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Back The Martins Save as PDF
Contents ( 99)
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  93. EPILOGUE
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As for myself, I did have a vague hunch, but I preferred not to share it in case I influenced anyone.

44

I brought an end to this internal digression and returned to concrete reality. I asked Madeleine how much money she had for her trip. She mentioned the fact that this might be her last ever long journey. So she wanted to enjoy herself. In fact, she wanted us to enjoy ourselves, so she insisted on paying for my plane ticket. After all, I was accompanying her, she said, and she wanted to thank me. I replied that I had my own reasons for going, that I was hoping her reunion would provide my book with a climactic emotional moment, but it made no difference: she was going to pay for our flights. She agreed, on the other hand, that I could take care of the hotel rooms and the car rental. Yes, I know, such details might seem superfluous, but once I have firmly grasped reality, I can’t just gloss over the technical aspects. When I see certain films, I find myself wondering how the characters manage to pay for apartments that appear out of their price range; I find I can’t suspend disbelief in a story if it is completely disconnected from material truth. So I thought it necessary, in terms of this book’s credibility, that I should include this conversation.

Watched by Madeleine, I booked the flights on my phone. I also applied for visas. ‘We leave in three days,’ I told her. I could see the thrilled amazement in her eyes; for years, her whole life had been planned in advance, and even the shortest trip would be booked months ahead. It is the death of the unexpected that marks the true turning point of a life, the descent into old age.

45

The imminence of our departure made me think about Marie.

The journey itself is, for me, the best part of any holiday; you can visit the world’s most beautiful monuments, experience rare and intense moments, but nothing beats sitting next to your companion on a train or a plane. I remembered one flight to Asia when Marie and I had talked uninterruptedly for hours. We held hands as the plane experienced turbulence, and never before had I felt so happy.

That thought plunged me into a state of melancholy. We should be able to prevent memories flashing into our heads like that, to block them at the doorway of the present. Yet another skill we have not mastered. It should also be said that certain elements of the present contain unbearable echoes of the past. I would never be able to take a plane again without thinking of Marie.13 But Madeleine and Yves’s story resonated with me in other ways. I, too, had been dumped without understanding why. True, there had been a few post-mortem discussions (‘I prefer solitude to you’), but not enough to explain the death of our love. The one who leaves the other should always provide hundreds of pages clearly setting out their reasons. They should write a thesis attempting to justify an act that the other will never understand. I felt close to Madeleine, and to her bewilderment. So often we probe into the lives of others seeking clues to explain our own life.