Throughout The Years

For years I believed that this woman was out of my

life, not that far maybe but out of it.
It was as if she didn’t exist anymore, as though she
lived someplace far away and she had never really been as
beautiful as I remembered her to be, to me she belonged to
the world of the past. The world from when I was young
and romantic, when I believed love lasted forever and that
nothing was more important than my love for her. All that
bullshit.

I was twenty-six years old and I was standing on a

train station platform one day. I didn’t understand why she
was crying so much. I held her tight in my arms and buried
my face into the crook of her neck. I thought that she was
sad because I was leaving and while we’d been standing
there waiting she’d let me see her getting choked up. And
then a couple of weeks later, after I had already swallowed
my pride like some poor pathetic kid on the phone writing
a bunch of long tear stained love letters it finally hit me.
That on that day she was so broken up because she
knew that she was seeing my face for the last time,
clutching on to what was left of me.. And that final
remaining piece of me only made her feel worse.

For months after that, I stumbled around from here

to there. I paid no attention to anything else and just
bumped around all over. The worse I felt, the more I’d drag
myself around.
I was a damaged boy but I never let it show : all
those monotonous days where I would just fake it. I’d get
up, work myself sick, eat without fuss, drink beers with my
colleagues and keep up my act by continuing to go out and
laugh the night away with those guys I called my brothers,
even though the smallest little jab from any of them would
have been enough to break me.
But I’m kidding myself. I’d thought that all this was
bravery, it was stupidity : because I thought that she would
come back. I really believed it.

I’d let myself be blindsided and had gotten my heart

completely broken that Sunday night standing there on the
train station platform. I couldn’t figure out how to deal
with it so I stumbled around anywhere and everywhere.
The next couple of years didn’t help either. Although
there were certain days I would surprise myself by thinking:
-Huh?... That’s strange… I don’t think she crossed my
mind at all yesterday… but instead of congratulating myself
about it, I would wonder how it was possible, how I had
managed to go an entire day without thinking about her.
Her name in particular haunted me. And two or three
specific images of her that I’d held onto. Always the same
ones.
It’s true. I’d just get myself up in the mornings, eat,
bathe, get dressed and go to work.
There were times when I’d see other girls naked.
Sometimes but it just didn’t do anything for me.
Emotions : Non existent.

And then finally, against all odds, my luck changed.

Even though by that time I’d stopped caring altogether.
Another woman came into my life. A woman that
was very different from what I’d known before had fallen
in love with me, who had a different name and who’d taken
it upon herself to make me a complete man. Without
asking what I thought about it, she had put me back on my
feet and had married me less than a year after our first kiss
that we had shared in an elevator during a work
convention.
She was a woman that I never expected to come
around. I’ve got to say, I was terrified. I had given up hope
on love which must’ve led to me hurting her pretty often.
I’d lie there running my fingers across her stomach and my
mind would start to drift away. I’d lift her hair up to my
nose but every time I’d find myself searching for another
scent. She never once mentioned anything to me about the
way I acted. She knew that my ghost-like life wouldn’t last
long. She offered me her laugh, her skin, and this bundle of
basic and selfless love. She’d been right. My ghost-life let
me live happily.

She’s in the next room right now. She’s sleeping.

Professionally, I succeeded better than I ever could

have imagined. I guess being callous pays off, or maybe I
was just in the right place at the right time, or I was able to
make certain decisions, that… I don’t know.
In any case, I can see the astonishment as well as the
suspicion in the eyes of my old friends from school and
know that all of this leaves them pretty confused, a
beautiful wife, a flashy business card, custom fitted shirts…
and with so few resources at the beginning. It’s baffling.
During that time I was someone who pretty much
only had my mind on girls, well... on that girl specifically, the
guy who wrote letters during lectures and who never even
bothered to check out other girls’ asses or boobs or eyes or
anything else on café terraces1 The guy who would take the
first train to Paris every Friday and who would come back
depressed with sunken eyes Monday mornings while
cursing the long distance and the enthusiastic conductors.
More Arlequin2 than golden boy3, that’s for sure.
I was hopelessly in love with her. Because of this I
completely neglected my studies and as a result I
completely fucked up my grades. And because of all that, as
well as other failings, she left me. She must have thought
that the future was too… uncertain with someone like me.
When I look at my bank statements these days, It’s
pretty clear to me that life is a big joke.

