Delicacy (14 page)

Ingredients for Risotto with Asparagus
7 oz. Arborio rice (Italian short-grained rice)
1 lb. 2 oz. asparagus
4 oz. pine nuts
1 onion
7 oz. dry white wine
3 oz. light cream
3 oz. grated Parmesan
hazelnut oil
salt
pepper

*

For the Parmesan Tuiles
3 oz. grated Parmesan
2 oz. pine nuts
2 tablespoons flour
a few drops of water

Fifty-six

Markus had often had his eye on Natalie. He loved to see her walking on the wall-to-wall carpeting through the hallways in her spectacular suits. Now her fantasy image was colliding with her real image. Like everyone, he was aware of what she’d been through. However, his only glimpse of her had been what she revealed: a reassuring woman who had a lot of self-assurance. Suddenly discovering her in a context where she had less reason to keep up appearances gave him the feeling he was in touch with her fragility. It’s true the change was minimal, but in flashes she lowered her guard. The more she relaxed, the more her real nature showed through. Her weaknesses, having to do with her suffering, came paradoxically to the fore with her smiles. Like the other side of a balance, Markus started taking on a stronger role that came close to being that of the protector. In her presence, he felt amusing and full of life, virile even. He would have liked to lead his entire life with the energy of those moments.

Despite his man-with-the-situation-in-hand suit, his performance had flaws. When he ordered a second bottle, he confused the names of the wines. He’d put on a show of knowing about
them, and the waiter hadn’t passed up the chance to put in a dig about his ignorance. A little private payback. Markus was more than annoyed enough to dare say to the waiter when he came back with the bottle, “Ah, thank you, sir. We were thirsty. Here’s to your health.”

“Thank you. That’s nice of you.”

“No, it isn’t. There’s a Swedish expression saying that anybody can change places at any time. And that nothing’s ever final. So you may be standing up, but will be able to sit down someday. In fact, if you want me to, I’ll get up now and give you my place.”

Markus stood up abruptly, and the waiter didn’t know how to react. He gave a pained smile and left the bottle. Natalie started laughing, without really understanding Markus’s mind-set. She’d liked that sudden switch into the ludicrous. Giving your seat to the waiter could very well be the best way to put him in his place. She appreciated what she thought of as a poetic moment. She thought Markus had a touch of “the East” in him and found it absolutely charming. It was like Romania or Poland in Sweden.

“Are you sure you’re Swedish?” she asked.

“You can’t imagine how much I like that question. You’re the first person to put my ethnic background in doubt … you are truly fabulous.”

“Is being Swedish as hard as all that?”

“You can’t imagine. When I go back there, everybody tells me I’m a live wire. Do you believe it? Me, a live wire?”

“Certainly.”

“Back there, being gloomy is a full-time job.”

That is how the evening continued, moments of discovery alternating with moments in which a sense of well-being made the other person feel familiar. Although she’d been planning to go home early, it was already past midnight. The people around them were leaving. In a way that was far from subtle, the waiter tried to make them understand that perhaps it was time they think about it, too. Markus got up to go the men’s room and paid the bill. The gesture was done with a lot of elegance. Once outside, he offered to take her back in a taxi. He was so considerate. In front of her apartment, he placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. At that moment he understood what he already knew, that he was desperately in love with her. Natalie thought that every instance of thoughtfulness on his part had shown sensitivity. She had actually felt happy during this time with him. She couldn’t think of any other. Lying on her bed, she sent him a text message to thank him. Then she put out the light.

Fifty-seven

Natalie’s Text Message to Markus
After Their First Dinner

Thanks for the lovely evening.

Fifty-eight

His answer was simply, “Thanks for having made it lovely.” He had wanted to answer with something that was more original, amusing, moving, romantic, literary, Russian, purple. But in reality, what he did write went very well with the tone of the moment. In his bed, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep; how could you go into dreamland when you’d just left it?

