I loved having him around — who wouldn’t have? — because as well as being integrity personified, he was intelligent, cultured and witty. By combining my life with his, I told myself at the time, a bit of his solidity might perhaps rub off on me. But when he was with me, or worse, on top of me, I felt as if I was being swallowed up, both literally and figuratively, without knowing if I even liked it. Sure, he was a considerate lover of whom I could ask anything and who was able to make me come for hours at a time . . . but after enquiring whether I was completely satisfied, he would snuggle up against me, bury his face in my neck and slip blissfully into a peaceful and grateful sleep. And then, with his body like a dead horse cutting off my circulation and killing my back, and his deep, hot breath condensing on my skin . . . how can I say this . . . I had only one wish, and that was for him to leave. One time I stayed the night at his place and I didn’t get a wink of sleep the whole night. The colours at his place, his carpet, everything . . . In short, I would have the taste of congealed fat in my mouth until he turned off the light. If he hadn’t had custody of his son, I think he would have suggested we live together . . . and what would I have said? Especially since he was ready to make all sorts of concessions. I could have said: I’m sorry, but I don’t like having somebody stuck to my back when I’m sleeping. Or: The decor at your place makes me feel like throwing up. And he would have agreed to change to make me happy because he was in love. Not just the way you can be when you’re fifty-eight years old, facing the terror of growing old alone — no, he loved me with enthusiasm and kindness. And me? From time to time, when I was swept up by one of those waves of despondency to which I was prone, it comforted me to feel the warmth of his body, the beating of his heart. Like an animal. But to go from that to thinking about him when he wasn’t there, to waiting impatiently for him, to holding his hand, just like that, for the pleasure of touching him? No!