of it and found them touching, whereas previously they’d always been lamentable. He was looking for refuge, anywhere at all, as long as it would let him escape the present. However, in the last few days, he’d achieved a sort of romantic dream by going to the theater with a beautiful woman. Then why was he feeling such a strong need to backpedal? Clearly there had to be something easy to understand about it, something you could call fear of happiness . They say the most beautiful moments of our life pass before us right before we die. Then it seemed plausible that you could see the havoc and heartbreak of the past parade before you at the moment when happiness comes with its almost unsettling smile.
Natalie had asked him to come by her office, and he’d refused.
“I actually would like to see you,” he’d said. “But by telephone.”
“See me by telephone? Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay, thanks. I’m just asking you not to enter my field of vision for several days. That’s all I’m asking.”
She was getting more and more unnerved. And yet, she could still feel charmed by so much oddness. Her wondering went far afield. She considered the fact that Markus’s affectation might be a form of strategy. Or else a modern form of romantic humor. Of course, she was wrong. Markus was completely and distressingly trapped at emotional stage 1.
By the end of the day, she’d decided not to follow his instructions; she went to his office. Immediately, he averted his gaze.
“This won’t do! What’s more, you’re entering without knocking.”
“Because I want you to look at me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Are you always like this? Are you sure it’s not because of that glass of red wine?”
“In a way it is.”
“You’re doing this on purpose? To puzzle me, is that it? I must admit it’s working.”
“Natalie, I promise you there’s nothing else to understand but what I said to you. I’m protecting myself, that’s all. That’s not difficult to grasp.”
“But you’re going to get a neck ache staying like that.”
“I’d rather have a neck ache than heartache.”
She was left hanging with that last phrase, which she heard as some kind of culinary combination, like ham-’n’-eggs, or even an exotic dessert combination like bananas-’n’-cream: necake-’n’-artake . Then she went on, “And what if I want to seeyou? And if I want to spend some time with you? And if I feel good when I’m with you. What do I do?”
“It’s not possible. It won’t ever be possible. It’s better for you to leave.”
Natalie didn’t know what to do. Should she have kissed him, slapped him, sacked him, ignored him, made a fool of him, begged him? Finally she turned the handle of the door and left.
Sixty-eight
At the end of the next day, Chloé celebrated her birthday in the office. She couldn’t stand people forgetting it. In a few years, obviously, the opposite would be true. You could appreciate her energy, her way of making a gloomy environment exuberant, her way of pushing the employees who were there into feigned good humor. Practically everyone who worked on the floor was there, and Chloé, who was surrounded by them, was drinking a glass of champagne. Waiting for her gifts. There was something touching, almost charming, in her ridiculously exaggerated display of narcissism.
The room wasn’t very big; even so, Markus and Natalie did their best to stay as far away from each other as possible. She’d finally given in to his demand and was trying her best not to appear in his field of vision. Chloé, who was following their little game, wasn’t duped. They have a way of not speaking to each other that speaks volumes, is what she thought. Quite perceptive. Well, fine, but she didn’t want to become too preoccupied by this affair; making her birthday toast a success, that was obviously the important thing. All the employees, the Benoîts andBénédictes, standing there listlessly in suits with glasses in
Natalie had asked him to come by her office, and he’d refused.
“I actually would like to see you,” he’d said. “But by telephone.”
“See me by telephone? Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay, thanks. I’m just asking you not to enter my field of vision for several days. That’s all I’m asking.”
She was getting more and more unnerved. And yet, she could still feel charmed by so much oddness. Her wondering went far afield. She considered the fact that Markus’s affectation might be a form of strategy. Or else a modern form of romantic humor. Of course, she was wrong. Markus was completely and distressingly trapped at emotional stage 1.
By the end of the day, she’d decided not to follow his instructions; she went to his office. Immediately, he averted his gaze.
“This won’t do! What’s more, you’re entering without knocking.”
“Because I want you to look at me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Are you always like this? Are you sure it’s not because of that glass of red wine?”
“In a way it is.”
“You’re doing this on purpose? To puzzle me, is that it? I must admit it’s working.”
“Natalie, I promise you there’s nothing else to understand but what I said to you. I’m protecting myself, that’s all. That’s not difficult to grasp.”
“But you’re going to get a neck ache staying like that.”
“I’d rather have a neck ache than heartache.”
She was left hanging with that last phrase, which she heard as some kind of culinary combination, like ham-’n’-eggs, or even an exotic dessert combination like bananas-’n’-cream: necake-’n’-artake . Then she went on, “And what if I want to seeyou? And if I want to spend some time with you? And if I feel good when I’m with you. What do I do?”
“It’s not possible. It won’t ever be possible. It’s better for you to leave.”
Natalie didn’t know what to do. Should she have kissed him, slapped him, sacked him, ignored him, made a fool of him, begged him? Finally she turned the handle of the door and left.
Sixty-eight
At the end of the next day, Chloé celebrated her birthday in the office. She couldn’t stand people forgetting it. In a few years, obviously, the opposite would be true. You could appreciate her energy, her way of making a gloomy environment exuberant, her way of pushing the employees who were there into feigned good humor. Practically everyone who worked on the floor was there, and Chloé, who was surrounded by them, was drinking a glass of champagne. Waiting for her gifts. There was something touching, almost charming, in her ridiculously exaggerated display of narcissism.
The room wasn’t very big; even so, Markus and Natalie did their best to stay as far away from each other as possible. She’d finally given in to his demand and was trying her best not to appear in his field of vision. Chloé, who was following their little game, wasn’t duped. They have a way of not speaking to each other that speaks volumes, is what she thought. Quite perceptive. Well, fine, but she didn’t want to become too preoccupied by this affair; making her birthday toast a success, that was obviously the important thing. All the employees, the Benoîts andBénédictes, standing there listlessly in suits with glasses in
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