I hope you’ll tell me the end of that brief romance one day. You left me unsatisfied by implying that the true story is less interesting than the one invented by our Waldo. But I’ll stop asking you questions now, for I fear that my curiosity will cause you to grow distant once again, and nothing matters to me more than your mailman’s well-being …
Your friend,
Anne-Lise
P.S. What lost world do you live in that the post office employees have no vehicle and can only access their routes via home invasion? No wonder people choose to communicate by e-mail!
P.P.S. The family drama is nearly forgotten. I don’t speak about your novel at home anymore, even though I’m often thinking of it.
from William to Anne-Lise
BELLE POELLE, GÉNOLHAC, JULY 14, 2016
Dear Anne-Lise,
Addressing you by name might seem a bit too familiar to you, but I cannot call you “madame” after hearing so many stories about your childhood from Maggy. I’m in my farmhouse in Lozère and if you could see me right now, you would see that I’m covered in spiderwebs, dirty as a rat and slovenly as could be, because I’ve spent the last three days back in the family house emptying each box and every drawer from the cellar to the attic. When I explain that my mother is a person who never throws away anything, and that she’s kept this habit going for twenty years straight, you’ll have an idea of the task I have set for myself.
The last time any tidying happened in this house was after my father’s death, twelve years ago. I wanted to convince my mother to come live with me (at the time I had a more stable profession and I was living in the suburbs of London), but she never felt at home in England and preferred to live near her family in Belgium.
So we rented her an apartment in Brussels not far from where you stayed. I’ll skip the details; just know that this is where our novel appeared. In fact it’s while I was moving my father’s things that I found the book. For a time I thought he might have been the author, but having never seen a typewriter in the house, I soon abandoned that idea.
Before I could ask my mother about the origin of this novel, her mental health deteriorated, definitively cutting her off from the surrounding world. During her moments of lucidity, she often expressed the desire to return to this house in Lozère where she had lived with my father. So I gave in to her desires and brought her here, making frequent trips to be sure she was doing well. Each time I exiled myself in this place (it is indeed tucked away, and Maggy can testify to this if she agrees to come visit me), I enjoyed picking up the book and scribbling a few lines in it before going to sleep.
So, for almost seven years now, my mother hasn’t returned to our world. She lives in a specialized institution half an hour away from the farmhouse. I can’t help her as much as I would like, but her old neighbors are nearby and visit her each week.
You must be wondering why I’m telling you all of my familial misfortunes when we don’t even know each other. I’m getting to that. While tidying some papers, I found some photographs taken during a meal in 1996. My parents and several friends are celebrating an unknown event, and in one of the snapshots, your manuscript is visible on the garden table in the middle of all the glasses. I went to talk to my neighbors about it. To my great surprise, Bernadette (my mother’s friend) burst into sobs upon seeing the photos. Her husband asked me to leave because she was not in a state to speak to me, which I had understood on my own; despite what they seem to think, I do possess a basic understanding of human emotions.
All that is to say, I would like for you to come to Lozère as soon as you can. I sense that you are silent because of your book, and my neighbors refuse to speak to me about any secrets concerning my family. Maggy praised your people skills and your way of getting all kinds of confessions out of people, and I sense that you would know better than me how to gain their trust. I promise you, the house is in very good condition and ready to welcome you. You can come with your entire family. We have plenty of rooms and three bathrooms. I have to be in the United States for ten days for work, but there is always a key at Bernadette’s and you can make yourself at home here. I told Maggy all about it, and I’m certain she will find the same peace here as in her village. Nevertheless, I’m afraid she won’t come, so I’m asking you, dear Anne-Lise, to convince her to come with you.
I am aware that this request is strange, and I am not the type of man who usually opens his door to people he barely knows, but after all, the way we met is at least as crazy as my proposition. For a while now I’ve given free rein to my feelings and my spontaneity long before considering what is reasonable, and today my instinct is telling me that this is the right thing to do.
I hope you will agree so we can finally meet, here in this house that was home to the object of your research for a number of years.
Faithfully yours,
William Grant
from Anne-Lise to Maggy
RUE DES MORILLONS, JULY 17, 2016
My dear Maggy,
Swap out the clothing in your luggage, because I took the liberty of changing our holiday plans. Brussels will have to wait, because our presence is requested in Lozère! We will substitute chocolate for chestnuts and beer for Quézac water.
I can hear your cries and shouts from here so I’ll leave some blank space in my letter where you can be angry with me as much as you like …
Better? Now can I explain myself?
Yesterday morning I heard from your charming visitor. He might have a lead about who brought the manuscript to his parents’ house. As you know, he is leaving soon for the United States, but he has entrusted us with the keys to his house so that we can continue the investigation on site. The place sounds magnificent and we’ll bring along Katia, who is on summer break and doesn’t know how to occupy her days (I suspect my beloved of using her as a chaperone, for, despite his claims, he is still worried about my involvement with this novel. So I happily accepted her presence, which will keep me above all suspicion).
So much so that I decided Sylvestre will accompany us. We will spend the first few days without William, but he will join us for the weekend. It’s about time I saw for myself the power of his gray eyes over the female species. He was so insistent that I bring you with me that I get the sense your relationship is not as restrained as you would have me believe, and I am not convinced that we can offer the help he claims to justify our presence, when he seems completely capable of getting what he wants from people …
So, don’t make me wait; tell me if you’re coming to Paris so that we can travel together or let me know if you prefer to go to Lozère alone.
Answer quickly!
Kisses,
Lisou
P.S. Don’t pout, I already know this trip will be incredible!
P.P.S. Note that I made no comment on your last letter nor on its main topic … On the contrary, I acted as if it were completely normal for my best friend to wax poetic about a sunrise she’s already seen a thousand times and for her to use a teenager’s vocabulary to share her morning observations … Do you think the sunrises will be as beautiful in Lozère?
from Anne-Lise to Sylvestre
RUE DES MORILLONS, JULY 18, 2016