls. A nice wedding.

I agree to dance with my sister. She’s worried. I’m merry. I wish her moments of happiness. “Just moments?” “Could be worse, right?”

In the restaurant garden. With Valerie. Outside, drunk, staggering, facing infinity and fresh air. She takes my hand.

4.

I remembered her body perfectly. And yet we only stayed together for a few weeks. It was just before I left this city. But her body is deeply engraved inside me. With acid, almost.

I watch her slow breathing. Then she wakes up. It is 6 a.m. We’ve only slept a few minutes. The emotional silence of our first morning. Bodies still palpitating. Hands graze each other, push each other away, are pulled toward each other. Doubts. Questions. Who will dare to speak first?

[They are lying pressed against each other. Silence.]

HER: I have to go.

HIM: Already?

HER: Yes. It's late. It's early. I'll call you today or tomorrow. I really have to leave.

[She gets up, gets dressed, and scurries offstage. He remains alone.]

images

She goes away. I don’t move. I hear the door slam. Close your eyes. Forget. Dream. But nothing happens. Except for this need, here.

She didn’t call, not that day, not the days after.

Hanging around the house, and outside. Looking for her name in the phone book. Nobody with the name of Valerie Mercier. See and see again the place she lived before. Near boulevard Michel Bizot. A guy tells me he doesn’t know her. She doesn’t live here anymore. My sister is on her honeymoon on an island in the Caribbean, I’m not going to bug her about this.

Slow to come to life again after the death that accompanies Valerie’s painful silences.

5.

Marco. He learns I’m back. “You could’ve told me.” “I was going to.” Marco. The guy, the friend, the near brother I used to see all the time before I left. Not the kind of guy you really want to be seen with, though. If I hadn’t left, I might have really turned out badly with him.

We’ll meet at Place Daumesnil. A square where we used to hang out when we were younger. A square like in my memory. Sad and gray.

Cars are driving around a fountain where stone lions are spitting out water. He’s late. I walk around a little. Emptied out, tired from the nights spent turning over in my bed, waiting, feverishly, for the phone, for Valerie’s voice, her breath. That fucking need. He arrives in a pretty little English car. Marco hasn’t really changed. A tall blond guy with a smile in his eyes. We kiss each other on both cheeks. “Glad to see you.” “Me too.” We look for a café to have a drink.

“So! How are you, what’s up?” “I managed to integrate into society, like they say. I run a security agency. I supply tough guys for big parties, concerts, things like that.” “You didn’t have any problem getting started?” “No, I knew some people who helped me.” “That’s good.” “How about you?” “I tinker around. I spent a long time in the submarine corps, in Toulon.” “Your mother told me, at the time.” “Now, with my savings, I bought a little apartment and I found a job in a garage.” “A calm life.” “Kind of. Kind of too calm.” “Why don’t you come back here? I’ll fix you up with something.”

“You know that’s not possible.” “Anything’s possible. Especially now.” We talk about years past. Lost years. “I’m going out tonight. Want to come along?” “Sure.” A fine clear night. It’s for us, to celebrate our reunion. That’s it.

Everything, or almost everything, has changed around Bastille. We start at a spot with a tropical atmosphere and a touch of class. Then a new bar with an Indian theme. We end up in a big three-story club. Marco knows everybody. He introduces me as his childhood friend who’s come home. I’m treated with respect. From time to time I see him talking discreetly with people. Marco must be a little more than just the head of a security agency. I don’t ask him about it because it’s none of my business. We got real drunk. Especially me. I want to forget I exist. To forget Valerie exists. But it’s not easy to forget things like that.

We find ourselves at the place of a friend of his. He’s having a party in a big, completely renovated loft near rue Crozatier. I sprawl out for an hour on a leather couch with a bottle of rum in my hand. I’m flying, until I go vomit somewhere. I can sense the friend’s been kicking up a fuss. Marco tells him to calm down and we walk out.

images

Car at the shore of the lake in the Bois de Vincennes, outside the city. Day’s dawning. Drunkenness going slowly away, giving way to beatitude. The sound of water. The sound of steps. The sound of urban silence. Marco in front of me. Suddenly he stops. “Look!” A field mouse, at the edge of the water. Marco grabs an old piece of wood lying there. He walks forward, stops, then starts to hit the poor beast. The surprised mouse bursts into pieces. Marco keeps going. “What are you doing?” No answer. He keeps hitting. Again and again. Then I understand we don’t belong to the same world anymore. Our minds have grown apart. Finally he stops. He’s breathing heavily. “Want to go home to bed?” “Yes!”

