Hector gave the squirrel a piece of squid, and it went off to nibble it at a safe distance. Hector didn’t know how to read a squirrel’s smile, but he had the feeling that the squirrel was quite happy.
And then he looked at Agnès, who had managed to help the professor recover his good mood, and thought again of Djamila, who was happy for her younger brothers, and Ying Li, who sent money to her family, and Marie-Louise’s cousin, who had given him that nice surprise. And he made a note:Lesson no. 22: Women care more than men about making others happy.
He didn’t know whether Rupert had already discovered this difference between men and women, but Hector didn’t need Rosalyn’s machine to know that it was true.
And so might the next lesson be:Lesson no. 23: Happiness means making sure that those around you are happy?
HECTOR RETRACES HIS STEPS
‘YOU’VEdone a fine job,’ said the old monk.
He was sitting behind his desk reading Hector’s list. He had put on a little pair of glasses, and looked even smaller and older than Hector remembered, but he still looked just as contented.
Hector had copied out his list again after adding on the final lessons, because you couldn’t show a rough draft covered in crossings out and nonsensical squiggles to a venerable, kind old monk.
Out of the window, you could still see the magnificent Chinese mountains, occasionally darkened by the shadows of the clouds then dazzling in the sunlight, and Hector thought that seeing the mountains like that every day must help you in some measure to be wise.
The old monk read the list very attentively, and this had a strange effect on Hector. Because the old monk had obviously experienced many more things than he had. And during all his years as a monk he’d also had a lot of time to reflect. And yet he was reading Hector’s little lessons on happiness so attentively. Hector wondered whether he himself was capable of reading so attentively the letters his patients sent him, or even those written to him by people he loved.
That could be another lesson: Be very attentive towards others.
The old monk stopped reading. He asked Hector to show him his notebook, because he also wanted to see the rough draft. Hector hesitated, and began to say, ‘Do you really think . . .’ but the old monk laughed, still holding out his hand, and Hector passed him the notebook.
The old monk examined the rough draft. From time to time he smiled, not in a mocking way, as previously mentioned, but because he was genuinely happy. Hector thought to himself that the old monk must have a good way of looking at things, one of the ways that make you happy.
Finally, he stopped reading and asked Hector what it was he had crossed out so thoroughly. Hector felt embarrassed, he didn’t really want to tell a monk, but the old monk insisted and so Hector said, ‘Lesson no. 18: Happiness could be the freedom to love more than one woman at the same time.’
The old monk roared with laughter.
‘That’s what I thought when I was a young man!’
He closed the notebook, looked at the list again and then he said, ‘You really have done a fine job. All your lessons are very good. I have nothing to add.’
Hector was pleased but at the same time a little disappointed. He’d been hoping the old monk would provide him with a few more lessons, or at least a good theory about happiness.
The old monk looked at him again, smiling, and added, ‘It’s a beautiful day, let’s go for a walk.’
Outside, the scenery was magnificent. They could see mountains, sea, sky.
Hector felt a little daunted being on his own with the venerable old monk, and he didn’t really know what to say. But at the same time, he sensed that the old monk wasn’t expecting him to say anything particularly intelligent or wise, that he simply wanted to share this immense beauty with him.
The old monk said, ‘True wisdom would be the ability to live without this scenery, to be the same person even at the bottom of a well. But that, it has to be said, is not so easy.’
And Hector understood that he’d experienced this, at the bottom of a well.
For a moment, they watched the clouds, the sun and the wind play over the mountains. Hector wondered whether this wasn’t another lesson: Take time to observe the beauty of the world.
Just then, a young monk came up the little path towards them. He said something in Chinese to the old monk, and went back down to the monastery gardens, where you could see other monks gardening (a special type of gardening that looks easy, but is difficult to explain).
‘Well,’ said the old monk, ‘there’s a visitor waiting for me. But I’m glad that we’ve been able to spend a little time together.’
Ever since he’d arrived, Hector had been longing to ask a question, and now he took the plunge.
‘The first time we met, you said to me: it’s a mistake to think that happiness is the goal. I’m not sure I understand.’
‘I was referring to the goals which you in your civilisation are so good at setting yourselves, and which incidentally allow you to achieve many interesting things. But happiness is a different thing altogether. If you try to achieve it, you have every chance of failing. And besides, how would you ever know that you’d achieved it? Of course one can’t blame people, especially unhappy people, for wanting to be happier and setting themselves goals in order to try to escape from their unhappiness.’
‘Do you mean that the same lessons don’t apply to everybody?’
The old monk looked at Hector and said, ‘Do you tell all your patients the same thing?’
Hector thought for a moment and said that he didn’t, that it depended on their character, on whether they were young or old, on whether they’d experienced true unhappiness or not.
‘There you are, you see,’ the old monk said. ‘It’s the same thing.’
Then Hector thought about it a little more and said that although he didn’t tell all his patients the same thing, even so there were certain basic principles that he often returned to, especially with people who were sad or scared: he helped them distinguish between what they thought, about themselves and others, and reality. Because they tended to believe that what they thought was reality and that was often not the case.
