Hector and the Search for Lost Time

by Francois Lelord

  HECTOR AND ÉDOUARD ARE GOOD FRIENDS

  HECTOR had known Édouard since school, and Hector remembered that, even back then, Édouard had always been in a great rush to do everything. In class, he would finish his schoolwork before anyone else and, since he got good marks, that annoyed the other pupils a little, and sometimes even the teachers, who would say, ‘Édouard, stop discouraging your classmates.’ Later, Édouard went off to study to become an engineer and build bridges or launch rockets, but, in the end, he didn’t become an engineer – he started working in a bank. One day, Hector had asked him why he had chosen this job, because, for Hector, bridges or rockets seemed more interesting.

  ‘I don’t want to wait,’ Édouard had said. ‘Might as well get rich quick. After that, I’ll have time to figure out what I want to do.’

  Édouard did complicated calculations with money, for example to work out if people should buy pieces of big companies or not. Thanks to his calculations, he made people who were already rich a lot of money, and didn’t do too badly out of it himself either. Édouard often changed jobs, because he got bored quite quickly when he stayed too long in the same bank or in the same country. It was a bit like that with his girlfriends. But, once or twice, he’d been very, very badly hurt, because sometimes it’s only after you have broken up with someone that you realise that you really love them. But by then it’s too late, and the nights are very long, even if you wish away the hours until morning when you can call them. Still, Édouard had found time to get married and have two children, but he’d also got divorced. And now he only saw his children occasionally.

  The last time Hector and Édouard had seen each other was in China, the very place where they had both met the old monk. Or, rather, Hector had met the old monk and introduced him to Édouard, because the greatest gift you can give someone is to introduce them to someone new. And Édouard had often gone to visit the old monk in his monastery to talk to him.

  After a while, Édouard had even ended up getting bored with money. He’d realised that he was rich enough as it was, and that now he wanted to do something useful for others. He started working for a big organisation which sent people like him to help people all over the world who were quite poor (but not necessarily unhappy). Hector was very glad, because he had a feeling that this new job might finally make Édouard happy. As soon as he’d read the story in the newspaper, he’d sent a message over the internet to Édouard to ask if he had any news about someone they both knew. (Hector was very careful not to say ‘old monk’ or his name in Chinese, because if his disappearance was that important it was better to be discreet.) Édouard had twigged straight away and had written back:

  Come and see me, my friend. We’ll be able to talk more easily. Here, time has a different meaning. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel as if I’m in a rush any more.

  And, besides, some people around here could really do with a good psychiatrist sometimes. Anyway, speak soon.

  At the bottom of the message was the name of the place where Édouard was staying. It was so far north on earth that almost all maps stopped just short of it. Well, anyway, it was the land of the Eskimos, or rather, some Eskimos, because, in the same way that for American Indians there are Iroquois, Apaches, Hurons, Mohicans, Arapawash and Algonquians (Little Hector knew lots of others besides), so there are several kinds of Eskimo, or rather Inuit, because that’s what you’re supposed to call them now, ever since well-meaning but rather badly informed people thought, and made everyone else think, that ‘Eskimo’ was not a nice word.

  Hector thought that this would be a lovely trip for him and Clara, and helpful too. Going on a trip would perhaps be good for Clara, who had seemed a little sad lately.

  But when Clara saw the place where Édouard was staying on the map Hector had eventually found, she shivered and said no, no way, she didn’t want to go and freeze to death up there. Hector was worried, because he’d decided always to travel with Clara from now on to avoid getting up to mischief.

  He saw that Clara was looking at him, and then she said with a little smile, ‘At least, in cold like that, I don’t think there’s much chance of you getting up to any mischief!’

  But, all the same, Clara’s smile was a little sad, and Hector vowed not to get up to mischief ever again.

  Will he manage? You’ll just have to keep reading . . .

  HECTOR AND THE LITTLE BUBBLES

  THE last leg of Hector’s journey was on the smallest plane he’d ever been on. You couldn’t stand upright to go to the toilet and, besides, there were no toilets. Sitting in his seat, he could also see the pilot, or rather the back of a big anorak and a big furry hat. It almost looked as if a bear was flying the plane! What’s more, Hector was dressed the same way: he’d bought all his clothes from a list that Édouard had sent him with some rather odd things on it, like silk liner socks and an anorak made out of the same material as the spacesuits of the astronauts who had gone to the moon, and black goggles that looked like the ones you put on when you go to the swimming pool.

  Outside, you couldn’t see anything, except the pitch-black night and the snowflakes as they landed on the windowpane. Hector was sitting beside the only other passenger: a big American man with huge hands who was coming back to this bitterly cold country to drill little holes very deep down into the ice to find out what the air was like a long, long time ago. Someone else in search of time! thought Hector.

  ‘There are little bubbles of air in the ice,’ explained the big American, ‘air from hundreds of thousands of years ago.’

