The Rest of Their Lives

by Jean-Paul Didierlaurent

‘As you like. I’m not actually very hungry. Your grandmother’s whatsits are wicked.’

  ‘Kouignettes. They’re called kouignettes,’ Ambroise reminded her with a smile.

  They stepped out into the cool evening air and ambled along the shore to the marina, which could be seen from a distance with its forest of motionless masts. Wisps of mist curled over the lake’s dark waters. On the opposite shore the town of Évian’s lights twinkled brightly. It’s too beautiful a place to die, thought Manelle, shivering.

  ‘Do you want my jacket?’ offered Ambroise.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. And anyway, I think we’re here.’

  The place was both unpretentious and warm. Huge bay windows looked out over the lake. On this dead-season Monday, there was only a handful of diners and they were able to choose their table.

  ‘What about this one?’ asked Ambroise, plumping for the one that afforded the best view over the misty expanse.

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘I don’t think it would do me any harm.’

  ‘Wine? A white wine?’

  Ambroise ordered two glasses of chardonnay.

  ‘I’m worried about Monsieur Dinsky,’ he said after a brief silence. ‘He really doesn’t seem in good shape.’

  ‘No, and it’s not going to get any better,’ confirmed Manelle, looking away to hide her emotion.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Ambroise.

  She waited until the waiter had finished pouring the wine before continuing.

  ‘Samuel has an inoperable brain tumour. He only has a few weeks left to live.’

  ‘Shit.’

  His ‘shit’ expressed all the sorrow in the world, and Manelle was touched to see the genuine sadness in the way Ambroise had reacted to the news.

  ‘It won’t be long before he follows his twin to the grave,’ said Ambroise after a while.

  ‘Now that could be difficult.’

  ‘But you just said he’s only got a few weeks to live.’

  ‘True. A few weeks at best. No, when I say that could be difficult, I’m talking about his brother.’

  Manelle took a sip of the fruity wine to pluck up her courage. She had promised Samuel that she would keep his secret for as long as possible but now she’d reached the end of that ‘as long as possible’. She needed to talk, to share, to seek support. She couldn’t cope with being the only person to carry this burden. And the man sitting opposite her at that precise moment was perhaps the most suitable person to be told the truth. A waiter came over to take their order.

  ‘Would you give us a moment, please? Thank you,’ said Ambroise, politely deflecting him.

  Manelle took a deep breath before launching into her story.

  ‘Samuel Dinsky has never had a brother, let alone a twin,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘What do you mean, never had a brother? What about the body we’re supposed to be repatriating to France?’

  ‘It’s Samuel’s.’

  There, she’d said it. As predicted, Ambroise took it badly. As she herself would have done in his shoes.

  ‘Hold on, you’re trying to tell me that right now, there’s no body to be repatriated, is that right? That the only body we’ve come here for will be that of Samuel Dinsky, octogenarian, and still very much alive despite a nasty brain tumour which, if the specialists are right, should kill him within a few weeks?’

  At the neighbouring tables, anxious faces had turned in their direction, which Ambroise ignored, continuing: ‘You’re very kind, but don’t take me for a halfwit!’

  ‘Have you ever heard of medically assisted suicide?’ she calmly asked.

  ‘Yes, as has everyone, sort of.’

  ‘Well, that’s the choice of an eighty-two-year-old man who refuses to allow death to toy with him once again as it did in the past. Those are his own words, Ambroise. Toy with him once again. He told me his whole story. Deported with his family when he was a child, Samuel lived through the horror of the concentration camps. Starvation, disease and death all around, stalking him, touching him, taking its victims but never choosing him. Imagine that kid barely twelve years old, whose job was to collect the spectacles of those taken to the gas chambers. Imagine for one second what he must have experienced, what he must have felt at the sight of those processions of human beings handing him their glasses, many of them unaware of the horror that lay in store for them.’

  Ambroise recalled the image of Samuel dazed and weeping in front of the display of sunglasses at the motorway services. ‘Some bad memories that caught up with me,’ the old man had said, wiping away his tears.

