Delicacy

by David Foenkinos

  “You could have knocked,” he said curtly.

  She walked toward him the same way she’d walked toward Markus to kiss him. But this time it was to deliver a slap.

  “There, I did it.”

  “But you can’t do that! I can fire you for that.”

  Charles brought a hand to his face. And tremblingly repeated his threat.

  “And I can attack you for harassment. You want me to show you the e-mails you sent me?”

  “But why are you talking to me like that? I’ve always respected you.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Put on your little act for me. All you wanted to do was sleep with me.”

  “I honestly don’t understand you.”

  “Well, I don’t understand what you went and did with Markus.”

  “Don’t I have the right to have dinner with an employee?”

  “Yes, okay, that’s enough! Understand?” she shouted.

  This did her a world of good, and she would have wanted to fly into an even bigger rage. Her reaction was excessive. By defending her territory with Markus like that, she was betraying her confusion. The confusion she was always incapable of defining. Dictionaries stop where the heart starts. And maybe that’s why Charles had stopped reading definitions when Natalie returned to work. There was nothing to say beyond giving voice to primal reactions.

  As she was about to leave the office, Charles declared, “I had dinner with him because I wanted to get to know him … to know how you could have chosen a man that ugly, that insignificant. I can understand your rejecting me, but that’s something, you see, I’ll never understand …”

  “Shut up!”

  “I you think I’m going to leave things just as they are. I’ve just been with the stockholders. Any moment now, your dear Markus is going to get a very important offer. An offer he’d be suicidal to refuse. Just one small problem: the job is in Stockholm. But with the benefits he’ll get, I think he won’t hesitate long.”

  “You’re pathetic. Especially since nothing can prevent me from resigning and going with him.”

  “You can’t do that! I forbid it!”

  “You’re a pain, you really are …”

  “And you can’t do that to François, either!”

  Natalie stared at him. Immediately he wanted to apologize for what he’d said; he knew he’d gone too far. But he couldn’t move a muscle. Neither could she. That last sentence had knocked the life out of them. Finally, she left Charles’s office, slowly, without saying anything. He sat there alone, certain of having lost her forever. Then he walked to the window to gaze out into empty space, intensely tempted.

  Ninety-seven

  Once she was back sitting at her desk, Natalie consulted her calendar. She called Chloé to ask her to cancel all her meetings.

  “But it isn’t possible! You have to head the committee in an hour.”

  “Yes, I know,” interrupted Natalie. “Okay, good, I’ll call later.”

  She hung up, not knowing what to do. It was an important meeting, and she’d spent a lot of time preparing for it. But it was obvious that she could no longer work in this company after what had just happened. She remembered the first time she’d come to this building. She was still a young girl. She recalled those beginnings, François’s advice. Perhaps that’s what had been the hardest thing about his death. The sudden, brutal absence of their discussions. The end of those moments when you talked about each other’s life, when you commented on it. She was finding herself alone at the edge of the abyss and deeply understood that her fragility was degrading her. That for three years she’d been putting on the most pathetic act there is. That deep down she had never been persuaded she wanted to live. She still felt so much guilt, so much ridiculous guilt when she returned again to the memory of the Sunday her husband had died. She should have held him back, kept him from going running. Wasn’t that a wife’s role? See to it that men stop running. She should have held him back, kissed him, loved him. She should have set down her book, interrupted her reading instead of letting him smash his life to pieces.

  Her anger had subsided now. She gazed at her desk a moment more, then threw a few belongings into her bag. She turned off her computer, tidied up the drawers, and left. She was glad she didn’t pass anyone, didn’t have to say a word. Her escape had to be a silent one. She took a taxi, told the driver to go to the Saint-Lazare railroad station, and bought a ticket. As the train was leaving, she began to weep.

  Ninety-eight

  Schedule of the Paris–Lisieux Train

  Taken by Natalie

  Departure: 4:33 p.m. Paris/Saint-Lazare

  Arrival: 6:02 p.m. Lisieux

  Ninety-nine

  Natalie’s disappearance immediately jammed the functioning of every floor. She was supposed to preside over the most important meeting of the quarter. She’d left without giving the slightest instruction, hadn’t notified anyone. In the hallways, some were rankled and criticized her lack of professionalism. In a few minutes, her reputation took a nosedive: the authority of the present over a reputation acquired in the course of years. Since everyone was aware of her connection to Markus, they continually went to see him. “Do you know where she could be?” He had to admit that he didn’t. And that amounted almost to saying, “No, I have no particular connection to her. She doesn’t share her wanderings with me.” It was hard to have to express his lack of responsibility for the situation like that. This new episode was going to strip him of the prestige he’d accumulated the day before. It was as if they were suddenly remembering that he wasn’t as important as all that. And people began to wonder how they could have thought—even only for an instant—that he was close to Natalie Portman.

