Inseparable Page 9

  “Much less often. I must admit that during that time when I couldn’t sleep at night, I was having too much caffeine and amphetamines.”

  “You’re not going to start that up again?”

  “No. When we return, I’ll have a difficult time for two weeks, until Malou’s wedding; but now I’m stronger.”

  We took a small road that followed the Adour River to get back to the forest. In spite of everything, Madame Gallard had arranged for Andrée to do an errand: she had to deliver some baby clothes knitted by Madame Rivière de Bonneuil to a young farmer’s wife who was expecting. Andrée stopped the car in front of a pretty country cottage, in the middle of a clearing surrounded by pine trees. I was used to the tenant farms of Sadernac, the piles of fertilizer, the streams of manure, so the elegance of this farm hidden in the forest surprised me. The young woman offered us a glass of rosé wine that her father-in-law made himself; she opened the armoire to show off her embroidered sheets: they smelled of lavender and sweet clover. A ten-month-old baby was laughing in a wicker basket, and Andrée was entertaining him with the gold medals on her necklace: she had always loved children.

  “He’s very alert for his age!” said Andrée.

  When she spoke, common sayings lost their banality, because her voice and the smile in her eyes were sincere.

  “This one doesn’t sleep either,” the young woman said cheerfully, placing her hand on her stomach.

  She had dark hair and olive skin, like Andrée; she had the same build, rather short legs, but a gracious bearing despite her advanced stage of pregnancy. “When Andrée is expecting a child,” I thought, “she’ll look just like this.” For the first time, I imagined Andrée married and a mother without feeling annoyed. She would have beautiful, glistening furniture all around her, like this; everyone would feel good in her home. But she wouldn’t spend hours polishing the brass and copper, or covering pots of jam with waxed paper; she would play her violin, and I was secretly convinced that she would write books: she had always loved books and writing so much.

  “Happiness suits her so well!” I thought as she and the young woman talked about the baby soon to be born, and the one who was teething.

  “This has been a wonderful day!” I said when, an hour later, the car stopped in front of the enormous zinnias.

  “Yes,” said Andrée.

  I was sure that she too had been thinking of the future.

  THE GALLARDS RETURNED to Paris before me, because of Malou’s wedding. As soon as I arrived, I called Andrée, and we agreed to meet the next day; she seemed eager to hang up, and I didn’t like chatting with her without seeing her face. I didn’t ask her any questions.

  I waited for her in the Champs-Élysées gardens, opposite the statue of Alphonse Daudet. She arrived a little late, and I could see right away that something was wrong: she sat down next to me without even trying to smile.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked anxiously.

  “No,” she said. “Pascal doesn’t want to,” she added in an expressionless tone of voice.

  “What doesn’t he want?”

  “To get engaged. Not now.”

  “So?”

  “So Mama is packing me off to Cambridge as soon as the wedding is over.”

  “But that’s absurd!” I said. “It’s impossible! Pascal can’t let you go away!”

  “He says we’ll write to each other, that he’ll try to come sometime, that two years isn’t that long,” said Andrée in a voice devoid of emotion. She sounded like she was reciting a catechism she didn’t believe in.

  “But why?” I said.

  Normally, when Andrée told me about a conversation, it was with such clarity that I felt as if I’d heard it with my own ears; this time, she gave me a depressing, vague account. Pascal had seemed moved when he saw her again; he’d told her he loved her, but when the word “engagement” came up, his face had changed. No! he’d said quickly, no! Never would his father allow him to get engaged so young. After all the sacrifices he had made for Pascal, Monsieur Blondel had a right to expect his son to dedicate himself body and soul to studying for his academic competitive exam: an engagement would seem frivolous. I knew that Pascal respected his father a great deal, and I could understand that his initial reaction would be a fear of causing him pain; but when he learned that Madame Gallard would not give in, how could that not take priority over his father’s wishes?

  “Did he understand how unhappy you felt at the idea of leaving?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “A little.”

  “You should have persisted. I’m sure you didn’t really try to discuss it.”

