“Stupidity lies in wanting to draw conclusions,” wrote Flaubert. This was rarely better illustrated than in quarrels, where the imbecile could be identified by their obsession with having the last word.
Inexorably true to form, life went on.
Diane was practicing full time in the cardiology department at the hospital. Her patients adored her: no matter the nature of their problem, she listened to them with so much respect that they were able to change their habits, if she asked them to.
Despite her work load, she had adopted a much healthier lifestyle. She began sleeping again at night, and her appetite came back. And with it, she soon regained her beauty as well.
She decided to get back in touch with her family. Her father was sorry she was no longer teaching at the university, but he was very proud to have a daughter who was a doctor. Her mother, perfect in her role of caregiver to little Suzanne, got into the routine of inviting Diane for lunch every Sunday, along with Nicolas and his wife and children. Brother and sister were effusively happy to be together again.
Every year on her birthday Marie received a postcard from Célia. Judging by the postmarks, she was circumnavigating the globe on foot.
Élisabeth had two sons, Charles and Léopold. Diane was Léopold’s godmother, and she was exceedingly fond of the two brothers, who called her Auntie.
Diane had no lack of suitors. She rejected every one, without exception. She never saw Olivia again. Sometimes she got word of her. It was always an unpleasant experience.
Five years later, she heard that Mariel had dropped out of school. This left her with a feeling of great sadness.
And the years went by. Diane became the owner of a pretty house in the nicer part of town. To her immense joy she discovered the art of gardening.
In January 2007, Diane turned thirty-five. A few days later, two policemen came to her door. She gazed at them, astonished.
“Olivia Aubusson was murdered at some point between the evening of January 15th and the morning of January 16th. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Stunned, Diane let them in. The night of January 15 she had been celebrating her birthday at Élisabeth’s place. She had not seen the victim in seven years.
“How was she killed?”
“Twenty stab wounds to the heart.”
For a long while she sat there speechless. Then, “Her husband?”
“He is in a state of shock. He lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling.”
“Did he see the murderer?”
“No. They had separate rooms. But we ask the questions. Was Olivia Aubusson having an affair?”
“How would I know?”
“You were very close to her.”
“Yes, for three years, we were friends.”
“What was the nature of your friendship?”
“Professional, mainly. I also looked after her daughter for close to a year.”
“Tell us about her daughter.”
“Mariel. At the time, she was twelve. Since then, I heard she left the lycée, that’s all I know.”
“Did she get along well with her mother?”
“I have no idea. Ten years ago, she adored her.”
“Outside the victim’s residence we found tire traces that were not from her car. Do you know whether Mariel drove?”
“How should I know?”
“We ask the questions. Why did you stop seeing Olivia Aubusson?”
“We had a disagreement.”
“Of what nature?”
“Professional. I did not want to go on working with her at the university.”
“Why not?”
“It was not my vocation. I wanted to be a doctor, not a teacher. She took it badly, the discussion got heated. Our friendship came to an end.”
They questioned her further, obtaining confirmation only of her ignorance of recent matters concerning Olivia Aubusson, then they left, but not before asking her to get in touch with them if any elements of interest came to mind. Before leaving, they took Élisabeth’s contact information in order to verify Diane’s whereabouts on the night of the murder.
Diane did not need to think long to figure out who the murderer was.
When you kill someone with twenty stab wounds to the heart, it is a crime of passion. She knew for certain who had shown Olivia unrequited love for nearly twenty years.
Was it not infinitely graver than a love affair that ends badly? A love so deep, so incurable and vital and inconsolable: and Olivia’s sole response had been contempt.
The choice for the date of the murder was a signature addressed to her, Diane. To commit the act on the evening of her birthday, the murderer must have loved Diane. Not that the murder was intended to make her happy, but so that she would be in no doubt as to the perpetrator’s identity.
In 2007, the murderer would turn twenty. The same age as Célia when she abandoned Suzanne and fled from her mother. The gravity of the punishment would correspond to the gravity of the crime. Marie’s crime had been far less serious than Olivia’s. Marie had been blind, and mad. Olivia had been coldly, lucidly contemptuous.
Diane recalled that the murderer’s birthday was on February 6. All she had to do was wait.
On February 6 Diane stayed home all day. At 23:54 there came a very quiet knock on her door.
“Happy birthday,” she said immediately to the girl she let in.
She might be twenty, but Mariel looked sixteen. She was small and thin, and in her huge eyes Diane could read boundless hunger.
She did not ask the girl any questions.
“I have nowhere to go,” said Mariel.
“This is your home.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amélie Nothomb was born in Japan to Belgian parents in 1967. She lives in Paris. Since her debut on the French literary scene a little more than a decade ago, she has published a novel a year, every year. Her edgy fiction, unconventional thinking, and public persona have combined to transform her into a worldwide literary sensation. She is the recipient of the French Academy’s 1999 Grand Prix for the Novel, the René-Fallet, Alain-Fournier, and Jean-Giono prizes.
Table of Contents
ALSO BY AMÉLIE NOTHOMB
STRIKE YOUR HEART
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Strike Your Heart Page 9