Does he really want to remember the rest of the day? He weighs the possibilities. On the positive side, he made his bread and weeded the flower beds in front of the house. On the negative side, there is only weariness, a few worthless words exchanged with Victor. Throughout the afternoon, there was a great deal of coming and going at the neighbours’.
At dinner, he had watched Victor reading a magazine as he ate. Victor is ageing well: his skin is taut, sunny wrinkles surround his eyes, and his temples are turning grey. He had taken over his father’s notarial practice without incident and built an enviable reputation among artists. He did as he pleased and spent freely on comforts he had duly earned. Yet his smile had disappeared, taking with it the intensity of their embraces, as though, once certain he had obtained what he sought, he was content to consume it in small doses. For some, living beside such a partner might have been enough, but for Rémi it meant struggling against a stubborn yawn. Too much silence between them now. Conversation easily fell flat, politeness serving as spiritual nourishment.
He presses a button on his watch. A glow illuminates the numbers. Two o’clock. Despite the night, the heat is slow to dissipate.
If the city does not sleep at its centre, on its outskirts, draped in tranquil vegetation, suburbia has long since sunk into bourgeois slumber, Victor included. Rémi loves this moment. He owes nothing to anyone, nothing to the night. He merely shares the air with the bats, or with the frogs probably waiting for him to clear out before they invade the pool. He feels like playing a nasty trick on them and lying down right there on the lounge chair beside the water.
A light comes on next door. The patio door slides open. The blind woman steps outside wrapped in a large towel. Rémi does not move. Since both back decks are elevated, it is easy to see into the neighbouring yard, much to Victor’s dismay. He keeps planning—without ever doing it, since this is Rémi’s domain after all—to build a higher fence there.
The woman appears to have just stepped out of the shower. She breathes deeply and smiles, her nose raised to capture what her eyes cannot grasp. She moves forward, pulls off the towel with a sudden gesture, feels her way to the stairs, and descends. A woman calls to her from inside. “Irène, come to bed!”
Rémi goes down the steps and approaches the hedge. Between its branches, he can vaguely see the woman wandering about. She brushes the shrubs and chuckles now and then. She reaches the place where Rémi is hiding. He holds his breath.
“Is someone there?” she whispers.
He has been found out.
“Your neighbour. A handsome, harmless fellow.”
She laughs.
“Pleased to meet you.”
From her tone, Rémi guesses that she has been drinking. She resumes her walk.
“Do you often spy on naked ladies?”
“Only when they take walks in their garden.”
“Don’t you want to take advantage of me?”
Rémi gives a little laugh.
“Ah, you’re homosexual…”
“Is it that obvious?”
“From your answer, yes. A man, a real man, would have stuck his foot in the door I’d just opened.”
“And what if I were a pathologically faithful husband?”
He hears her sigh.
“Faithfulness happens to be an illness few men suffer from. It’s crazy how healthy they are in that respect.”
“Irène, my God, what are you doing out there?”
Rémi hides within the hedge, irritated by his cowardice. The second neighbour does not appear to have seen him. Despite the concern in her question, she makes no move to join Irène.
“Well, you’re the one with eyes. You can see I’m taking a walk.”
“You’re naked.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t see myself.”
“People will think you’re mad.”
“We’d have to ask the neighbour.”
“Who? Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, get inside. Besides, you’re a step away from drowning.”
“I know there’s a pool. Water is something you feel more than see!”
Irène laughs, followed by the other woman.
“I’ll be fine here, Marie.”
“Come on, don’t be silly. Come back!”
Irène sighs loudly but obeys. Rémi hears her climb the stairs.
“Where’s your towel?”
“Somewhere over there. I was waiting for a gallant man to pick it up, but it seems they’re pathologically faithful…”
“What are you talking about? You’ve had too much to drink again, as usual. How do you expect the medication to work with all that alcohol?”
“The problem is, I’m pathologically lonely… And you, where’s your handsome Austrian?”
“He’s asleep. We’re leaving very early tomorrow, as you well know.”
The rest is lost behind the closing door. Once he is certain they have gone inside, Rémi climbs the stairs to the house. He goes upstairs. He is not sleepy. With a quick movement of the mouse, he wakes the computer, sits down, and watches the screen swell with light. An icon at the bottom is blinking. He has mail.