  He was talking very loudly to make himself heard over the noise of the engine, and Hector was getting earache from listening to him. Also, he hadn’t caught the big American man’s name the first time round and he didn’t dare ask him again.

  ‘So, what do all these little bubbles tell you?’ said Hector.

  ‘That the air was cleaner before!’ said the big American, and burst out laughing.

  Then he leant over to pull something out of his bag.

  ‘Talking of bubbles . . .’ he said.

  Hector couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw what the big American had pulled out of his bag: a bottle of champagne!

  ‘I brought it for a special occasion,’ he explained. ‘But, up there, no one knows how to drink it. They like stronger stuff. Better to drink it with you – at least you’ll appreciate it!’

  Hector had a feeling that he and the big American were going to become very good friends, as soon as he caught his name, that is. The pilot heard the pop of the cork and turned round. This was no bear, but a very pretty woman with ice-blue eyes who looked as if she wouldn’t take any nonsense. What’s more, she shouted, ‘No drinking on my plane!’ But the big American showed her the bottle of champagne and held out a plastic cup for her, and then she smiled. She had a very beautiful smile, pure like snow. Hector thought very hard about Clara. Luckily, the pretty pilot only let them pour her half a cup, perhaps just to be polite, and then she turned round to concentrate on flying the plane for the rest of the journey.

  Anyway, Hector was glad to have drunk all that champagne before landing, since it wasn’t exactly a normal landing: the plane touched down on the ice on runners a bit like skis, and it really was quite bumpy and made a sliding noise, which was a little disconcerting.

  ‘Phew!’ said the big American. ‘I’ll never get used to that.’

  Hector had finally learnt the American’s name: Hilton. Like the name of a hotel. After a few cups of champagne, he had even jokingly asked Hilton, ‘But, Hilton, what happened to your friends Hyatt and Marriott?’

  Hilton had only laughed half-heartedly, and afterwards Hector had told himself he was an idiot, because Hilton must have had to listen to a lot of jokes like that from his schooldays onwards.

  The door of the plane opened and he remembered that, once, he’d gone to a very hot countr
y. When the door of the plane had opened, it had been a little like opening the oven door to check if the roast is done. Well, here, it was like opening the freezer door or even falling right into the freezer.

  Also, it was still dark outside, and all you could see were the lights laid out on the ice, no doubt to guide the plane.

  ‘Hector!’ someone called.

  Then Hector caught sight of his great friend Édouard, also dressed like a bear, arriving on a snowmobile and waving to him.

  Later, sitting behind Édouard as they skimmed along, Hector thought to himself that this was a nice image for time going by: a snowmobile zooming through the Arctic night.

  HECTOR IS COLD

  THE camp was made up of several very modern tents, and people from different countries lived in them – Hilton and his team of bubble researchers, the pretty pilot when she couldn’t set off again straight away in her little plane, and also Édouard.

  ‘Over there, in the distance, that’s the Inuit village,’ said Édouard.

  Hector could make out some faint lights in the dark. The effects of the champagne had begun to wear off and Hector wondered what on earth he was doing in such a cold place, so far from his bed and Clara. Every minute began to seem like an hour to him. Another new experience with time, he thought, but this one was rather painful.

  In the not-very-well-lit tent, Hector felt a little better as he listened to Édouard explain things.

  ‘We didn’t set up too close to the village so that we wouldn’t interfere with their way of life. But, of course, we help them, with medical check-ups for example, and we find ways for them to buy and sell, but at fair prices.’

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ asked Hector.

  ‘Once a banker, always a banker,’ said Édouard, laughing.

  This was Édouard’s new job: he had organised a way for the Eskimos to sell furs but at good prices for them. He had also asked his organisation to lend them some money so that they could buy themselves snowmobiles and pay them off little by little.

  ‘In any case, their way of life is going to disappear, just like it has for other tribes. Now they want snowmobiles and modern medicine for themselves and their babies, but with my system it’s progressive. They still keep their identity as hunters, they learn how much things cost, they don’t get ripped off and they don’t end up living on handouts either.’

  Édouard explained that, at one time, white people passing through here would agree to trade a knife with the Inuit in exchange for a pile of fox furs as high as the knife standing on its end!

  ‘These poor people were so badly exploited,’ said Édouard. ‘The only luck they had, compared to the American Indians, is that since no one wanted to settle on their land they were never massacred.’

  Édouard poured Hector a little more coffee. Hector thought that Édouard had really changed: before, every time they met, he’d always served Hector wonderful wine.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ said Édouard. ‘Time to go to bed, otherwise you’ll be exhausted tomorrow, and, here, the first rule is to keep yourself in good shape.’

  Hector realised that he didn’t know what time of day it was any more and, looking at his watch, he didn’t know if it was midday or midnight.