  ‘He doubted – and quite rightly, I think – that a firm such as yours would wittingly agree to be involved in a plan like this. And if he lied to you by inventing this twin brother, it was solely because for him it was the only way to achieve his purpose. His end, to be more precise. Have himself brought here, one of the few countries where medically assisted suicide is legal, catch death off guard and then be brought home. There, now you know as much as I do,’ concluded Manelle, taking a large glug of wine.

  ‘Shit,’ said Ambroise for the second time that evening.

  ‘It’s an association called Deliverance that will take care of him. The director will be coming to the hotel tomorrow morning to take Samuel for the medical check-up. Then he’ll take him to the apartment where, in the late afternoon, his . . .’

  She shuddered and stopped herself from saying ‘execution’, which was on the tip of her tongue.

  ‘He wants me to go with him, but . . .’

  Manelle was unable to say any more and burst into tears. At that moment, Ambroise wanted more than ever to get up and hug her to him, stroke her hair and drink the pearls running down her cheeks. To say to her that he was there now, that he would be there tomorrow and all the tomorrows forever. Instead, glued to his chair by the stupid shyness that he despised, he merely handed her his napkin so she could dry her eyes.

  ‘Thank you. I simply can’t accept the idea. I keep telling myself we should let nature run its course. That in the midst of all the pain he’s suffering, there might still be some happy moments to be had. And there’s the possibility of a remission – there is such a thing, isn’t there?’

  ‘Are they certain about the tumour? Is there really nothing that can be done, no operation possible?’

  ‘None. The consultant was categorical. It’s cut-and-dried. His condition is deteriorating fast. This evening, he had a temperature again and it’s becoming harder and harder to bring it down. Not to mention that he can barely keep any food down. And he told me earlier that his vision’s blurred and he sometimes sees double.’

  After a lengthy silence, Ambroise spoke again.

  ‘I think we have to respect his choice, Manelle. Put aside your own feelings and let Samuel depart in the way he has chosen. And if his last wish is to have you with him, then you have to support him. We’ll do it together, if you like.’

  Manelle remained silent. Silence as a way to avoid making a decision, she thought bitterly. But she knew deep down that Ambroise was right. And tomorrow, she and Ambroise would stay with Samuel Dinsky until he breathed his last.

  When the waiter came back to take their order, they still hadn’t looked at the menu. Ambroise had lost his appetite. More for form than because they were hungry, they both ordered sole meunière, the chef’s speciality, and another glass of wine. At first, they ate gingerly, but gradually they perked up again, initially thanks to the tender fish fillet and crunchy chips, the wine’s fruitiness, the laughter from the surrounding tables and the shimmering lights on the distant mountainsides. There was life in their eyes, in their pink cheeks. Then they talked, told each other about themselves, and caught themselves smiling and even laughing, putting aside for a moment the unbearable thought of the day that lay ahead.

  32

  By the time they left the restaurant, the mist over the lake had grown denser and was shrouding the oppo
site shore. Manelle was shivering with cold and Ambroise took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. They walked quickly and were soon inside the hotel’s heated lobby. When they entered the lift, Manelle snuggled up to Ambroise, resting her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t want to be on my own tonight,’ she entreated. ‘Not tonight, please.’

  Ambroise held her tight, breathed in the smell of her hair, giddy with her fragrance. They stood like that for a long time in the lift, outside time and outside the world. As soon as they were inside room 236, they kissed passionately. Their teeth knocked together as their tongues sought each other. Drunk on wine and desire, their heads were spinning. They wanted each other with every fibre of their beings. Still locked in a kiss, they undressed, separating only to remove their trousers. The bed greeted their bodies. Panting, Ambroise released Manelle’s breasts from her bra. She tore off his boxers.

  ‘Put the light on, please. I want to see you,’ she asked him breathlessly.

  The yellow glow from the wall lights chased the shadows, outlined their curves, made their eyes shine, and flooded the valley formed by their bellies pressed together. Manelle caressed his shoulders, kissed his chest. Ambroise cupped a breast in one of his hands while he slipped the other between her thighs. He shivered when she kissed his neck. She gasped as he caressed her, imprisoning his hand between her clenched legs.

