Where can one be better off than in the bosom of one's family?
Jean-François Marmontel
With folded arms, walking with my eyes lost in the starry night, I listened to the sound of my footsteps crunching on the gravel path. Once again, I had felt the need to go outside and embrace my solitude. Although I was very fond of my friends, their usual smoky post-dinner discussions—where everyone strove to assert their point of view with plenty of gestures and volume—had once again irritated me. I knew full well that, as always in these cases, there would be no winner; the arguments put forward were just as valid on one side as on the other. "Why spend so much time and energy on useless feuds?" I thought. For my part, I had long since thrown in the towel; I no longer had enough ego for that.
When I pushed open the French window opening onto the park, Pierre had asked Anne: "Is Juju sick?" I had smiled…
As I moved further away from the pavilion, a sense of calm settled within me. I loved the park at this hour. The air was cool, and the hooting of the tawny owls filled it with an atmosphere like no other.
I had almost reached the old weeping willow near the Gapeau (river in Belgentier) when I heard rapid footsteps behind me, as well as heavy breathing; turning around quickly, I caught sight of a female silhouette despite the dark.
"Julien! Wait for me!"
"Is that you, Isabelle?" I said, barely recognizing her.
"Yes," she answered, out of breath. "Well, I must say… You walk fast."
"What are you doing here? Didn't you stay with the others?" I asked, trying to mask the annoyance of my disrupted solitude.
"No. I wanted to get some fresh air, but I didn't dare… I felt bad about Pierre and the others… You know, it’s the first time I've met his friends… Leaving him alone isn't very…"
"Nice?… Proper?…"
"Yes."
"Pfft!… Don't worry about it!… Pierre won't hold it against you… I'd even go so far as to say, without wanting to offend you, that odds are he hasn't even noticed yet… At this hour, knowing my Pierrot, he must have suggested a game of poker to Jacques and Yves, who surely accepted."
"That’s what they did right after you left."
"I know those characters well… As for Anne, Valérie, and Christine, they must be talking…"
"Rags. Yes," she said, laughing.
"So, you see, there's nothing to feel guilty about… Well, I'm going to sit down," I said, crouching at the foot of the old willow.
She joined me there.
"Do you want one?" I asked, handing her my pack of Gold Leaf.
"I'd love one."
I lit her cigarette; my Zippo illuminated her face. During the first few puffs, we exchanged no words, contenting ourselves with listening to the sounds of the night, then she broke the silence.
"It’s quiet here."
"Yes, I never tire of coming here, especially at this hour… There's something magical, pleasant about it. You…"
"How about we use first names / informal speech?… All in all, we’re the same age, and…"
"You’re right, plus I know you well enough for that… Pierre has been talking about you for at least two weeks."
"Oh really?" she said, very happy. "Is that true?"
"Oh yes," I replied, nodding enthusiastically. "I could have drawn a police sketch of you with all the details he gave me."
"Me too."
"What, me too?"
"Me too, he talked to me about you… Well, about Juju, his best friend… Juju this, Juju that… With Juju, we did this… With Juju, we're going to do that… Do you want me to tell you something?"
"What?"
"It annoyed me… I was jealous of you."
"Ha ha ha!… There’s really no reason to be… We’re old friends. We met at…"
"In kindergarten, I know… You tried to steal his snack, and…"
"Oh really?" I said, taken aback. "So, you know everything."
"Or almost."
With every drag I took, taking advantage of the glow of my cigarette, I looked at her blue eyes. When I saw Isabelle tonight, it gave me a shock. All evening, I hadn't stopped glancing at her secretly. Of course, she was a very beautiful brunette, with a most pleasing figure, but there was an indefinable something about her, something indescribable that set her apart from Anne and all those who had come before her.
Isabelle was a hairdresser. Pierre had simply met her in the new salon he went to; changing hairdressers whenever he felt the need for a new haircut was one of his many quirks.
A splash was heard in the water, interrupting our thoughts.
"Look, the trout are hunting tonight," I said.
"Maybe it’s a frog?!"
"No, it’s in the middle of the river… And given the splash it made, it seems pretty big."
"It feels really good here… Do you come here often?" she asked me.
"Whenever I can… When we were younger, Pierre and I often came fishing and swimming, when we weren't building dams… Today, I think I'm the only one of the two of us who comes back."
"Need to reconnect with the past?"
"Maybe… Coming back here brings pleasant memories to the surface and makes me happy."
"Nostalgic?"
"Yes, surely… And you?… Don't you have a place like this where you like to go?"
"I do… In Saint-Denis garden in Hyères… It reminds me of my mother… I can still see her pushing me on the swing."
"'Reminds me'… Your mother is…"
"Yes. Two years ago… Liver cancer."
"I'm really sorry," I replied, nodding gravely.
"I swing thinking of her, and…"
She immediately burst into tears… I then put my arm around her sobbing shoulders, pressed my face against hers, and held her so tightly against me that her tears flowed onto my cheek…
*
How good it felt, after the wave of pleasure, to feel the softness of her skin against mine… Seeing her surrendered, her eyes closed close against me. My fingers would often wander over her body, tracing strange and voluptuous arabesques. I loved reawakening her desire like that. I never grew tired of it. Her beauty and her perfume always awakened a craving in me. We would spend entire afternoons like that—sometimes extending into the evening—making love.
"Do you love me?" she said, opening her eyes.
