Consequences by Philippe Djian Page A

she murmured. He nodded gently. She wasn’t his mother, his sister. She didn’t have to stop. His only regret had to do with how uncomfortable the Fiat was—unworthy of such a woman—but we don’t always get what we want, and many of his relationships had been nipped in the bud becauseof a bad start, an inappropriate place, etc. There wasn’t much you could do about it. It was just one gigantic crapshoot.
    He thought briefly about the sergeant wandering among the stones of a rock-strewn desert, praying not to fall into an ambush, praying to keep alive.
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    He got home late. About two in the morning. That night, at the wheel of his throbbing motor, as he was driving through the silent forest, he felt as if he were sawing the world in two with an enormous chainsaw, awakening in his path the smallest field mouse, the tiniest creature, crow, worm. He’d lost a good part of his muffler, he was sure of it. And experience told him that, even if he finished the trip at the same speed and cut the motor, there was a fifty-percent chance she’d hear him arrive. Or she’d be waiting for him because she was in a state. Or else asleep, but listening with one ear.
    â€œDo you know what time it is?” she said as he was getting ready to go straight up to his room.
    She’d just used the remote control to turn the lights on in the hallway and had caught him with a foot in the air and a hand on the banister.
    Then she turned on the lights in the living room, lowered the lamps, with the same device. “Well finally. Where’d you go?”
    He waved the cigarettes and the stuff from the pharmacy in front of her. “Everything’s here. Everything you wanted.”
    She dove onto the pack of cigarettes and nervously unwrapped it. “Hello? Have you seen what time it is? There isn’t a single lousy butt in this goddamn house. But I guess you think that’s funny. After all, it only took you seven or eight hours.”
    â€œCalm down and listen. It so happens I was stuck in the shopping mall parking garage. That’s what happened. The barrier came up out of the ground and blocked me from getting back down. Stuck. I was stuck up there all this time. That’s the real story of what happened.”
    â€œFascinating,” she said in a grating voice. “What you’re telling me is fascinating.”
    â€œI didn’t have my phone. Or I would have called. I knew you were waiting. I smoke, too, you know. You don’t have to draw me a picture. You think I’d have been capable of deserting you? You think I didn’t know you were walking in circles like a rabid animal? Of course I noticed how long it was taking. And I was worried sick about it, but all of them were so slow I could have hung around all night in their damned parking garage.”
    â€œYou smell sweaty. I can smell your body odor from here.”
    â€œYeah, well, I’m not surprised. It wasn’t a walk in the park. I mean, I was purple with rage. I came close to pounding that machine into the ground when it kept insisting my ticket to get out wasn’t valid, repeating it ad nauseum. All that technology can end up driving you out of your mind, don’t you think?”
    He was surprised at the ease with which he handled the conversation, the way all the words came flowing from his mouth. The woman he’d held in his arms only a few moments before was still in them. His mind was so full of her that this conversation seemed like a miracle.
    The next day, the same thing happened. Myriam was the first image to cross his mind, as soon as he opened his eyes from a deep, subterranean sleep.
    He went downstairs and squeezed some oranges, made toast and buttered it, put some jam on it, and poured a bowlof rolled oats with maple syrup, because he was determined to keep an eye on Marianne’s health, bring back a little color with the arrival of spring. He put all of it on a tray.