X had magical moments. On the phone, comments I would have liked to transcribe. I love you. It’s good when we’re together. It’s good when we… and she was off, Nîmes, Domus, a sofa, we’ll go for a walk, I’ll call you… she laid out our daily life. She would have kept going but vampirism, feeding on, sucking me dry, taking everything, keeping me from living, from breathing, I’m sick of always being reproached for the same thing when the opposite is true. I made an appointment with a children’s shrink. Léonore needs help too. Locked-in syndrome, ways of dying. I pressed my palm against the back of her neck, gently, so she would keep the same rhythm. Bill told me about the disease. Equilibrium will return. No, everything was fine. I dreamed, I thought things over. One half of my life, men, the second, women. PS to Claude: I’ll be thirty-nine on Saturday, that’s probably why this week is so difficult. You’ve probably thought up an entire plan for my birthday, me, I don’t know what I’m going to do. A kiss. “Locked-in syndrome” is a rare form of brain injury. The test results were positive. Always. “Do you want to relax at your place? Do you want me to drop you off, so you can go through your mail in peace?” Yes. She drops me off, a quick kiss, I get out of the car. Ok, everything’s fine. It’s all going the way I filmed it. For my arrival in Montpellier. My departure and my arrival up to then. It’s fine. She came to get me but, apart from the drive, in her car, the Saab, nothing is different. From what I imagined in Paris last night before leaving, at Frédéric’s. The mail, the phone, the dirty laundry, the dry cleaning, the cinema listings, some reading, some rest, and tomorrow, writing. Phew. Three months. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t work. At that point it was getting dangerous. I open the front door. She leaves. I hear the Saab’s motor. The Saab, Île de Ré, NC, they’re supposed to be part of the charm. Yesterday, I said to X, Eustache, I’m sorry, but it’s better than Nadine Casta. She, that it was different, I answered “yes, like homosexuality, always the same argument.” And she, you really just say anything at all. But I insisted: Modiano is better than Rouaud, Eustache better than Nadine Casta, heterosexuality better than homosexuality, doctors better than blue-collar workers. She uses her tongue like a cock. The test results were positive, I loved her tongue. Like no other. My father spoke twenty-five tongues. The doctor and the writer rise from the ranks of murderers, that’s something we had in common. How’s Léonore? She sees Doctor Dhersigny on Thursday the 14th. She was fine when you got back on Saturday? I’m going to have my blood pressure checked this afternoon. If some dramatic event occurred, everything would be more bearable. In Beethoven, the concertos where the orchestra abandons its role of accompanist and comes into direct conflict with the soloist. With X, the change of scenery, transgress, transcribe, transfer, alas, this won’t last. I slept at her place after the airport. I cried. I was so moved. Calf, cow, pig, before falling asleep, I called her “my little girl.” I didn’t know what I was saying, I was falling asleep, I had come. Otherwise, too bad, I’d opened the gate. Carrying my bag, I was halfway upstairs. I dropped my bag. Flew down the stairs four at a time. I opened the door, the street, the car was blocked on the street, she hadn’t taken off yet. I got there. In front of her. I told her “you go and park.” And she “come here.” I let her kiss me in the middle of the street, I don’t give a shit now. Calf, cow. eczema, scaly hands, calf, cow. Her black hair and eyes like the last water lily. Genetically identical animals are rare. Among cows, several dozen for fundamental research. Why MCA? Léonore said to me “you’re crazy about babies,” we were watching television, and then “you’re a mad cow.” I wasn’t able to work before I quit. I did a little on Sunday, Sunday night phew again it’s over. Next to last. Water lily. Before starting again the next day and quitting. I quit, finally. I developed some ideas, scenarios, faxed them to Jean-Marc, they all fell down laughing. I was inspired by Tahar Ben Jelloun, explaining racism to his daughter, to do the same with homosexuality. Calf, cow, pig. What do you think? My sweet little five-and-a-half-year old. You are my love. I know you know this, that you’re my love. My great love. The greatest love of my life. You know it. You know that X slept at our house. You asked me last night, you said “where’s she sleeping?” She slept at our house. It’s quarter to ten, she’s still asleep. She’s tired. I was just making love to her, there it is, that’s what I wanted to explain to you. My love. You know, sweetheart? When she comes back up towards my face, the name on my lips is yours, my beauty. Lé-o-nore. You know what she said this morning when I woke her around six? I woke her up because I was writing down ideas. In my little notebook, you know, on the mantel? I turned on the light, I couldn’t see what I was writing. She said to me, “you’re a little devil with the face of an angel, and I love you.” A little devil because I’d woken her up. The face of an angel because she thinks I have an angelic face. And I love you, because she’s in love with me. You think that’s funny, hunh? A girl who’s in love with another girl. Well, yes, that’s the way it is. She’s homosexual. Frédéric is too, you see. He’s in love with a boy at the moment. They write each other letters but never see each other. That makes Frédéric sad. Some are happy, others are unhappy. I know a writer – unhappy – who masturbates dogs. You don’t know what that means, I’m sure. I’m heterosexual. My sweet. Of course. Straight. Or else how could I have had such a pretty little girl? Never, you understand, not once have I ever felt desire for a woman. A man’s sex penetrates radically. I like what’s radical. Other kinds of penetration are possible, borders, journeys. Crossing borders, go get your globe, I’ll explain. The idea didn’t work, I kept going, I could have stopped. There was an interview with a singer right after the babies. “What effect did learning your father was homosexual have on you? —None, well yes, actually, laughter.” Léonore said “she shouldn’t laugh, it means that he doesn’t love her mama anymore.”
I talked to her about her eyes. Her answer was “my eyes are captivating and yours piercing.” My cousin Marie-Hélène always wanted to have red eyes. Genetically similar rabbits are a good tool for understanding… I was sinking. Into things that… I faxed Jean-Marc more than one hundred pages once. I was following threads without end. It was bad. I wept. I was falling apart, I waited. It was becoming dangerous, I couldn’t work anymore. The last water lily was rotting. I started again. I feel sick to my stomach, like in a car on hairpin turns, and I get dizzy spells. In front of a mirror, facing the audience, Bulle Ogier drapes necklaces around Madeleine Renaud’s neck, they lose themselves in a chant, the girl, the mother, the one, the other, my little sweetheart, little, little love, my little sweetheart, my love, etc. Marguerite Duras always addresses homosexuality and incest through the lens of the past and death, always aslant, which is hard to understand. I told her “you go and park.” I unpacked my things, it didn’t take long. I heard the bell. I had time to read the mail. She came upstairs. Marie-Hélène wanted red eyes. She got them. She was always asked “like rabbits?” It was her favorite color. Diversity, red eyes, that’s life, we had them more than once, Claude and I. I helped Marie hold Yassou still for the shot yesterday. The little creature’s fur has been shaved. The mark of the dog’s canine teeth still visible. The little creature was afraid. Her stomach was completely shredded, her insides exposed. It was a black dog, I saw it. Who did it. For the first night in a year, since Claude left, yesterday, last night, Léonore slept in her room, I slept in mine, you know what I did? For the first time? In a year? Since I’ve been living alone? I left the shutters open. I wasn’t afraid.