Hector and the Search for Lost Time

by Francois Lelord

  Current time at destination: 23:00

  Time remaining: 11 hours

  Estimated time of arrival: 10:00

  This reminded him of a very strange thing that mankind had only understood very late on: the time of day isn’t the same in different places in the world, because the earth is round and it spins round just in front of the sun, a little like a plumpish ballerina spinning in front of a wood fire. Midday is when you’re right in front of the sun, and so the different people in the world have to take it in turns, just as the ballerina can’t warm both sides of her body at the same time.

  In the toilet, Hector had an idea (he often had ideas in the toilet) – if there hadn’t been a clock on the plane, would he have been able to measure the passage of time? He could have worked it out from the time the air hostess served breakfast, lunch and dinner, or tried to see what the different landscapes the plane flew over looked like. But what if he’d been all by himself on the plane and all the blinds had been down, if he hadn’t been able to see anything moving inside or outside the plane, or if he’d locked himself in this toilet? Hector could have worked out the time by counting his heartbeats, but again that would have been because something was moving. And what if he’d been tied up and unable to take his own pulse, as doctors do? Even so, he would have been aware of time passing, by being aware of the thoughts running through his head. But, then again, that would have been because something was moving. It was actually tiny molecules firing in his brain. He told himself that he’d had a good think about things. He left the toilet, went back to his seat, took out his little notebook and wrote:

  Time Exercise No. 16: Concentrate and be aware that there’s no time without movement, and no movement without time. Time is a measure of movement.

  Hector reread what he’d written, but all of a sudden he couldn’t really understand what he’d meant any more. The thought had already moved on inside his head and wasn’t very clear now.

  Suddenly, he remembered what old François had said: ‘Time is the number of movement with respect to before and after. Aristotle.’ He had to read Aristotle, or rather reread him, because he remembered having read bits and pieces of him at school. He began to think things over again, but not for long because it was time for breakfast and the air hostess put a tray down in front of him with lots of nice food on it.

  Well, not that nice, because this time Hector was travelling in the cheapest part of the plane, and his knees were beginning to complain. He thought to himself that time was going to pass very slowly for him, a little like the night he’d spent in Édouard’s tent. But, wait! . . . He’d spend the time thinking about Clara and about all the things he could do when he got back to make her happier.

  HECTOR TALKS TO HIS NEIGHBOUR

  ON the plane, Hector was sitting beside a Chinese man with little round glasses who was reading a newspaper in Chinese. He was a very polite man – the first time his elbow had brushed against Hector’s, he’d taken it off the armrest straight away, and since Hector was quite polite too, he’d done the same thing, and now they were both keeping their elbows tucked into their sides, and the armrest between them remained empty. The Chinese man looked quite old, but Hector noticed he’d dyed his hair. So the fear-of-time-passing disease was indeed what doctors called a pandemic, which meant that it had spread all over the world. And they wouldn’t invent a vaccine for that overnight, thought Hector with a sigh.

  The air hostess came and asked him if he’d like prawns with noodles, or duck with vegetables. Hector chose the prawns, because he thought he would have been able to kill the prawns himself (you just had to take them out of the water), but definitely not a duck that is able to feel fear, joy and sadness, much like us. They can even follow you around like a little dog if you get one very early when it’s just hatched, whereas with prawns you’ll always be disappointed.

  The air hostess was pretty, but she looked a little grumpy, as if she’d had enough of her job and of asking people dozens of times: ‘Prawns or duck?’ Once again, Hector counted himself very lucky to have a job which was different every day. Because if ‘the strenuous life makes time seem short and years long’, on the other hand, the more you do a job that’s always the same, the more chance you have of getting bored, and the years will go by faster. He hoped that the air hostess would get a promotion, or that she would find a nice husband, or else a new job that would seem more exciting, at least at first.

  Hector also thought that he could take her mind off it by starting a conversation with her, but then he remembered Clara crying on his shoulder and he didn’t want to any more. This just proved yet again that even if the past doesn’t exist any longer, it leaves traces – so it still exists a little in the present. And inside Hector some traces bore Clara’s name.

  He glanced at the man’s newspaper in Chinese and what did he see? You’ve guessed it – another photo of the old monk laughing! But it was strange, because there was also another photo of him dressed as a monk, but it looked as if it had been taken a very long time ago, and he was surrounded by Chinese men and women dressed as in the olden days – a little like the people you see in The Blue Lotus, Hector’s favourite Tintin adventure.

  And yet, in the photo, the old monk looked almost as old as he was now. Must be a photo of his father, thought Hector.

  He asked the Chinese man very politely what the article said about the old monk, and the man answered in fairly good English that he’d disappeared.

  Hector said that he knew that already, that it had been in the newspapers in his country for a few days now, along with the big row between China and the other countries who said it was China’s fault that the old monk had disappeared.

  ‘Yes,’ said the Chinese man, ‘but there has been a new development.’

