The Lost Manuscript

by Cathy Bonidan

  I will be sure to thank him when I answer the letter I’ve just received. I will remain discreet about its contents, but the astonishing discoveries that he’s made render the saga of this novel more and more extraordinary.

  Be aware that all these events have worn him down and, if you write to him, hit pause on your constant irony …

  More very soon, my dear Maggy.

  Enjoy the sea air,

  Kisses from your Lisou

  P.S. I just received a message from Bastien about a project we’re working on together. It’s 11:50 P.M. on a Saturday! Does that man never sleep? He must get that hyperactivity from his mother’s genes, because on our side, the whole family requires eight hours of sleep and two liters of coffee before taking on the smallest task …

  from Maggy to Anne-Lise

  POINTE DES RENARDS, AUGUST 10, 2016

  My dear Lisou,

  You were right, our little adventure did me a world of good and I’ve practically finished the second volume of the adventures of Croco: Croco Leaves His Island. I only have two more illustrations to go. I already know you’ll laugh reading page 23 … there’s an allusion to the mission we set out on when we were ten years old. Remember that we suspected your neighbors of hiding a body underneath their terrace pavers and we would watch them through a pair of binoculars (which didn’t magnify anything in the slightest … I think they were a prize your parents won at a gas station)!

  That said, your last letter left me hanging. What is this new mystery you mention but won’t say anything about? Despite your insinuations, I haven’t heard from William since my return to Finistère. Our poker player only took the time to write to you, and so you know about him more than me …

  I can only assume the attraction you imagined between us is unfounded, and that’s a relief. I am now free from distracting thoughts. That man is a will-o’-the-wisp and I don’t want to end up like those voyagers carried away by lost souls, right in the heart of Brittany … Do you at least know where he is at the moment? With all his moving around, I don’t know whether he’s gone back to Lozère or if he’s returned to the English capital, and I left the notes for my next project at his farmhouse. If he contacts you, can you please tell him that I would very much appreciate him sending them back to me?

  I am very happy to learn that your daughter’s wonderful attitude has continued. I found her lovely during our trip, and I’m sure you exaggerate her phobia of household chores. I remember she helped prepare all the meals we shared there. On several occasions, I caught her in a heated discussion with Sylvestre, whose reserved nature she vanquished before any of us. Without Katia’s presence, our dear author would have taken much longer to tell us his story.

  He’s a man who deserves to be known but I am not one to criticize his preference for solitude. And his sincerity touched me when he spoke of his difficulties, even if it was only implied.

  Since you’re starting to think of winter vacation, might you have some time for us to finally take that trip to Brussels? I don’t want to steal you away from your family, but it would be nice for the two of us to finally take the getaway we’ve been dreaming of for three years without our schedules ever matching up … With both of our birthdays in October, it could be a magnificent opportunity to celebrate together.

  I’m signing off now so I can finish my illustrations. Give a big kiss to the children and to Julian …

  Your friend who doesn’t send a hug because she’s covered in paint,

  Maggy

  P.S. Now the wind is picking up and making the rain crash against my windows. Will you think I’m strange if I tell you that this weather makes me smile for no reason?

  P.P.S. I applaud the great wisdom that has guided you to go easy on your cousin. But I still miss the times when you were more belligerent and the happiness I felt reading about all the suffering you dreamed of inflicting on him. If you change your mind, I’ve set aside a few methods of torture I discovered in a noir novel that describes the deliriums of a serial killer with great pleasure.

  from Anne-Lise to Sylvestre

  RUE DES MORILLONS, AUGUST 11, 2016

  Dear Sylvestre,

  For the last week I have been drowning again in the demands of the office and I’ve realized that I love going to work in August. That novelty, August workers in the capital, is a real pleasure. Have you experienced this feeling? It’s as though we’re outside of time and we stroll in our suits and nice clothes through the Parisian streets, a grin of superiority on our faces when we pass the tourists in their shorts. We display our condescension like castle owners who tolerate photographs of their fiefdom before escorting them to the exit. Although we remain available to help direct lost vacationers, we keep, behind our smiles, the alert eye of people in a hurry who are permanently squinting at their cell phones. And that attitude gives us the importance we lack the rest of the year. Excuse this little quirk that I confess with shame and let me deliver the latest updates.

  We can no longer ask William to visit David. Family events have now overlapped with the journey of our book and I think our friend needs to take a step back from our search. So I will go myself, and I beg you to come with me to the Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone prison.

  I know you will shake your head reading these words, but I also sense, despite everything, your indulgent smile … Oh yes, I observed you during those few days in Lozère and I believe you are no longer the same since you opened my original package. You spent those few days with us without visibly suffering from our presence. You spoke of your illness when you didn’t have to. And you confided in me, on the last day, about the happiness you felt from our conversations.

  A man who has rediscovered the taste for life because he has rediscovered his manuscript … Nothing is trivial, Sylvestre, as you know, and I sense you are prepared today to move heaven and earth to discover your book’s journey over the last thirty years. So I hope to have your support as I enter the doors of the Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone penitentiary. You are up to the task of this new challenge, I am sure of it.

