Tonight I’m writing to you from the hotel I booked for two nights near the chocolate museum … It’s adorable and I’ve eaten very well here during this short trip. I have the window half open; a slight breeze rustles the curtains and I can hear snippets of conversations from the street. As I write this letter, I’m appreciating the tidbits of anonymous lives that are invading my subconscious.
I am alone. How long has it been since I was last alone? We forget ourselves so much by looking at others, getting to know them, trying to exist in their eyes, that when they’re far away, we no longer know who we are. So I’m thinking of your life in voluntary exile and I envy you a bit.
Tomorrow I’ll return to Paris, after a mandatory trip to the Jacques Brel museum. We’ll see the other sites together as soon as you’re able to come back with me. I’ll leave the children with their father, just this once won’t hurt, and they’re old enough to cook some pasta, aren’t they? Speaking of which, I revel in my weekend even more when I think of Julian taking care of the groceries, the meals, and responding (with a smile) to all the demands of our two needy teenagers … Does that make me a bad mother?
I know you’re waiting to hear an update. Donning my detective cap, I went to the neighborhood of Huldenberg as soon as I arrived to visit its famous soccer club. There I met an adorable old woman who could speak to me in French (though at first I thought she was speaking to me in Dutch, her accent was so strong). Eventually I got used to it and we drank tea together in her little house right next to the soccer field. In exchange for this lodging provided by the city, she looks after the area and monitors the comings and goings between games.
In order to convince her to help me out, I told her the entire story of this manuscript (the more I tell it, the more extraordinary I find it!). She listened to me attentively, sipping her tea. Then, eyes shining, she told me that my search wouldn’t stop at her door and that she would help find the man (or woman) who had left the book in her locker rooms. Since good fortune has accompanied me on each step of this journey, I wasn’t surprised to learn there would be a game the next day and that all the regulars were expected to attend.
So, at the end of the afternoon, I returned to the home of Hanne Janssen (that’s her name). She was accompanied by a teenager with a grumpy expression that I know by heart since I see it every day on my Katia’s face. The young girl was sulking, for this novel had resulted in her being grounded for two weeks. Her mother had asked her to return it to her best friend, an old Parisian woman who wanted to read it and must have also told her how to get to the address on page 156 from Paris. Of course, the young girl forgot it on the locker room bench and it disappeared.
Since her mother is currently completing an internship in our capital (talk about coincidence), we agreed to meet before her return to Brussels, two weeks from now. I am so excited … No, I am going to be honest, I am hopping up and down with impatience at the idea of this next meeting!
So to help me endure the wait, I’ve collected a mountain of information on all the sites we can visit during our next trip to the Belgian capital …
Figure out your dates, we’ll organize our escapade as soon as I get back.
Kisses,
Lisou
from Ellen Anthon to Anne-Lise Briard
GARE DU NORD, PARIS, JUNE 15, 2016
Dear Madame Briard,
I’m so sad that I’m not able to meet you in Paris as we had agreed! Unfortunately, I was told this afternoon that my husband has been hospitalized in Brussels with a hernia. It’s not very serious and I know he’s doing fine, but if you know men (I imagine French men are as bad as Belgian men when they’re ill), you’ll understand that he would take it the wrong way if I were to stay in Paris while he’s dying in Brussels!
Since this book moved you as much as it moved me, I won’t make you wait for an explanation on how it came into my possession. I’m going to call the friend who gave it to me and he’ll tell you the whole story better than I could. In any event, I’m quite pleased to know that you found it and its owner. Tell him that his novel is impatiently awaited in Belgium and that it’s never good to stumble en stoemelings.
There are twenty of us in my book club in Belgium and we all loved this story, which showed up right after we started our writing workshop. Our poetry leader is the one who brought it to us. I’ll send him your information so he can tell you more because now I need to get going. Fortunately for my dying husband, the 5:49 P.M. TGV is on time despite your legendary strikes …
At your service,
Ellen Anthon
P.S. I would be very happy to meet you if you come back volle gas to our country. I really enjoyed your city even though Parisians lack a sense of humor (except of course when they’re making fun of my fellow citizens).
from William Grant to Anne-Lise Briard
GREAT PETER STREET, LONDON, JUNE 19, 2016
Madame Briard,
I am writing to you at the request of our mutual friend, Ellen Anthon. I learned that you are interested in a text that was in my possession only a few months ago. It doesn’t belong to me and I don’t know the identity of its author. But the story touched me, and I kept it with me for a while until I gave it up to my Bruxellois friends. My profession requires a lot of moving around; I am not the permanent leader of the association you heard about, but I quite like the people in it and I attend their meetings whenever I’m in Brussels.
Right now, I’m on a trip to London and I think I’ll stay here for a little while because I have some family in the area. Since my mother is Franco-Belgian, I also had a French grandmother and, as a child, spent all my summers in the south of your beautiful country, where I still have a house. Please excuse the bragging: I am merely trying to explain that I am often in France. On my next visit, if you like, we can meet to talk about the book.
I added a few words on the last pages: lines that I left there as if the text were a collective composition inviting each reader to write the next part … Thank you for apologizing to the owner on my behalf for having taken this liberty that was justified only by the pleasure of enjoying a nice moment thanks to his narrative talents.
With my best wishes,
William Grant
from Sylvestre to Anne-Lise
LES CHAYETS, JUNE 22, 2016
It’s now been more than two weeks since I’ve heard from you. I assume from this that you have not taken my advice and that you went to Belgium against everyone’s wishes. Did you think about me at all? Did you stop to think that it might be unpleasant for me to meet the man who finished my work and lent it an appeal that I did not manage to breathe into the first pages?
Yes, this morning I am angry, Anne-Lise, and I wonder whether I should burn this manuscript and put an end to your wanderings. I don’t understand the motivation for your quest; we don’t know each other, and this story is not yours!
You are not the only reason for my frustration: it’s now June and this time of year always plunges me into a state of feverishness leading to bad decisions. I believe we all have an unfavorable month that we hold our breath through each year in order to fight back the noxiousness. Now you know mine. At least I have the good fortune that this month is only thirty days, which diminishes my period of aggravation by about three percent compared to half the population, but it’s nearly seven percent longer for me than for those lucky few who loathe February!