“Bette thought that the fire at the Goetheanum was an unequivocal sign that what we were doing was horrible and deserved to perish in the fire. And I think she ended up getting me to think the same thing. After that incredible night, she became as elusive as smoke. It was impossible to get her to give any explanation of what she was feeling. She did everything to avoid me, but when circumstances threw us together, her look was always full of tenderness. At least it seemed so to me. When we were back in France, I waited to know she was alone before trying to see her. She was forced to tell me what her intentions were and she broke my heart. I found her tormented and nervous, but she wouldn’t stop repeating that the fire was proof of our damnation and that continuing on in that direction was unpardonable. She said we had to understand the message that had been sent to us and return to being simply the good friends we had been. She caused me so much pain that I told myself I would never again seek any intimacy between us. Losing Bette made me suffer so much that I ended up no longer feeling guilty toward my brother. In the end, he won and his victory canceled my mistake. Over time I got used to the situation, and the devastating feelings I felt for her gradually changed into deep tenderness. That said, I never fell in love again.”
“Then why marry Mother?”
“Hey, you were an inch from doing the same thing, I remind you. I was crazy about Bette, so nothing else really mattered. I allowed myself to be carried forward by a sort of inertia. Comfort is all that’s left when everything is disenchanted.”
After a week, I moved to the home of Cousin Vincent’s elderly mother. After Grandma died, I made peace with my mother. She was buried in the little cemetery in Warvillers. Pallbearers were scarce and I know it was my fault. Aunt Bette’s hair had gone gray but she still had her magnificent features. I went up to her and gave her a warm hug. “Thank you, Aunt Bette, you saved my life.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Catherine wrote me a long letter in which she tells me that she and Lorenzo are getting along well, even without Luna there to give a direction to their relationship. That’s how she put it. She tells me of their tranquillity as they drink the pastis they bought in France while contemplating the Tuscany sunsets. She tells me that she is happy in a way that she never was before.
I am so serene, Mother, that I can even tell you how much I love you. You know it anyway, but you must have suffered to see me irritated by you. I know you. You are so egocentric that nothing that anyone feels about you ever escapes your notice. I always loved you too much, ascribing to you a power that you no longer had, and hating you for leaving me to my fate and letting me become an adult. I lived my detachment as your abandonment. My childhood was too sweet not to resent you for having to grow up. I send my love and hugs, Mother, and thank you for being all that I criticize, because without that you would be someone different, and I would never want another mother.
Catherine
PS: I ALWAYS give money to musicians in the street.
In September Luna called to tell me she got the top score on her thesis.
“Aunt Bette must be doing somersaults in her grave,” I replied, affirming this good news.
“Steiner was a fascinating individual. I enjoyed our meditations on Lucifer, Ahriman, choice, and responsibility. You should have taught philosophy to the workers at Waldorf.”
“You’re teasing, but I do like that sort of thing.”
“Plus, it’s thanks to Steiner that I discovered so many things about my family.”
“Forget them, my dear, forget them and don’t at all believe that they can serve you in any way.”
“Really, Grandma, were you making all that up?”
“Absolutely not! Everything I said is completely true.”
“I believe you.”
She told me that she was going to live in Vancouver, and that her parents were taking it well. She thought they seemed good together. It appears Catherine has been laughing. What I would pay to see her laugh. Before hanging up, I promised Luna that I would spend Christmas with them. I then went into my husband’s office to get a whiff of the scent of his tobacco when all of a sudden I was overcome with remorse. I called Luna back.
“My dear, there is one thing in what I told you that I invented.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. What?”
“Papyrus did drive off on his motorcycle and sidecar, but he came to pick me up at the church in an old Peugeot. I thought saying I jumped in the sidecar was more dashing, don’t you agree?”
“I totally agree. A sidecar is way cooler! We’ll keep that version.”
We hung up. The moon was beginning its milky ascent into the drab gray Parisian sky. Place Saint-Sulpice was slowly emptying. People were going home and the newspaper kiosk was closing for the night.
I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I will climb up onto the rock my husband and father-in-law used to jump from into the Channel, careful not to injure my feet on any sharp mussel or barnacle shell. There will be oyster shells that the tide will have left on our reef. I will fill my lungs with spray, and while the gulls are defending the sky with menacing cries, I will dive into the freezing water.
I will swim as far as the Gulf of Dinard. I will then head west and go beyond the lights of Saint-Malo. I will swim in the direction of Dover on the coast of England.
I will swim without ever stopping.
I will reach the ocean.
I will swim and swim and swim.
I will swim until the devil takes me.
Acknowledgments
To write a book is a very solitary journey. You must be left alone with your own story and imagination, and find the courage to dig into your inner feelings to be sincere and credible. That is what happens in the first stage of this labor. Then you have to cope with the other stages. It’s always extremely delicate to expose yourself to criticism and accept that you could not please everyone. That is when your publisher becomes incredibly important. I want to thank, first of all, my friend Judith Gurewich, for being so clever, honest, and supportive. Thanks to Christopher Jon Delogu, who did a remarkably faithful translation. Also, my gratitude to all the Other Press team for their time, their intelligence, and the happy moments spent together.
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