  I just have to tell Julian that I am leaving. I’m waiting to receive the response to my visit request before I face his incomprehension yet again. Two days ago, he asked me for the hundredth time why I refused to give up my share of the business (which is very small, don’t get too excited) to my cousin. He even brought up what we could offer Katia and Matthias with the money from the sale! Sometimes I am surprised to find that this man, with whom I’ve shared my life for twenty-six years, is still astonished by my decisions and my stubbornness. Are couples always so poorly matched? Is it possible for each person in a pair to still possess, after more than two decades, a total ignorance of the other?

  As for you, dear Sylvestre, don’t leave me hanging; get ready for our trip to the South in order to spare your friend from facing the agonies of her first visit to prison alone.

  Thanking you in advance for your support in this ordeal,

  Your cellmate,

  Anne-Lise

  from Anne-Lise to William

  RUE DES MORILLONS, AUGUST 12, 2016

  Dear William,

  I received a letter from Maggy this morning. I sense some bitterness and I think you should write to her as quickly as possible. Why haven’t you already? She is annoyed that she didn’t hear from you before I did and I don’t want our friendship to suffer from misplaced jealousy. And please, dear William, don’t ever reveal our private conversations about her, because when I look around, I see I don’t have enough friends to be able to sacrifice one … Not even for the best of motives.

  As for you, I can only imagine what a son must feel upon discovering his mother’s romantic affair when there had never been any reason to suspect such a thing. The news must be all the more difficult to learn since it has arrived too late for you to be able to get any kind of explanation from her. But it’s a private matter and we should forgive those close to us for missteps similar to those we have experienced or that we are still experiencin
g … And, most importantly, my dear William, don’t lose sight of the fact that what awakens a sleeping heart is worth the effort. I know you understand what I’m saying …

  Of course, I don’t feel authorized to discuss this with Maggy or Sylvestre as I usually do. And so I leave you the task of informing them (or not) of these discoveries concerning your parents.

  I impatiently wait to hear from you.

  Your friend,

  Anne-Lise

  P.S. My cousin Bastien is still alive as of today—surprising, isn’t it? But I have compiled a list of discreet elimination tactics in a red folder that I labeled “Save”! So keep an eye on the news! Our next disagreement could indeed be spread on the front page of the Parisian papers …

  from William to Anne-Lise

  BELLE POELLE, AUGUST 16, 2016

  Dear Anne-Lise,

  I found it! After running from the basement to the attic and emptying everything that resembled a chest, I had abandoned all hope and was wandering from one room to another interrogating each object with my gaze as if it might have the power to reveal my mother’s hidden life. Until I noticed her sewing basket, placed near the old leather armchair. It was originally my grandmother’s, and you might have noticed it during your stay here. It’s made of dark wood and opens to reveal treasures of multicolored threads, sequins of all sizes, and thimbles that have gone through the years without being any worse for wear.

  When I was a child, I called it the treasure chest, and I would spend entire hours sorting the buttons while my grandmother knit near the fire.

  This morning, it was so obvious; I unfolded the three levels of the box and I saw the corner of an envelope peeking out from under the tape measures. I pulled it out. It was actually a bundle. There were thirteen letters. All from him.

  Would you believe me if I told you that I cried reading them? Probably. This is what David wrote in his last letter:

  My love,

  I told my friends that I would stop everything. I declared that I was officially abandoning this life and that nothing could make me change my mind, even if I had to clean floors or build walls out of cinder blocks eight hours a day to make us enough money to live. Nothing is more important to me—knowing that we will grow old together. Since you told me yes, I can’t sleep anymore, I can’t eat anymore, I can’t live anymore … I simply wait for you.

  I fixed up our escape den in the location you know and I moved my things there as well as the money we will live off of for a short time. These are my own savings; every dollar was earned honestly. Don’t worry about anything, I bought that house and I know we will be happy there. You can come here as soon as you’ve spoken to your son. Tomorrow I’ll slip the key into your mailbox, and all the property deeds are in your name. I want for you to feel at home. We will see each other Sunday during the family meal and I will give you that incredible book that describes so well what I feel for you …

  See you very soon,

  David

  These words were written five days before his arrest. I will never know how my mother responded, but it is clear that she was going to leave with him and that everything was organized for their escape. They don’t mention my father. Did he know something or would he have found out after the fact? And what about that house that David bought for them to escape to? Do you think he sold the property when he got out of prison? Did my mother go there alone to mourn her lost love? Finally, the book he mentions has to be Sylvestre’s, don’t you think? Since last night, all these questions have hammered at my mind like voodoo incantations.

  But don’t worry, I’m a big boy and after a brief, legitimate shock, I am now taking a much-needed step back. If I suffer, it’s above all for my mother, when I imagine the hardship she must have experienced when David was arrested. Imagine, I suspected nothing of her despair when her beloved was incarcerated for several years … now I understand the changes that happened at that time. I had sensed a sadness that invaded my parents’ home and I, caught up in my own worries, hadn’t given it much thought.