‘There you go, it’s still the same thing. Let’s go back now.’
He walked back towards the monastery, and Hector followed, wondering what he’d meant.
When they reached the entrance to the monastery, the old monk told him to wait there for a moment, as he had something to give him. A Chinese man was waiting and Hector realised that this was the visitor the young monk had come to tell the old monk about earlier. But the man wasn’t dressed like a monk, more like someone from the city, in a suit and tie.
On this trip, Hector had formed the habit of talking to people he didn’t know. And so he introduced himself to the Chinese man, who spoke better English than Hector. They realised that they were both doctors, and that the Chinese man was a specialist, like the ones mentioned earlier but not named so as not to worry you.
The old monk returned. He was holding two beautiful blue and white Chinese bowls with a pretty design on them. He said to Hector, ‘They are wedding bowls. You may give them away . . . or keep them.’
And he gave his little laugh again and then said goodbye to Hector.
On the doorstep, Hector turned around and saw the old monk and the Chinese doctor looking at him, and the old monk gave him a last smile and raised his hand to wave at him, and it reminded him of Djamila.
Outside, it was still a beautiful day, but Hector felt a little sad.
He stopped to put the Chinese bowls in his bag. He didn’t want to risk them breaking. Between the two bowls was a tiny scrap of paper. On it was written: 20-13-10.
Hector took out his little notebook and read:Lesson no. 20: Happiness is a certain way of seeing things.
Lesson no. 13: Happiness is feeling useful to others.
Lesson no. 10: Happiness is doing a job you love.
Hector told himself that these we
re quite good lessons. For him in any case.
HECTOR INVENTS THE GAME OF THE FIVE FAMILIES
‘CALIFORNIAN, French or Chilean?’
‘Which do you prefer?’
Hector and Édouard were in that fine restaurant where you could see the city lights shining and the boats in the bay, and they were talking as though they’d seen each other only yesterday, which is how it is between real friends.
While they were waiting for the Chinese wine waiter, Édouard asked Hector whether he had learnt anything that might be useful to him, Édouard. Hector had noticed that Édouard looked pleased to see him again, but not especially happy, just as before. He thought that he might be able to help him with some good advice.
‘Well, to start with, there are various types of happiness. Let’s call them families of happiness.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Édouard, ‘but what are they?’
‘Let’s say there are five families. First, two families of exciting happiness and two families of calm happiness. Exciting happiness is joy, celebration, travelling, being in bed with a woman you desire.’
‘Ah, I know that kind of happiness! And does it include this?’ he asked, pointing at the bottle which the Chinese wine waiter had just brought.
Hector said that it did, of course, and he told him about the brains of the Japanese men who’d drunk saké, and that it was like seeing the brain smile. Édouard didn’t say anything, but Hector could see that it had made him think.
‘The second family of exciting happiness is doing a job you like, wanting to attain a goal. This could be in your work, but also in sport or gardening or even thinking about a complicated calculation if that’s what you like.’
He explained to Édouard how Alan liked running and doing calculations, and how Jean-Michel loved doing his job, which was caring for sick children and mothers, and how excited the professor became when he tried to understand happiness.
‘Hmm,’ said Édouard, ‘I feel some of that happiness when I’m working on an interesting acquisition and I manage to convince the client. But it doesn’t excite me much any more . . .’
‘And then there are the two families of calm happiness. The first is simply feeling contented and wanting that to last. That’s when you make comparisons and discover that you’re happy as you are by comparison with others or with your own past. Or when you don’t compare yourself with anything at all!’
He told him about Agnès, who compared herself now to how she’d been before and thought that she’d never been as happy, even though things weren’t perfect. He told him about the children in Marie-Louise’s country who weren’t old enough yet to make comparisons.
‘That doesn’t work for me,’ replied Édouard, ‘I’m always comparing myself to others.’
‘To people who’ve earned six million dollars?’
‘Yes, and when I’ve earned six million, to people who’ve earned twenty million.’
‘It’s a particular way of seeing things,’ said Hector. ‘You don’t compare yourself to the women on the oilcloth?’
‘Alas, no! I compare myself to people like me.’
He tasted the wine and said, ‘Not bad, but I prefer the ’76 we had last time. And the second family of calm happiness?’
‘Just that. It’s a certain way of seeing things. Cultivating your serenity and keeping hold of it whatever happens, even in the face of your own death.’
Édouard turned pale.
‘You think I’m going to die soon?’
‘No, of course not; I was speaking generally.’
And he told him about Djamila on the plane and about the old monk on the mountain.
Édouard listened very attentively to Hector. And then he said that he understood why he didn’t feel very happy.
‘Partying doesn’t interest me like it did before, my job occasionally excites me, but, as I’ve already told you, I don’t really like it. I constantly compare myself to people who have more than I do. And on top of that I don’t feel in the slightest bit serene. I get irritated as soon as things don’t go the way I want.’
‘There’s a fifth family of happiness.’
