Because She Never Asked (New Directions Pearls) by Enrique Vila-Matas

Author:Enrique Vila-Matas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 2015-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

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8

Two hours later, I was signing copies of my novel in the Salon du Livre, when Sophie showed up with a friend whom she introduced as Florence Aubenas, that is, the famous journalist of Liberation, who had been kidnapped and then freed in Iraq. Though I had signed the petition for her release in Barcelona, I hadn’t seen photographs of her. So, inevitably, I doubted that this woman was the real Aubenas. Inertia led me to suspect that everything Sophie did was a bluff; she had lied to me about her mother and now she wanted to poke fun at me by introducing me to the fake Aubenas.

“Stop pulling my leg,” I said to Sophie.

It came from the gut. I uttered it spontaneously; it just burst out as a result of all these ambiguities. Now I was getting overly familiar with her.

“What do you mean, stop pulling my leg? Do you mean that you don’t want me to play with you?” Sophie asked in very good Spanish.

“Exactly,” I smiled. “Don’t mess with me.”

That seemed to me a good title for a novel.

But Florence Aubenas was in fact Florence Aubenas. Everyone around me confirmed it. Even Aubenas confirmed that she was herself; she invited me to her stand where she signed a copy of her recently published book, La méprise. So I went back to mine, to my stand that is, and continued signing books. Every once in a while, Sophie would show up, walking back and forth between Florence’s and my publisher’s stand.

Sophie would appear and stare straight at me, then laugh in an infectious way. I would end up laughing too, my expression distorted after uselessly trying to keep a straight face, or to express anger.

“Don’t mess with me,” I told her again.

I giggled. That was it. The next day, I returned to Barcelona, and Sophie attended her mother’s funeral. It seemed silly to reproach her for having propositioned so many men to bring a written adventure to life, having so many broken friends. It seemed grotesque to criticize her, and what’s more, I had no right whatsoever.

The idea was hers, after all, and she could perform it with whomever she pleased, whenever she pleased. I convinced myself (so as not to lose my wits) that it was all beyond reproach. I had no reason for feeling so apprehensive. Why not wait until May? But . . . it was May of next year! I was peeved, annoyed, over having been so submissive the whole time, about our agreeing that I would control what was to be done and what had to be lived out. I couldn’t understand why I was being so docile. Anyway, I thought, I would have another chance to rebel against the situation on my friend Ray Loriga’s television show; at least I’d be able to pound the table a little with my fist. I was hostage to the strange sensation of gripping a rock-solid hammer in my hand, but not being able to use it because its handle was in flames.

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