So I lived as if nothing had ever happened.

Of course, sometimes we’d come together to talk
and share a grin, my wife and I or with friends, about our
student years, about films and books that had a hand in
shaping us or about our childhood sweethearts4, faces that we’d
forgotten along the course of our lives and those that came
to mind randomly. We’d discuss the price of a cup of coffee
and all different kinds of nostalgic things… certain parts of
our lives that had been neatly tucked away we’d pull out to
put on display and dust them off a little. But I never
thought too hard about it at all. Definitely not.

1
Patio or veranda
2
Arlequin, also commonly known as ‘Arlequino’ or ‘Harlequin’, is a stock character
in an italian form of theatre known as Commedia dell’arte, typically known to be
the clownish servant class character and is the cause of many mishaps.
3
‘Golden Boy’ is a borrowed phrase that appears in the original french text.
4
Nos amours de jeunesse - literally, loves from our youth. Italicised in the original text
to highlight the important nature of this subject for Pierre.
 For a while, I remember, I would pass in front of a
sign everyday that had the name of the town where I knew
she lived written on it, with the number of kilometers5
Every morning, on the way to my office and each
night coming back, I would glance at the sign. Just a glance,
that’s all. I never went down that road. I thought about it
but even just the idea of turning on my blinker was like I
was spitting on my wife.
But still, I would give it a look, that is true.
And then I changed jobs. No more sign.

But there were always other reasons, some different

kind of excuse. Always. I mean, how many times did I turn
around in the street, my heart racing because I’d thought
that I’d seen just a bit of a silhouette that… or a voice
that… or hair like…?
How many times?

I’d been under the impression that I’d stopped

thinking about her, but all it took was a moment alone in a
peaceful place for her to come creeping back into my
thoughts.
On the terrasse of a restaurant one day, less than six
months ago, a client that I’d planned to meet didn’t show
up so my mind set off to reminisce. I loosened my collar
and asked the server to buy me a pack of cigarettes. Those
strong and bitter cigarettes that I would smoke at the time.
I stretched out my legs and had the waiter keep the table
setting across from me where it was. I ordered a good wine,

5
Given that the story takes place in Europe where the metric system is used, I
found it appropriate to use kilometers over the conversion to miles.
a Gruaud-Larose6I believe… and while I was smoking, my
eyes half closed enjoying a little sunshine, I watched her
come up towards me.
I sat there watching, I couldn’t take my eyes off of
her. I hadn’t stopped thinking about her and all those
things that we had done when we were together and when
we would sleep in the same bed.

I had never asked myself if I loved her still or what

my exact feelings towards her were. It wouldn't have
mattered anyways. But I did like seeing her in during this
moment I had to myself. I’ve got to say it because it’s the
truth.
Thankfully for me, my life didn’t leave me with very
many moments alone. It was only really in rare moments
such as these, like my client completely forgetting me for
instance or if I got a moment at night to sit in my car and
forget my usual worries. So pretty much almost never.

And even if I wanted to let myself sink into the

blues, or torture myself with nostalgia, or try and play it
cool and lighthearted with her and look up her phone
number using the Minitel7 or something stupid like that, I
know that it’s impossible now because for the past couple
of years, I have something to really keep me in check. The
craziest little things : my kids.
I’m crazy about my kids. I have three of them, the
oldest is my seven year old daughter, Marie, and then
there’s Josephine who’ll be four soon and Yvan, the
youngest who’s almost two. And honestly, I’m the one who
6
Gruaud-Larose is a higher end wine that comes from the Saint-Julien appellation
in the Bordeaux region of France.
7
An invention created in Brittany, France which predated the World Wide Web. It
could be used to look up various things such as phone numbers.
begged my wife to give me a third, I remember she would
talk about being tired and the future but I just love babies
so much, the little noises they make and their wet hugs…
Come on… I would say to her, give me another baby. She
didn’t hold out on me too long and if for nothing other
than that, I know that she’s my only friend and that I’ll
never leave her. Even if I do have a lingering shadow with
me.

