Yasmina Reza - Desolation

“Who was he?”

“My lover.”

“Genevieve, I’m not following you at all, Genevieve.”

“Jean-Louis Hauvette was the lover I took to save myself from Leopold,” she says in a low voice, finishing what’s in her glass. “I told you, Leo had no understanding of the speed of life.”

“And your husband?”

“What’s he got to do with it?”

“You’re making me dizzy, Genevieve.”

“Abramowitz had nothing to do with any of this. My God, he can see me reflected in the glass. He doesn’t recognize me. Women change more than men do.”

“How did he kill Leo?”

“The two of us killed him together.”

Genevieve falls silent. I wait. We sit for a moment without saying a word. “You amaze me,” she says finally. “I would have thought you had more emancipated ideas.”

“How horrible!” Again that exquisite laughter. “I admit,” I say, “that I’m more inclined to accept your criminal behavior than your lovers.”

“Same thing. I was quick to set aside my sentimental tendencies. And I have never confused love and happiness. If I was unoccupied in my own home, I was unoccupied not the way a bored woman is unoccupied, but as a man waiting for a war to start that he’s been preparing for. I don’t know which Leo you knew, but the one I knew was a gambler and ravenous. Leopold Fench was war. I would, I think, have been an adversary on his own level if he’d shown himself more present on the battlefield. Don’t look so lugubrious, my dear, I was trying on a style just to amuse you! There’s only one truly sad thing in all this, and it’s that I can talk about it all with such indifference. I would have preferred to be inconsolable. I trust people who are inconsolable, they’re the only ones who reassure me about eternity.”

“You’re inconsolable, Genevieve.”

“Ah?. . maybe. Hauvette,” she says, after another silence, taking a quick glance at the window, “Hauvette was nothing. The important thing in my liaison with this man was that Leo should hear about it. Hauvette in and of himself was nonexistent. The daughter of a mutual friend was getting married. Leo was supposed to come with his wife. Paul Abramowitz was chasing wild salmon in Canada (I had settled the Hauvette question with Abramowitz, made all the easier by the fact that he knew him and thought he was homosexual). I knew that the Fenches would be arriving late because Leo was coming back from the country. My plan was simple and good. To show myself with Hauvette during the first part of the evening and then disappear under some pretext or other before they arrived. You’re interested in these women’s stories,” she says suddenly. “Frankly Samuel, you disappoint me.”

“I’m interested in you, in Leo, in the unreality we were talking about and our return to nothingness.”

