Platform (22 page)
Authors: Michel Houellebecq
Tags: #Social life and customs, #1986-, #20th century, #Sex tourism, #Fiction, #Literary, #Social conditions, #France, #France - Social life and customs - 20th century, #Psychological, #Fiction - General, #Humorous fiction, #Thailand, #Erotica, #General, #Thailand - Social conditions - 1986
15
If love, then, cannot triumph, how can the spirit reign? All practical supremacy belongs to action.
— AUGUSTE COMTE
The boat skimmed lightly over the turquoise immensity, and I didn't have to worry about what I was doing. We had left early, in the direction of Ko Maya, sailing past the outcrops of coral and the giant chalk crags. Some of them had eroded to form circular islets whose central lagoons could be reached via narrow channels carved into the rock. Inside these islets the water was a still emerald green. The pilot cut the engine. Valérie looked at me, and we remained motionless: moments passed in utter silence.
The pilot dropped us on the island of Ko Maya, in a bay protected by high rocky walls. At the foot of the cliffs, the beach stretched out about a hundred meters long, narrow and curved. The sun was high in the sky. It was already eleven o'clock. The pilot started up the engine and headed back in the direction of Krabi. He was to come back and pick us up in the late afternoon. As soon as he rounded the entrance to the bay, the roar died away.
With the exception of the sexual act. there are few moments in life in which the body exults in the simple pleasure of being alive, filled with joy at the simple fact of its presence in the world. January 1 was, for me, completely filled with such moments. I have no memory of anything other than that bliss. We probably swam, we must have warmed ourselves in the sun and made love. I don't think we spoke or explored the island. I remember Valerie's scent, the taste of salt drying on her pubis; I remember falling asleep inside her and being woken by her contractions.
The boat came back to collect us at five o'clock. On the terrace of the hotel overlooking the bay, I had a Campari and Valérie a Mai Tai. The chalk crags were almost black in the orange light. The last of the bathers were returning, towels in hand. A few meters from the shore, entwined in the warm water, a couple were making love. The rays of the setting sun struck the gilded roof of a pagoda halfway up. In the peaceful air, a bell tolled several times. It's a Buddhist custom, when one has accomplished a good deed or a meritorious action, to commemorate the act by ringing a temple bell; how joyful is a religion that causes the air to resound with human testimony to good deeds.
"Michel," said Valérie after a long silence, looking straight into my eyes. "I want to stay."
"What do you mean?"
"To stay here permanently. I was thinking about it as we were coming back this afternoon: it's possible. All I need is to be appointed resort manager. I've got the qualifications for it, and the necessary skills."
I looked at her, saying nothing. She put her hand on mine.
"Only, you'd have to agree to give up your work. Would you?"
"Yes." I must have taken less than a second to answer, without a hint of hesitation; never have I been faced with a decision that was so easy to make.
We spotted Jean-Yves coming out of the massage parlor. Valérie waved to him. He came and sat at our table; she explained her plan.
"Well," he said hesitantly, "I suppose we could manage it. Obviously, Aurore is going to be a bit surprised, because what you're asking for is a demotion. Your salary will be cut in half at least. There's no other way of doing it, given the other employees."
"I know," she said. "I don't give a damn."
He looked at her again, shaking his head in surprise. ''It's your choice, if that's what you want. After all," he said, as if he were only just realizing it, "I'm the one who runs the Eldorador resorts; I've got the right to appoint whoever I like as resort manager."
"So, you'd agree to it?"
"Yes—yes, I can't stop you."
It's a curious sensation, feeling your life teetering on the brink of a radical change. All you have to do is stay there, do nothing, to feel the sensation of freefall. Throughout the meal I remained silent, pensive, so much so that eventually Valérie became worried.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked. "Are you sure you won't miss France?"
"No, I won't miss anything."
"There's nothing to do here, there's no cultural life."