‘Ah, perhaps that’s my last chance . . .’
‘It is happiness that comes from others: friendship, mutual love, caring about other people’s happiness or unhappiness, feeling useful to others.’
‘That can also be a great source of unhappiness!’ said Édouard. ‘People let you down, your friends betray you. As for love, you sometimes get badly hurt.’
This reminded Hector that Édouard must have been in love, but that it can’t have gone well.
‘That’s true, but being with other people and their imperfections can also bring serenity, the happiness of the fourth family. And besides, you can feel useful to others without necessarily expecting gratitude and still be happy.’
Édouard looked at Hector.
‘You sound like a monk.’
This made Hector laugh. And suddenly he wondered whether he wasn’t starting to laugh like the old monk. So he added, ‘I’m going to prove to you that it isn’t true, that I don’t yet sound entirely like a monk.’
And he asked Édouard for news of Ying Li.
You were expecting this, of course. Hector couldn’t come back to China just to talk to the old monk and Édouard, and not bother about Ying Li any more!
Édouard told him that Ying Li was still working at the bar with the soft lighting, and that he saw her from time to time. Once, she had asked him about Hector.
‘I’m not sure I should have told you that,’ said Édouard.
Of course he should, though at the same time Hector felt a pang when he imagined Ying Li asking about him.
It hasn’t been mentioned for a while, but Hector had never really stopped thinking about Ying Li — in fact he thought about her several times a day and when he woke up in the night. To begin with, he’d thought of saving Ying Li from her job and taking her to his country, because those are the two things you want to do most when you love somebody: to save them (sometimes from themselves) and to be near them always. After that, Hector had had time to reflect when he was in the storeroom that smelt of dead rat, and he’d realised how much he loved Clara. And then later, he’d sort of become his own psychiatrist and had examined his love for Ying Li. He knew his love for her was more a desire to save her, to be her superhero, and it was partly a desire to do what people who are in love do, and partly a desire to feel young again with her, because Ying Li was very young, and she looked even younger.
Hector had seen quite a few love affairs like that in his life and in his work, and he knew that they didn’t always turn out very well. In his country, Ying Li would be incapable of doing anything without him, he would constantly be saving her, and it wasn’t necessarily the best thing for love, even though it was often very exciting at the beginning.
Hector had thought about all of this, but more than anything, as previously mentioned, he had realised that it was Clara he loved, and that he loved her in many different ways. (Because there are even more ways of loving than there are ways of being happy, but it would take another book to explain them all.)
And so Hector said to Édouard, ‘I’m going to introduce you to the fifth family of happiness. Do you have your mobile with you?’
Of course he did. Édouard always had his mobile with him and he gave it to Hector.
And so Hector phoned Eduardo.
HECTOR’S JOURNEY IS A GREAT SUCCESS
HECTOR had returned to his country and had gone back to being a psychiatrist. But his trip had changed his way of working quite a lot.
He still gave pills to people who needed them, and he still tried to help people get better using psychotherapy. But he had incorporated a new method into his psychotherapy.
For example, when a well-dressed lady-a lady who always looked very stern like a wicked schoolmistress — complained that nobody liked her, Hector began telling her about the little children begging,
who smiled all the time, and he asked the woman why she thought they smiled.
Or when a man came to see him who was always worried about his health although he had nothing seriously wrong with him, Hector told him the story of Djamila on the plane, who knew that she was going to die soon, and he asked the man why he thought she smiled and why she sometimes even felt happy.
He also told them about the old monk, the party at Marie-Louise’s house, Alan who liked doing calculations, the squirrel waiting for his fried squid and about many other things that had happened to him during his trip, and even things you haven’t been told about. But Hector never told them the endings of the stories, he always asked people to find out for themselves and this made them think and some of them came back the next time saying that they’d understood something very important.
To Adeline, who complained a lot about men, he told the story of how Agnès realised that she was happy. This didn’t work so well, because it irritated Adeline that Hector should waste time talking about some other woman rather than her. After which, she asked him whether Alan was a celebrity over there because of his puzzles, and Hector realised that there was still a lot of work to do.
He saw Roger and Madame Irina again, too.
Roger was very happy because those whose job it was to help people like him had signed him up to go on a pilgrimage. Perhaps Roger would need less medication during that period.
Madame Irina told him that she had only come to say goodbye, because she was able to see into the future again. She looked at Hector.
‘Oh, oh, Doctor, I can see that you were a bit naughty when you were in China.’
Hector replied that this wasn’t true at all, that on the contrary he had attained wisdom in China, but this made Madame Irina laugh.
Of course he hadn’t talked to her about Ying Li; in fact he never talked to anybody about Ying Li, except occasionally to Édouard on the telephone. Because Ying Li wasn’t working at the bar with soft lighting any more, she was working for Édouard, helping him with his projects at the bank. Édouard said that she was doing very well, because the advantage of being young is that you learn very fast, even when you’ve fallen behind as a child, as in Ying Li’s case.
Hector and the Search for Happiness Page 12