EGO ZOOM
OVER THE PHONE, his voice was suave, his language impeccable, with a slight accent I couldn’t quite place.
“We’ll need a day, no more.”
“A day out of my life! I don’t have that kind of time to give to someone I don’t know.”
“Excellent! Bravo! Thank you very much! Ah, if only you knew…”
“What did I say that was so special?”
“We’ve been searching for a title for our profile all week, and right away, the first thing you say… A day out of my life— a perfect title! We’ll put the rest in the subtitle: I don’t have that kind of time… Whatever.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We are at your disposaclass="underline" a day out of your life, no more. We’re based in New York. What do you say we arrive Wednesday and spend Thursday together?”
“What will we do?”
“What else — a documentary about you.”
“What for?”
“What do you mean? Didn’t Mr. Tanizaki say anything to you?”
One of those silences.
“Okay… do I get to choose?”
“Of course.”
“Friday.”
“Fine. But we have to set up the day before. Don’t worry about anything.”
“Now you’ve got me worried.”
“We’re a very small crew. No more than three. And we won’t break anything in your house.”
“You won’t shoot in my house.”
A lengthy silence.
“In that case we’ll film on the street. Someone will call you for the details. Thanks again for the title.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dazaï.”
“Like the writer?”
“Like the writer. My mother knew him. See you soon.”
It’s not often that someone is in more of a hurry than I am to get off the phone. This young man, for that reason alone, struck me as remarkable. And then there was his impeccable way of speaking. (I love this old fart way of assessing everyone, giving out points.)
Two days later. A small voice woke me up. A feeling like a mouse had crept into my dreams. I often dream of animals that speak to me.
“My name is Kero. We are doing a ‘Zoom’ on you next Friday.”
“Who are you?”
“Dazaï didn’t call you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Japanese television…”
“Oh, yes.”
“You scared me. . We are coming Thursday. Everything must be ready beforehand.”
“Where are you calling me from?”
“Tokyo. That is where we are based. We do portraits in New York, Berlin, Amsterdam, Milan, but more and more we are going to faraway places like Dakar and Montreal. You see, we are everywhere. We do a lot of fashion programming, that’s why we are doing Paris.”
I’ve always been fascinated by the way people have of calling you from anywhere in the world and babbling like a brook. I talk only to Diderot and my landlord. Which makes me wonder why he hasn’t been by yet to demand the rent money. As I daydream, Miss Kero keeps on talking.
“Are you still there?”
Amazing she could feel my absence. How do they know when your mind has been wandering? Is there something, a sound, that signals that you’re elsewhere? Even talkative types know when you’re daydreaming. I’d better stop asking and answering questions in my head. That’s the curse of the solitary man.
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Thank you very much. . I was saying that we only do ‘Zooms’ on major designers and top chefs in the nouvelle cuisine movement. You know, in Japan, we adore everything new. We love creativity, and we are always on the lookout for the latest trend. Why? We hate being caught in a situation of ignorance. We want to be up to date…. But if I am talking too much, you will tell me.”
“You talk like a Parisian.”
“That’s because of Sagan. I wrote my doctoral thesis on Sagan. I lived in Paris for three years. And I still listen to tv5 to keep up. So, I was saying that since last year, we’ve begun to work on writers, painters and musicians. Our public is very hip, they are well informed and they don’t buy just anything. On the other hand they want more than just a big name — they want a mixture. They don’t like hearing about someone somewhere else first. And they’re ready to pay for the best product. That’s why we’re careful with what we propose. . Are you still there? Sir? Sir? Are you still there?”
“I think maybe you’re part of my dreams. . Your voice is like a lullaby.”
She laughed.“If you’re always like this, everything will be fine.”
“Why did you choose me?”
“You’re so well known here. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Yes. But I don’t live in Tokyo.”
“And I don’t live in Montreal, but here we are, talking to each other. What does it really mean to live somewhere?”
She was about to slip through my fingers once more.
“What do you want to know?”
“We want to see you. . We will be the first to put a face to this mystery man who has provoked such passion in Japan, and I am choosing my words carefully. I don’t want to take too much of your time… Since you don’t want us to film you where you live, tell me your favorite places.”
“Why not my favorite color?”
“I’m just doing my job. We’re looking for locations for the interview. The location says a lot.”
“It would be more interesting if you didn’t see me, but only the location.”
“Very interesting. . I’ll mention that to Dazaï. He loves everything that’s original. Excuse me, but I couldn’t help hearing a certain irony.”
“Not at all.”
“Mr. Tanizaki warned us that you would do everything to sabotage this project. At the office, we all read Basho to try to understand you. For the locations, if you could give me some ideas…”
“Everything is in the same neighborhood. There’s a park called Square St-Louis, and across from it is the Librairie du Square, and next to that bookstore there’s a café called Les Gâteries. That’s all there is.”
“That’s on Rue St-Denis, if I understand correctly.”
“You’ve been to Montreal?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know about the place?”
“A colleague told me it’s your favorite street.”
“Then you know everything there is to know.”
“I’m just joking. I’m sitting in front of my computer, and it’s showing me everything you’re saying. Someone will call you to set up the interviews.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Kero.”
“Kero, I’m going to go back to bed if you don’t mind.”
“I was warned.”
“About what?”
“That you spend your life in bed. We would love to film you sleeping.”
“That’s a private activity.”
End of conversation.
THE COLDEST EYE
EVERYONE KNOWS THAT the camera has had the greatest success among the Japanese. I’ve long suspected them of not putting film in their cameras. Or, at least, of not looking at the photos once they return home from their trip. How can they tell the difference between the pictures they took and the ones their friends took, since they all take the same photo in front of the Eiffel Tower from the same angle with the same smile and even the same suit? In the photos, they all wear their cameras slung over their shoulders. A nation of smiling photographers. That kind of behavior must be hiding something. Maybe they’re stockpiling photos so that later they can get an idea of how we lived at the beginning of the twentyfirst century. The information would not be very diversified: billions of Japanese photos showing nothing but smiling Japanese. If one day we stumble upon these mountains of photos, we might well conclude that the earth was inhabited at the time solely by Japanese. There was not a single monument worth mentioning on this planet that they did not colonize. The conquest was worldwide. A universal point of view. If I want to become a Japanese writer, I had better rush out and buy a camera. But I think I’ll stick to my typewriter. At heart, though, it’s the same thing. You describe everything you see. I would like to be, not a photographer, but a cold, objective camera lens. To simply look at the person in front of me. Is that even possible?