  ‘Come inside me,’ she whispered in his ear as she nibbled it.

  Ambroise entered her. Together they rode the storm of passion, until ecstasy submerged them and cast them adrift on the white sheets, side by side, panting and satiated for the time being.

  33

  They made love three times during the night, with the same hunger each time. Manelle stole back to room 103 at dawn. She didn’t want Beth to worry on discovering her absence when she awoke. She put on a T-shirt and slid into the queen-sized bed next to Beth whose regular snores soon lulled her to sleep. At eight o’clock, reception telephoned the three rooms with their alarm call.

  ‘Did you have a nice evening?’ Beth asked Manelle in a mischievous tone. Between snores, she had not failed to notice the late hour at which Manelle had come to bed.

  ‘Wonderful, yes. The fish was excellent and the lakeside is really beautiful.’

  Beth didn’t doubt for a moment that the ‘wonderful’ didn’t only refer to the fish and the walk on the shore, but kept it to herself.

  While Beth got dressed, Manelle went next door to see how Samuel was feeling. She kissed his forehead. He had a temperature again. Had it ever really subsided? she wondered. ‘By this evening, it’ll be better,’ said Samuel wryly. She helped him into the bathroom and gave him some privacy while she unpacked his clothes from the suitcase. Pale green shirt, black trousers, dark green jacket. Green, the colour of hope, she thought. He meekly allowed himself to be dressed. He was as exhausted as the previous day, if not more so. Like the pills, nights no longer had any effect on him. Manelle asked him to lie down and have a rest while he waited for her.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she reassured him. ‘I just need to have a shower and get dressed.’

  Samuel was asleep by the time she came back. Seeing him lying still like that in the centre of his bed, in his clothes, his hands folded over his chest, she thought for a second that death, a bad loser, had preempted his plans. She stroked his cheek, smoothed with the back of her hand the rebel lock of hair which she always had to tame each time she visited him. He opened his eyes and looked at her without recognizing her. They were the eyes of a person lost in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘It’s me, Manelle,’ she whispered tenderly. ‘They’re waiting for us downstairs for breakfast. You need sustenance, it’s going to be a long day.’

  Manelle bit her tongue, calling herself an idiot. How can a last day ever be long enough? They found Ambroise and his grandmother in the restaurant where a buffet breakfast awaited them. She greeted him with a light kiss.

  ‘The secret of a good brioche dough is the same as that of a beautiful romance,’ announced Beth, placing a plate of pastries on the table. ‘A whole night for the dough to rise, which is what makes them so fluffy and light.’

  Ambroise and Manelle exchanged a knowing look. Beth, who wasn’t in the least surprised, tapped Samuel’s hand and stood up to tie his napkin around his neck.

  ‘It would be a sin to drop food on such a beautiful shirt.’

  Manelle brought him a glass of orange juice. He merely ate one madeleine which he pecked at reluctantly. Despite the palpable sadness, the two young people forced themselves to eat, unable to rid themselves of the unbearable thought that this shared breakfast was the old man’s last.

  ‘The person who is coming to fetch me to go and see my brother will be here at ten, won’t they, Manelle?’

  ‘He knows, Samuel,’ she told him, placing her hand on his emaciated forearm. ‘No need to lie any more, Ambroise knows, I told him everything last night.’

  ‘That’s right, Monsieur Dinsky,’ confirmed Ambroise, ‘Manelle told me everything.’

  ‘Today, do please call me Samuel.’

  ‘And I’d like to support you alongside Manelle, with your permission, Samuel.’

  ‘Depart surrounded by two angels, I couldn’t wish for more.’

  ‘Beth,’ continued Ambroise solemnly, turning to his grandmother. ‘Samuel, Manelle and I have something to tell you.’

