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

Дата добавления: 2015-10-26