Beautiful strangers

At last, they all dispersed, leaving me in blessed solitude. Were I not trapped in another’s body, I would have sent them off rather curtly, but alas—what is one to do? Must I endure this trial? Oh, Lord, is this Thy grand punishment? Not that it matters much. They informed me I would be discharged in three weeks, and until then, my diversions would consist of gazing upon the trees beyond the window and enduring tedious rehabilitation so that I might walk without a limp. During those three weeks, I often drifted back to thoughts of my former life, attempting to make sense of it all. I concluded—though with no great confidence—that perhaps it was but an illusion, and that I had simply been transported to the past. Why or how, I was far too dull-witted to say. At that point, I cared for none of it; all that mattered was to sleep and avoid rising from bed. Visitors came and went—colleagues, schoolteachers by the look of them, and, most notably, Elisabeth—my “dearest friend.” She seemed exceptionally solicitous toward me, almost suspiciously so. I thanked her politely and pressed for more details of the man whose body I now inhabited. She spoke of our days at university, of laughter and studies, of the finest hours of our youth. I merely smiled. She brought me food, and though I was expected to grow accustomed to all this, I found I had little inclination. ✦ ─── ✧ ─── ✦ At last, the day of reckoning arrived—they were sending me home. We rode in an automobile, and my aunt Madeleine, seated beside me, inquired: «Eh bien, avez-vous pris des vêtements de rechange?» (Well, did you bring any spare clothes?) «Ah oui, bien sûr. Merci pour cela, tante.» (Ah yes, of course. Thank you for that, Aunt.) Yet, despite all this, my memory remained void—unsurprising, given that it was not my own body. I recalled only my former life. Upon arrival, I looked about and, to my dismay, saw no Eiffel Tower. Instead—mountains. Good heavens… am I in Grenoble? They say it is a city of scholars, modest in size. How had I been carried from Paris to another city and another time? Even the motorcar we rode lacked proper handles. Once we alighted, I followed them inside, dressed in a coat, waistcoat, shirt, and a cap. Antoine held the door, ushering me in first. Within, it was modest—yet habitable. I shook my head slightly and stepped further. «Oui, c’est petit, mais tu t’y feras, Louis!» Pierre spoke cheerfully, while my sister Justine made her way to the kitchen. «Je vais nous préparer du thé et nous dînerons. Après tout, notre fils prodigue est enfin rentré.» (I shall brew us some tea, and we shall dine. After all, our prodigal son has finally returned.) «Tu devras reprendre les bases de la littérature, mon frère.» Jean teased. Céline slipped quietly to the table, her eyes betraying no great warmth toward me. The children passed me and sat down. «Étienne, cesse de prendre mes affaires ! J’ai besoin de mon cahier.» (Étienne, stop taking my things! I need my notebook.) «Eh bien, viens le chercher, Marie.» (Well, come and get it, Marie.) I laughed—how long had it been since I saw children quarrel thus? Removing my coat, I sat down. Antoine placed a hand upon mine, the other upon my shoulder. «N’oubliez pas vos exercices de rééducation, Louis.» (Do not forget your rehabilitation exercises, Louis.) «Mais bien sûr, Antoine.» (But of course, Antoine.) I smiled and nodded, though inwardly I felt an intruder. All these faces watched me as though I were a specimen under glass. Unsettled, I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat. «Jean, tu es bien scientifique, n’est-ce pas?» (Jean, you’re a scientist, are you not?) «Doctorant. Bientôt je parviendrai à devenir scientifique.» (A doctoral student. Soon, I shall manage to become a full-fledged scientist.) «Nous sommes tous fiers de toi, Jean,» Antoine declared, as if he were the patriarch of our little clan. If only he knew my true self… would they all turn from me? At last, the table was set—vegetable soup, of all things. Not my favourite, but wholesome nonetheless. ✦ ─── ✧ ─── ✦ The radio hummed softly in the background, carrying the tender melody of Parlez-moi d’amour through the small room. The warmth of the song contrasted with the uneasy chill that lingered among us. "Parlez-moi d'amour Redites-moi des choses tendres Votre beau discours" (Speak to me of love, tell me tender things again, your beautiful words.) Antoine began to speak of his hopes for the future. "Quand, un jour, nous pourrons tous partir en