Paul Auster - Invisible

It’s too hard, she says, lowering her eyes and looking at her hands as she speaks. That’s why I’m so happy when I’m with you. Because I don’t have to think about those things, because I can forget how rotten and terrible the world is…

She is still talking, but he is no longer listening to her, no longer paying close attention because a sudden thought has taken hold of him, and he is wondering if this might not be the moment to tell her the story, the story of Born and Cedric Williams, the killing of Cedric Williams, the right moment because of the reassurances he has just given her, his declarations of friendship, which might make her receptive enough to listen to him in a state of relative calm, to absorb the brutal account of what Born did to that boy without causing irreparable damage to her, this fragile person , as her mother put it, this trembling, nail-biting person, the vulnerable Cécile who nevertheless spent the summer translating a poem of such excessive violence, such nightmarish horror, that he himself was shocked by Cassandra’s howling monologue about ripping apart she-dog monsters and burning down cities and slaughtering one’s own children, and yet all that is in the realm of myth, imaginary violence from long ago, whereas Born is a real person, a living, breathing person whom she has known all her life, the man who intends to marry her mother, and whether she is for or against that marriage, what will it do to her when she learns what this man is capable of, when he tells her about the murderous attack he witnessed with his own eyes, and even as he thinks that now is the time to talk to her about that night in New York last spring, he hesitates, he cannot bring himself to do it, he mustn’t do it, he will not do it, and come what may he will not enlist Cécile as an intermediary to carry the news to her mother, he will go directly to Hélène himself, that is the proper solution, the only decent solution, and even if he fails to win her over, he must not and will not involve Cécile in this ugly business.

Is everything all right, Adam?

The spell is finally broken. Walker looks up, nods his head, and gives her a brief, apologetic smile. I’m sorry, he says. I was thinking about something.

Something important?

No, not at all. I was remembering the dream I had last night. You know how it is when you wake up. Your body springs into action, but your mind is still in bed.

You’re not angry with me for coming here, are you?

Not in the least. I’m glad you came.

You do like me a little bit, don’t you?

What kind of question is that?

Do you think I’m ugly or repulsive?

Don’t be absurd.

I know I’m not pretty, but I’m not too disgusting to look at, am I?

You have a lovely face, Cécile. A delicate face with beautiful, intelligent eyes.

Then why don’t you ever touch me or try to kiss me?

What?

You heard what I said.

Why? I don’t know. Because I haven’t wanted to take advantage of you, I suppose.

You think I’m a virgin, don’t you?

To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought about it one way or the other.

Well, I’m not. Just so you know. I’m not a virgin anymore, and I never will be again.

Congratulations.

It happened last month in Brittany. The boy’s name was Jean-Marc, and we did it three times. He’s a good person, Jean-Marc, but I’m not in love with him. Do you understand what I’m saying?

I think so.

And?

You have to give me time.

What does that mean?

It means that I’m deeply in love with someone in New York. She broke up with me just before I left for Paris, and I’m still suffering, still trying to regain my balance. I’m not ready for anything new right now.

I understand.

Good. That makes things a lot simpler.

Not simpler-more complicated. But that won’t change anything in the end.

Oh?

Once you get to know me better, you’ll see that I have one very special quality, something that sets me apart from everyone else.

And what quality is that?

Patience, Adam. I’m the most patient person in the world.

It has to be a Saturday, he decides. Hélène is off from work, Cécile has a half day of school, and therefore Saturday is the only day of the week when he can go to the Juin apartment with the certainty that he will be alone with Hélène. And he wants to act now, to talk to her while Born is still in London, since that is the only way he can eliminate the risk of having Born walk in on them in the middle of their conversation. He calls Hélène at the clinic. He says he has something important to discuss with her about Cécile. No, nothing catastrophic, he replies, in fact quite the opposite, but he needs to talk to her, and it would be best for all concerned if they can meet at a time when Cécile will not be present. It is Hélène herself who suggests that he come to the apartment on Saturday morning. Cécile will be at the lycée then, and if he shows up at around nine o’clock, they will be able to finish their talk before Cécile comes home. What does he prefer? she asks. Coffee or tea? Croissants, brioches, or tartines beurrées? Coffee and tartines, he says. Yogurt? Yes, yogurt would be very nice. It’s settled, then. He will come for breakfast on Saturday morning. Hélène’s voice on the phone is so accommodating, so full of kindness and playful complicity that Walker has no choice but to revise his opinion of her after they hang up. She is awkward with strangers, perhaps, but once she gets to know someone a little bit, she relaxes her guard and begins to show her true colors. Those colors have become more and more attractive to him. Hélène clearly likes him, and the fact of the matter is, he likes her too. All the more motivation to remove Born from the premises as quickly as possible. If it can be done. If he has the wherewithal to make her believe him.

The rue de Verneuil, Saturday morning. For the first half hour, Walker concentrates on Cécile, doing what he can to put Hélène’s mind at rest about her daughter’s feelings for him and prove that the situation is not as dire as she thought it was. He tells her about his conversation with Cécile on Thursday (neglecting to mention that it took place in the morning, when she was supposed to have been at school) and says that everything is out in the open now. Cécile knows that he is unavailable to her, that he has just been through a shattering breakup with someone in New York and is in no condition to begin a romance with her or anyone else.

Is that true, Hélène asks, or were you just making it up to protect her?

I wasn’t making it up, Walker says.

Poor boy. You must be having a hard time of it.

I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to.

Ignoring this cryptic remark, Hélène pushes on: And what did she say when you told her about your… situation?

She said she understood.

That’s all? She didn’t make a scene?

No scene. She was very calm.

I’m surprised. That isn’t like her.

I know she’s high-strung, Madame Juin, I know she isn’t terribly stable, but she’s also a remarkable person, and my feeling is that she’s a lot stronger than you think she is.

That’s a matter of opinion, of course, but let’s hope you’re right.

Also, and this will interest you, you were wrong when you told me she has no experience with men.

Well, well. And where did she acquire this experience?

I’ve already said enough. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask Cécile herself. I’m not a spy, after all.

How tactless of me. You’re absolutely right. Forgive me for asking the question.

My only point is that Cécile is growing up, and maybe it’s time to let her go. You don’t have to worry about her so much anymore.