“Good, good, good, I’ll go on. I’ll go on,” she said. “Nothing went the way it was planned. The party was in a reception room at the Square du Temple. Instead of arriving late with his wife, Leo arrived early and alone, and without me seeing him come in. He surfaced in front of me, glass in hand, like someone who’s been there some time already (I had been taking care to cling particularly assiduously to Hauvette’s arm in front of any witnesses who might be liable to say to Leo, ‘We’ve seen Genevieve’). I said, ‘Leo.’ He said, ‘Good evening, Genevieve.’ He inspected Hauvette and he said, ‘Monsieur,’ with a nod of the head. At that moment the orchestra struck up ‘Hava Naguila,’ the bridal couple went up onto the platform, everyone applauded them, Leo more warmly than anyone, it seemed to me, and he did something unimaginable to anyone who knew him, he took the hand of a woman, dragged her onto the dance floor, and opened the ball, you might say, in a whirling frenzy, glass in hand, right alongside the bride and groom. Leo, who was the opposite of the life and soul of any party, Leo, whose fantasy and daring had nothing to do with exuberance. This ghastly atmosphere of joy and shared emotion immediately built up and enveloped all the guests, led by Hauvette. At a certain point, I lost sight of Leo. I told Hauvette I wasn’t feeling well, which was absolutely true. I hunted for Leo around the room, someone told me they’d seen him leave, I ran to the cloakroom, there were people arriving and others leaving, I handed my purse to Hauvette, who was following right on my heels like an idiot, I said there’s someone I must speak to, and I hurried outside, half-naked, in mid-winter, no coat, no scarf, nothing. At first I didn’t see him. I started to run in one direction, I had to choose one, I took this street and that, at random, finally where I could see some parked cars I came to a street called rue Charlot, I stopped and I called his name. Farther along this rue Charlot a man halted and I recognized Leo. What is the use of intelligence, Samuel? We are so defenseless in the face of life. ‘Calm down, Genevieve, catch your breath,’ said Leo, opening his car door. ‘It’s all for the best. In some kind of attack of sudden impulse, I’d decided in fact to spend the evening and perhaps the night with you’ (we’d never stayed together a whole night). ‘Thank God your fickle behavior came at exactly the right moment to put an end to such a stupid plan.’ I’m paraphrasing to give you the essence of what he said, Samuel,” says Genevieve, “his words were chosen with such nonchalant cruelty that I can barely reproduce their power to wound. ‘Everything is for the best, my dear. What years of hesitations and agonizing doubts couldn’t bring me to do, you have achieved with decisive grace and the lightest of touches. You’ve finally set me free, Genevieve. And I must admit something to you: while it would have been almost impossible for me to get there on my own, I sincerely envy the ease, the flick of the wrist, with which you eliminated me. Oh, but look who’s coming, look who’s running with all your bits and pieces! Such sedulous devotion, Genevieve, fantastic! Quick, warm her up, Monsieur, she’s shivering, make her as warm as you can, Monsieur, Monsieur. .?’ ‘Hauvette,’ said Hauvette. ‘Monsieur Ôvette,’ said Leo, getting into his car, ‘take good care of Madame Abramowitz.’ ‘What’s going on?’ asked Hauvette, seeing that I looked stricken. You know, Samuel, what we call courage, pugnacity, are words born of our pride in order to disguise our helplessness when confronted with our fate. ‘Did he do something to offend you?’ he added grotesquely. ‘He’s just wonderful!’ Leo laughed. ‘Monsieur Ôvette, please be good enough to let go of the door, I would like to drive off.’ ‘I don’t like your tone, Monsieur—’ ‘Fench,’ said Leo. ‘I don’t give a shit what your name is,’ snapped Hauvette, ‘I don’t give a shit who you are, I don’t like your tone and I don’t like your effect on Genevieve.’ ‘Monsieur Ôvette,’ said Leo, whose restraint was fraying, ‘if you enjoy indulging in the kind of appalling complication commonly known as an affair, I recommend Madame Abramowitz, I most highly recommend Madame Abramowitz,’ said Leo, who was getting worked up and since Hauvette wouldn’t let go of the car door, he got out of the car again. ‘Madame Abramowitz,’ said Leo, eyeing Hauvette up and down or rather down and up because Hauvette parenthetically was a good head taller than he was, ‘is docile, shy, affectionate, and quick to treachery, she possesses the whole little bag of tricks of contradictory qualities that ensnare you by your basest instincts, one would praise a good household pet, please note, no differently. ’ ‘Genevieve, would you like me to intervene?’ said Hauvette, rising in revolt. ‘Madame Abramowitz likes authoritarian men, my friend, feel free to intervene without asking her permission.’ ‘Shut your face!’ yelled Hauvette in a sudden fit of incivility, seizing a windshield wiper he’d literally yanked off the windshield. And then, I hardly dare tell you this bit,” said Genevieve, “as if this weren’t enough to finish us off, he started trying to threaten Leo with this ridiculous stick (the rubber bit was hanging down off it) and hissing hysterically ‘Get the hell out, get the hell out.’ ‘You know, you got yourself a real daredevil here!’ sneered Leo. ‘One more word to Madame Abramowitz and I’ll slash you,’ yelled Hauvette, pointing his weapon. At that point Leo lost it and with one violent blow he flattened Hauvette’s arm, the windshield wiper, and Hauvette, who crumpled onto the hood. Then he got back into the car, put it in gear before Hauvette had time to get up again, rolled down the window, and yelled, ‘Beat it, you piece of shit,’ and to me, pointing to him, ‘Bravo, Genevieve, first class !’ He roared off and I never saw him again. Two days later he was dead.”