  ‘If it’s to talk to me about medically assisted suicide, don’t waste your breath, Sammy has already told me everything.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday, when we were at the picnic area, after he’d vomited his guts out in the toilet and after I’d confessed I was your grandmother and not at all the volunteer he’d been led to believe I was. I didn’t say anything because he asked me to keep quiet about it,’ she went on, affectionately grasping Samuel’s hand. ‘He was afraid you’d turn around and drive back.’

  Hmm, thought Ambroise, everyone except me seems to have a secret to hide.

  The director of Deliverance walked into the lobby on the stroke of ten. Swiss precision timing, admired Beth. Emma Besuchet had a soft voice underscored by a strong Vaud accent. In her fifties, with a pleasant face and colourfully dressed, there was no hint of the austerity Manelle had expected about her, apart from her hair drawn back into a tight bun. Manelle wished she could hate this harbinger of death but wasn’t able to find her disagreeable. She showed Samuel the utmost consideration and respect, and Manelle felt that her ‘Good morning, Monsieur Dinsky’ hit just the right note. After the introductions, Emma Besuchet invited them to adjourn to the secluded little hotel lounge with its armchairs and sofas. There, she explained the procedure to Samuel very clearly. She did so in her own words, using euphemisms that Ambroise knew all too well.

  ‘The “departure” will take place in the early evening, at dusk, if you agree.’

  Like thieves, thought Manelle, with a shudder.

  ‘Of course, Monsieur Dinsky, you will remain in control of the situation throughout and you can choose to make any changes you wish. Let me remind you that Deliverance and I are there for the sole purpose of supporting you in your choice and to make it as humane and gentle as possible. At eleven o’clock we have an appointment with Doctor Meyan, the association’s physician, who will check that your state of health complies with our code of ethics. A mere formality, don’t worry. I’m going to ask you for your medical record.’

  Manelle handed her the file with Samuel’s medical history.

  ‘Thank you. I also need a valid identity document.’

  ‘I only have my identity card,’ stuttered Samuel.

  Manelle delicately took the wallet from his trembling hands and extracted the card, which she held out to Emma Besuchet. To everyone’s great annoyance, the latter scrutinized the plastic rectangle for several long minutes.

  ‘I see your card expired some months ago. Do you have any other form of ID? A passport or your birth certificate, for exa
mple, or, as long as it is no more than three months old, a recent extract from the civil status register? No? That’s a nuisance. You really have nothing but this ID card?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’ exclaimed Manelle, annoyed. ‘You can see that it’s definitely him.’

  ‘I can see a document that expired last April. And that is the only thing that is valid legally. Over and above all humane considerations, which I understand perfectly well, we don’t have the power or even less the right to determine a person’s identity in a purely arbitrary manner.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, you can see the condition he’s in, can’t you? What about his medical record, is that arbitrary?’ fumed Manelle.

  Emma Besuchet took Manelle to one side.

  ‘Look, mademoiselle, there’s no point making a scene. Losing your temper won’t help us find a solution.’

  ‘You can’t do this to him. He has worked so hard to prepare himself,’ pleaded Ambroise who had joined them.

  ‘He can’t stand the pain any more, dammit,’ hissed Manelle. ‘He vomits up everything he eats, can barely see and is as exhausted when he wakes up as he is when he goes to bed.’

  Marooned on the large sofa, Samuel understood nothing of all the fuss. ‘Is something the matter?’ he asked Beth, who went over to sit next to him and took his hand.

  ‘I don’t know, but it seems there’s a customs officer inside every Swiss person.’

  ‘The regulations are very strict: you have to be able to prove you exist to request the right to die, it’s as simple as that,’ replied Emma Besuchet, before going over to Samuel.

  She placed the ID card and medical file on the coffee table, apologizing profusely.

  ‘I can only apologize, Monsieur Dinsky. This is the first time that such a thing has happened and please believe that I am deeply sorry, truly, but it is impossible for us to launch the process today. Naturally we will reimburse a percentage of the sum paid, having deducted our expenses. And we will of course remain entirely at your service should you wish to apply to us again, on condition that your documents are up to date. Goodbye, Monsieur Dinsky. Goodbye, mesdames, monsieur.’