I was already aware of this; inasmuch as I'd had occasion to give the matter any thought, culture seemed to me to be a necessary compensation for the misery of our lives. It was possible to imagine a different sort of culture, one bound up with celebration and lyricism, something that sprang from a state of happiness. I was doubtful —it appeared to me to be a highly theoretical proposition, and one that could no longer have any real significance in my life.
"There's TV5," I said indifferently. She smiled; it was well known that TV5 was in fact one of the worst television channels in the world. "Are you sure you won't get bored?" she insisted.
In my life, I had known suffering, oppression, anxiety; I had never known boredom. I could see no objection to the endless, imbecile repetition of sameness. Of course, I harbored no illusions about being capable of getting to that point —I knew that misery is robust, it is resourceful and tenacious—but it was not a prospect that caused me the least concern. As a child, I could spend hours counting sprigs of clover in a meadow, though in all the years of searching I never found a four-leaf clover. This had never caused me any disappointment or bitterness; to
tell the truth, I could just as well have been counting blades of grass, since all of those sprigs of clover, with their three leaves, seemed endlessly identical, endlessly splendid to me. One day, when I was twelve, I climbed to the top of an electricity pylon high in the mountains. As I was going up, I didn't once look down at my feet. When I reached the platform at the top, the descent seemed complicated and dangerous. The mountain ranges stretched as far as the eye could see, crowned with eternal snows. It would have been much simpler to stay there, or to jump. I was stopped,
in extremis,
by the thought of being crushed; but otherwise, I think I could have rejoiced endlessly in my flight.
tell the truth, I could just as well have been counting blades of grass, since all of those sprigs of clover, with their three leaves, seemed endlessly identical, endlessly splendid to me. One day, when I was twelve, I climbed to the top of an electricity pylon high in the mountains. As I was going up, I didn't once look down at my feet. When I reached the platform at the top, the descent seemed complicated and dangerous. The mountain ranges stretched as far as the eye could see, crowned with eternal snows. It would have been much simpler to stay there, or to jump. I was stopped,
in extremis,
by the thought of being crushed; but otherwise, I think I could have rejoiced endlessly in my flight.
The following day I met Andreas, a German who had been living in the area for ten years. He was a translator, he explained, which made it possible for him to work alone. He went back to Germany once a year for the Frankfurt Book Fair, and if he had queries, he made them via the Internet. He'd had the opportunity to translate a number of American best-sellers—among them
The Firm
—which in themselves guaranteed him a healthy income, and the cost of living here was low. Until now, there had been almost no tourism. He found it surprising to see so many compatriots descending on the place, news he greeted unenthusiastically, but with no real displeasure either. His ties with Germany had in fact become very tenuous, despite the fact that his work obliged him to use the language constantly. He had married a Thai girl whom he met in a massage parlor, and they now had two children.
The Firm
—which in themselves guaranteed him a healthy income, and the cost of living here was low. Until now, there had been almost no tourism. He found it surprising to see so many compatriots descending on the place, news he greeted unenthusiastically, but with no real displeasure either. His ties with Germany had in fact become very tenuous, despite the fact that his work obliged him to use the language constantly. He had married a Thai girl whom he met in a massage parlor, and they now had two children.
"Is it easy, here, to have, urn, children?" I asked. I felt as though I was asking something absurd, as if I'd asked whether it was difficult to acquire a dog. To be honest, I had always felt a certain repugnance for young children —as far as I was concerned they were ugly little monsters who shat uncontrollably and screamed insufferably. But I was aware that it was something most couples
do
;
I did not know whether it made them happy. At any rate, no one dared complain about it. "Actually," I said, glancing around the resort, "with as much space as this, it might be feasible. They could wander between the chalets, they could play with bits of wood or whatever."
do
;
I did not know whether it made them happy. At any rate, no one dared complain about it. "Actually," I said, glancing around the resort, "with as much space as this, it might be feasible. They could wander between the chalets, they could play with bits of wood or whatever."