On the way back, the question. The question I didn’t dare ask. “You didn’t get into trouble?” “About what?” “Ten years ago.” “No! Nothing. I forgot all about that business.” “I didn’t forget it.” “You were wrong. And you shouldn’t’ve left. Nothing happened.” “We had no idea. And leaving was good for me. I don’t know what would have become of me if I had stayed here.”

6.

Marco calls me up. “What’re you doing tonight?” “Nothing, nothing much.” “I’m taking you along. I’ll come by and pick you up around 10.” “That late?” “Yeah.” He hangs up.

I spend the end of the day with Mom. She needs help wallpapering her bedroom. She was hesitant. I advised her to do it. “Your father liked this wallpaper.” “My father died over fifteen years ago.” “Yes, that’s true.”

Around 10 p.m. I hear a car honking. I lean out. Marco is sticking his head out of a dark BMW. He waves to me. I go downstairs. “You make enough to afford this thing?” “No. It’s a loan. Get in!” I get inside the machine. He puts a CD on at top volume and the bass makes everything vibrate. I yell: “Where’re we going?” “You’ll see.”

We leave the neighborhood, and Paris, for the suburbs. He lowers the sound. We get to Rungis, in the industrial zone. There isn’t much traffic at this time of night. We drive between big sheds, warehouses. Black-and-white, like in old films. We turn. Marco hangs a right. We roll up to an open shed. We enter. Inside, an English truck and two small vans. Guys bustling around. I’m getting worried. “What’s happening?” “Nothing. A business operation.”

“What the fuck is this?”

“Come on!” We get out of the car. We walk over to the guys. Marco gives out a few hi’s. There are four guys; they look at me strangely. “No problem, he’s a friend.” The guys are taking big boxes out of the English truck and putting them in the vans. “What’s in them?” “Stuff like cigarettes and hifis.” “You’re bullshitting me. Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want anything to do with crap like this?” “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” “Are you the manager here?” “No, I’m watching it for a boss.” “Who?” “Remember the Café du Commerce?” “On rue de Wattignies?” “Yes. The boss had a son, Frederic Dumont.” “Could be.” “He’s the one I’m working for. I supply the manpower.” “You’re not sick of this shit?” “What else do you expect me to do? Work on trains like your father, or in a factory like mine, and croak like an asshole just for a pitiful salary?” “You don’t have to do that.” “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

A cell phone rings. One of the guys answers. All of a sudden he gives an order. Everybody starts moving. Marco grabs me by the arm. “Come on! Gotta leave.” We run back to the BMW. “You want to drive?” “Why?” “Because you’re the best.” He flips me the keys. I start the car. “Got to get outta here. There’s a Customs patrol going around.” I accelerate. He’s my copilot. “Right. Left. Now hit it!” I keep the lights off. We can make out something in the distance. “Park in the shadows.” I turn off the engine. Silence. A halo of light slowly approaches. A car goes by. Customs. I watch it in the rearview mirror. As soon as it turns I start up again and I speed toward the exit. Marco keeps looking back. “You worried?” “Not about us. About the merchandise. My cut.” “You never should’ve dragged me into this job.” “Sorry. I thought you’d enjoy it. How was I supposed to know?” “Stop breaking my balls.”

7.

A strange sun over the city. Something warm and restful. I walk for a long time before I get to Lycée Paul-Valéry. That’s where I told Marco to meet me. The high school we went to. Especially me, because Marco didn’t go to school very often. But I tried my best. Especially in French and History. So how did I end up a mechanic?

Marco’s already there. Sitting on the hood of his BMW. We look for a nearby café. We sit outside. We order, then exchange banalities.

That’s when she appears. For the second time. Valerie is striding ahead, as if she’s late. I call her. I get up. I run after her. She finally turns around.

[She walks rapidly across the stage. He calls her. She turns around.

]HER: What are you doing here?

HIM: Nothing. I'm having a cup of coffee. You have a little time?

