YVES (PART 2)
One Wednesday evening in October 1989, Ambra packed a few T-shirts in an overnight bag, put her hair in a ponytail for the first time in nineteen years, and acting as if she were living in another dimension where she was unaware of her children’s questions (‘Are you going on holiday?’), she left the marital home for ever. Later, she claimed that if Yves S had not turned round and said to the kids, ‘No, the whore’s clearing off,’ she probably would have unpacked her bag and prepared the dinner.
Life had taken one of those unexpected turns. That evening, Yves S drove around aimlessly in the scruffy hatchback with the fugitive’s opera cassettes and glasses sat imposingly on the dashboard. He searched for her in the darkness, staring intently out of the windscreen, his jaw clenched. It is hard to know what his reaction would have been if the pale, ghostly figure of Ambra suddenly materialized in the headlights. Would he have dashed over to her, held her in his arms, breathing in the scent of her hair? Would he have grabbed her by the arm and thrown her into the passenger seat like a mere object of his possession? Would he have killed her in the middle of the street, leaving her body to slowly tumble to the pavement, discarded somewhere between a streetlight and a post box?
In the weeks that followed, Yves S started to drink whisky in huge tumblers. He had brought them back from the US and they could hold an entire 50cl bottle of Coke.
Now and again, Ambra phoned her children, but her voice was a distant murmur, as if the phone line did not quite reach to where she was. And the conversations were always the same: brief, strained. ‘Come and get us, Dad’s gone crazy,’ Monica would say, and then Yves S would suddenly appear in the room, hurl himself at the phone and the line would go dead. Ambra tried her hardest not to give away even the slightest clue to her location. Perhaps she was in the Southern Hemisphere, or perhaps in a phone box on the corner of the street.
In December, Monica stopped thinking of Ambra as someone she could talk to. From then on, she felt as though the shadow cast over her head now swept across the whole apartment, crawling up the walls like something unsavoury, a sign of contamination, condemning its occupants to isolation. In the evening, Yves S played French billiards in the lounge, a tumbler by his side, whilst Fabrice eviscerated his mattress with a Japanese sword (no one ever knew how he acquired it).
Later that month, Ambra phoned to let them know she had moved to Carouge, a bohemian district of Geneva where she had rented a studio apartment, an apartment where Yves S would smash in the door on Christmas Eve, then try to strangle her before she retaliated, ramming a pair of scissors into the palm of his left hand.
Yves S and Ambra, Prohibition party, December 1986.
YVES (PART 3)
In the first few years after they met, Monica and Yves had an affectionate relationship, so much so that they were often mistaken for a real father and daughter. Everyone had forgotten how they first came together, even those who had met the pale, blonde little girl as she clung to her mother when Yves S had first introduced his Italian fiancée just a few months earlier. Monica’s absence at their wedding ceremony seemed as natural as her presence in the heart of the home the very next day. It was as if, overnight, Ambra and Yves S had fast-forwarded their lives together.
Between 1973 and 1978, Yves S took Monica’s photo at every significant place or point in her life (park, fairground, Christmas), a preoccupation that filled a collection of albums entitled Monica 1, 2, 3 and 4. In 1977, he framed her first work of fiction, entitled Today I Travelled to the Moon, which described the modern-day solitude of a female explorer who encounters extra-terrestrial beings. Between 1979 and 1982, they watched every film starring Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. And whenever they decided to watch Singin’ in the Rain on video, it was only so they could discuss Gene Kelly’s obvious shortcomings. Yves S signed her school reports and Ambra liked to say that Monica had ‘her father’s intelligence’. (But who was she talking about?)
In 1979, he bought her an aquarium. Whilst Ambra slowly melted away as if she were leading a liquid existence, every weekend Yves S would accompany Monica to the pet shop, where they chose new species of fish. They entered the shop as if it were another world, inhaling the air infused with odours of the wild. Excitedly, beneath the cries of equatorial birds, they pushed their noses right up against the steamy glass of the aquariums.