My kids are the best thing that's ever happened to

me. An old love story means nothing compared to them.
Nothing at all.
*
So there you have it, that’s pretty much how I’d lived
and then then last week, she said her name over the phone :

-It’s Helena.
-Helena?
-I’m not bothering you, am I?
I had my little boy on my knees who was giggling and
trying to grab the receiver8
-Uhh…
-Is that your baby?
-Yeah.
-How old is he?
-...Why are you calling me like this?
-How old is he?
-Twenty months.
-I’m calling you because I’d like to see you.
-You want to see me?

8
A Rotary Dial Telephone was an early model of the telephone in which the caller
used a rotating dial to place phone calls. A handset is attached by a cable in which
the speaker speaks into.
-Yes.
-What the hell are you talking about?
-...
-Just like that. You said to yourself, hold on!... I think I’d
like to see him again…
-It was a little bit like that.
-Why?... I mean, why now?... After all these yea…
-...Twelve years. It’s been twelve years.
-Alright. And…? What’s going on?
You just came to this realization? What do you want? You
want to know how old my kids are or if I’ve lost my hair
or… Or see how calling me would affect me… or it’s really
just that simple, you wanna talk about the good ol’ days?!
-Listen, I didn’t think that you were going to take it like
that, I’ll hang up. I’m sorry I…
-How did you find my phone number?
-Your dad.
-What?!
-I called your dad earlier and I asked him for your number,
that’s it.
-He remembered you?
-No. I just… I didn’t tell him who I was.

I set my son on the floor and he left to join his

sisters in their room. My wife wasn’t home.
-Wait, don’t go… “Marie! Can you put his house shoes9 on
please?”... Hello? Are you there?
-Yes.
-So?...
-So what?...

9
A European custom as well as in other parts of the world in which residents and
guests inside of a home take off their outdoor shoes for a slide on, typically felt
shoe.
-You want us to see each other again?
-Yes. But not for long. Just to grab a drink or walk for a
little bit, you see…
-Why. What would be the point in that?
-It’s just that I want to see you again. To talk a little bit with
you.
-Helena?
-Yes?
-Why are you doing this?
-Why?
-Yes, why are you calling me? Why so late? Why now? You
didn’t even ask yourself if you might be complicating my
life… You call me up and you…
-Listen Pierre. I’m going to die.
-...
-I’m calling you now because I’m going to die. I don’t know
exactly when but it won't be long.
I put the phone away from my face to breathe for a
second and tried to stand up but couldn’t.
-That can’t be true.
-Yes it’s true.
-What’s wrong with you?
-Oh… it’s complicated. To sum it up you could say that it’s
my blood that… Well I don’t know anymore really what’s
going on because the results are confusing but it’s a tricky
thing.
I said :
-Hold on.
-Well, what do you think?
That I’m coming up with some elaborate excuse so I’d have
a reason to call you?!!
-I’m sorry.
-Don’t worry about it.
-Maybe they’re wrong.
-Yes...Maybe.
-No?
-No. I don’t think so.
-How is this possible?
-I don’t know
-Are you in pain?
-It’s so-so.
-You’re suffering?
-Yeah, a bit actually.
-You want to see me one last time?
-Yes. We can put it like that.
-...
-...
-You aren’t worried about being disappointed? You
wouldn’t prefer to keep a… good memory of me?
-An image of when you were young and handsome?
I heard her smile.
-Exactly. When I was young and good looking and hadn’t
started getting grey hairs.
-Your hair’s grey?!
-I have five I believe.
-Ah! Okay, you scared me! You’re right. I don’t know if it’s
a good idea but I’ve been thinking about it for a while…
I’ve been telling myself that I would really like it… So since
there aren’t a lot of things that make me happy lately… I…
I called you.
-How long have you been thinking about this?
-Twelve years! No… I’m kidding. I’ve thought about it for
the past few months. Since my last stay at the hospital to be
exact.
-So you really think that you want to see me again?
-Yes.
-When?
-When you want. When you can.
-Where do you live?
-The same place. About 100 kilometers10 from you I think.
-Helena?
-Yes?
-No, nothing.
-You’re right. Nothing. It’s like that. That’s life and I’m not
calling you to bring up the past or create some impossible
future, I…
I’m calling you because I want to see your face again.
That’s it. It’s like the people that return to their hometowns
or to their parents house… or to whatever place that had
significance in their life.
-So it’s like a pilgrimage.
I realized that my voice had changed.
-Yes, exactly. It’s like a pilgrimage. To think that your face is
a place that has marked my life.
-Pilgrimages are always sad, you know.
-Why do you say that? Have you ever been on one!?
-No. Yes. I went to Lourdes11…
-Oh well yes… so there, Lourdes, of course…
She was forcing herself to have a playful tone.