HER: No, sorry. Someone's expecting me.

HIM: You never called me.

HER: I know, I was really busy.

HIM: I waited. I didn't know how to reach you.

HER: Forgive me.

HIM: I have nothing to forgive you for. I'm only passing through.

HER: I promise you. As soon as I can …

Then I hear a voice. “Mommy!”

[A voice calling offstage.]

Valerie turns around. A little girl is running toward her. Maybe eight years old. Valerie glances at me. I see a painful form of despair in her face. Behind the little girl, a guy, a tall guy. He looks familiar.

HER: I've got to go.

HIM: I understand.

HER: I'll call you.

HIM: Don't bother. I understand completely.

HER: I don't think so.

[She turns around and exits.]

She leaves. Wobbly legs, exploding heart, I think I’m going to collapse on the ground. Two breaths. I go back to the bar. Marco questions me. “You know Valerie Dumont?” “What?” “The girl you followed.” “She’s a friend of my sister’s. We saw each other at the wedding. I didn’t know her name was Dumont.” “That’s her husband’s name. I told you about him already, at the warehouse. I do some jobs for him. If you want, I’ll introduce you.”

“Don’t bother. Really, don’t bother.”

8.

Flattened, hurt, smashed. Aching belly. Back from the station. My train ticket. Tomorrow I’m going back to Toulon. The phone rings. A few words of conversation. Steps. Mom through the door. “Phone for you.” “Marco?” “No, it’s a woman.”

I rush over to the phone. It’s her.

[Each at opposite sides of the stage. They talk to each other on the phone.]

HER: Antoine?

HIM: Yes!

HER: I'm sorry.

HIM: You didn't tell me you were married.

HER: I know.

HIM: Or that you had a daughter.

HER: I know. Forgive me. When we met … it was so sudden … I didn't know what to do.

HIM: And now?

HER: I still don't know. But we can see each other, if you want to.

HIM: That's not a good idea.

HER: What are you talking about?

HIM: You're married, you're a mother, all that.

HER: That's not a problem.

HIM: I'm going to go away.

HER: It's your decision.

HIM: Right. When?

HER: Now.

HIM: It's nighttime.

HER: I'll wait for you at my place. Nobody's home.

[They hang up and exit from different sides of the stage.]

I call out to Mom. “I’m going out for a little while to see a friend.” “So late?” “It’s the only way she can do it.” “Okay, son.” “I’m taking Sophie’s car.”

9.

Through the darkened city. Just one thought leads me on. Her. Speed to her. Speed. A nice apartment on boulevard Diderot. I ring. She opens the door.

[Doorbell. She hesitates, walks forward, straightens her hair with one hand, and opens the door.]

HER: Come in.

HIM: Thanks … Nice place … Money's no problem, is it?

HER: It's not me.

HIM: It's your husband.

HER: Yes. Do you want something to drink?

HIM: Something strong.

HER: Cognac?

HIM: Perfect.

[She fixes him a glass.]

I close my eyes. What am I doing here? I should have left today. Shouldn’t have come. She’s pouring me a drink.

[She brings him a glass.]

HER: Here you are.

[He swallows.]

[Silence.]

I drink almost the whole glass. Then silence. Like two strangers in an elevator.

[She takes him by the hand and they exit.]

So she’s taking me by the hand. She leads me slowly upstairs, into a bedroom. Not the master bedroom. A guest room. She only leaves a little lamp on. She strokes my face. Her hand is trembling. And we make love. Entwined in each other, breathless, exhausted, neither of them dare to say anything yet.

[In a big bed, they are lying pressed up against each other, out of breath. We can guess they’re naked under the sheets. Silence.]

HER: Why did you leave?

HIM: Why? Because I couldn't stand this city anymore.

HER: You don't like Paris? The neighborhood?

HIM: It's complicated. I love this city and I hate it at the same time. It's the city of my childhood. That's a terrible thing! Years … painful years …

Silence.

She puts her hand on my cheek.

HER: You know, I was in love with you.

HIM: I was in love with you too.

HER: We've missed each other.

HIM: You said it!

HER: And you left.

HIM: Yes … And now what?

HER: Stop it.

HIM: Stop what?

HER: For a long time, I dreamed of your body.