THE ABYSS
In the winter of 1990, a hidden memory came flooding back, striking the surface of Monica’s consciousness, long after the tank had been put out with the rubbish, coated in mould and mildew. Like a bubble floating upwards from the depths of the sea, slowly, very slowly, sweetly fragile but poisoned, images of a daily secret emerged. A stifled explosion, an aquarium lit up at night, fish gliding through algae and Yves S’s hand inside her nightdress.
SORROW
Medical Imaging and
Examination Centre
80, rue de Rennes
75006 Paris
19/03/12
Reference: AB/DP
Madame MS
Dr Solignac
X-ray of the lungs.
Indication: pneumothorax
Diagnosis: bronchopneumonia of the right lung.
NB: Internal causes of illness (Nei Yin) are essentially of an emotional nature. Five basic emotions can affect the body when they are out of balance, and each one of them is associated with a particular organ. Sadness (Yu) is associated with the lungs.
(Extract from The Treatise of Chinese Medicine: Acupuncture, Moxas, Massage, Bloodletting, edited by Dr A. Chamfrault, published by Editions Coquemard.)
X-ray of MS’s right lung, March 2012.
DRUGS
Medication and food supplements taken by MS in March and April 2012.
Alprazolam (Xanax), 0.25mg.
Amoxicillin antibiotics/Biogaran clavulanic acid, 500mg/62.5mg.
Organic Royal Jelly, 15ml vials.
Manganese-Copper-Oligosol, 2ml vials.
Omegabiane DHA, rich in Omega 3.
Magnesium with vitamin B6.
Stress roll-on, with original Bach flowers and essential oils, elixirs etc.
Somniphyt melatonin spray, sleep within easy reach.
Vitamin C + guarana, boosts energy, chewable tablets.
Iron, Vitall+, 27mg.
Pieces of orange, carrot and apple.
HELPLESSNESS
Copy of a note written by MS in April 2012.
‘What I’m able to do:
– Eat
– Drink
– Smoke
– Get dressed
– Leave the house (before nightfall) (not every day)
– Write (not every day).’
DOES THIS SCOOTER BELONG TO XX?
Photos taken by MS in February 2012.
Photos taken by MS in April 2012.
Relapse: Cannes Film Festival.
Photos taken by MS in May 2012.
Photos taken by MS in September 2012.
LOVE
Objects donated to MS for comfort.
Miraculous medal. Donated by Sister Claire-Emmanuelle.
Burkina Faso fetish mask for purification rituals. Donated by Tifenn D.
Native American dreamcatcher. Donated by Florence W.
Grey cotton T-shirt from Propr Clothing (with superior magic powers). Donated by Adrienne T.
André Rieu Fiesta! CD. Donated by Charlotte R.
Sachet of White Widow weed from the Netherlands. Donated by Victor D.
Cola-flavoured Chupa Chups lolly. Donated by Franck V.
Chanel Rouge Allure Lipstick, No. 18: Sexy. Donated by Bénédicte G.
Picnic: A Breath of Fresh Air LP, released by EMI Harvest. Donated by Alexandra M.
Gold ring. Donated by Sarah DB..
Cactus from Guatemala. In flower, needs no care. Donated by Erick G.
Light therapy lamp. Donated by Tifenn D, Dorian D, Côme MK, Sophie P, Claire T and Florence W.
Simple Passion by Annie Ernaux, Gallim
ard. Donated by Aurélia P.
Think Like a Champion by Donald Trump, Running Press. Donated by Florence W.
Exquisite Pain by Sophie Calle, Actes Sud. Donated by Emmanuelle L
The Passion of Christ According to the French Baroque Poets, Orphée, la Différence. Donated by Dorothée JG.
He’s Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo, Harper Element. Donated by Adrian I.
Love is a Dog fromHell by Charles Bukowski, Grasset. Donated by Yann LP.
Unhappy Love Affair by Jean-Edern Hallier, Hallier. Donated by Côme MK.
The End of the Story by Lydia Davis, Phébus. Donated by Valentine F.
