Emmanuel Bove: Henri Duchemin and His Shadows

Thus the idea immediately occurred to Robert Marjanne that his wife, having remembered his high regard for the two foreigners, had thought that simply mentioning Mme. Kalinina would cause his suspicions to fade.

“So they are in Paris?” he asked.

“And they asked about you first thing.”

Monsieur Marjanne then remembered the two delightful weeks he had spent in Nice where, the only man among these three women, he had accompanied them to the casino, to the theater, to tea, and how considerate everyone had been to him, and how proud he had been, and also the thought he had so often had: “If only my family could see me now!”

But Claire had begun speaking again.

“You can imagine, Robert, how surprised we were to meet again. All they could talk about was you. They asked me a thousand things, how you were, if you were happy, if you still loved me, if you spoiled me, if you hadn’t changed, absolutely everything!”

Robert Marjanne still remembered the look of admiration for Claire’s beauty he had seen in Mme. Kalinina’s eyes.

“They were on their way home,” Claire continued. “You can easily imagine that I felt I should accompany them. And as we walked they spoke to me for a long time, very frankly, as if I were part of the family. And I learned a lot of things about which you have no idea. They made me swear not to tell you anything, but now that they have gone, and I may never see them again, I will tell you everything.”

“They’re gone?” Robert Marjanne asked anxiously because he’d had a glimmer of hope at the thought that everything might be true, that he would go to see Mme. Kalinina that very day, and from her very mouth he would get confirmation of his wife’s words.

“Yes,” said Claire, looking surprised. “Didn’t I tell you? If they hadn’t had to leave for London this morning, you know very well that I would have had the time to see them again and I would not have stayed with them until now.”

With these words Monsieur Marjanne had the feeling that everything was collapsing around him. All this was nothing but lies. He was sure of it. However, he forced himself not to show his distress.

“They’ve left?” he asked again without even realizing he was speaking.

“This morning, on the train to Boulogne. I don’t know what time exactly, but you can check the schedule.”

Monsieur Marjanne ran a hand across his forehead.

“So I won’t see them?”

“Did you want to see them so badly?” Claire asked, feigning jealousy to tease him.

“But what did you do all night?”

“I was about to tell you a moment ago, but you interrupted me. I wanted to tell you everything. It’s not very nice of me, though. If only you’d heard how they especially asked me not to say anything to you.”

“But why didn’t you invite them to come back here?”

“Why, why? Well, what I was about to tell you would have answered your question. It would have been perfect. You thought you were laying a trap for me, but you’re the one who got caught in it. I don’t know if you recall in Nice when we met them they had jewelry, furs, real furs from Siberia. Well, already back then they were selling everything to live on. I knew it. They had told me but begged me not to say anything. I kept my word and always hid it from you. Now it’s different. When I met them yesterday, you cannot imagine how painful it was for me. They were not the same women. Mme. Kalinina was wearing a thin little black coat with a rabbit-fur collar dyed black to match. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry, not even a wedding ring, and neither was her daughter. Naturally I pretended not to notice, but I was quite upset. They were too. When they talked about you, one could feel that their laughter, their cheerful tone was not natural, that they were trying to be as carefree as when we’d met them. As soon as we had exchanged a few words, they wanted to be on their way. It was then that I realized they felt abandoned and that they wished I would stay with them and say to them: ‘Don’t go, let’s talk, let’s spend the evening together.’ And that’s what I said. The thought of inviting them home came to me of course, but I sensed how much their pride would suffer seeing you again dressed as they were. So we walked and then quite naturally I said you were going to be with friends that evening and I invited them out to dinner. Because they felt my affection for them, little by little they became more trusting and told me everything they had endured. I took a taxi with them to accompany them back to their hotel and on the way Olga began to cry. She had been terribly upset by what her mother had recounted. Once we got there, I went up to their room with them, I consoled them. We ordered tea, we talked some more. And that’s how it got to be midnight. And then I wanted to come home to you. I don’t know if you know how it is, but when you’ve had a lot of sorrows and have given an account of them to someone else, you want that person to stay with you. If she leaves, you feel more depressed than before. When I said I was going home to you, you should have seen them! Olga stopped crying and grew very pale. Mme. Kalinina took my hand. They didn’t say a word, but from their faces and everything about them I sensed that their situation would seem even more distressing to them once I had gone.”

“So you slept in their room?”

“I didn’t even lie down. We talked until very, very late. Then I sat down in an armchair and slept for maybe three hours at most. Early this morning we went to the Gare du Nord. And I left them barely an hour ago.”

“You spent the night in their room? In the hotel?”

“Naturally. I think they spent two days in all in Paris.”

“Which hotel?”

“A hotel. You know the street that goes up next to the Église de la Trinité?

“Rue Clichy?”

“No, the other one.”

“Rue Blanche?”

“Yes, that’s it. We took a taxi. The driver went up that street, then turned right and took another cross street. Two or three hundred meters farther along, he stopped. If you’d like we can go there one day together when we take a walk. You’ll see, I’ll be able to locate the hotel very quickly.”

This time, Robert Marjanne had the clear impression that Claire’s tale was nothing but one long lie.

“So, my Robert, were you bored without me? Did you sleep well? You see it was nothing as terrible as you supposed. Come on, admit that you thought, I don’t know, that I had a lover, that I’d gone to the theater, then home with him, and that we spent an extraordinary night together. I’m sure that’s what you thought. You were wrong. You never know what can happen in life. There are so many odd things, unforeseen events.”

Robert Marjanne did not respond. Suddenly it dawned on him that, after all, what Claire had told him might be true. Claire came to him and took his hands.

“Are you angry?” she asked.

“I don’t know. You told me a long story, but did you make it all up?”

“You’re mad, darling. How could I invent such a story? Really, put yourself in my place. What if I had lied and, for example, we ran into Mme. Kalinina and her daughter tomorrow! If I had invented such a tale, I couldn’t go on living. Every time I went out with you, I would say to myself, ‘Maybe we’ll run into them and Robert will find out that I lied to him!’ Life would be unbearable. You always have such bizarre ideas. This isn’t the first time.”

Monsieur Marjanne looked at his wife sadly and, in a steady voice, asked:

“Is the story you just told me true?”

“I swear it is, darling. If I’m lying, may I die this instant.”

“All right, I believe you.”

He clasped his wife to him. He did not believe her. He was profoundly convinced she had lied. But suddenly it occurred to him that he was nearing old age and, rather than losing everything, it would be better to suffer in silence in order to have the joy of living with the woman he loved and who had enough respect and fondness for him to go to the trouble of lying.