Emmanuel Bove - Henri Duchemin and His Shadows

You are my only friend and so you will remain in my memory. I am sure you will suffer from my abandoning you, but know that it was necessary. I wanted, I do not yet know why, to be alone in the world. This cannot happen without making those who love me suffer. I beg you to forget me. It will be hard for you. One cannot forget people one loves. They remain as alive as ever in our memory and those who follow do not chase them away. Love does not die. The years have no hold on love.

Above all, Léon, do not be angry with me for destroying your life. It would have been better had you never known me. You would have been happy. The future smiled on you and now, because of me, you are losing everything. My poor friend, how I feel sorry for you! You are deprived of all joy. You are alone and helpless. And if a final word can console you, let me tell you that I, like you, am alone.

Farewell, my best friend. Forgive me for all the pain I am causing you. Forgive me, because forgiveness is the only thing that can revive a man who is losing his life.

Farewell, Léon. Be strong.

Fernand Blumenstein

Ha! That’s what I wrote. Never would I have been able to say all that to him directly. It was better he was not there. I left the letter on his table. When he comes home, he will find it. Before opening it, he will wonder who could have written to him. Then he will read it.

* * *

I also went to see my sister who just married a very commendable man who, it’s true, does not like me all that much, but who in spite of this has always remained very courteous to me. My sister even suffered a bit from this state of things. It was clear she would have liked her husband and me to be good friends.

Yesterday afternoon I went to their home. And in fact they welcomed me amiably. They went out of their way for me.

You poor young couple! If you had known what I had come to say, surely you would not have been so cheerful!

I went into their place with my usual casualness and sat down. They asked me several questions to which I responded calmly. Monsieur Laloz, my sister’s husband, came up to me and, placing his hand on my shoulder, talked to me of my future. He told me that if I was serious, hardworking, and honest, I would find an excellent position. He advised me to watch out for some of my friends and, with a great deal of tact, he let on that Monique was not entirely the woman who could understand and appreciate me. Then we talked about my father. I must say right away that Monsieur Laloz demonstrated a certain bias, rather excusable when you know my father was opposed to his marrying my sister.

Nonetheless, he lauded my father’s good qualities, which proves that Monsieur Laloz is open-minded, generous, and does not hold grudges. My sister, who is older than I am, listened to our conversation without seeming embarrassed in front of me about the authority her husband had over her. I took note of everything they said to me and when on occasion I tried to express my opinion, if Monsieur Laloz continued to speak, I did not insist that he hear me out.

As he was coming to the end of discussing my father’s intelligence with me—for in an hour of conversation one can touch on a variety of subjects—I said to him:

“You know, I don’t want to see the two of you anymore.”

My sister did not even raise her head. No doubt she had not heard, and Monsieur Laloz looked at me without any bewilderment whatsoever.

“You know, I don’t want to see the two of you anymore,” I said again, trying to give this sentence the tone of the conversation that had preceded it so that it would not seem too incomprehensible.

But it was precisely this tone, I believe, that caused Monsieur Laloz not to grasp what I was trying to say.

“You know, Monsieur Laloz, I don’t want to see either you or my sister anymore.”

My brother-in-law, who is in the habit of looking me in the eye, turned his head ever so slightly without taking his gaze off me to show me that he was truly looking at me.

“It’s true. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

My sister, who had surely heard what I said, stood up and went over to her husband, asking him:

“What did Fernand say?”

Married sisters have an odd habit of wanting to learn everything from their husbands’ mouths.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand. It appears your brother is saying he doesn’t want to see us anymore.”

“Did you say that, Fernand?”

“Yes.”

“But why?’

“Just an idea I had.”

“So you’re not thinking about the pain you will cause us?”

It’s true, you poor young couple! You were happy together, side by side in life, and I came to spoil your happiness. What will become of you now? Your life, which promised to be full of future joys, is destroyed. Without me, you would have had children, you would have watched them grow up, you would have loved them!

Later, when you had grown old, these children would have brought joy into your home, whereas now, because of me, you will live in sadness. Poor young couple! Be brave.

“Fernand, you wouldn’t do that,” said Monsieur Laloz, with a sad, sad smile.

I like my brother-in-law’s sad smiles. They bring to his face an expression of pain mixed with bitterness. Poor sister, poor brother-in-law, I won’t see you anymore. I pity you with all my heart.

“Speak to us, Fernand,” said my sister, holding her husband by the arm.

“Yes, I’ll speak to you. I came to see you one last time, to say farewell.”

Monsieur Laloz leaned toward my sister and whispered:

“Leave him be. At that age, a person knows what he is doing.”

Poor Monsieur Laloz! He did not realize how final my decision was. He thought I would come back tomorrow. He did not want to believe I was leaving the two of them forever, that it was the last time we would see each other.

And I walked out. My sister called to me in the stairwell. I did not go back.

* * *

I went to a shaded park. I don’t know anything more delightful than the walk I took there. The sun was pouring its gentle rays on the plants, directly into the dust raised by the children’s hoops. It was barely distorted behind its own heat. It held itself up in the sky without any system. Everything was calm. The guard made a comment to a child who was throwing white stones. He was wearing a uniform. Men in uniform are so charming in parks! They have all that space around them. And the statues. Why are they on pedestals? Why aren’t their bare feet resting on the grass?

I sat down on a chair. I was happy. I had finally arrived at what I wanted, though I might have weakened.

You can see I am not as weak as they say. I do have willpower. There are people who let themselves go, who are spineless, whom events can influence. They are at everyone else’s mercy. Not I. I have a lot of willpower when I want to. All I need is to will something, whereas others, even by willing, have no willpower. To do what I do takes courage. It is not just anyone who can plunge people dear to him into pain and find the strength to go on living without friends, as I decided to do.

And the funniest thing about it is that I am right. I am definitely right. What I did makes sense, otherwise I would not have done it. They are all suffering now. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. Until now, I did not dare.

And you, reader, perhaps you are thinking that all this is not very logical. Right? Is that what you think? No, you find it all very clear. You understand what I meant. I left my parents, the woman I love, my friends. It’s understandable.

If something does not seem clear to you, I can do better. No, it’s not worth it. Everyone has understood.

Oh, yes! I just realized something. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that what I did is not extraordinary, that it was not difficult. Yes, I am sure that’s what you are thinking. But you do not know me. I am intelligent enough to grasp that lots of people could have done what I did. I sense that you do not admire me, am I right? Am I mistaken?