  He explained that for a long time everyone had thought the old monk was the son of another famous old monk, and then people realised that, no, the old monk wasn’t the son of the other old monk, but he was him, his father, or rather not his father since he didn’t have a son. To put it more clearly, it was the same old monk the whole time, not a father and his son. And as soon as people started to realise this and talk about it the old monk had disappeared.

  ‘And what age would that make him now?’ asked Hector.

  ‘A hundred and twenty, a hundred and thirty years old,’ said the Chinese man, looking at Hector through his little round glasses with a smile that was almost apologetic for saying such strange things to a Westerner.

  Hector understood why the old monk was so wise: he’d really had time to understand things properly.

  HECTOR AND THE SONG OF TIME

  HECTOR was back in the Chinese city at the foot of the mountain by the sea. Once again, he noticed the smell of the sea, the huge towers gleaming like razor blades – some new ones had sprung up since he’d last been there – and, of course, the mountain he had gone up one day on a little train, and where, as he’d walked up even higher, he had stumbled upon the old monk’s monastery.

  His hotel wasn’t the same one as last time. He had done this on purpose, because he didn’t want his room to bring back too many memories – like the nice Chinese girl, Ying Li, singing to herself in the bathroom in the morning. As a result, Hector felt a little lonely, because now his friend Édouard wasn’t in this city any more, but was with the Inuit, the old monk had disappeared, and he wondered if it was a good idea to call the only other person he knew in this city, who was, of course, Ying Li.

  He went out into the street and found himself in the middle of lots of Chinese men and women, nearly all dressed as if they were going to the office because it was early in the morning, and, also, it was a part of China where people worked a lot in offices and not at all in the fields. All these people looked as if they were in a great rush, and Hector came very close to being jostled on the pavements where everyone was a little tightly packed together. No doubt about
it, even though the people here might look a bit like the Inuit (after all, they were distant cousins), they had completely switched over to white man’s time, and now they too were up against the clock. On the other hand, it meant they earned a lot more money than the other Chinese people in China, and they were able to afford better apartments and to send their children to school for longer. This would later on allow these dear children, in turn, to earn more money, and so on . . . It seemed going back to Inuit time was truly impossible. Besides, even the Inuit wanted to leave it behind.

  At the foot of the huge towers, Hector found the tiny station again and the wooden carriages of the little train which went all the way up to the top of the mountain. There was still an old Chinese man in a cap who was selling tickets, and he smiled at Hector as if he recognised him. Hector waited on the little train until it was due to leave. When the time came, there was still no one else on board, but then two tourists appeared, and they came and sat down opposite him.

  They were old people who came from a country not far from Hector’s which still had a queen, and this Chinese city had belonged to her for quite a few years. They both had white hair like old François, their eyes were pale blue and they moved rather slowly like old people do, but they were smiling and seemed very happy. They said a friendly hello to Hector when they sat down opposite him.

  Hector was glad to see people who still looked so happy to be alive and loving each other after what was probably many years spent together, and who probably had barely one dog left to live, as Fernand would have put it. Perhaps they would give him some good ideas for time exercises that could help others. Because the problem with psychiatry is that you mostly study people who aren’t doing so well, whereas if you spent a little more time studying people who are doing very well, it might give you some good ideas to help the ones who are not.

  On the other hand, Hector knew that there were also people who had a knack for being happy, and who didn’t have much to say about it, a little like someone who sings every note perfectly, but can’t explain how they do it.

  The train began to move off slowly with a grinding noise, because it was suspended by cables, a little like a lift. The slope would have been too steep for a normal train.

  Little by little, the train climbed up past the tops of the buildings and came out into the forest, which looked like a jungle, and it was strange to find such a wild forest so close to such a civilised city.

  The train came out of the forest and the view was magnificent – you could see the sea in the distance, looking leaden in some places and sparkling in others where the sun was breaking through the clouds, then there were islands, other distant mountains, and mainland China.

  The old couple were pointing these wonders out to each other and saying ‘How beautiful’ or ‘Look at this, darling’, as if they wanted to make sure the other didn’t miss anything.

  Hector asked them if it was their first time here. And the old man said no; after they’d retired, they’d gone home, but they’d lived in this city for many years before that, when it still belonged to their country, in fact. They liked coming back here every year, and each time they found the scenery just as wonderful.

  Trevor and Katharine – those were their names – had both been teachers. Katharine had taught drawing, and Trevor, great writers and poets. Some of their pupils had fond memories of them and still sent them greeting cards every year.

  ‘We’d happily have stayed here,’ said Katharine, ‘but we wanted to see more of our children and our grandchildren.’

  ‘And, anyway, it’s not the same,’ said Trevor, ‘even if it is still wonderful.’

  ‘How is it not the same?’ Hector asked.

  ‘The city has changed . . .’ said Trevor.

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s us who’ve changed, darling!’ said Katharine.

  And this made both of them laugh, even though it wasn’t such a happy thought really. It struck Hector how perfectly these two sang the song of time.