HIM: You're not answering me. Now what?

HER: I can't answer. You wouldn't like the only possible answer. I wouldn't like it either.

HIM: I know that answer.

HER: I'm not so sure.

HIM: How about your family?

HER: What about my family?

HIM: I don't know.

[She puts her hand over his mouth.]

HER: Shhh! Don't talk about the future. It doesn't exist.

[They embrace.]

10.

I decide to stay in Paris longer. My mother is delighted. I meet Valerie the next day. We go for a walk. Moments wrenched away from the rest of the world. Moments for just the two of us, with that permanent threat, that ending getting nearer.

[They cross the stage holding hands.

HER: I can't come tomorrow. But later …

HIM: Later?

HER: In one or two days. I don't know yet. It's complicated.

HIM: I'm not asking you for anything.

HER: I know. It's not easy for me.

HIM: Not for me, either.

[They exit.]

Evening. Marco comes by to pick me up. “Where’re we going?” “A nightclub near Bastille.” “I really don’t like all that.” “I gotta tell you something.” “What?” “You’ll see.”

It’s not really a nightclub. Just a big bar with music playing in the back room. We order cocktails. “What did you want to tell me?” “Just wait a little. Actually, I want to introduce you to someone.” “I don’t like your mysteries. Last time, I was really mad at you.” “Last time, everything went okay.” We drink and we order again. Then a group comes in. Three of them. Marco waves and they walk toward our table. I recognize one of the guys from the warehouse and I recognize Dumont. What the hell is he doing here? The three guys stop. Marco introduces everybody. Dumont stares at me. “Haven’t we met somewhere?” “Could be. I’m from the neighborhood but I’ve been away for a while.”

Marco praises my skill as a driver. Dumont becomes interested in me. “And what are you doing now, my man?” I don’t like it when somebody calls me “my man” just like that. “I work in a garage.” “I might need you.” “I don’t see how.” “A good driver.” “I don’t do that anymore.” “Marco, you should persuade him.” “I’ll take care of it.” “No way.” Dumont gives me a piercing glance. He doesn’t like to be contradicted. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again.” “I don’t think so. I’m leaving in a couple of days.” He doesn’t answer. He goes away with his two bodyguards. Marco doesn’t say anything.

“Why did you bring me over here? Why’d you introduce me to that guy?”

“So you can stay here. He can find work for you.”

“I’m not looking for work. You really don’t get it. I don’t want to stay in Paris. I can’t stay here. I’m going to leave as soon as I can.”

11.

Eyes diving into the night. Valerie comes over to me. I can feel her breath and then her arms around me.

[She comes over to him and puts her arms around his shoulders.]

HER: What are you thinking about?

HIM: What I missed in life.

HER: Did you miss me?

HIM: Maybe. Hard to say. I didn't know if you still existed for me, but when I saw you again at the wedding it all came back to me. You had never really left me. You were hidden some where, ready to spring up again.

HER: You still haven't told me the real reason you left.

HIM: I never told anyone because the reason is too ugly.

HER: Tell me.

HIM: Truth burns.

HER: It's as bad as that?

HIM: I think so … Ten years ago, I used to hang out with Marco a lot.

HER: I know.

HIM: We did a lot of shit together. Real hoods, almost. On my end, I was still kind of hanging on to what I thought was a normal life. But him, I felt he was going over the edge. And then there was this problem with a guy. Marco asked me to go to a meeting with him. He had some business to settle. One night, a little after 12. Actually, the guy owed Marco a bunch of money. He was supposed to give some of it back to him. It was near the wine warehouses around Bercy. Before they knocked them down. In a deserted spot … The guy was there, waiting for us, sitting on his moped. We'd come in a car. I was driving, as usual … Marco got out and began talking with the guy. Then they started yelling at each other. The guy shoved Marco to the ground and jumped on his bike and started it … Marco got up. He came back to the car and told me to follow the guy. That's what I did. He had no chance of getting away from us. And suddenly the guy braked, turned around, got off the bike, and pulled a gun out of his jacket. Even in the night, with the moonlight and all, we could see he was aiming at us. We ducked. I hit the gas pedal … He didn't have time to fire and I crashed into him … I felt the shock. We backed up. The guy’s body was lying on the ground. Dead … I decided to get out right then and there. Marco wanted to stay. We promised never to squeal on the other guy if one of us got busted.