  Édouard explained that this was perfectly normal, what with the time difference between Hector’s country and here, and then the journey in the little plane at night.

  ‘All right,’ said Hector, ‘but what about the old monk?’

  ‘The old monk?!’ asked Édouard with a look of surprise.

  The old monk hadn’t even entered his head when Hector had asked for news of someone they both knew! Édouard had thought that Hector was talking about a nice Chinese girl they had met over in China. Back then, she’d been in quite a bad situation, but Hector and Édouard had managed to get her out of it. And now Édouard could reassure Hector that Ying Li (that was what the nice Chinese girl was called) was still doing well, so much so that she’d just had her second baby with a husband who loved her. She was happy, and what more could you wish for anyone?

  Hector was glad to hear the good news about Ying Li, but it wasn’t a lot of help to him in finding the old monk. Édouard told him that he also usually exchanged messages with the old monk over the internet, but for a while now the old monk hadn’t replied to his messages, which had never happened before. Hector was upset. What if the old monk really was dead after all?

  The camp bed was comfortable, but as soon as the lights went out Hector knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep because of the coffee. If he’d known it was night-time, he wouldn’t have had it! Édouard was one of those people who could drink coffee without having any trouble sleeping (and who could drink too many bottles of wine without ever getting a headache).

  As time began to pass very, very slowly once again, Hector started thinking things over.

  HECTOR AND THE PRESENT WHICH DOESN’T EXIST

  ACTUALLY, Hector didn’t really think things over – he just let his memories wash over him, and they came back to the surface like bubbles on a big pond filled with champagne, coffee and a kind of sleep which never quite turned into proper sleep. Strangely, it was his years at school which came flooding back to him, probably because minutes had seemed like hours back then too, a bit like they did for Little Hector now. Apart from with some very interesting or funny teachers, Hector had been very bored at school, and he remembered that whenever he looked at his watch, in the hope that at least ten minutes had gone by, only three minutes had, a little like now when he opened one eye to look at the luminous numbers on his watch.

  All this proved was that how time felt depended a lot on what was happening to you or what you were doing. If you were doing interesting things, it went by faster. At the same time, Hector remembered that all those hours spent at school seemed like nothing at all in his memory, as if they had taken up a very short space of time, even though they had actually taken many years. On the other hand, thinking back, some holidays seemed to have lasted a very long time, as if he’d spent years playing at the seaside or in the countryside when there were still cornflowers and poppies. That reminded him of a saying he’d heard at school: ‘The strenuous life makes hours seem short and memories long.’

  All this brought up a big question that Hector remembered as much about as he did about special relativity: does time exist outside us? And what if our whole life was just a dream? But, in that case, who is dreaming and where is he sleeping? And if we were really just someone else’s dream, wouldn’t that also work the other way round? Did our dreams recount the lives of people who existed somewhere?

  By asking himself these sorts of questions, Hector fell asleep and started dreaming (or, rather, reliving a memory in his dream). He was in his office with Madame Irina. Madame Irina was a clairvoyant who had first come to see him because one day she’d realised she could no longer ‘see’. Hector didn’t quite know what to make of clairvoyance. All he knew was that there was no explanation which fitted with today’s scientific thinking, but, after all, only two centuries ago there hadn’t been an explanation for where lightning came from or how babies were made either.

  So Hector had just helped Madame Irina through the deep depression she had experienced after a man she loved very much had left her. And, after a little while, Madame Irina had begun to ‘see’ again. And afterwards, like quite a few others, she came back to see Hector from time to time to take stock of things. One day, Hector had asked Madame Irina if she could see the future.

  ‘What does “the future” mean to you?’

  Hector thought to himself that Madame Irina was beginning to talk like him.

  ‘Things that haven’t happened yet. Tomorrow. Next year. What happens after the present.’

  ‘Doctor, you know very well that the present doesn’t exist,’ said Madame Irina. ‘There’s only the past and
the future. As soon as you think of the present, it’s already in the past. So what I’ve just told you now is already in the past.’

  ‘And that doesn’t exist any longer either,’ said Hector, ‘because it’s in the past.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Madame Irina. ‘And, since the future hasn’t happened yet, it doesn’t exist either.’

  Hector thought that if you demonstrated (as he’d just done with Madame Irina) that neither the present, the past nor the future existed, it soon made you wonder whether you yourself existed. It was a little alarming. So he asked a question.

  ‘All right, but what do you “see”? The future?’

  Madame Irina thought for a moment.

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Doctor . . . Often, I don’t know what I’m seeing. Some images, some feelings, but I don’t always know if these relate to my clients’ past or their future. That I manage to work out by asking them questions.’

  ‘And are there times when you don’t see anything at all?’

  ‘Of course. Seeing isn’t something you can do to order. When I don’t see anything, I tell my client straight out, and I suggest another appointment. Or else I muddle through,’ said Madame Irina, smiling.