"A little."
"That’s all?"
"A lot… Madly."
"Idiot," she replied, suddenly turning over and striking me by surprise with a big pillow blow.
She was laughing like a child… I then grabbed her hands one by one, trapped them in one of mine, and triumphantly said to her:
"So, who's the master, huh?!"
She fought back wildly, laughing. I took her hands again, joined them behind her back while my lips pressed against hers. Her resistance overcome, our bodies instantly merged…
Tired by too much pleasure, I began to sink into that intermediate state where unconsciousness embraces consciousness, when I noticed someone was caressing my right temple…
"That’s funny," she said.
"What?" I replied without opening my eyes.
"This little mole you have right here, at the corner of your right eye."
"Family heritage… My mother and grandfather had the same one."
"Oh really?! It’s truly charming," she said, kissing it delicately…
*
"I’ve had enough. We have to tell them now," Isabelle told me.
"Why?… We’re good like this, aren't we?!"
"It’s not right… And besides…"
"And besides what?" I asked, irritated.
"Today, Pierre proposed to me."
I shuddered. Silence fell over the room.
"Listen, Julien… I don't want us to continue like this anymore… I like Pierre, and Anne too… Seeing each other in secret, on the sly, I’ve had enough… I love you, Julien… I want to be able to hold your hand, kiss you in the street, and…"
"It’s not that simple, Isabelle… We’re going to hurt them, and…"
"Listen, it’s the best solution… We can't stay like this."
*
Fifteen years had passed. Fifteen years of remorse. I had succeeded professionally, but emotionally I had been unable to build anything. Every time I met someone, Isabelle’s face returned to haunt me. I couldn't forget her… A true cancer of the soul.
Why had I left? Why had I fled? Because I was a coward. Because I had been incapable of choosing between my lifelong friend and the woman of my life. Yes, Isabelle was the woman of my life. No doubt about it… That tingling sensation, that voluptuous attraction I felt the first time I saw her, that need for her to the point of betraying my best friend, could not have been a mere fling.
Seizing a job opportunity in Paris, I had left Belgentier like a thief, without warning anyone, without looking back, but running like crazy to get away as fast as possible.
Since I loved her, it would have been so easy to face Pierre. He would have been miserable, would have hated me, then forgiven me.
Two months after my departure, Pierre Deraine married Isabelle Médane, and I married Paris, my job, solitude, and my memories.
My face pressed against the glass, deep in thought, I watched the scenery pass by without really paying attention. On one side of the glass, my tears fell, attracting drops of rain that was starting to fall on the other. Pierre was dead. A car accident on the A7 highway near Montélimar. I had learned about it from the death notice my grandmother had forwarded to me. I had hesitated for a long time before returning home, but it was necessary… If I wanted to finally have a chance to live normally again, I had to accept my shadows and finally make peace with myself; and to do so, I had to face today those, living or dead, whom I had fled in the past.
Isabelle? What was she like now? Was she the one who sent the notice? Was she still angry with me? What did she think of me? Pain and questions filled my mind, and I didn't dare imagine the answers.
*
All my youth was gathered there around Pierre’s coffin: Jacques, Yves, Valérie, Christine, Anne, and all the others. I stood back. Yes, I recognized them all. Jacques whispered something in Anne’s ear, who turned around and looked at me for four interminable seconds. In her eyes, I read contempt and reproach… Good God! I felt nauseous. My stomach felt heavy with stones.
Isabelle now looked like a provincial notable. She was accompanied by a teenage girl of 14 or 15, and both wore veils.
*
Despite everything, I was happy to be back. My grandmother too. She was beaming. During all those years, I had hosted her in Paris, but that city wasn't hers; she didn't feel good there. Too much noise, too many people, too much smoke. Nothing like the calm and sweetness of life in Belgentier.
In her house, I rediscovered the gestures and all the tenderness of the woman who had been, for so long, the best of grandmothers, as well as—as fate would have it—a father and a mother. Today, despite my thirty-five years and my six-foot-one frame, she continued to treat me like a child.
That evening, coming back from fishing, I walked into the kitchen. My grandmother called out:
"Juju? Is that you, my dear?…"
"Yes, Gran!"
As she entered the room in turn, I proudly showed her the two big brown trout I had just caught.
"Look at what I caught!"
"Oh my! They're magnificent, Juju… Say, you haven't lost your touch… Ah, by the way, Mrs. Deraine just called and…"
"Isabelle?" I asked, puzzled.
"Yes. She’d like you to drop by and see her."
"Didn't she say why?"
"I asked, but she said she couldn't talk about it over the phone."
"Ah."
Why was Isabelle calling me? What could she possibly have to say to me after all this time?
*
Anita, the Deraine family’s old maid, opened the door:
"Good evening, Mr. Julien. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all these years," she said, showing me in.
"Me too, Anita. You haven't changed. You’re still as smiling as ever."
"Oh! You, still as flattering, Mr. Julien… Madam is in the living room. She is waiting for you there… I’ll show you in."
"That won't be necessary, Anita. I know the house."
"Very well, sir."
Arriving near the living room door, I was about to knock when it opened. A young girl, whom I recognized as the one from the cemetery, appeared before me. While staring at me, she smiled… Right there, I was shaken… My legs trembled, my mouth opened, I froze… She… She…
She had, in the exact same spot as me, right at the corner of her right eye, a tiny mole.
THE END
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