Sometimes,' she said, 'I think I must have invented him.'
I know all I want to about your child,' Chauvin said harshly.
Anne Desbaresdes moaned again, louder than before. Again she put her hand on the table. His eyes followed her movement and finally, painfully, he understood and lifted his own leaden hand and placed it on hers. Their hands were so cold they were touching only in intention, an illusion, in order for this to be fulfilled, for the sole reason that it should be fulfilled, none other, it was no longer possible. And yet, with their hands frozen in this funereal pose, Anne Desbaresdes stopped moaning.
One last time,' she begged, 'tell me about it one last time.'
Chauvin hesitated, his eyes somewhere else, still fixed on the back wall. Then he decided to tell her about it as if it were a memory.
He had never dreamed, before meeting her, that he would one day want anything so badly.'
And she acquiesced completely?'
Wonderfully.'
Anne Desbaresdes looked at Chauvin absently. Her voice became thin, almost childlike.
I'd like to understand why his desire to have it happen one day was so wonderful?'
Chauvin still avoided looking at her. Her voice was steady, wooden, the voice of a deaf person.
There's no use trying to understand. It's beyond understanding.'
You mean there are some things like that that can't be gone into?'
I think so.'
Anne Desbaresdes' expression became dull, almost stupid. Her lips had turned pale, they were gray and trembled as though she were on the verge of tears.
She does nothing t try and stop him?' she whispered.
No. Have a little more wine.'
She sipped her wine. He also drank, and his lips on the glass were also trembling.
Time,' he said
Does it take a long time, a very long time?'
Yes, a very long time. But I don't know anything.' He lowered his voice. 'Like you, I don't know anything. Nothing at all.'
Anne Desbaresdes forced back her tears. Her voice was normal, momentarily awake.
She will never speak again,' she said.
I know all I want to about your child,' Chauvin said harshly.
Anne Desbaresdes moaned again, louder than before. Again she put her hand on the table. His eyes followed her movement and finally, painfully, he understood and lifted his own leaden hand and placed it on hers. Their hands were so cold they were touching only in intention, an illusion, in order for this to be fulfilled, for the sole reason that it should be fulfilled, none other, it was no longer possible. And yet, with their hands frozen in this funereal pose, Anne Desbaresdes stopped moaning.
One last time,' she begged, 'tell me about it one last time.'
Chauvin hesitated, his eyes somewhere else, still fixed on the back wall. Then he decided to tell her about it as if it were a memory.
He had never dreamed, before meeting her, that he would one day want anything so badly.'
And she acquiesced completely?'
Wonderfully.'
Anne Desbaresdes looked at Chauvin absently. Her voice became thin, almost childlike.
I'd like to understand why his desire to have it happen one day was so wonderful?'
Chauvin still avoided looking at her. Her voice was steady, wooden, the voice of a deaf person.
There's no use trying to understand. It's beyond understanding.'
You mean there are some things like that that can't be gone into?'
I think so.'
Anne Desbaresdes' expression became dull, almost stupid. Her lips had turned pale, they were gray and trembled as though she were on the verge of tears.
She does nothing t try and stop him?' she whispered.
No. Have a little more wine.'
She sipped her wine. He also drank, and his lips on the glass were also trembling.
Time,' he said
Does it take a long time, a very long time?'
Yes, a very long time. But I don't know anything.' He lowered his voice. 'Like you, I don't know anything. Nothing at all.'
Anne Desbaresdes forced back her tears. Her voice was normal, momentarily awake.
She will never speak again,' she said.
( Marguerite Duras )
[ Moderato Cantabile ]
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