Adultery(16)

What about all those things I said to Jacob this afternoon? Shouldn’t I take a little time to think about them myself?

This room is suffocating me. My perfect husband is asleep beside me; he doesn’t seem to have heard the wind rattling the windows. I imagine Jacob lying beside his wife and telling her everything he feels (although I’m sure he won’t say anything about me). He’s relieved to have someone who can help him when he feels most alone. I don’t really believe what he said about her—if it were true, they would have separated. After all, they don’t have any children to worry about!

I wonder if the mistral has woken him up, too, and what he and his wife will talk about now. Where do they live? It wouldn’t be hard to find out. I can find out when I get in to work tomorrow. I wonder: Did they make love tonight? Did he take her passionately, did she moan with pleasure?

The way I behave with him is always a surprise. Oral sex, sensible advice, that kiss in the park. I seem like another person. Who is this woman I become whenever I’m with Jacob?

My provocative adolescent self. The one who was once as steady as a rock and as strong as the wind ruffling the calm waters of Lake Léman. It’s odd how whenever we meet up with old school friends, we always think they haven’t changed at all, even if the weakest has grown strong, the prettiest has ended up with a monster for a husband, and those who seemed closest have grown apart and not seen one another for years.

With Jacob, though, at least in the early stages of this reunion, I can still go back in time and be the young girl who isn’t afraid of consequences. She’s only sixteen, and the return of Saturn, which will bring maturity, is still a long way off.

I try to sleep, but I can’t. I spend an hour thinking about him obsessively. I remember my next-door neighbor washing his car and how I judged his life to be “pointless,” occupied by useless things. It’s not useless: he probably enjoys himself, taking the opportunity to get some exercise and see life’s simple things as blessings, not curses.

That’s what I need to do: relax a little and enjoy life more. I can’t keep thinking about Jacob. I am replacing my missing joy with something more concrete—a man—but that’s not the point. If I went to a psychiatrist, he’d tell me that this isn’t my problem at all; instead, it’s a lack of lithium, low levels of serotonin, and so on. This didn’t begin with Jacob’s appearance on the scene, and it won’t end with his departure.

But I can’t forget him. My mind repeats the moment of that kiss over and over.

And I realize that my unconscious is transforming an imaginary problem into a real one. That’s what always happens. That’s how illnesses come about.

I never want to see that man again. He’s been sent by the devil to destabilize something that was already fragile. How could I fall in love so quickly with someone I don’t even know? And who says I’m in love? I’ve been having problems since the spring. If things were perfectly fine before that, I see no reason why they shouldn’t be again.

I repeat what I said before: It’s just a phase.

I need to stay focused and hold negativity at bay. Wasn’t that my advice to Jacob?

I must stand firm and wait for the crisis to pass. Otherwise, I run the risk of really falling in love, and of feeling permanently what I felt for only a fraction of a second when we had lunch together that first time. And if that happens, things won’t just happen inside me. No, the suffering and pain will spread everywhere.

I lie tossing and turning in bed for what feels like ages before I fall asleep. After what seems only a second, my husband wakes me up. It’s a bright day, the sky is blue, and the mistral is still blowing.





IT’S breakfast time,” my husband says. “I’d better go and get the kids up.”

Why don’t we swap roles for once? I suggest. You go to the kitchen and I’ll get the kids ready for school.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks. “If it is, you’re going to have the best breakfast you’ve had in years.”

No, it isn’t a challenge, I just want to change things around a bit. So, you don’t think the breakfast I make is good enough?

“Listen, it’s far too early for arguments. Last night we both had a bit too much to drink, and nightclubs really aren’t meant for people our age,” he says. “Anyway, okay, you go and get the children ready.”

He leaves before I can respond. I pick up my smartphone and check what things I have to do today.