[Silence.

HER: For a long time I thought I was the one you were running away from.

HIM: No, I was running away from that business. I had blood on my hands, I didn't want to pay for it. But, in fact, I did pay. Ten years—a kind of exile.

HER: It was an accident. It wasn't your fault at all.

HIM: There's no such thing as an accident.

[Silence.]

HER: Do you want something to drink?

HIM: No.

[Silence.]

HER: I'm scared.

HIM: Why?

HER: You shouldn't have come back. We shouldn't have seen each other again. We're going to make people unhappy.

HIM: People? Who?

HER: Us, maybe. And then there are our families …

HIM: As far as our families go, all we have to do is leave.

HER: What about us?

[Silence.]

HER: I'm cold.

HIM: Let's go back.

[They exit.

] 12.

Three in the morning. The phone. I get out of bed. Mom too. She’s worried. I pick up the phone. She must think it’s Sophie. Marco’s voice. I reassure Mom. “That you, Antoine?” “D’you know what time it is?” “You gotta help me.” “Where are you?” “In the country. Seine-et-Marne. A village called Ferrière.” “What’re you doing there?” “I crashed the BMW.” “Anyone hurt?” “No.” “What do you want me to do?” “Come get me.” “Now?” “Yes! I’m at the main square, in front of the church, in the middle of the village. I already walked two miles. I’ve had it.” “I’m on my way.”

I get dressed fast. I grab the keys and papers for Sophie’s car. Two minutes later I’m heading east on the highway. Moving forward through the night. Marco, what an asshole. I drive for half an hour. Then I get on a road toward Marne-la-Vallée. Little roads and villages go by. Don’t get lost. Never been around here before. Finally, a sign says Ferrière. Turn left. What the hell am I doing here again? Go back to Toulon. As fast as possible. Go back to Toulon. Finally I’m there. The village is asleep. I slow down, drive up to the phone booth. Nobody. Where the hell is he? I turn off the engine. I’m about to get out. Marco gets into the car. “Thanks! I owe you one!” “You don’t owe me a thing.” I start the car again. “What about your car?” “We’ll see about that later.” “Someday something’s gonna happen to you.” “Someday. But not today. You’re here. You saved my skin.”

I drop Marco off in front of his house. He left rue de Fé-camp for a more upscale apartment on rue Montgallet. He thanks me again. “That’s your last word, about Dumont? You don’t want to work for him?” “No! Absolutely not.” “Maybe you’re right.” And he adds: “How does it feel, sleeping with his wife?” “What?” “You know what I said.” “What are you talking about? You on the vice squad?” “One day, people are going to find out about it.” “So what?” “Dumont’s not softhearted. He’s going to fuck you up, and his wife too.” “He’ll never know.” “That’s what you think. I know, and I didn’t have to try. G’night!” He slams the door. I really have to leave this city. ASAP. Before things turn nasty.

13.

Noon. Valerie’s waiting for me. She wants to talk. Not at her place. In some out-of-the-way café. I take my sister’s car. The fatigue from the night before still weighing on me. I go in. I look around for Valerie.

[He walks in. She’s sitting at a table. He comes over.]

HIM: What's up?

HER: I had to see you. Last night I spoke to my husband.

HIM: What?

HER: I told him I was having an affair with someone.

HIM: You didn't!

HER: What else could I do? He thought I was acting strange. He would have tried to find out and he would have succeeded. He came back pretty late. I waited until it was 1 in the morning. He looked as if something was bothering him. I drank two glasses of cognac to get up the courage. And I told him everything. I didn't tell him who you were. He insisted, he threatened me, he yelled. Luckily, our little girl woke up. He calmed down.

HIM: And then?

HER: I told him I was going away with you.

HIM: With me?

HER: Remember when I was telling you about the only possible answer for our future? The answer wasn't what you thought. I'm not staying. I'm leaving. I'm leaving because it's the only thing to do, even though I know it's not something good for me, or for you. I want to spend the next days, the next weeks far away from here, with you.

[He walks over and puts his arms around her.]

I take her in my arms. I’m almost crushing her. I know she’s right, we’re lost, but it’s too late for us to give each other up.

