Herve Le Tellier - Enough About Love

Stan smiles and does not press the point. “Listen, Simon, I’ve just had an appointment canceled, let’s have a closer look at the pressure in this right eye, because you’re worried about it, and afterward we can have lunch in the hospital cafeteria. They may have some kiwis …”

Kiwis they have. Simon eats three of them.

That evening, Stan is on duty at Quinze-Vingts Hospital. Anna is worried, she calls him.

“Professional secret, my darling,” Stan says, hoping he sounds casual. “It’s like I thought, vascular damage. He’s lost the central vision in his left eye.”

“Permanently?”

“Yes. There’s nothing I can try. But it’ll be okay. Simon’s very brave. I told him to go and see Herzog, but you know what your brother’s like, he refused. Mind you, Herzog wouldn’t have said or done anything more.”

Anna does not reply. Stan keeps his most cheerful voice, wanting to dispel her sadness: “Are you still going out this evening, darling? Are you going to Christiane’s?”

“Yes. My parents are here. They’re going to keep an eye on the children at home.”

“Are you going out on your own?”

“With Maureen. And another friend.”

“Who’s that?”

“Yves.”

“Beaudouin? You’re taking your manager to Christiane’s party?”

“No. Yves Janvier. Someone Maureen knows. You don’t know him. Bye.”

“See you in the morning.”

Anna hangs up.

She called Yves two days before, asking if he would like to join her for this party. Maureen served as an alibi, because Anna was not altogether lying: her cousin does know the writer, but hardly, having interviewed him a few years ago.

When Yves picked up the phone, she immediately forgot how to behave properly and her very first sentence burst out subconsciously: “Yves? On Friday, my husband’s on duty …” Later, while they talked, Anna slipped in: “Maureen’s single at the moment.” She had a painful longing for him and Maureen to like each other so that Yves, having become Maureen’s lover, would stop being a possibility. Yves did not grasp this. He suspected her of playing matchmaker.

Outside, Anna hears the dull clunk of the door to the elevator. She hopes it is Yves.

• •

Y VES HAS NOT SEEN ANNA again since their first meeting. The elevator drops him off at her floor. There is only one door, and the hallway acts as storage space for children’s bicycles, scooters, a little red Ferrari with pedals. So many warning signs: Anna’s life is as cluttered as her hallway.

He rings the bell. A little boy opens the door — Karl, Yves remembers — and stares at him.

“Mommy, there’s a man.”

The child runs off.

“Come in, Yves,” Anna’s voice calls out. “Did you say hello, Karl?”

Yves takes one step into the foyer, Anna is still invisible. Her voice comes to him along the corridor, from her bedroom, Yves presumes.

“I’m sorry, I’m not dressed yet. My parents will keep you company.”

Yves takes another step. It is a nice apartment with a mishmash of furniture, strongly biased toward the sixties. A woman wearing a lot of gold and pearls and with a Sephardic beauty is sitting in an armchair smoothing a little girl’s blond curls for the night. Yves recognizes Anna’s smile in hers.

“Hello … I’m Anna’s mother. Beatrice. You know her, always late. Well, aren’t you going to say hello, Lea?”

Lea, sulking, does not look up. Her grandmother does not push her.

“Laurent, my husband.”

Yves has not noticed the man with the long white hair and regal features standing by the bookshelves, leafing through a book.

“Good evening. Laurent Stein, the father of the woman who’s late.”

Yves shakes his hand: “Yves Janvier.”

“I know,” says Laurent Stein, turning over the book’s cover. Yves recognizes The Two-Leaf Clover . “It’s my reading for this evening,” Anna’s father explains. “It starts really well.”

“Thanks. But it ends badly. Luckily it’s very short.”

“It ends badly, it’s very short … That’s a definition of life.” Yves smiles. Anna’s father watches him, half opens the book. “Do you mind if I make a criticism? Or let’s call it just a comment.”

“Please do.”

“It’s about the quote from Pascal that you use as an epigraph: ‘We never love a person, but only qualities.’ ”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but I wonder whether it’s not the exact opposite: what attracts us about another person has more to do with what makes them fragile, the chink in their armor. Love is kindled by the weakness we perceive, the flaw we get in through, wouldn’t you say?”

Yves is disoriented, wants to argue the point. “Perhaps. But I felt Pascal used the word ‘qualities’ to mean character traits in general …”

“I’m afraid his meaning was more prosaic. I have to admit I loathe Pascal. He’s a narrow-minded, third-rate philosopher pinioned by superstition. To be honest, I can’t think of anything more stupid than his challenge.” 3

“I’m with you on that,” Yves smiles.

Anna interrupts, her voice amused: “I’ll be quick, Yves, or my father will corner you and then we’ll be really late. And you, daddy, stop teasing Yves. Yves, if my father’s bothering you—”

“Not in the least, your father’s not bothering me …”

“Are you working on a novel at the moment, Mr. Janvier?”

“Yves. Please, Mr. Stein, call me Yves … Yes, I’ve started on something, about a relationship … Well, when I put it like that, it sounds terribly banal …”

“No it doesn’t. Do you have a title yet?”

“I’d like to call it The Together Theory , together as in ‘being together,’ not ‘get it together.’ Or maybe Abkhazian Dominoes , I’m not sure yet.”

“Abkhazian?”

“From Abkhazia. It’s a small state to the north of the Black Sea.”

“They’re both good titles. A bit intellectual, though, wouldn’t you say? My daughter’s right, I’m teasing you.”

“Um … Yes, what I wanted was—”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Anna emerges from the bedroom, sheathed in a red satin dress with oriental patterns on it. Yves thinks she looks dazzling. She has bare feet, and is holding a pair of sandals in each hand.

“Mom, do you think these ones, the Cretan look, or these which are more Roman?”

Yves can see no difference at all. The mother can, though. She opts for the Cretan pair.

“We’re off, mom. Maureen’s just called. She can’t find anywhere to park and she’s waiting outside. Bye, daddy. Kids, are you going to give me a kiss?”

Lea and Karl hurtle out of their room and almost suffocate her with hugs, Lea acting abandoned, laughing as she pretends to snivel. Anna tears herself away from them gently in the hallway. She goes into the elevator and Yves follows her. He has one last look at the little red Ferrari. The door closes.

There are four inches separating Yves and Anna. She wears a fresh perfume, all woods and ivy, she says nothing, smiles, lowers her eyes. To resist the urge to take her in his arms, Yves concentrates on their surroundings: elevator branded ART, tinted mirror, coarse black carpeting on the walls. A copper plaque: MAX: 3 PEOPLE, 240 KG. A control panel with six black buttons, GROUND, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, one red button, STOP, one green button, 24 HR. CALL. A cutout area covered with wire netting, a loudspeaker, and a microphone. IN THE EVENT OF AN INCIDENT, PLEASE REFER TO TL1034.

But there is no incident, and the trip down takes fifteen seconds. Yves succeeds in trying nothing. All through the evening he will not have another opportunity, however slight, to kiss Anna. She and her cousin Maureen will go home early.