  He’d tried to reach her several times. To no avail. Her telephone was turned off. He couldn’t work. He walked in circles. This was accomplished very quickly, given the size of his narrow office. What could he do? The confidence of the last few days was disintegrating rapidly. Their lunch together played in a loop in his head. “What counts is knowing what appetizer you’re going to have.” He remembered having said something like that. How was it possible to speak that way? It wasn’t necessary to look for an answer. He hadn’t been at his best. She’d said, hadn’t she, that she was lost; and perched on his cloud, he’d been capable of nothing more than offering her a few superficial phrases. Tom Thumb! In what world was he living? Certainly not a world where women left you their address before running away. It was so obvious that everything was his fault. He made women run away. She was probably even going to become a nun. Taking trains and planes to get out of the air he breathed. He felt sick. Sick for having acted so poorly. The emotion of love is the mea culpa of emotions. You may end up thinking that the other’s hurt all comes from you. You may think—mad as it always is—that some demiurgic movement has placed you right at the heart of the heart of the other. That life comes down to a bell jar of pulmonary valves. Markus’s world was Natalie’s. It was an entire, all-embracing world where he was simultaneously responsible for everything and for less than nothing.

  And the ordinary world was coming back to him. Slowly, he managed to regain control of his mind. To balance white and black. He thought again of all the affection of their moments together. That truly genuine affection that couldn’t die away like this. The fear of losing Natalie had clouded his mind. His anxiety was his vulnerability, that same vulnerability that could also be where his powers of attraction lay. By linking vulnerabilities, you reach a kind of strength. He didn’t know what to do, no longer wanted to work, no longer thought about his day in a rational way. He wanted to be crazy, to run away, too, to take a taxi and board the first train that came along.

  One Hundred

  Then he was called to the director of human resources. Obviously, everybody wanted to see him. He went there without the slightest apprehension. He had gotten over any fear of authority. Everything had been nothing but a ploy for several days. Mr. Bonivent welcomed him with a big smile. Immediately Marku
s thought, This smile is really a murder. It’s essential for a director of human resources to look as though he’s as concerned about the career of an employee as he’d be if it were a question of his own life. Markus noticed that Bonivent was worthy of his post.

  “Oh, Mr. Lundell … what a pleasure to see you. I’ve been keeping my eye on you for some time, you know …”

  “Really?” he answered, certain (and rightly so) that this man had just discovered his existence.

  “Of course … everyone’s career counts for me … and I must even admit that I have a genuine affection for you. Your way of never making any waves, never asking for anything. It’s very unpretentious, and if I wasn’t somewhat conscientious, well, I wouldn’t have noticed your presence at the heart of our company …”

  “Oh …”

  “You’re the employee that every employer dreams of.”

  “That’s nice. Could you tell me why you wanted to see me?”

  “Oh, that’s so like you! Efficiency! Efficiency! We don’t lose any time! If only everybody was like you!”

  “So?”

  “Fine … I’m going to be frank with you about the situation: management is offering you a job as team leader. With a significant pay raise, as goes without saying. You’re an essential part of the strategic repositioning of our company … and I must say I’m not unhappy with this promotion … because there was a moment when I actively supported it.”

  “Thank you … I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, of course, we’ll facilitate all the administrative steps necessary for the transfer.”

  “The transfer?”

  “Yes. The job is in Stockholm. Where you’re from!”

  “But my going back to Sweden is out of the question. I’d rather go to the unemployment office than to Sweden.”

  “But …

  “There is no but.”

  “But yes there is. I don’t think you have a choice.”

  Markus didn’t bother answering and left the office without another word.

  One Hundred One

  The Circle of Contradictions

  Created in late 2003 with the objective of introducing the NADHRn to HR professionals, the Circle of Contradictions brings together DHRs once a month at the Institute of Human Resources to discuss issues that concern those DHRs who must deal with the very crux of company paradoxes. These monthly meetings strive to be intelligently iconoclastic; sensitive subjects are dealt with in a professional if offbeat tenor. Humor is welcome, but officialese mumbo-jumbo is not!o

  One Hundred Two

  Usually Markus took his time walking through the hallways. He’d always considered these movements from one place to another as breaks. He was perfectly capable of getting up and saying, “I’m going to stretch my legs,” in the same way others would go out for a cigarette. But by that point he was finished with all that. He charged. It was so strange to see him coming forward like that, as if propelled by rage. He was a souped-up diesel-engine car. There really was something souped-up about him: some sensitive chords had been struck, and they went straight to the heart.

  He burst into his boss’s office. Charles looked hard at his employee and instinctively placed his hand to his cheek. Markus stood stock still in the middle of the room, holding back his rage. Charles dared to say, “You know where she is?”

  “No, I don’t. All of you must stop asking me where Natalie is. I don’t know.”

  “I just spoke to the clients on the telephone. They’re furious. I can’t get over the fact that she could do that to us!”

  “I understand her perfectly.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I’d like to tell you two things.”

  “Quickly. I’m in a hurry.”

  “The first is that I refuse your offer. How low of you. I don’t know how you’re going to look at yourself in the mirror anymore.”

  “Who told you I look at myself?”