randonnée et cueillir des baies." (One day, we’ll all be able to go hiking together and pick berries.) "Tu rêves de l’impossible, mon cher," Justine said skeptically, taking a sip of soup from her spoon. (You dream of the impossible, my dear.) "Pourquoi pas ? Regarde, nous sommes tous réunis — on économise, et un jour, on partira se reposer." (Why not? Look, we’re all here — we’ll save up, and one day, we’ll take a break.) "Nous avons la guerre, Antoine. Personne ne sait ce qui peut arriver." (We have a war, Antoine. No one knows what might happen.) A sudden and oppressive silence filled the air, pressing down like an invisible weight. I continued eating, my mind restless. I only hoped this wouldn’t be my last meal — I still wanted to live. ✧ ✦ ───── ❦ ───── ✦ ✧ ✦ Marie and Étienne were bent over their mathematics homework when Manon passed by, quietly examining the house. Spotting her, they called out with excitement. "Tonton Louis ! Attendez !" (Uncle Louis! Wait!) She turned toward the little girl who had run up to her. Standing from her chair, she took Louis’s hand and looked her in the eyes. "Vous pouvez m'aider avec les mathématiques ?" (Can you help me with math?) "Je ne suis pas très douée pour ça, ma nièce." (I’m not very good at that, my niece.) Étienne came running after her as well, breathless. I thought to myself, Good grief, I’m not good at science at all. "S’il vous plaît, Tonton Louis, aidez-nous." (Please, Uncle Louis, help us.) Manon sighed, resigned, and followed them. "D’accord… mais je ne promets rien." (Alright… but I promise nothing.) They entered a small room with a bunk bed and a desk cluttered with notebooks. Manon glanced at their work, pretended to understand, and improvised as she pointed to the problem. "S’il s’avère que 480 kg représentent les trois quarts de la récolte, et non un quart…" (If 480 kg represents three-quarters of the harvest, not one-quarter…) She worked it out quickly: 480 ÷ (3/4) = 480 × (4/3) 480 ÷ 3 = 160 160 × 4 = 640 The children gazed at her in awe. Straightening her vest, she gave them a little bow. "Bonne chance à l’école, les enfants." (Good luck at school, children.) "Merci, Tonton Louis !" (Thank you, Uncle Louis!) "De rien." (You’re welcome.) Walking backward, she slipped away quickly, leaving the children still staring at the solution their “uncle” had given them. Manon returned to the room Pierre had shown her earlier — their shared quarters. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to live with a stranger and sleep in the same space. Fortunately, they had separate beds, though both were quite small. I stepped outside, unsure whether I was going for a walk or simply looking for something to do. Surely, I wasn’t going to just sit here — I didn’t know much about this place, but it was worth trying to explore. Manon wandered through the snowy streets in search of a library. Colorful shop signs lined the road until she finally spotted one with books displayed in the windows. Pushing the door open, she was welcomed by the warm air inside. She stamped her feet to shake the snow from her boots, then approached the nearest counter. "Excusez-moi, monsieur, où se trouve la section sciences ?" (Excuse me, sir, where is the science section?) The librarian looked up from his reading and greeted her. "Oh, pardonnez-moi, je lisais… Vous cherchez la section sciences ? Elle est à droite, en haut. Ce sera indiqué." (Oh, forgive me, I was reading… You’re looking for the science section? It’s to the right, upstairs. It will be marked.) "Merci." (Thank you.) Manon bowed slightly and walked away, sniffling — her nose had turned red from the cold. She caught sight of herself in a mirror: a straight nose, full lips, short wavy hair, and large eyes. By most standards, she could be called beautiful. Satisfied, she smiled at her reflection and continued on. There were shelves of novels, fantasy, psychology… and then she found the science section. She reached for a book just as another hand touched it. Startled, she looked up — and recognized the face. "Vous ?" (You?) It was the man who had called the ambulance for her on that first day. From the start, he had seemed like an odd one — no surprise he was lingering in the science aisles. "Bonjour." (Hello.) "Bonjour… Je ne m’attendais pas à vous voir ici, monsieur… Comment vous appelez-vous ?" (Hello… I didn’t expect to see you here, sir… What’s your name?) "Xavier Lamarque." (Xavier Lamarque.) "Oh, vous avez un joli prénom." (Oh, you have a beautiful name.) He took the