HIM: What about your daughter?

HER: My mother knows about it. She's going to take her for a while.

HIM: How're we going to do this?

HER: I packed some things. Just two bags.

HIM: We run away like thieves?

HER: We're stealing love, and we'll be punished for it.

HIM: Come on!

[He grabs her by the hand and they exit.]

I drive her to the station. Gare de Lyon. I tell her I need an hour, max. The time to go back to the house, get my things, explain everything to my mother, and return to her. She tells me she’ll wait for me at the Train Bleu. I take the car and drive back to the house. I know I’m seeing the neighborhood for the last time.

14.

Inside the building. Up the stairs four by four. The door. The living room. I explain things to Mom. “They just called me. I’ve got to go back to the garage. An emergency. The boss is in the hospital.” “You’re leaving me?” “Not for long, this time.” “You’ll be back soon?” “I promise.” Does she believe me? I walk quickly into my bedroom. I cram my stuff into my bag. A last look around this bedroom. Goodbye. I kiss Mom. “I’m going down there with Sophie’s car. I’ll leave it in the parking lot of the station and I’ll mail the keys.” She sniffs. Goodbye.

I run down the stairs. Into the hallway. Marco’s there. “What the hell are you doing?” “I was waiting for you.” “Why? You got more problems?” “I think you’re doing something really dumb with Dumont.” “Me?” “Yeah. He’s not happy.” “He sent you over here.” “You have to give back what you took from him.” “I didn’t take anything.” “His wife.” “What’re you talking about? He doesn’t own her.” “She’s still his wife.” “Marco! Stop this shit. We’re not in the Middle Ages anymore. She can do whatever she wants.” “That’s not what he thinks.” “I don’t give a shit what he thinks. I came to get my stuff and I’m on my way.” “I’m telling you, you’re doing something really dumb.” “Marco! And I thought you were my friend.” “I am your friend. That’s why I’m here. You can’t leave with her. He’ll stop you. Believe me.” “How?” Marco lowers his eyes. A voice behind me.

“Your friend is right.”

I recognize the man who just spoke. It’s Dumont. I turn around. He goes on: “Marco explained the situation to you.” “There’s nothing to explain.” “My wife.” “She can do what she wants.” “She has always done whatever she wants. Except leave me.” “I think that has changed.” I turn back around toward Marco, who’s blocking my way. “Move, I’ve got to go.” He doesn’t budge. “Marco, let me through!” He closes his eyes and seems to be murmuring an apology. Then I feel a kind of shock. Something violent on my skull. And then nothingness.

I wake up. It’s dark. I’m cold. A smell is irritating my nostrils. A sticky smell. My head’s exploding. My eyes hurt. Hand on my skull. My hair is glued down by blood. Where am I? I try to get up. I retch. I vomit. I spit. I cough. I stagger forward a couple of steps. I collapse. The pain makes me scream. I’ll make it. I get up again. The walls are freezing. Concrete stairs. The cellar. Crawling. I vomit again. Bile and blood. At last the hallway. At last I’m outside. Air. Goddamn air’s going straight to my head. For the first time in my life I like the Paris air. The keys to Sophie’s car in my pocket. Valerie must still be at the station.

[He is alone onstage. He falls and gets up again.]

HIM: [shouting] Wait for me, I'm coming!

Night is falling. The car. The keys. Start. Can’t see a thing. Blood and tears blur my vision. Rub my face with the sleeve of my sweater. Everything is blurry. Drive.

Hard to sit up straight. Drive. Light. Red? Green? Doesn’t matter. Retching again. Nothing else to vomit but bitter bile. And that blood flowing from my skull. The wound has opened again. I really feel bad. Arriving in the middle of nowhere. Can’t recognize anything. Ah yes! The avenue of the station. Can’t hold the wheel anymore. Trembling.

HIM: [shouting] Wait for me, I'm here!

The car’s on the sidewalk. I try to get out. Take a step. Fall on my knees.

HIM: [shouting] I'm here …

A breath. A strange sensation. Cold taking hold of me. A tear flows, then nothing. That’s how I die. On a dirty sidewalk, while Valerie is waiting for me.

[He collapses on the ground. We hear a cry offstage.]

[Curtain.]