Françoise Sagan - Bonjour Tristesse and a Certain Smile

‘I’m exaggerating,’ I said aloud.

‘And you seem incredibly preoccupied,’ said Françoise.

‘Because I’m not in love,’ I said.

She looked at me. I felt myself sorely tempted to say to her: ‘Françoise, I would be very capable of loving Luc. I love you very much too. Take him, take him away.’

‘And is it really all over with Bertrand?’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘I don’t see him any more. What I mean is, I don’t look at him any more.’

‘Shouldn’t you perhaps tell him?’

I did not reply. What could I tell Bertrand? ‘I don’t want to see you any more’? But I really did want to see him. I liked him a lot. Françoise smiled.

‘I understand. Nothing’s simple. Come and have breakfast. I’ve seen a jumper in Rue Caumartin that would be terrific with those trousers. We’ll go and look at it together …’

We went downstairs talking animatedly about clothes. It wasn’t a subject that greatly interested me but I liked just talking like that, talking for the sake of it, suggesting an adjective, choosing the wrong one just to tease her and laughing over it. Downstairs Luc and Bertrand were having breakfast. They were talking about going for a swim.

‘Maybe we could go to the swimming pool?’

It was Bertrand speaking. He must have thought that he would look more presentable in the early summer sunshine than Luc. But perhaps he didn’t have such unworthy thoughts.

‘That’s an excellent idea. And I’ll teach Dominique to drive at the same time.’

‘We don’t want any silliness,’ said Bertrand’s mother, coming into the room clad in a sumptuous dressing gown. ‘Did you sleep well? And what about you, my pet?’

Bertrand looked embarrassed. He had been adopting a dignified demeanour and it didn’t suit him. I liked him to be cheerful. You prefer people whom you are treating badly to be cheerful. It’s less disturbing.

Luc was getting up to go. It was obvious that he could not stand his sister’s presence, which amused me. I too had experienced visceral dislike where others were concerned but I had had to conceal it. There was something childlike about Luc.

‘I’ll go upstairs and get my swimsuit.’

We all began to rush around looking for our things. Finally we were all ready. Bertrand set off with his mother in their friends’ car and the three of us were left together.

‘You drive,’ said Luc.

I did have some vague idea of what to do and it didn’t go too badly. Luc was beside me and Françoise was in the back, talking away, unaware of the danger. Once again I was filled with an intense yearning for what might have been: long journeys with Luc at my side, the road showing white beneath the headlights, the night, me with my head on Luc’s shoulder and Luc so steady at the wheel and driving so fast. I thought of dawn over the countryside, dusk over the sea …

‘You know, I’ve never seen the sea …’

There was an outcry.

‘I’ll show it to you,’ said Luc softly.

And he turned towards me with a smile that was like a promise. Françoise hadn’t heard him and went on talking:

‘The next time we go, Luc, we must take her along. She’ll keep saying, “Such a lot of water! Such a lot of water!” like the man whose name I can’t remember.’ 15

‘The first thing I’ll do, probably, will be to have a swim,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk afterwards.’

‘You know, it really is very beautiful,’ said Françoise. ‘The beaches are yellow, with red rocks and with all that blue sea washing over them …’

‘I love your descriptions,’ said Luc, laughing, ‘yellow, blue, red. Like a schoolgirl’s. A young schoolgirl, of course,’ he added apologetically, turning to me. ‘There are older schoolgirls who are very, very clever. Turn left, Dominique, if you can.’

I could. We drew up in front of a lawn. In the middle of it was a large swimming pool full of clear blue water, the very sight of which made me freeze. Before long we were standing at the edge in our swimsuits. I had met Luc as he was coming out of his cubicle, looking displeased. When I asked him why, he gave an embarrassed little smile.

‘I don’t think I look good.’

He didn’t, in fact. He was tall and thin, slightly stooped and not very brown. But he seemed so unhappy, he was taking such precautions to keep his towel held in front of him and he had so much of the ‘awkward age’ about him that I felt sorry for him.

‘Come on now,’ I said lightly, ‘you’re not as ugly as all that.’

Looking almost shocked, he cast me a sidelong glance and then burst out laughing.

‘You’re beginning to show me a lack of respect.’

Then he broke into a run and threw himself into the water. He surfaced immediately, uttering howls of distress, and Françoise came and sat on the pool’s surround. She looked better the way she was than fully clothed, she looked like a statue from the Louvre. ‘It’s atrociously cold,’ Luc was saying, his head sticking out of the water. ‘You have to be mad to swim in May.’

‘Ne’er cast a clout till May be out,’ 16Bertrand’s mother pronounced sententiously.

Having dipped a toe in the water, she went off to get dressed again. I watched the merry, chattering crowd of pallid, excited people round the pool and was filled with gentle mirth, while at the same time being niggled by the thought: ‘What on earth am I doing here?’

‘Are you going to get in?’ asked Bertrand.

He was standing in front of me on one foot and I looked at him approvingly. I knew that he did weight lifting every morning. We had once spent a weekend together and, at first light, mistaking my dozing for a deep sleep, he had performed various exercises at the window which at the time had made me laugh noiselessly until the tears ran, but which seemed to have had the desired effect. He had a clean, healthy look about him.

‘We’re lucky to have olive skin,’ he said. ‘Look at the others.’

‘Let’s have a dip,’ I said. I was afraid he might launch into exasperated comments about his mother, whom he found infuriating.

I got into the water with the greatest reluctance, swam once round the pool as a face-saving exercise and got out shivering. Françoise rubbed me down with a towel. I wondered why she had never had any children, since she was so obviously made for motherhood, with her broad hips, a body in full bloom and her gentleness. It was such a pity.

Seven

Two days after that weekend I had an arrangement to meet Luc at six o’clock. My view was that from now on, if he tried again to start something that was going to be pointless, things between us would become toxic and beyond repair. In short, I was as ready as any seventeenth-century maiden to demand that he make amends for a kiss.

We had arranged to meet in a bar on the Quai Voltaire. When I arrived I was surprised to find Luc already there. He looked tired and not at all well. I sat down beside him and he straight away ordered two whiskies. Then he asked me for news of Bertrand.

‘He’s fine.’

‘Is he suffering much?’

He asked the question not in a mocking way, but quite calmly.

‘Why would he be suffering?’ I asked foolishly.

‘He’s not stupid.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re talking about Bertrand. It’s … um …’

‘It’s a secondary matter?’

This time he had asked the question with irony in his voice. I lost my patience and said: ‘It’s not a secondary matter but at the end of the day it’s not very serious. While we’re on the subject of serious matters, let’s talk about Françoise.’

He burst out laughing.

‘It’s a funny thing, but, as you’ll see, in a situation like this, the … let’s just say, the partner of the other person seems more of an obstacle than your own partner. Dreadful as it may sound, when you know someone you also know their way of suffering and it seems quite acceptable. Well, maybe not acceptable, but familiar, so you’re less scared of it.’