  “Fine, I don’t care what the hell you do or don’t do.”

  “And the second?”

  “I quit.”

  Charles was stupefied by the man’s speed of reaction. He hadn’t hesitated an instant. He was refusing the offer and leaving the company. How could Charles have handled the situation so badly? And yet, no. Perhaps it was what he wanted? Seeing both of them run off with their unfortunate affair. Charles kept looking at Markus and couldn’t read anything on his face. Because there was a kind of frozen rage on it. Which annihilated any readable expression. However, Markus had begun to walk toward him, slowly, with a confidence that was out of proportion. As if motivated by some unknown force. So strong that Charles couldn’t avoid feeling afraid, very afraid.

  “Now that you’re not my boss anymore … I can …”

  Markus didn’t finish his sentence; his fist finished it for him. It was the first time he’d hit anyone. And he regretted not having done it before. Having looked for words to handle situations too many times.

  “You can’t do that! You’re insane!” shouted Charles.

  Markus came toward him again, made as if to hit him again. Charles reared back, terrified. He sat down in a corner of his office. And he stayed down in that position long after Markus left.

  One Hundred Three

  October 29, 1960 in the Life of Muhammad Ali

  In Louisville, he won his first professional fight, based on points, against Tunney Hunsaker.

  One Hundred Four

  When she arrived at the Lisieux station, Natalie rented a car. She hadn’t driven in a very long time. She was worried that she’d lost the automatic reflexes. The weather wasn’t helping; it was beginning to rain. But she was filled with such intense weariness that for the moment nothing could frighten her. She drove faster and faster on small roads, saying bonjour to sadness. The rain interfered with her vision; at moments, she couldn’t see anything.

  That’s when something happened. In the flash of a second, just that way, as she drove on. She saw the scene of the kiss with Markus again. At the moment the image appeared, she hadn’t been thinking of him. Far from it. The vision suddenly forced itself into her consciousness. She began to think about the moments she’d spent with him. As she continued to drive, she began to regret leaving without saying a word to him. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it. Her escape had been so rapid. It certainly was the first time she’d left the office that way. She knew she’d never go back to it, that a part of her life was over now. It was time to drive. However, she decided to stop at a service station. She got out of the car and looked around her. She didn’t recognize anything. She’d probably made a wrong turn. Night was falling, it was deserted. And the rain completed this classic triptych of the imagery of despair. She sent a message to Markus. Just to tell him where she was. Two minutes later, she got the following answer: “I’m taking the first train for Lisieux. So much the better if it pleases you.” Then a second message immediately after: “And what’s more, it almost rhymes.”

  One Hundred Five

  Excerpt from “The Kiss,” a Story

  by Guy de Maupassant

  Do you know the real source of our strength? The kiss, the kiss alone! … The kiss is only a preface, however …

  One Hundred Six

  Markus got off the train. He, too, had left without telling anyone. They were going to find each other again, like two fugitives. He saw her, standing stock-still, at the other side of the station concourse. He began to walk toward her, slowly, sort of like in a movie. You’d have no trouble imagining the music that accompanied this moment. Or else silence. Yes, silence would be good. You’d only hear their breathing. You’d almost be able to forget the sadness of the décor. Salvador Dalí would never have been able to be inspired by the Lisieux train station. It was empty and cold. Markus spotted a poster advertising the museum devoted to Thérèse de Lisieux. As he walked toward Natalie, he thought, “Hmm, strange, I always though that Lisieux was her last name …” Yes, that’s really what he
was thinking. And there was Natalie, so close to him. With those lips of the kiss. But her face was shut down. Her face was the Lisieux train station.

  They went to the car. Natalie climbed into the driver’s seat, and Markus rode shotgun. She started off. They hadn’t said a word to each other yet. They looked like those teenagers who don’t know what to say to each other on the first date. Markus had no idea where they were, no idea where they were going. He was following Natalie, and that was enough. After a moment, unable to stand the emptiness, he decided to turn on the radio. It was tuned to the oldies station. Alain Souchon’s “L’amour en fuite” (“Love on the Run”) reverberated through the car.

  “Oh, it’s incredible!” said Natalie.

  “What?”

  “This song. It’s crazy. It’s my song. And there … just like that.”

  Markus looked fondly at the radio. This contraption had let him renew his dialogue with Natalie. She was still saying how strange and crazy it was. That it was a sign. What kind of sign? That, Markus couldn’t know. He was surprised at the effect this song had on his companion. But he was familiar with the strange facts of life, with strokes of luck, coincidences. The evidence that made you doubt rationality. At the end of that piece of music, she asked Markus to turn off the radio. She wanted to stay suspended in that song she’d always loved so much. Which she’d discovered in the last installment of the film series The Adventures of Antoine Doinel. She’d been born during that period, and maybe it was a complex feeling to define, but she felt she’d come from that moment. As if she were a product of that melody. Her sweet, sometimes melancholy personality, its lightness, all of it was absolutely 1978. It was her song, it was her life. And she couldn’t get over such a stroke of luck.