  “He looked so harassed,” said Andrée. “I know what it’s like to feel harassed!”

  Her voice trembled, and I understood she had barely listened to Pascal’s argument, which she hadn’t tried to refute.

  “There’s still time to fight,” I said.

  “Do I have to spend my life fighting with the people I love?”

  She spoke with such anger that I did not insist.

  “What if Pascal explained things to your mother?” I ventured.

  “I suggested that to Mama. That wasn’t enough for her. She said that if Pascal seriously intended to marry me, he would introduce me to his family; since he refuses, the only thing left to do is break things off. Mama said something really strange,” said Andrée.

  She paused for a moment, lost in thought. “She said: ‘I know you very well; you’re my daughter, my flesh and blood. You’re not strong enough for me to allow you to be exposed to temptation; if you gave in, your sins would fall back on me, and I would deserve it.’”

  She looked at me as if she were hoping I could help her grasp the hidden meaning of those words; but for the moment, I couldn’t give a damn about Madame Gallard’s inner crises. Andrée’s resignation irritated me.

  “What if you refused to leave?”

  “Refused? How?”

  “They can’t force you onto a boat.”

  “I could lock myself in my room and go on a hunger strike,” said Andrée. “Then what? Mama would go and explain everything to Pascal’s father . . .”

  Andrée hid her head in her hands. “I don’t want to think of Mama as an enemy! That’s horrible!”

  “I’ll speak to Pascal,” I said firmly. “You didn’t know how to talk to him.”

  “You won’t get anywhere.”

  “Let me try.”

  “Try, but you won’t get anywhere.”

  Andrée stared hard at the statue of Alphonse Daudet, but her eyes were fixed on something other than that sad-looking marble.

  “God is against me,” she said.

  I shuddered at that blasphemy, as if I were a believer.

  “Pascal would say that you are blaspheming,” I said. “If God exists, He isn’t against anyone.”

  “How can we know? Who can understand what God is?” She shrugged. “Oh! Perhaps He’s reserving a lovely spot in His heaven for me: but here on earth, he hates me. And yet,” she added in a passionate tone of voice, “there are people in heaven who were happy in this world!”

  Suddenly, she started to cry. “I don’t want to go away! Two years far away from Pascal, from Mama, from you: I don’t have the strength to bear it!”

  Never, even at the time when she broke off with Bernard, had I ever seen Andrée cry. I wanted to take her hand, make some gesture, but I remained a prisoner of our harsh past and did not move. I thought about those two hours she’d spent on the roof of the château at Béthary wondering if she should jump: there was the same darkness inside her now.

  “Andrée,” I said, “you’re not going away: it’s impossible for me not to convince Pascal.”

  She dried her eyes, looked at her watch, and stood up.

  “It won’t do any good,” she said again.

  I was sure of the opposite. When I called Pascal that evening, his voice was friendly and cheerful. He loved
Andrée, and he could be reasoned with. Andrée had failed because she had assumed she would lose. I wanted to win, and I’d bring home the prize.

  Pascal was waiting for me outside the Luxembourg Gardens: he always arrived first when we met. I sat down, and we remarked what a beautiful day it was. Around the ornamental lake where little sailboats floated on the water, the flower beds looked delicately embroidered with petit point; their well-ordered design, the clearness of the sky, everything confirmed my certainty. It was good sense, it was the truth that was about to be spoken through my words; Pascal would be obliged to yield. I attacked.

  “I saw Andrée yesterday afternoon.”

  Pascal looked at me with an expression of understanding. “I also wanted to talk to you about Andrée. Sylvie, you have to help me.”

  Those were the exact words Madame Gallard had said to me in the past.

  “No!” I said. “I won’t help you to persuade Andrée to go to England. She mustn’t go away! She didn’t tell you how horrifying the idea was to her, but I know.”

  “She did tell me,” said Pascal, “and that’s why I’m asking you to help me: she must understand that there’s nothing tragic about a two-year separation.”