I heard the kids arguing and I didn’t feel like talking

anymore. I wanted to hang up. So I finished by throwing
out :
-When?
-You tell me.
-Tomorrow?
10
100km = 60 mi approx.
11
A town located in Southwestern France in the foothills of the Pyrenees
mountains. It’s believed that spring water from lourdes as well as prayer and
blessings can heal the sick.
-If you want.
Where?
In between our two towns? Sully12 for example…
-Can you drive?
-Yes. I can drive.
What’s in Sully?
-Ehh not much I imagine… We’ll see I guess. We can meet
in front of the town hall…
-At lunch time?
-Oh no. It’s not very fun to eat with me you know…
She forced herself to laugh again.
-...After lunch would be better.
*

That night he couldn’t get to sleep. He laid there

with his eyes held wide open and fixed on the ceiling. He
wanted to keep them dry. To keep himself from crying.
It had nothing to do with his wife. He was scared he
was deceiving himself, that he was mourning the death of
the internal life that had been built up inside of him rather
than the news of her actual death.. He knew that if he
started crying, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
Don’t open the floodgates. Absolutely not. Because
he had been going around now for so many years
complaining about the weaknesses of people. Of others. Of
those who don’t know what they want and who drag their
mediocrity after them.
For so many years he had looked back on the time
from his youth with such strong feelings of tenderness.
Always, when he would think of her, he would put things
into perspective, he would pretend to smile about those

12
Sully-sur-Loire is a town in north central France located in the 45th department
of France, Loiret. Directly in between Paris and Bourges.
times or understand something about it. Even though he
had never understood a thing.
He knows perfectly well that he has never loved
anyone but her and that he has never been loved by anyone
but her. That she had been his one true love and that
nothing could change that. That she had dropped him like
some old, worthless thing. That she had never reached out
or written a single word to tell him to pick himself up. To
admit to him that she wasn’t doing so great without him.
That he’d gotten the situation wrong. That he was better
than her. Or that she had made the biggest mistake of her
life and that she had secretly regretted it. He knew how
proud she was. To tell him now that over the last twelve
years she herself had suffered just the same, and that now
she was going to die.

He didn’t want to cry and to keep himself from

doing so, he told himself anything. That’s right, anything at
all. During all this, his wife had turned over in his direction
and placed her hand on his stomach, which in turn made
him feel immediately guilty about the thoughts running
through his head. Sure he had loved and been loved by
another, certainly. He looks at the face lying there close to
him and he takes her hand to kiss it. She smiles, still fast
asleep.
No, there’s no reason for him to feel sorry for
himself. Nothing to lie to himself about. Romantic passion,
hello, that happens in life. But now enough, huh. And
moreover, tomorrow afternoon isn’t that convenient for
him because of his meeting with the guys from Sygma II.
He’s going to have to put Marcheron on it if he doesn’t
show up or has to leave, and that could be tricky because
with Marcheron…
 He couldn’t sleep that night. He had too many
thoughts running around in his head.
That’s how he could explain his insomnia, it was as
though he was lost inside his own thoughts equipped only
with a dim lamp which was becoming increasingly more
powerless to the thick fog whirling and billowing inside his
mind, he couldn’t see a thing. like those old painful times,
he stumbled around everywhere.
*
She couldn’t get to sleep that night but she was used
to it. She practically doesn’t sleep anymore. It’s because
she’s not active enough throughout the day. That’s the
doctor’s theory. Her sons are at their father’s house and she
does nothing but cry.
Cry. Cry. Cry.
She breaks, she gives in, she boils over, she doesn’t
care, she thinks that things are okay, she must move on now
because the doctor had said that she doesn’t use up enough
energy so she would have had to do something to blow off
steam anyways. He doesn’t understand anything with his
fancy lab coat and his complicated words. In truth she is
drained. Completely.
She’s crying because, this time, she called back
Pierre. She’s always managed to remember his phone
number and several times, she has dialed the ten numbers
that separated him from her, head his voice, and then
quickly hang up. There was even a time, she had followed
him all day because she wanted to know where he lived,
what kind of car he drove, where he worked, how he
dressed and if he seemed troubled. She had followed his
wife as well. She had to admit that she was pretty and
happy and was the mother of his children.
 She’s crying because her heart had begun to start
beating again today when she’d believed for a long time it
couldn’t anymore. She has had a life that has been much
harder than what she had imagined for herself. Solitude in
particular she has gotten to know all too well. She believed
that it was too late now to feel anything, that all the good
times were already behind her. Especially since they went
into a frenzy one day over a blood test, a random routine
exam because she felt under the weather. Everyone, the
physicians and the astute professors, each one of them had
something to say about the matter but not much else to add
as far as curing her.