According to Andreas, yes, it was particularly easy to have children here. There was a school in Krabi, it was even within walking distance. And Thai children were very different from European children, a lot less quick-tempered and less prone to tantrums. For their parents, they felt a respect bordering on veneration that came to them quite naturally—it was part of their culture. Whenever he visited Düsseldorf, he was quite literally frightened by the behavior of his nephews.
To tell the truth, I was only half convinced by this idea of cultural immersion. For reassurance, I reminded myself that Valérie was only twenty-eight, and in general, women don't get baby cravings until about thirty-five. But, in the end, yes, if necessary, I would have her child. I knew the idea would come to her, it was unavoidable. After all, a child is like a little animal, admittedly with certain malicious tendencies; let's say, a bit like a small monkey. It might even have its advantages, I thought. Eventually I would be able to teach it to play Mille Bornes. I nurtured a genuine passion for the game of Mille Bornes, a passion that remained largely unsatisfied, for who could I invite to play with me? Certainly not my work colleagues, or the artists who came to show me their portfolios. Andreas, maybe? I gauged him quickly. No, he didn't look the type. That said, he seemed serious, intelligent. It was a friendship worth cultivating.
"Are you thinking of moving here—permanently?"
"Yes, permanently."
"It's better to look at it like that," he said, nodding his head. "It's very difficult to leave Thailand. I know that if I had to do it now, it's something I'd find very hard to deal with."
16
The days passed with terrifying speed. We were supposed to go back on January 5. The night before, we met up with Jean-Yves in the main restaurant. Lionel had declined the invitation; he was going to watch Kim dance. "I really like watching her dance almost naked in front of men," he told us, "knowing that later on, I'll be the one to have her." Jean-Yves looked at him as he walked away. "He's making progress, the gas man," he noted sarcastically. "He's discovering perversion."
"Don't make fun of him," Valérie protested. "I think I finally understand what you see in him," she said, turning to me. "He's an endearing boy. Anyway, I'm sure he's having a fabulous holiday."
It was getting dark. Lights winked on in the villages around the bay. A last ray of sun lit up the golden roof of the pagoda. Since Valérie had informed him of her decision, Jean-Yves hadn't broached the subject again. He waited until the end of the meal to do so, after ordering a bottle of wine.
"I'm going to miss you," he said. "It won't be the same. We've been working together for more than five years. We've worked well together, we've never had a serious row. Without you, I would never have made it." He spoke more and more softly, even for him. Night had truly fallen around us. "Now," lie said thoughtfully, "we'll be able to extend the formula. One of the most obvious countries is Brazil. I've also been thinking about Kenya again. There, the ideal thing to do would be to open another club, further inland, for the safaris, and leave the beach club as an Aphrodite resort. One of the other immediate possibilities is Vietnam."
'You're not afraid of the competition?" I asked.
"There's no risk there. The American chains wouldn't dare get involved in something like this, they are way too puritanical there. What I was a bit afraid of was the reaction of the French press, but for the moment, there's been nothing. It has to be said that most of our customers are foreign, and in Germany and Italy, they're more relaxed about this sort of thing."
"You're going to be the biggest pimp in the world."
"Not a pimp," he protested. "We don't take a penny from what the girls earn. We just let them work, that's all."
"Anyhow, there's no connection," interrupted Valérie. "They're not really part of the hotel staff."
"Well, yes," Jean-Yves said hesitantly. "Here they're not connected, but I've heard that in the Dominican Republic, the waitresses are only too happy to go upstairs."
"They're doing it of their own free will."
"Oh, yes, that's the least you can say."
"Well," Valérie extended a conciliatory gesture to the world, "don't let the hypocrites grind you down. You're there, you provide the framework, using the
Aurore know-how
,
and that's all."
Aurore know-how
,
and that's all."
