Badum badum, badum badum, elle avait des yeux des yeux d’opale qui me fascinaient, qui me fascinaient, il y avait l’ovale de son visage pâle de femme fatale qui me fut fatal … you hear the little birds, how they’re chirping? — today I’m chirping, too, I’m feeling cheerful, it’s cooler out, you can feel it, the wind’s up, on s’est connu, on s’est reconnu, on s’est perdu de vue, on s’est reperdu de vue, on s’est retrouvé, on s’est réchauffé, puis on s’est séparé … Days like this, writer, you should head to this beach I know, take off your shirt that’s whipping around you, it’s the first Libeccio wind of the season, not too strong yet, gusts ruffling your hair, a few short steps from the pine woods, and you’re on the sandy shore, your face moist with the salt water, you can lick your lips, they taste of … the sun so strong, oh, the longing, you feel it in your groin, it aches, so hot, everything burning, the sun, the sand, your gut, the beach is deserted — where is she?… Je me suis réveillé en sentant ses baisers sur mon front brûlant, ses baisers sur mon front brûlant, badum, badum … you look to the horizon, squint your eyes against the sun, not a soul in sight, take off your clothes, go on, leave them on the shore — Giuditta! You call out to her, the pine trees answer back — Giudittaaa! It’s me, Giuditta! It’s me, Giuditta! I want you, Giuditta! I want you, Giudittaaa!.. on s’est connu, on s’est reconnu, on s’est perdu de vue, on s’est reperdu de vue, on s’est séparé, puis on s’est réchauffé, badum badum, badum badum, chacun pour soi est riparti dans le tourbillon de la vie, badum badum … your testicles are small and hard like two walnuts, stupid, useless testicles, and meanwhile he’s hard as a club — Giuditta! — you feel like dancing, you spread wide your arms … je l’ai revue, un soir la-la-la, elle est retombée dans mes bras, elle est retombée dans mes bras … that dance floor of a beach so huge, in your arms once more, back in your arms, and now you’re dancing and she’s dancing with you, silly girl, you’re here finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, I really couldn’t take it, it’s been like that for an hour, it hurts almost, I couldn’t take it anymore, let’s go up to that mountain village, to Sassète, she says, the pistou festival’s going on right now, I don’t give a damn about pistou, you say, let’s go into the beach hut, the shed in the shade, the shaded shed, badum badum, but was that beach really in Provence? — what do you think, writer — was it a beach in Provence?… maybe yes, maybe no, I could be wrong, it doesn’t matter, today I’m cheerful as a little bird, you hear the birds chirping? Meanwhile, they go inside the beach hut, they don’t even need to lay out a towel, the sand’s a little warm, but it’s cool inside the shed, oh, Cary, Cary, she says. She hugs you. You kill me, Cary. Silly Giuditta, what were you doing someplace else? — why were you so late coming back?… on s’est connu, on s’est reconnu … such a silly Giuditta — and why are you calling me Cary? I’m not Cary, Cary was your uncle. Oh, yeah, that’s right, Clark, you always wanted to be called Tristano, yes, like that, Tristano, enough, no, yes, keep going, badum badum, badum badum, quand on s’est connu, quand on s’est reconnu, pourquoi se perdre de vue? et quand on s’est retrouvé, quand on s’est réchauffé, pourquoi se séparer?… Do you know why, writer? You don’t and I don’t, either, how could you know, when you don’t know anything about Tristano, but you know what? — I feel it here, right here, the same urgency from that day — right here, where I’m being eaten away by gangrene, yes, right here in the groin, the same desire I felt back then … do you think that’s crazy? You must think that’s crazy, but it’s not — right here — the same desire I felt back then, just the same, though as for the rest, there’s nothing left, that’s all been extinguished along with my dead flesh, but the same desire’s still there … the desire’s remained while the flesh is gone, you couldn’t possibly understand, how could you understand, you, what do you know, you, about someone else’s body, about my body?
… What day is it? No, I’m not dead yet, my eyes were closed but I’m not dead yet, you’ll have to be patient … Today I’m feeling clear-headed, my fever must be down, no more nightmares. Have I told you some of my nightmares? If I have, don’t throw anything away, everything remains in a life, especially a hero’s life, even nightmares … I’m wheezing a little, you hear it? when I breathe, there’s a whistling in my throat, but don’t worry, today’s not the day, this thing’s going to take a while, you’ll just have to be patient, like me. What day is it? Let me know when it’s August tenth, don’t forget, but maybe the tenth’s already past. I’ve slept so much, I must have slept so much. But maybe not … sometimes years can go by in a single minute of sleep … Frau’s being stingy with the morphine, the bitch … or maybe she thinks the injections hurt, poor thing … At times, memories seem like gelatin, everything seems melded together, boneless, melting, you see a face … stop, you say, got you, you silly girl, don’t you know me? — it’s me — can’t you tell? — it’s me, wait a second … she’s smiling at you … Ah, now you know me, you say, but she’s sneering at you, nah nah, cutie pie, and she winks … her eyelashes, so long, and that malicious smile of hers is just the same, but the mouth’s different, how strange, and her face, too, like warm wax molding itself over, into a different face now. And this one, what does he want? Ah, it’s Sirio, you recognize him, it’s Sirio, who died of ass cancer … but Sirio’s only there a second, now it’s Cary, that American commander who was with you in the mountains, you can see him so clearly, Tristano, too, you can see him like he’s someone else, when he was Commander Clark, deep down they were the same person, united by skin, twin brothers, they called him that because he looked like a movie star from back then, with that stray wisp of hair, shiny with brilliantine, on his forehead, the only thing missing was the pencil mustache. And on that day, that pale morning, at dawn, he’s waiting, hiding behind the boulder, he has his submachine gun aimed and ready, but he’s smiling like he’s got a joke for you … and you smile back; it’s strange ending up like this, after all this time, and he’s still there, in that same place, on that pale dawn. Maybe he never moved at all? Maybe. Men don’t move, they stay put, entranced in fixed moments, only they don’t realize this; we think that there’s a steady, evaporating flow, but no: somewhere out there is a fixed moment, a frozen gesture, as if everything’s under a spell, a photograph without a plate, without a negative. You have to know it to see it, but I’m telling you, it’s there.