He managed to sleep a little but was awoken by an anxiety. When a date goes well, you’re crazy with joy. And then, little by little, lucidity pushes you to think about what’s coming next. If things go badly, at least they’re clear: you won’t see each other again. But how to deal with this? All the confidence and certainty acquired during dinner had dissolved during the night; you should never close your eyes. A simple occurrence brought this to a head. Early in the day, Natalie and Markus ran into each other in the hallway. One was going to the coffee machine, the other coming back from it. After exchanging self-conscious smiles, they somewhat overplayed greeting each other. Neither of them could say another word, or find an anecdote that could end up in conversation. Not a single thing. Not even a brief
mention of the weather, whether it was cloudy, sunny—nothing at all, with no hope of the situation improving. They separated on this feeling of uneasiness. They’d had nothing to say to each other. Some people call this the
sidereal emptiness of afterward
.

In his office, Markus tried to put his mind at rest. It was altogether normal for perfection not to remain constant at all times. Life certainly has its muddled moments, erasures, blank spaces. Put Romeo and Juliet in a hallway the morning after a lovely evening and they definitely won’t have a thing to say to each other. No big deal. He should be concentrating on the future instead. That’s what’s important. And you could say he was coping pretty well. Very quickly, he became absorbed in ideas for evenings, nocturnal strategies. He put it all on a large sheet of paper, like a plan of attack. In his little office, file 114 ceased to exist; file 114 had been obliterated by the file on Natalie. He didn’t know whom to talk to about it, whom to ask for advice. He did have good relationships with several coworkers. With Berthier, especially, he shared some personal secrets and vented in a way you could call intimate. But when it was a question of Natalie, talking to anybody at all in this place was out of the question. He’d have to shore up his uncertainties behind a wall of silence. Silence, yes, although he was afraid his heart would beat so loud it would make too much of a racket.

On the Internet, he checked out all the sites with suggestions for romantic evenings, boat excursions (although it was cold) or a night at the theater (though it was often hot inside and, anyway, he couldn’t stand plays). He found nothing very exciting that
wouldn’t seem pompous or not enough so. In other words, he had no idea what she’d want, or what she was thinking. Maybe she didn’t want to see him anymore. She’d agreed to go to dinner with him once. Maybe that was it. She’d seen to it that it went okay. Now it was all over. Promises are only valid at the time of the promise. On the other hand, she’d thanked him for the lovely evening. Yes, she had, she’d written the word “lovely.” Markus relished that word. That wasn’t nothing, “a lovely evening.” She could have written “a nice evening,” but no, she’d chosen the word “lovely.” “Lovely”—what a beautiful word. Clearly, what a lovely evening. It was enough to make you think you were in that heyday of long dresses and horse-drawn carriages … But what was I thinking about? he thought, suddenly going into a tailspin. I’ve got to act and stop letting my mind wander. Yes, “lovely” certainly was beautiful, but it wasn’t even a foot in the door; now he needed to shake a leg and go the extra mile. Oh, he felt desperate. He didn’t have the slightest idea. Being at ease yesterday was only the ease of one evening. An illusion. He was reverting to his pathetic condition of being a man without qualities, a man without the slightest idea how to set up a second date with Natalie.

There was a knock on the door.

Markus said, “Come in.” The person who appeared was the one who’d written about having had a lovely evening with him. Yes, Natalie was there, it was really her.

“You’re okay? I’m not interrupting you? You look like you’re really absorbed in something.”

“Uh … no … no, it’s okay.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to a play with me tomorrow … I’ve got two tickets … so if it’s …”

“Great. I love the theater.”

“Great, then. Tomorrow evening.”

He murmured, “Tomorrow night,” too, but it was too late. The reply floated in thin air, disturbed by having no ear to land on. Every atom of Markus melted into intense pleasure. And at the center of this ecstatic realm, his heart leapt with joy throughout his entire body.

Strangely, this happiness made him serious. In the subway, he studied every person in his car, all those people stuck in their humdrum days, and no longer really felt anonymous among them. He stood there and, more than ever, knew that he loved women. Once he was home, he went through the steps of his routine. But he didn’t feel much like dinner. He lay down on his bed and tried to read a few pages. Then he turned out the light. The only problem was: he couldn’t fall asleep, just as he’d barely slept after Natalie’s kiss. She’d amputated sleep from his repertoire.

Fifty-nine

Excerpt from the Package Insert for Guronsan