book and walked away without another word. Manon shook her head — what a strange man. Perhaps he had only helped her out of obligation. She continued browsing, but had no idea what she was actually looking for. The librarian, noticing her indecision, came over. "Excusez-moi, monsieur, il me semble que vous n’arrivez pas à choisir quelque chose de convenable ?" (Excuse me, sir, it seems you can’t choose something suitable?) "Ah… oui, je suis juste débutante dans ce domaine… euh… Il me faudrait quelque chose pour les… débutants." (Ah… yes, I’m just a beginner in this… um… I need something for… beginners.) "Débutants ? Qu’est-ce que c’est ?" (Beginners? What’s that?) Manon froze, puffed her cheeks in thought, then replied: "Enfin… quelque chose pour ceux qui ne connaissent rien en physique." (Well… something for those who know nothing about physics.) "Oh, bien sûr. Que cherchez-vous exactement ?" (Oh, of course. What exactly are you looking for?) Before she could answer, Xavier reappeared, reaching up to the top shelf to pull down a book. He looked at her with no expression. "Ceci vous conviendra." (This will suit you.) He handed her the book. Manon, surprised, wondered if he had been following her. "Ça vous convient, ce livre ?" the librarian asked. (Does this book work for you?) "Oui, bien sûr… Merci pour tout, et à vous aussi, monsieur Xavier." (Yes, of course… Thank you for everything, and you too, Monsieur Xavier.) "De rien." (You’re welcome.) He disappeared again, and the librarian returned to his desk. Not sure where to sit, Manon decided to join Xavier. He was at a table by the window, focused on a book that looked far too complicated for her tastes. She sat across from him, smiling. "Écoutez, monsieur Xavier Lamarque… je crois que nous n’avons pas assez parlé." (Listen, Monsieur Xavier Lamarque… I think we haven’t talked enough.) "Ce n’est pas nécessaire." (It’s not necessary.) "Mais c’est gênant de vous voir et de faire semblant d’être des étrangers, haha." (But it feels awkward to see you and pretend we’re strangers, haha.) He closed his book with a snap and looked at her. "Je ne comprends pas pourquoi nous devrions parler. J’ai simplement fait cela parce que c’était écrit dans les livres." (I don’t understand why we should talk. I only did it because it was written in books.) "Quoi ?" (What?) Manon stared at him, baffled. Was he slow, or did she just seem too pushy? "Vous êtes très intelligent, n’est-ce pas ?" (You’re very smart, aren’t you?) "Oui." (Yes.) "Et donc… vous travaillez comme quoi ?" (So… what do you work as?) "Scientifique." (Scientist.) That was far beyond what she had expected. Why would a scientist — clearly wealthy from his clothes and demeanor — spend time in a public library? "Wow, c’est classe… Moi, je suis professeur de littérature." (Wow, that’s classy… I’m a literature teacher.) He simply nodded. Manon sighed and opened her book, wishing she’d brought a notebook. After thirty minutes, her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted off, only to be awakened by the librarian. "Excusez-moi, monsieur, nous fermons." (Excuse me, sir, we’re closing.) "Quoi ? Sérieusement ?" (What? Seriously?) "Oui." (Yes.) She handed the book back and patted him on the shoulder as she passed. Xavier was nowhere to be seen. ✧ ✦ ───── ❦ ───── ✦ ✧ ✦ Meanwhile, Xavier returned from the restroom to find the curious, foolish person who had been sitting across from him gone. Pressing his lips together, he reached for his book — then noticed a strange owl-shaped brooch left behind. Approaching the librarian, he asked: "Où est passé cet homme ?" (Where did that man go?) "Oh, monsieur Lamarque, il vient juste de partir. Voulez-vous que je le rattrape ?" (Oh, Monsieur Lamarque, he just left. Do you want me to catch him?) "Non, ce n’est pas la peine." (No, there’s no need.) Changing his coat, he stepped outside to look for Louis Duran, but gave up after a while. He approached his Bugatti Type 57, where his smiling chauffeur, Marcel, awaited him. "Oh, monsieur, vous avez déjà terminé votre sortie ?" (Oh, sir, you’ve already finished your outing?) "Oui." (Yes.) Marcel closed the car door with a firm click. As he fastened the buttons on his coat, Xavier sat tensely. "Qu’y a-t-il ?" (What is it?) "Vous avez l’air un peu… distrait aujourd’hui." (You seem a bit… distracted today.) "N’importe quoi. Je suis toujours comme ça." (Nonsense. I’m always like this.) "Comme vous voulez." (As you wish.) With that, Marcel started the engine, and the car pulled away.