  HECTOR MAKES SOME FRIENDS

  TREVOR and Katharine carried on talking to Hector. When the train reached the top, they all got off together and started walking along the road in the beautiful Chinese mountains. Hector was careful to walk very slowly so as not to tire them out. Talking to them, he realised that they had known the old monk too!

  ‘He was very famous here,’ said Trevor. ‘When he came back after all those years over there . . .’

  And Trevor pointed towards mainland China off on the horizon, where nothing but fun things happened to monks at one time.

  ‘We went up to the monastery and had tea with him,’ said Katharine. ‘I wanted to have him round to our house, but he apologised and said that he’d rather we came to see him at the monastery, that at his age he didn’t want to go into town any more, that everything went too fast for him. He said that in his monastery he could forget that things had changed so much.’

  Hmm, thought Hector, could the old monk also have had problems with time?

  ‘And his age?’ asked Hector.

  ‘Ah, that whole business . . .’ said Trevor.

  ‘Anyway, if it’s true,’ said Katharine, ‘we’re still not old enough to have known him when he was young!’

  And they both gave another delightful little laugh.

  The monastery came into view, with its lovely curled rooftop and tiny square windows.

  But it wasn’t peaceful like last time, because there were cars parked outside, quite a few people who looked as if they were waiting to get into the monastery, and even news vans from different television stations. And also some police officers in uniform stationed in front of the door to the monastery, to stop too many people trying to get in and coming to bother the monks.

  Near a television van, a Chinese woman was standing in front of a camera, speaking into a microphone. Her English was as perfect as Katharine’s, and her hair hardly moved in the wind.

  ‘The monks’ representative has reiterated that he has no comment,’ she said.

  Hector saw a big television screen in the van behind her, and on it he could see her on one half of the screen, while on the other half there was a calm-looking presenter with grey hair sitting in a studio which must have been very far away. The presenter asked the woman, whom he called Jennifer, if there had been any more news on the old monk. Jennifer said, ‘No, John,’ but she pointed out that she was actually right outside the monastery where the old monk had lived until he disappeared. Then John reminded the viewers that they, he and Jennifer, were talking to them live, and that Jennifer was actually right outside the old monk’s monastery. And Jennifer said that was right, she was there, and that everyone was wondering what had become of the old monk. And they carried on talking like that long distance without really saying anything. But since the old monk’s disappearance and his supposed age was a big story they had to talk to each other every hour for quite a long time, and Hector thought that this must be quite difficult and boring for them, a little like asking ‘duck or prawns?’ hundreds of times. Time must have passed very slowly for them, because if duration is ‘the uninterrupted upsurge of novelty’, as a philosopher Hector vaguely remembered once said, there wasn’t much novelty for Jennifer and for the people watching her all over the world. Television went from one place in the world to another very fast – not far off the speed of light – and all that to make time pass very slowly for the people watching it!

  Hector had an idea. He was pretty sure that the old monk wasn’t in his monastery any more, because somebody would have been bound to find him in there, including the Chinese police, who had good reason to find him so that everyone would stop bothering China. On the other hand, people watched television almost everywhere in the world – in the world’s great hotels, but also in huts or in tents everywhere else. And he’d just hit upon a way of giving the old monk a sort of signal.

>   He apologised to Trevor and Katharine, and, while Jennifer was still valiantly talking without really saying anything, he went to explain to the young Chinese men on her team that he had known the old monk well, because he was a psychiatrist specialising in time and he had often been to visit him, since the old monk really knew his stuff when it came to time.

  HECTOR IS ON TV

  AND that’s how Hector came to be on television for three minutes nearly everywhere in the world, with the beautiful green Chinese mountains he loved so much in the background. He explained that nowadays everyone seemed more and more worried about time going by and was asking themselves questions. And he thought the old monk was bound to have answers to these questions.

  ‘Can you give an example?’

  ‘Is it better to fight against time by trying to stay young for as long as possible, or accept that time is passing and accept your age?’ said Hector.

  Jennifer managed to stay calm and collected, but Hector could tell that his question had given her a bit of a shock. He was kicking himself for not having been more tactful – perhaps it was another effect of the lichen beer. He’d just noticed at the corners of Jennifer’s eyes the famous little wrinkles that Clara had talked about. She must have been starting to get worried when she was on TV, thinking about the competition appearing, and about all the pretty young things who wanted her job (whereas the presenter with the grey hair wouldn’t be worried at all). It’s really very unfair: a few wrinkles on men don’t scare women, and some even like them, whereas men don’t feel the same way about wrinkles on women at all. This was one of the things that made Hector doubt just how wonderful nature really was. Some people thought that everything natural was perfect.

  Jennifer thanked Hector very much, and on the screen he saw that John looked happy too. It was almost as if, as well as ‘duck or prawns’, he’d let them put another dish on the menu: ‘Duck, prawns or seafood risotto?’