He was walking quickly, a lot quicker than me, as if he was always in a hurry. Sometimes that’s the way people walk when they’re dying, that was the impression I had, but I always have a lot of thoughts that don’t mean anything at all, so anyway. He was about to get on his bus when he turned around, I was maybe about a hundred feet away, on the other side of Place du Général Pershing. I don’t know if he saw me. He got on his bus, he was going back to the far end of the Hauts-de-Seine, where he and Marc-André and I had spent our childhood. Young people, people alone. People still with earphones in their ears and free newspapers in their hands. The news often seems old and out of date at seven in the morning, even though the paper’s new. Maybe that’s why they give it to us for free these days? I walked toward the bus, I didn’t want him to think I’d seen him without even deigning to make a sign. I couldn’t even call him about the translation, he’d told me he’d be finished soon, and he was enjoying getting back into the swing of things, the bus left. I turned back, some nice things had happened in my life today, I’d met Marie. I picked up the envelope when I got home, he had specially bought one of those expandable envelopes and marked the flap with a cross. I put it down on the coffee table and tidied up the place a little. Marie must be home by now. I went on the website and kept going back to the screen to see if she was online, because I wanted to say thank you, and above all to tell her all the things that had crossed my mind beforehand and afterwards, but not at the time. Why not call her? It was better to wait. I called Benjamin, he was fine, Anaïs was spending a few days at her mother’s, he’d be happy to drop by.
“Great, you’re coming, then? Be careful on the road.”
I switched off the computer and left a message on Marie’s answering machine, I waited a while, then said it was really nice to meet you, something dumb like that, thanks for this afternoon. See you soon. Do you mind if I pull down the curtain? No, go ahead, why not?
My son and I wanted to go to the pizzeria, but in the end we went to Place Voltaire. My head was too big for Anaïs’s helmet. What was that Italian movie where a guy visited Rome on a scooter, with the music of Keith Jarrett over images of the city as he rode through it? I asked Benjamin when we came to a red light. Nanni Moretti! Oh yes, that’s right. We reached the couscous place on the other side of the Seine, at Asnières. We were almost alone in the restaurant. It wasn’t yet nine in the evening. We had the Royale, which isn’t expensive. It was a place I used to go, occasionally on my own just to treat myself, I know the guy who runs it, from having been so often. Since my divorce, the Kabyle man and I had both aged, there were times now when he wasn’t there. But whenever we saw each other, we always shook hands, how’s the family? Fine, and yours? And I’d never leave the restaurant without saying goodbye, even if I had to go through the kitchens, where the radio was always playing with the volume way down. Benjamin was exhausted. He had exams and he was working with some friends on a complicated project. I tried to follow his explanations, but I could hardly understand a word of what he told me. I’d already heard so many stories like that, it was something he’d wanted to do since the age of ten or eleven. And how’s your life these days? His eyes are very bright, sometimes he’s like, here’s the answer, what was the question? He was fine. Everything was really fine. His mother always said you never know with him, but I didn’t find that. We finished the couscous, I thought it was very good, and we had quite a bit of time after that to do what both of us liked the most, we looked around the room without saying anything. It was pretty much always the same around here, guys on their own, regulars from Place Voltaire and the surrounding area. I really had to buy a scooter so that I could get to the places I liked more easily. We had a mint tea with pine nuts. We smoked, and I realized that a day like this, an evening like this too, like a whole lot of other evenings really, shouldn’t be forgotten. I was quite emotional about it. I asked him are you coming, shall we go? Ben didn’t ask for his change. It was almost a month since we’d last seen each other in the flesh, Anaïs was always telling him to invite me over for dinner, but most of the time he was snowed under with his research in the lab. The Kabyle man wasn’t there. Say hello to Slimane for me. No problem, see you soon!
We rode along the Seine. It was the route I took every day when I was a teenager, on my moped, with Marco and Jean and a whole bunch of other guys I’d stopped seeing. After a while, I tapped him on the shoulder. Step on the gas! He didn’t seem to understand, but we did eighty on the section of the road running alongside the river over toward Tour Bellini. Finally he came out and drove nice and gently in the opposite direction, toward Pont de Levallois. I wanted to give my son a hug, but instead we just talked about the following week. We turned left, in the direction of Louise Michel, and I felt very happy and very old at the same time, that evening. I didn’t feel like going to bed, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“Are you coming up?”
“No, I’m going home, I’m exhausted. So long, call me!”
She hadn’t left any message on the answering machine. I didn’t turn on the computer. I was pleased that I didn’t, who could I say that to? The best thing would still have been not to have to say it at all, not to want to talk to another guy like me. I still had the music from the Köln Concert by Keith Jarrett in my head and the images from the movie by Nanni Moretti, that movie didn’t mean much to Benjamin. Barely a childhood memory.
He’d taped a floppy disk onto a sheet of cardboard. I read a few passages, a complicated transfer contract, it made my mind go numb, it was very boring, I went to bed. I skimmed through the pages. It seemed OK to me. He hadn’t given me any invoice. Surely that was the most important thing? I’d had a good day. I tried to revisit Rome in my sleep, to go all the way to Ostia, but I wasn’t very successful. That was my first trip when I was eighteen, Marco and his girlfriend, the girl who would become my wife, and me. I decided I couldn’t wait any longer, I was going to buy myself a scooter. I’d wanted one for a long time. And besides, for a guy like me, who almost never goes on vacation, I could go for rides in my suburb, my whole life was in that area. I dreamed about someone behind me, I had her hair on my neck, she was holding me very tight. I even remembered her perfume. Who was it? I didn’t have many dreams like that these days. When I woke up it was after eight.
3
I SAW MARIE TWICE THE FOLLOWING WEEK. SHE OFTEN had things to do near the Opéra, so we ended up meeting in that area. We quickly got used to each other, I think. I had the impression she was making an effort. Sometimes she seemed to be looking for something in my eyes, a trace of what, I wondered? I didn’t know the name of it. Had I ever known it? Nobody could tell me. I liked those first dates, we kissed, we laughed like kids. She liked it too, the old teenager in the photo, anyone would think that was me. In any case, I made some good resolutions, even though for several years I’ve been trying to avoid mirrors as if they were the ones cheating. I’d finished the book, put the computer back in its place, on the desk in my office, not on the coffee table in the living room. I don’t remember when I called him about his invoice, I hadn’t received it. He replied in a flat voice, exactly the voice you’d expect from the lost guy I’d met a few weeks earlier, that he didn’t pay much attention to things like that. I’d spoken with Marco on the phone, he was snowed under with work. All the same he’d taken the time to set up a meeting for him, now it was in his hands.