  “To her, it is tragic,” I said. “It’s not just you she’s leaving: it’s her entire life. Never have I seen her so unhappy,” I added fervently. “You can’t inflict that on her!”

  “You know Andrée,” said Pascal. “You know very well that she always starts out by taking things too much to heart. Afterward, she finds some equilibrium.” He continued, “If Andrée leaves willingly, sure of my love and confident about the future, the separation won’t be so terrible!”

  “How do you expect her to be sure of you, confident about everything, if you let her go!” I said. I looked at Pascal in dismay. “In the end, whether she is perfectly happy or horribly miserable depends on you; and you’ve chosen her unhappiness!”

  “Oh! You have the gift of simplification,” said Pascal. He picked up a kind of hula-hoop that a little girl had just thrown at his legs and quickly rolled it back to her. “Happiness, unhappiness, they’re above all a question of one’s tendencies.”

  “When it comes to Andrée’s current tendencies,” I said, “she’ll spend all her days crying. Her heart is not as rational as yours,” I added with irritation. “When she loves people, she needs to see them.”

  “Why must people be illogical based on the pretext of loving?” said Pascal. “I hate those romantic prejudices.” He shrugged. “Physical presence is not that important, in the literal sense. Or maybe it’s really too important.”

  “Perhaps Andrée is romantic, perhaps she’s wrong, but if you love her, you must try to understand her. You won’t change her with logical arguments.”

  I looked nervously at the flower beds of heliotrope and sage. Suddenly, I thought: “I won’t change Pascal with logical arguments.”

  “Why are you so afraid to talk to your father?” I asked.

  “It’s not fear,” said Pascal.

  “What is it then?”

  “I explained it to Andrée.”

  “She didn’t understand a thing.”

  “You’d have to know my father and understand my relationship with him,” said Pascal. “Sylvie, you know that I love Andrée,” he continued, looking at me reproachfully, “don’t you?”

  “I know that you’re making her miserable to spare your father the slightest trouble. Well, he must know that you’re going to get married one of these days!” I said impatiently.

  “He’d find it absurd if I got engaged so young; he’d think very badly of Andrée, and he’d lose all his respect for me.” Pascal again looked straight at me. “Believe me! I do love Andrée. My reasons must be very serious to refuse what she’s asked of me.”

  “I can’t see any serious reasons,” I said.

  Pascal was searching for the right words and made a gesture of helplessness.

  “My father is old, he’s tired, it’s sad to grow old!” he said in a voice filled with emotion.

  “At least try to explain the situation to him! Make him understand that Andrée won’t be able to bear being sent into exile.”

  “He’d say that people can bear anything,” said Pascal. “He had to bear many things himself, you know. I’m certain that he would think the separation was desirable.”

  “But why?” I asked.

  I could sense a stubbornness in Pascal that was beginning to frighten me. Yet there was only one sky above our heads, one single truth. I had an idea: “Have you spoken to your sister?”

  “My sister? No. Why?”

  “Talk to her. Maybe she could find a way to put things to your father.”

  Pascal sat silent for a moment.

  “My sister would be even more upset than my father if I got engaged,” he said.

  I pictured Emma, her large forehead, her navy-blue dress with its white embroidered collar, and the possessive way she had when speaking to Pascal.

  Of course. Emma was not an ally.

  “Ah!” I said. “So it’s Emma you’re afraid of?”

  “Why do you refuse to understand?” said Pascal. “I don’t want to hurt my father or Emma after everything they’ve meant to me: that seems normal to me.”

  “Emma isn’t still counting on you becoming a priest?”

  “No.” He hesitated. “It’s no fun being old; and it’s no fun living with an old person either. When I’m no longer there, the house will be sad for my sister.”

  Yes, I understood Emma’s point of view better than Monsieur Blondel’s. I wondered if, in truth, it was not especially because of her that Pascal wanted to keep his love a secret.

  “They’ll have to resign themselves to you leaving someday!” I said.

