I went to wait for Marco, the family lined up in front, his wife, his daughter, it was definitely them. We went out, there were trees all around the square, Marc-André had only half an hour, I didn’t have much longer, in the end we wouldn’t be going to the cemetery. Jean joined us. All the time that the guys were putting the coffin in the hearse, he stayed quite close to them, watching with a stunned air, as if he’d never seen anybody doing that before, which I thought was unbelievable, and then he came toward us. Marco was smoking a cigarette on a bench at the side of the square. Later in the day, I remembered lots of other squares with little parks in them, like the one where I used to take Benjamin when he was little, Square Max de Nansouty in Asnières. One day, dulled by alcohol and pills, I decided to check who he was. I’d always assumed he was a great explorer. He was a mechanic, I think. Then Marco stepped away to make a phone call. He had to call Aïcha. When he hung up he looked at his watch.
“We could go for a drink if you like. Do you have time?”
We set off in search of the nearest bar. Jean placed himself between Marc-André and me, and although he walked too slowly, he managed to keep up with us. We talked a little about him, it had happened very suddenly, maybe he hadn’t suffered? Jean was nodding his head, vaguely interested, he was looking around him without touching his coffee. I saw something in him again that I’d been aware of since our schooldays, the way he had of hearing you without seeming to, like children you scold and who wait patiently for you to finish before going off to play. He didn’t seem any more moved than that.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “it happens.”
“What do you mean, it happens?” I asked him.
Marc-André and I looked at each other, I think I even felt like laughing at that moment, but he insisted, it was one of those things that happened.
“You remember Nazim?”
Yes, of course, why? He told us that Nazim had died within two days, he’d climbed on a stool to change a light bulb and felt bad, and that was it, he’d had a quadruple bypass, but it was no use. He died two days later. Marco lit another cigarette, he held out the pack to us, gradually resuming the attitude he’d always had since our teenage years, a kind of friendly gang leader, always ready with a joke, but he was a lot more than that for me. I’d known that ever since my separation and those years of solitude, and also, as he’d pointed out to me, as only he could because I probably wouldn’t have accepted it from anyone else, those years of suspicion toward women, I’d had to rid myself of that in order to carry on, to hope that I could get something going again. He asked him, but how do you know that? Jean put on that smart-ass look of his, how do I know? I just know. Nazim had lived in Bois-Colombes, right next to the station, he had a little painting and decorating business, he’d gone to see him for a bit of moonlighting, after two years without a job.
“By the way,” we asked him, “how’s your job going?”
He looked at us for a long time, just as he had looked at the coffin on its way to the hearse, that’s the impression I had, it’s OK, he murmured, everything’s fine, thanks. Thanks, he said again to Marc-André, in a flat voice, but in fact we’d already changed the subject, we’d probably be in touch during the week. Maybe we’d spend an hour together, maybe go have a meal, to say what we’d felt about this.
For some years now, what with all the people we knew who’d left us, the women who’d haunted our dreams, the women we’d loved in our suburb who’d later suffered cancer or depression, we’d had very few opportunities to talk to each other. When it came down to it, you had only the memory of that absence in front of your eyes, when night falls. He insisted on paying for the coffees, we said thanks, that’s nice of you. He took a ten-euro bill from his pocket, as if it was parchment. He handed it to the waitress. Marco and I looked at each other, she gave him his change. He put it in his wallet with slow, measured gestures, and the three of us left.
“Now’s maybe not the time,” he said to us in a flat voice in the sunshine, “but I’d like to invite the two of you over for dinner.”
Marco smiled, yes, but when? He turned to me, sure that I’d be pleased. He looked toward the corner of the street. Right at the end, at the intersection with Boulevard Jules Ferry, where the trees had also been trimmed too close, only the big branches were left, and it was sad to look at them. It would stay sad all spring, for a few years. He seemed to think slowly, slowly like the long-term unemployed person he’d been these last few years.
“One day next week?”
Marco nodded and took out his personal organizer, let’s see. I could make it on Friday the 17th, how about you?
Yes, that suits me fine. Marie and I had settled on two nights a week, we were also going to spend some weekends together, when the weather got better. We’d talked about it, but I didn’t yet know when. All right then, he said to us. And suddenly, his face seemed to brighten up, what ordeals had he been through in all those years? He held out his hand. He almost dumped us there, Marco and me, just outside the metro station.
“He really has turned a little strange, hasn’t he?” Marc-André said. “Was he always like that?”
We almost laughed again.
“At least he’s got a job now.”
Marco nodded. “Well, they’ve extended his trial period. I had a call from Langinieux. I don’t know if he’ll be suitable.”
“Oh, really?”
He looked at his watch. We sat down again, on another bench; there was a dark sun in the depths of the shop windows, noises and shadows. We could have spent days on end on benches, him and me. It wasn’t so bad, when it came down to it. We said goodbye on the metro platform. Each of us got into his own subway car. He had to stay at the rear of the train in order to change at Gare Saint-Lazare. Me at the opposite end. Speak on the phone? Yes, bye! These days, I think about him almost every day. Sometimes we call each other at the same moment, and when that happens, he really is a guy like me, and me like him.
Time started up again. Benjamin invited me the following evening. There was lots of work at the office, they’d finished the balance sheets, so people were staying later, not that this changed the situation in any way. I dropped by the scooter store in Clichy-Levallois, they had some nice ones, I thought, I spent a while there. Let me know if you have any questions. The assistant was Ben’s age, or not far off. Sometimes, in all those years, it had been my ex-wife I carried behind me in my dreams, and my mother too, whom I hadn’t seen for a long time. Once, though, she took me gently in her arms at a red light. She was giving me the love that had always been denied me in my childhood, but, when the lights changed and I turned to look at her, she’d already disappeared … Benjamin was fine and so was Anaïs. They were becoming more and more visible, more and more apparent as a couple. I hadn’t talked with her very much, but we hadn’t been distant either. I kept talking about the scooter, they looked at each other two or three times, wondering what’s gotten into him? Benjamin was trying to keep a straight face. By the way, he had a job offer from a big lab in Zurich, it was well paid, much more than he could make here. Anaïs was quite pleased, although it wasn’t convenient for her. I listened without saying anything. But when I was leaving, he told me not to worry, they weren’t going forever! I didn’t understand right away. Later I did, but it was too late by then, near the metro station, where I was going to take my train home and it wouldn’t embarrass anybody if I cried, for no reason, just like that.