She cries for so many reasons that she doesn’t want

to even think about them anymore. Her entire life is
coming back to her suddenly and flashing before her eyes.
So, to protect herself a bit, she tells herself that she cries for
the pleasure of crying and that’s all.
*
She was already there when I showed up, she smiled
at me. She said “This must be the first time I haven’t made
you wait for me, see, you didn’t have to worry.” “I wasn’t
worried.” I said back.
There was no hug. I told her that she hadn’t
changed. It’s a dumb thing to say but it was what I was
thinking at the time, except that I found her even more
beautiful than before. She was very pale and you could see
all the tiny blue veins around her eyes, on her eyelids, and
on her temples. She had gotten thinner and her face was
even more hollow than before. She seemed to be more
passive now instead of giving off the same lively impression
that she gave off before. She never took her eyes off of me.
One second she’d want me to talk, the next she wanted
silence. She had a smile on her face the whole time. She
wanted to see me again and I, well, I didn't know how to
move my hands or if I could smoke or touch her arm.

It was a grim town. We walked to the public garden a

little bit further from where we were.
We filled each other in on our lives. It was a little bit
scattered. We held onto our secrets. She searched for her
words. One moment, she asked me the difference between
powerlessness and idleness. I didn’t have an answer. She
made a gesture that told me that, either way, it wasn’t
important. She said that everything she had been through
had made her too bitter or too hard or, in any case, too
different from the person she was before when I knew her.

We had almost not brought up her illness except for

when she talked about her kids by saying that this was not a
life for them. Not that long ago, she tried to cook them
noodles and even that, she couldn’t manage because the pot
of water was too heavy to lift and that for her, that really
wasn’t a life anymore. They’d had more than their fair share
of heartache up to now.
She had me talk about my wife and kids and about
my work. And even about Marcheron. She wanted to know
everything but I saw that for the most part, she hadn’t been
listening to me.

We were sitting on a chipped-up bench facing a

fountain that must not have spouted any water since the
day of its inauguration. Everything was ugly. Sad and ugly.
The damp cold air fell on us and we scrunched up into
ourselves to warm up.
 Finally she stood up, it was time for her to leave.

She told me that she had a favor to ask me, just one.
To breathe in my scent that she’d remembered from so
long ago. Since I didn’t respond, she went further and
admitted to me that for all these years she’d wanted to take
in that scent that she’d always attached to me. I kept my
hands deep at the bottom of my coat pockets because if
not I…
She went behind my back and leaned herself over
into my hair. She stayed like that for a long time and I
started to feel very bad. Then with her nose, she went into
the crook of my neck and all around my head, she took her
time and then she went down the length of my neck
towards the collar of my shirt. She breathed in deep and,
like me, had kept her hands at her sides. Then she loosened
my tie and opened the first two buttons of my shirt, I felt
the end of her nose all cold against my collarbones, I...I…
I made a little sudden movement. She pushed herself
away from my back then laid both of her hands flat on my
shoulders. She said to me, “I’m going to leave. I want you
to stay right here and to not turn around. Please. Please.”13
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to anyways because I
didn’t want her to see me with my swollen eyes and my face
all twisted up.
I waited there for a while and then I headed back
towards my car.

13
In the original text the second ‘je t’en supplie.’ (literally, I beg you) was not italicised
but was instead an addition on behalf of the translator to add more flare to the
repetition and to heighten the dramatic weight of the events in the scene.