A little earlier, Xavière and Orion had created a sensation. To everyone’s surprise, they had crossed the square, proud, regal, she with her protuberant belly clothed in a maternity dress, he as attentive as a fly buzzing around her: anyone would have thought they had invented pregnancy. Once they had created their effect, Xavière had feigned dizziness so that they could go home.
On a bench to one side, the dwarf Germain and lilac-eyed Isis were talking in hushed tones.
“Why did you ask me to take a letter to Patricia?”
“Well, as you saw, it worked a treat. Thanks to the letter, Daddy and Patricia are together again.”
“What was in the letter?”
“Part of my novel.”
“What novel?”
“The one I’m writing.”
“Really? How far are you with it? I never see you writing it. Which exercise book are you using?”
“I’m not writing it in an exercise book.”
“In what, then?”
She indicated the world around then, the façades, the guests, then said, “I’m not exactly writing it, actually. I only thought of the beginning. Then I stopped because I got scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of the characters. They don’t do what I expected. They act in their own way. They’re strange. I don’t understand them.”
“Why not?”
“They get a love letter and aren’t pleased. None of them react the same way.” Isis looked up at the parrots and parakeets and sighed. “It’s a pity. I just wanted them to be happy.”
“How do you know they’re not? For them, happiness isn’t the same thing as it is for you. I think there are as many different kinds of happiness as there are people.” He stood up solemnly, like an acrobat about to perform a circus trick. “Look.” The dwarf Germain approached Isis, stood up on tiptoe, and gave her a delicate kiss on the forehead. Then he made an authoritative gesture. “Your turn, now.”
Amused, Isis jumped off the bench and placed a kiss in the middle of Germain’s forehead.
“You agree that it’s the same action, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes.”
“The same kiss?”
“Yes.”
“Except that they’re different for you and me.”
“Of course. It was your idea, and I did as I was told.”
“Not just that. Which did you prefer—the one you gave me or the one I gave you?”
“The first one, the one you gave me. I was surprised. I thought it was kind, and I was delighted. What about you?”
“The first one too, but for a different reason. For me, giving you a kiss is more important that getting one because of the way I look, because of my history . . . Do you understand now why you’re having so much trouble with your love story? In spite of appearances, given the same action, nobody feels or expects exactly the same thing.”
Isis nodded gravely, grabbed her bag, took out sheets of yellow letter paper, and threw them into the square garbage can.
“What are you doing?” Germain exclaimed.
“I’ve had enough of my novel.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt is one of Europe’s most popular and acclaimed authors and playwrights. His many novels and story collections include The Most Beautiful Book in the World (Europa, 2009), Oscar & the Lady in Pink, and Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Koran. A keen music lover, Schmitt has also translated into French The Marriage of Figaro and Don Giovanni from the original Italian. In 2001, he was awarded the French Academy’s Grand Prix du Théâtre. Schmitt divides his time between Paris, France, and Belgium.
Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt, The Carousel of Desire
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