The waiter brought lemongrass soup. At the neighboring tables were German and Italian men accompanied by Thai girls, some German couples—accompanied or otherwise. Everyone quietly living together, with no apparent problem, in a general atmosphere of pleasure. This resort manager job promised to be pretty easy.
"So, you're really going to stay here," Jean-Yves said again. Clearly he was having trouble believing it. "It's surprising. I mean, in a way I understand, but—what's surprising is that you're giving up the chance of making more money."
"More money to do what?" said Valérie emphatically. "Buy Prada handbags? Spend a weekend in Budapest? Eat white truffles in season? I've earned a lot of money, and I can't even remember where it's gone, though yes, I've probably spent it on stupid things like that. Do
you
know where your money goes?"
you
know where your money goes?"
"Well," he thought. "Actually, up to now, I think it's mostly Audrey who's spent it."
"Audrey's a stupid bitch," she retorted mercilessly. "Thank God you're getting divorced. It's the most intelligent decision you've ever made."
"It's true, deep down she is very stupid," he replied unconcernedly. He smiled, hesitated a moment. "You really are a strange girl, Valérie."
"It's not me who's strange, it's the world around me. Do you really want to buy yourself a Ferrari cabriolet? A holiday home in Deauville, which will only get burgled anyway? To work ninety hours a week until you're sixty? To pay half of everything you earn in tax to finance military operations in Kosovo, or recovery plans for the inner cities? We're happy here; we have everything we need in life. The only thing the Western world has to offer is
designer products
.
If you believe in designer products, then you can stay in the west. Otherwise, in Thailand you can get excellent knockoffs."
designer products
.
If you believe in designer products, then you can stay in the west. Otherwise, in Thailand you can get excellent knockoffs."
"It's your position that's strange; you've worked for years at the center of western civilization, without ever believing in its values."
"I'm a predator," she replied calmly, "a sweet little predator. My needs are not very great, but if I've worked all my life, it's only been for the cash. Now, I'm going to start living. What I don't understand is other people. What's stopping you, for example, from coming to live here? You could easily marry a Thai girl. They're pretty, gentle, good in bed. Some of them even speak a bit of French."
"Well, um . .." He hesitated again. "Up until now, I've enjoyed having a different girl every night,"
"You'll grow out of it. In any case, there's nothing stopping you from visiting massage parlors after you're married. That's what they're there for."
"I know. I think . . . Fundamentally, I think I've always had trouble making the important decisions in my life."
A little embarrassed by this admission, he turned to me. "What about you, Michel, what are you going to do here?"
The response closest to the truth was undoubtedly something along the lines of "Nothing"; but it's always difficult to explain that kind of thing to an active person. "Cooking," replied Valérie on my behalf. I turned to her, surprised. "Yes, yes," she insisted. "I've noticed that from time to time you have vague creative aspirations in that area. It's just as well, I don't like cooking. I'm sure that here you'll be able to get right into it."