Kiss & Tell: A Romantic Résumé, Ages 0 to 22 by MariNaomi, Harper Perennial. Donated by Sophie P.
Lili is Disappointed in Love by Dominique de Saint Mars and Serge Bloch, Aligram. Donated by Julia B.
The Gospel of St Matthew, Bayard. Donated by the Archdiocese of Avignon
The Good-for-Nothing by Marcel Aymé, Gallimard. Donated by Aline G.
The Weight of Secrets by Aki Shimazaki, boxset of five books, Babel, Actes Sud.
Confusion by Stefan Zweig, Stock.
The Wasted Vigil by Nadeem Aslam, Seuil.
The Room by Hubert Selby Jr, 10/18.
This Book Will Save Your Life by A. M. Homes, Actes Sud.
Life is Elsewhere by Milan Kundera, Folio.
Everything Good Will Come by Sefi Atta, Babel, Actes Sud.
Freedom by Jonathan Franzen, L’Olivier.
Collection donated by Tifenn D.
Our Need for Consolation Is Insatiable by Stig Dagerman, Actes Sud. Donated by XX.
FRANZISKA
One Thursday in December 2012, Monica attended Yves S’s funeral in Lausanne, Switzerland.
The day was like a battle under water, somewhere at the bottom of a cold, translucent lake. When she was spoken to, the words reminded her of a strange song, a blend of raspy breath and low-frequency whistling, as if she were swimming amongst whales, in the open sea, far, very far, from shore. The guests moved around as a group, with supple and synchronized movements, rather like a shoal of sardines, their eyes beady. ‘Your father was someone extraordinary.’
The priest offered a prayer to the congregation in a steady, confident voice, as if the life of Yves S had not been an enigma. Then Monica’s brother Fabrice said a few words at the lectern. ‘We all loved him,’ he declared.
The ceremony was held in a basement room that felt like a sterile vault, and at the end when men in black were silently approaching, Franziska, Yves S’s latest wife, suddenly dashed forward. Looking both agile and rabid, she leapt up, throwing herself onto the raised coffin and in a youthful, romantic, wild gesture, tore a fabric rose from the display of flowers attached to its side.
Monica watched Franziska, the flower she was gripping, solace and keepsake, remains of a past that lay right there, close by, at the bottom of a box. In the synthetic, derisory and everlasting petals, love throbbed like a heart ripped in two. At that exact moment, Monica’s lungs filled up, swiftly, and she felt as if she was being propelled towards the surface, to the freedom of the open air.
Monica holding a dragonfly, 1977.
ENDNOTES
1. Let’s consider for a moment the distressing images implied by the term ‘mime’. So the loving one, stunned by the good fortune of having conquered the loved one, finds herself paralysed in this ludicrous way. Fearing that the tiniest movement, the smallest burst of personality might cause the object of her affection to flee, she no longer moves, or at least only within the limits of her biological survival. This deranged behaviour is, in a sadly ironic way, so bizarre and embarrassing that the loving one feigns neutrality and durability. For above all, the loving one does not want to draw attention to what is happening, she even wishes to disappear, to evaporate into the skin of the other.
Whilst the loving one’s personality dissolves, she, utterly powerless, observes the flight of the loved one who, more mobile than ever, cautiously pulls out of the situation.
2. As soon as an individual begins to use terms such as ‘on edge’ or ‘hyper-sensitive’ to describe the loved one, human society and the attainment of happiness must be considered beyond all hope.
3.Comments made by taxi driver during a journey between Issy-les-Moulineaux and MS’s home.
First published 2015 by Picador
This electronic edition published 2015 by Picador
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
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www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-7498-8
Copyright © Monica Sabolo 2013
English translation copyright © Macmillan Publishers Limited 2015
Photos copyright © Monica Sabolo 2013
Family photos copyright © DR 2013
Cover design by Justine Anweiler, Picador Art Deparment
Figure illustration by Daphne van den Heuvel
The right of Monica Sabolo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Originally published in 2013 as Tout Cela N’a Rien À Voir Avec Moi by éditions Jean-Claude Lattès, Paris.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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