This time, I am up to the challenge and have resolved to find new pieces of information that can help your search.
I will be sure to let you know before my next trip to Paris, and I hope we will have the opportunity to meet then.
Faithfully yours,
William Grant
from William to Maggy
GREAT PETER STREET, JULY 7, 2016
Hello dear Maggy!
Remember me? Say yes, because I took your invitation very seriously.
Before going to see my Belgian friends, I was supposed to stop in Paris, but your enthusiasm has convinced me that I simply cannot die without first seeing Finistère (not that I have a date with the Grim Reaper, but I’m the type to never delay the discovery of exotic lands).
So I will be in Brest the day after tomorrow at 2:15 P.M. Now that I’ve made my decision, I won’t cancel this trip, no matter whether or not you want to see me. So you have a few options: you can be busy, in which case I will explore your region on my own; you can take back your invitation, and I will act in the same way without bothering you any further; but it’s also possible that you have nothing better to do than guide a near-stranger through the Breton coast. If that is my luck, I’ll wait for you until four P.M. at the Brest airport.
I estimate that you will receive this letter the day of my arrival; this is intentional. You will have only a few hours to make your decision, and it’s often when we’re in a hurry that we make the best choices. I typically live my life according to rolls of the dice, even if my specialty is poker. Since I started acting this way, things have become much simpler and I’ve never had a reason to regret it.
Hoping that luck will be on my side once again,
XXX
William
from Sylvestre to Anne-Lise
LES CHAYETS, JULY 8, 2016
I shouldn’t have written you in June. Throw out my last letter. The regular reports you’ve sent me have brightened up my nights. For the past few months, I’ve started to write again, first sporadically, then more and more often, until I felt this pressing need to let go of what had been trapped within me for so many years. I abandoned my old manuscript for a new one which is not at all biographical, or only slightly. All of this I owe to you, and I don’t take that lightly.
If I had known in 2006 that my book would rest some time in an attic in Lozère, that it would soon find its readers, stay with them, and sometimes comfort them, no doubt these last ten years would have been different …
When you’re twenty years old, life seems welcoming, and though we suspect we will have obstacles to overcome, we believe we are ready to confront the assaults of oceans, the sand carried through the sky, and the relentless fury of the big cities. Three decades later, the path seems less straightforward. The summer storms have left behind ruts that make progress difficult. So we look back and tell ourselves that we were ill-prepared, that our ancestors saddled our genes with a weakness that others don’t possess. We tell ourselves we were born too late, or too early. That the problems we face were planned or else that we missed a badly marked intersection. We tell ourselves above all that airports and train stations have stolen more from us than a few typewritten sheets of paper. But who cares! Today, I look back on my missteps with a peaceful gaze and I observe my novel’s journey as one amuses themselves opening a Russian doll. Each layer reveals a new person hiding another within themselves.
So I thank this mysterious Waldo and I try to imagine him finding my property on the seat of an airplane and carrying it preciously home with him. The ending he invented has nothing to do with the one I would have chosen, but I think it lends more value to the story. If you are not too disappointed by my ungratefulness and we remain in contact despite everything, I will soon call on your experienced reader’s opinion. Will you grant my request or have you crossed me off the list of your epistolary relations?
I understand the worry of those close to you, and I apologize. Reassure them as much as you can, slander my image and the opinion you have of me; all will be justified in the name of preserving your family. Just don’t condemn our friendly correspondence …
Keep in mind that I am not the only one waiting for your response. If you stop our exchanges here, you will force the mailman to modify his route; currently he benefits from passing by my faded letterbox, which allows him to open my gate, cross my land, and take a private path which he doesn’t normally have access to … This way he gains precious minutes on his route and the path is much less hilly than if he were to take the public roads. Take into consideration these unexpected implications of an abrupt stop to your letters.
I hope you’re enjoying the beginning of summer,
Sylvestre
P.S. Thank you for taking the time to write to me in July when you, like most of our fellow citizens, must be preparing for your next vacation in the sun. Now we’re in for six weeks of televised reports on the joys of paid vacation and the easy journey of the luckiest among us: their trips on the highway in single file (what happened to the Bison Futé travel information services of our youth?), their arrival at a camping ground on the Mediterranean coast, their meals on a terrace with a view of the path leading to the toilets, and finally the shots of their love handles on the greasy sand of a packed and noisy beach.
from Maggy to Anne-Lise
POINTE DES RENARDS, JULY 9, 2016
Dear Lisou,
I received the copy of the infamous manuscript. With all you told me about it, I have to admit that it disappointed me. I expected to have my breath taken away, to shake along with the protagonists, to ignore sleep in order to arrive at the conclusion more quickly … and I didn’t feel that way at all. The story is so common that I wondered why you were so enchanted with it.
It wasn’t until the middle of the following night that the words started to take effect and I understood. Once we’ve reached the last page, we feel more vulnerable to beauty. We look at the people we pass with an unusual benevolence, and that indulgence extends to our own reflection. I understand that this story helps us to smile and to put into perspective those trivial things that have the power to weigh on our days. In any case that’s how I felt this morning when I got up, and curiously, at that very moment, I received a troubling letter. I won’t tell you any more about it, my Lisou, but know that I have to make a decision in the next few hours and the idea makes me nervous. No matter what, when you read this, the decision will be behind me, and its implications too. So it’s useless for me to make a list of the drawbacks to following up—or not—on the demand in question.
Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything in more detail in a few days. Now I have to get going because I have an errand to run (which means that my decision has been made and I thank you for your help, even if involuntary).
In this moment I am more pleased than ever to possess neither e-mail nor cell phone for I know that if I did, you would inundate me from all angles as soon as you read this letter …
Sending lots of hugs and kisses,
Your unreachable friend,
Maggy
P.S. This morning the Brittany sky was covered in clouds again, and this gray day that will unveil all the beauty of the landscape fills me with joy. Here, the blue sky always appears like an imposter that dazzles us with its violent and inappropriate contrasts that halo the South. Today, at least, I know all my thoughts will be calm, and that knowledge pleases me.