I tasted a spoonful of my curried chicken with green peppers; as it happened. I could imagine doing something similar with mangoes. Jean-Yves nodded thoughtfully. I looked at Valérie. She
was
a good predator, more intelligent and more tenacious than I was, and she had chosen me to share her lair. It is possible to suppose that societies are dependent, if not on a common goal, then at least on a consensus—sometimes described in western democracies as a "weak consensus," by certain leader-writers deeply entrenched in their political positions. As someone of pretty weak temperament myself, I had done nothing to change that consensus; the idea of a common goal seemed less clear. According to Immanuel Kant, human dignity consists of not accepting subjection to laws except inasmuch as one can simultaneously consider oneself a legislator; never had such a bizarre fantasy crossed my mind. Not only did I not vote, but I had never considered elections as anything more than excellent television shows —in which, to tell the truth, my favorite actors were the political scientists. Jérôme Jaffré in particular delighted me. Being a political leader seemed to me a difficult, technical, wearing task, and I was quite happy to delegate whatever powers I had. In my youth, I had encountered certain "militants" who considered it necessary to force society to evolve in this or that direction, but I had never felt any sympathy or any respect for them. Gradually, I had even learned to distrust them: the way they got involved in popular causes, the way they treated society as though it was something they played an active role in, seemed suspicious. What did I, for my part, have to reproach the west for? Not much —but I wasn't especially attached to it (and I was finding it more and more difficult to understand how one could feel attached to an idea, a country, anything, in fact, other than an individual). Life was expensive in the west, it was cold there; the prostitution was of poor quality. It was difficult to smoke in public places, almost impossible to buy medicines and drugs; you worked hard, there were cars, and noise, and the security in public places was very badly implemented. All in all, it had numerous drawbacks. I suddenly realized to my embarrassment that I considered the society I lived in more or less as a natural environment —like a savannah, or a jungle —whose laws I had to adapt to. The notion that I was in any way in solidarity with this environment had never occurred to me. It was like an atrophy in me, an emptiness. It was far from certain that society could continue to survive for long with individuals like me. But I could survive with a woman, become attached to her, try to make her happy. Just as I turned to give Valérie another grateful look, I heard a sort of click to my right. Then I noticed an engine noise coming from the sea, which cut out immediately. At the front of the terrace, a tall blonde woman stood up, screaming. Then came the first burst of gunfire, a brief crackle. The woman turned toward us, bringing her hands up to her face —a bullet had hit her in the eye, the socket was now no more than a bloody hole —then she collapsed without a sound. Then I saw our assailants, three men wearing turbans, moving swiftly in our direction, machine guns in hand. A second round of gunfire broke out, lasting a little longer. The noise of crockery and broken glass mingled with screams of pain. For several seconds, we must have been completely paralyzed; few people thought to take shelter under the tables. At my side, Jean-Yves gave a brief yelp, he had just been hit in the arm. Then I saw Valérie slide gently from her chair and collapse on the ground. I rushed to her and put my arms around her. From that point on, I saw nothing. The bursts of machine-gun fire followed one after another in a silence disturbed only by the sound of exploding glasses; it seemed to me to go on forever. The smell of gunpowder was very intense. Then everything was silent again. I noticed that my left arm was covered in blood; Valérie must have been hit in the chest or the throat. The street lamp nearest us had been blown out, and I could barely see a thing. Lying about a meter from me, Jean-Yves tried to get up and groaned. Just then, from the direction of the leisure complex, came an enormous explosion that ripped through the entire area and echoed around the bay for a long time. At first I thought my eardrums had burst, but some seconds later, in the midst of my daze, I became aware of a concert of dreadful screams, the genuine screams of the damned.
was
a good predator, more intelligent and more tenacious than I was, and she had chosen me to share her lair. It is possible to suppose that societies are dependent, if not on a common goal, then at least on a consensus—sometimes described in western democracies as a "weak consensus," by certain leader-writers deeply entrenched in their political positions. As someone of pretty weak temperament myself, I had done nothing to change that consensus; the idea of a common goal seemed less clear. According to Immanuel Kant, human dignity consists of not accepting subjection to laws except inasmuch as one can simultaneously consider oneself a legislator; never had such a bizarre fantasy crossed my mind. Not only did I not vote, but I had never considered elections as anything more than excellent television shows —in which, to tell the truth, my favorite actors were the political scientists. Jérôme Jaffré in particular delighted me. Being a political