Cover

Unfinished Business

Unfinished Business

Sir, starting next month,

Please accept my resignation

And, if necessary, find a replacement for me.

I leave a lot of uncompleted work,

Either from laziness or practical problems.

I should have said something to someone,

But no longer know what or to whom. I have forgotten.

I should have given something away, too:

A word of wisdom, a gift, a kiss.

I’ve put it off from one day to the next. Forgive me.

I’ll take care of it in the short time that’s left.

I have, I fear, neglected important clients.

I should have visited

Faraway cities, islands, deserted lands;

You’ll have to cross them off the program

Or entrust them to my successor’s care.

I should have planted trees and haven’t done it,

Built myself a house,

Perhaps not beautiful but conforming to a plan.

Above all, dear sir, I had in mind

A marvellous book that would have

Revealed innumerable secrets,

Alleviated pain and fear,

Dissolved doubts, given to many people

The boon of tears and laughter.

You’ll find the outline in my drawer,

In back, with the unfinished business.

I haven’t had time to see it through. Too bad.

It would have been a fundamental work.

PRIMO LEVI, 19 APRIL 1981

Affectionate thanks

Affectionate thanks to Mme Dominique G. H., my teacher at A. M. who was kind enough to rewrite my book in good French. So good I hardly recognised my own work. It was hard for me to read it. She did it in memory of Rachel, because she taught him too. ‘The best pupil I ever had,’ she stressed.

Sometimes I’ve taken her advice, I’ve changed names and scrapped some remarks. Other times I’ve kept to my version, because it’s important to me. She says there are dangerous parallels that could get me into trouble. I don’t give a shit, I’ve said what I have to say. Full stop.

MALRICH SCHILLER

Malrich’s Diary - October 1996

Malrich’s Diary

October 1996

Rachel died six months ago. He was thirty-three. One day, about two years ago, something in his head just snapped and he started tearing around all over the place – France, Algeria, Germany, Austria, Poland, Turkey, Egypt. Between trips, he’d hole up in a corner and read, think, write stuff, and he’d rage. He lost his health. Then his job. Then his mind. Ophélie walked out on him. One night he killed himself. It was this year, 24 April 1996, at about 11 p.m.