  You will see that I am an egotistical being, Anne-Lise, far from the voyager with the dreamy gaze that hosted you in Lozère. The past is catching up to me and reveals to you a man his loved ones could never count on, a person ready to flee when his family is in turmoil. Believe me, I regret it. That’s why I haven’t written to Maggy. I am not proud of the memories I hide behind this high-roller bon vivant persona, and I would never dare to impose them on a woman who, I sense, is in search of serenity and authenticity.

  So I will go back to London, where I will stay for several months awaiting winter and the obligations that will then take me to Japan. I know how much you liked that region of Lozère; the keys are with my neighbors and you are free to hide away there whenever you like. Consider that house yours …

  I’ve spoken only of myself, but I haven’t forgotten Sylvestre. His manuscript is currently mixed up with my family history and that discourages me from accompanying you to meet David. Nevertheless, let me know if you find Waldo.

  I have to tell you the truth now: despite your secrecy, Anne-Lise, I know what you do, I know the truth … I did a bit of research when I came back from Maggy’s and what I discovered has allowed me to understand your stubborn persistence to help Sylvestre.

  Hoping you reach the end of the road,

  Your friend,

  William

  from Anne-Lise to William

  RUE DES MORILLONS, AUGUST 18, 2016

  Dear William,

  You’ve just discovered a secret part of your mother’s life and I can tell you’re unsettled by it. But at the time, you had your own boat to steer and even the most attentive son wouldn’t have been able to imagine such an affair. By the way, if you had, what would you have done? Rushed to the aid of your mother who had lost her great love? Supported your father who had just learned that his wife was going to flee with a reformed thief? Would you have preferred to tear yourself between the two and add your suffering to their own?

  No. You acted in the way that was best for your parents, who had no need for you to be involved in that private affair. At least, that’s my humble opinion on the matter, and I am amazed to see you accuse yourself of wrongdoing, describing a William Grant who is cowardly and wishy-washy.

  So this morning, reading you blame yourself this way, I had the strange feeling that you were toying with my ability to solve mysteries. I reread your letter, between the lines as they say, and I feel that your self-critique is alluding to parts of your existence that I still don’t know about. Unless you’re referring to this life change that you mentioned in passing in Lozère?

  You told us you were a literature professor in England before abandoning “everything” “from one day to the next” to become an international poker player … At my age, I understand that the expression “from one day to the next” leaves unsaid what happened between the two days, and it’s clear that the night that separates these days was heavy with reflections and uncertainty!

  You notice that we have the decency to not ask about “everything” that you have gotten rid of …

  So, my dear William, be generous enough to finish the story and tell me what a friend needs to know in order to judge you appropriately! And you can count on me to do so with conviction if you truly deserve it.

  As of today, I’m refusing to say that you are awful because of past mistakes that I know nothing about! So I’ll wait for your indictment and, if you blame yourself, do it with eloquence and supporting evidence …

  Awaiting your misdeeds,

  Your friend (until further notice),

  Anne-Lise

  P.S. I don’t know where you are and I’m trying my luck by sending this to you in London, but if you go back to Lozère anytime soon, you will notice that Maggy left behind a drawing for her next book that she would like to have sent back to her. Don’t read into this too much, she really is that absentminded: I too have found some of her drawings in my bathroom and, when I go to her
house, we spend a considerable amount of time each day chasing down her keys or her bag, as you must have experienced during your stay in Finistère …

  P.P.S. You know who I am and I am delighted. I don’t hide this information, it’s just that I keep quiet about it—and I know that you will appreciate the difference.

  from Sylvestre to Anne-Lise

  LES CHAYETS, AUGUST 18, 2016

  If my calculations are correct, you will receive this note on Saturday. I can see you already, reading my letter, lost in the contemplation of the park opposite your apartment, a cup of coffee in your hand, savoring the surrounding calm with each sip. I know you Parisians don’t understand the meaning of the word “silence,” but I was touched by your determination in Lozère to get up at dawn and take advantage of the early morning quiet.

  Are you serious? You’re inviting me to prison? As casually as when you dragged me through the Cévennes forests … At risk of surprising you, I will not say no. I am ready to come with you to meet this David who specializes in bank heists (admit that I have astonished you).

  But I have to warn you that I will be away for the next few days. I’m leaving tomorrow to see my daughter. It is impossible for me to reschedule this, because this is part of her annual vacation. Yes, you read that correctly: I will brave the airport crowds, the agony of the flying coffin, and the terror that foreign faces inspire in me. I am taking the big leap. I am focusing on Coralie’s joy when she learned that her father would finally visit her in her adopted home. She is aware of the effort I am making and I will not disappoint her. For the second time, I will cross the ocean with my manuscript beneath my arms, but this time, it will be to have my daughter read it (and I will keep it within hand’s reach for the entire trip, no risk of abandoning it beneath a seat even though it’s now saved on three different USB drives) …