  “All I’m asking of Andrée is that she be patient for two years,” said Pascal. “Then my father will find it normal that I’m thinking of getting married, and Emma will gradually get used to the idea. Today it would break their hearts.”

  “But leaving will break Andrée’s heart. If someone has to suffer, why must it be her?”

  “Andrée and I have our whole life ahead of us and the certainty that we will be happy later on: we can surely sacrifice ourselves for a while for those who have nothing,” said Pascal, sounding slightly annoyed.

  “She will suffer more than you,” I said, looking at Pascal with hostility. “She’s young, yes, which means that she has fire in her blood, she wants to live . . .”

  Pascal nodded. “That’s also a reason why it’s undoubtedly preferable that we separate,” he said.

  I was taken aback.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Sylvie, in certain ways, you’re immature for your age,” he said in a tone of voice I’d heard Father Dominique use in the past when hearing my confession. “And you’re not a believer: there are issues that you’re unaware of.”

  “For example?”

  “The intimacy of being engaged is not easy for Christians. Andrée is a real woman, a woman of flesh and blood. Even if we didn’t give in to temptation, we would always be aware of it: that type of obsession is a sin in itself.”

  I felt myself blush. I hadn’t anticipated that argument, and it repulsed me to imagine it.

  “Since Andrée is prepared to take that risk,” I said, “it’s not up to you to decide for her.”

  “But it is; it’s up to me to protect her from herself. Andrée is so generous that she would damn herself out of love.”

  “Poor Andrée! Everyone wants to save her. And she wants so much to have a bit of happiness on this earth!”

  “Andrée feels sin more than I do,” said Pascal. “I’ve seen her eat herself up with remorse over an innocent, childish relationship. If our relationship became troubling in any way, she’d never forgive herself.”

  I felt I was losing the argument; my anxiety made me stronger.

  “Pascal,” I said. “Listen to me. I just spent a month with Andrée: she�
��s at the end of her tether. Physically, she’s a little better, but she’ll lose her appetite again, won’t sleep, and will end up making herself ill. She can’t take any more emotionally. Can you imagine what her state of mind must have been to cut her own foot with an ax?”

  In one long speech, I summed up what Andrée’s life had been like for the past five years. The heartbreak of ending her relationship with Bernard, her disappointment in discovering the truth about the world she lived in, the battle against her mother to have the right to behave according to her feelings and her conscience; all her victories were poisoned by remorse, and even the slightest feeling of desire caused her to suspect she was sinning. The longer I talked, the more I could imagine the depths of despair that Andrée had never revealed to me, but which some of her words had made me sense. I was afraid, and it seemed to me that Pascal should be frightened as well.

  “Every night for the past five years, she’s wanted to die,” I said. “And the other day, she was so depressed that she said, ‘God is against me!’”

  Pascal shook his head; his face had not changed.

  “I know Andrée as well as you do,” he said, “and even better, because I can understand her in ways that are out of bounds to you. Much has been asked of her. But what you don’t know is that God grants as many blessings as trials. Andrée has joys and consolations that you cannot imagine.”

  I’d lost. I quickly walked away from Pascal, head down, beneath the deceitful sky. Other arguments came to mind: they would have been of no use. It was strange. We’d had hundreds of discussions, and one of us had always convinced the other. Today something quite real had been at stake, and all logic fell apart in the face of the stubborn beliefs we held inside. During the days that followed, I often questioned myself about the true reasons behind Pascal’s behavior. Was it his father or Emma who intimidated him? Did he actually believe in all those stories about temptation and sin? Or was all that nothing but a pretext? Was he repulsed by the idea of beginning to commit himself to the life of an adult? He had always imagined the future with apprehension. Oh! There would have been no problem if Madame Gallard hadn’t thought of an engagement. Pascal would have calmly seen Andrée for two years; he would have become sure of their love; he would have gotten used to the idea of becoming a man. I was no less annoyed by his stubbornness because of all that. I blamed Madame Gallard, Pascal, and myself as well, because too many things about Andrée remained unclear to me, and because I couldn’t really help her.