85

As implausible as this may seem, Marie sent me a message just as I was taking my seat. It was as if she were looking down on me kindly from above. She appeared on my phone screen as I watched an image of eternal love. Should I see this as a sign? How could I not? It was like an emotional echo.

Marie asked simply how I was. I told her what I was witnessing just then. THAT’S AN INCREDIBLE STORY, she replied. I WOULD HAVE LOVED TO TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH OF THEIR REUNION … I didn’t mention this before, but Marie is a photographer. In fact, we first met at one of her exhibitions. I didn’t want to talk about myself in this book, but do I really have a choice now?

I’d had no desire to go to that private view. But that’s always how people meet each other: when they don’t feel like going out. I’d gone with a film director who I was hoping would adapt one of my novels. When he suggested that I accompany him to that gallery, I thought it would be an opportunity to get to know him better, helping our future collaboration. But nothing went the way I’d anticipated. As soon as we arrived, he disappeared into a crowd of other acquaintances and I was left on my own. The gallery was composed of a number of small rooms, so it felt like drifting from one cocoon to another. I decided I should take a brief look at the photographs, out of politeness, and then go home. I didn’t know who the photographer was, and I didn’t really care. I’d never thought much of photography as an art anyway (Marie would change my mind on this, of course), and I wandered from picture to picture in a rather nonchalant way.

Gradually, however, something strange happened. With each successive image, I felt increasingly captivated by the artist’s work. After a while, I found myself standing motionless in front of a photograph. It was a frame with the word ‘Oui’ written inside it. I couldn’t have explained why, but I was deeply moved. Maybe I was affected by the pure expression of simplicity. I stood there for a moment, reading and rereading that yes, until I heard a voice behind me say: ‘It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here.’ I turned around then and saw Marie. Before I could reply, she went on to say that she’d loved one of my novels. My first impression of her was of a human version of that ‘yes’. She struck me as happy and radiant; a far cry from the standard image of the anxious artist at the opening of their exhibition. I said something like this to her, and she responded: ‘Oh, I have nothing to worry about tonight! Everyone is going to tell me that my work is wonderful! Even you … I imagine you really liked it?’ It was difficult to tell how much irony there was behind these words, but I adored the way she didn’t take herself too seriously. So I answered her question by pointing to her photograph.