leader seemed to me a difficult, technical, wearing task, and I was quite happy to delegate whatever powers I had. In my youth, I had encountered certain "militants" who considered it necessary to force society to evolve in this or that direction, but I had never felt any sympathy or any respect for them. Gradually, I had even learned to distrust them: the way they got involved in popular causes, the way they treated society as though it was something they played an active role in, seemed suspicious. What did I, for my part, have to reproach the west for? Not much —but I wasn't especially attached to it (and I was finding it more and more difficult to understand how one could feel attached to an idea, a country, anything, in fact, other than an individual). Life was expensive in the west, it was cold there; the prostitution was of poor quality. It was difficult to smoke in public places, almost impossible to buy medicines and drugs; you worked hard, there were cars, and noise, and the security in public places was very badly implemented. All in all, it had numerous drawbacks. I suddenly realized to my embarrassment that I considered the society I lived in more or less as a natural environment —like a savannah, or a jungle —whose laws I had to adapt to. The notion that I was in any way in solidarity with this environment had never occurred to me. It was like an atrophy in me, an emptiness. It was far from certain that society could continue to survive for long with individuals like me. But I could survive with a woman, become attached to her, try to make her happy. Just as I turned to give Valérie another grateful look, I heard a sort of click to my right. Then I noticed an engine noise coming from the sea, which cut out immediately. At the front of the terrace, a tall blonde woman stood up, screaming. Then came the first burst of gunfire, a brief crackle. The woman turned toward us, bringing her hands up to her face —a bullet had hit her in the eye, the socket was now no more than a bloody hole —then she collapsed without a sound. Then I saw our assailants, three men wearing turbans, moving swiftly in our direction, machine guns in hand. A second round of gunfire broke out, lasting a little longer. The noise of crockery and broken glass mingled with screams of pain. For several seconds, we must have been completely paralyzed; few people thought to take shelter under the tables. At my side, Jean-Yves gave a brief yelp, he had just been hit in the arm. Then I saw Valérie slide gently from her chair and collapse on the ground. I rushed to her and put my arms around her. From that point on, I saw nothing. The bursts of machine-gun fire followed one after another in a silence disturbed only by the sound of exploding glasses; it seemed to me to go on forever. The smell of gunpowder was very intense. Then everything was silent again. I noticed that my left arm was covered in blood; Valérie must have been hit in the chest or the throat. The street lamp nearest us had been blown out, and I could barely see a thing. Lying about a meter from me, Jean-Yves tried to get up and groaned. Just then, from the direction of the leisure complex, came an enormous explosion that ripped through the entire area and echoed around the bay for a long time. At first I thought my eardrums had burst, but some seconds later, in the midst of my daze, I became aware of a concert of dreadful screams, the genuine screams of the damned.
The paramedics arrived ten minutes later, coming from Krabi. They went first to the leisure complex. The bomb had exploded in the middle of Crazy Lips, the largest of the bars, at peak time; it had been hidden in a sports bag left near the dance floor. It was a very powerful homemade dynamite device triggered by an alarm clock. The bag had been stuffed with bolts and nails. Under the force of the blast, the thin brick walls separating the bar from the other establishments had been blown out. A number of the metal girders that held up the whole building had buckled from the force of the blast, and the roof was threatening to collapse. Faced with the extent of the catastrophe, the first thing the rescue workers did was-to call for backup. In front of the entrance to the bar, a dancer crawled along the ground, still wearing her white bikini, her arms severed at the elbows. Nearby, a German tourist sitting in the midst of the rubble held his intestines as they spilled from his belly; his wife lay near him, her chest gaping, her breasts half torn off. Inside the bar a blackish smoke hung in the air; the ground was slippery, covered with blood seeping from human bodies and mutilated organs. A number of the dying, their arms or legs severed, tried to crawl toward the exit, leaving behind them a bloody trail. Bolts and nails had gouged out eyes, ripped off hands, torn faces to shreds. Some of the bodies had literally exploded from within, their limbs and viscera strewing the ground for several meters.
When the rescue workers reached the terrace, I was still holding Valérie in my arms: her body was warm. Two meters in front of me, a woman lay on the ground, her bloody face peppered with shards of glass.
Others remained in their seats, mouths wide open, frozen in death. I screamed at the rescue workers: two nurses came over immediately, gently took Valérie, and placed her on a stretcher. I tried to stand up, but fell backwards; my head hit the ground. It was then that I heard, very distinctly, someone say in French. "She's dead."
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