‘What about later on? How do they make love last?’ This question seemed absolutely crucial to Hector. Almost everyone could fall in love at some point in their lives, but by no means everyone was able to make love last.
Professor Cormorant gestured to the children and young people a small distance away towards the back of the room.
‘Here, they live together all the time, they bring up their children together, everybody does his or her share of the work, couples spend very little time alone, unlike where we come from. They would find the idea of a man and a woman alone in their little apartment every evening completely crazy! Maybe the way to make love last is by not spending too much time alone together.’
‘At the same time, we would find that lack of privacy intolerable,’ said Hector.
‘Because we’ve been brought up like that, each in our own room, but look at them,’ Professor Cormorant said, pointing at the children, who did seem rather happy, it has to be said.
Just then, the young girls they had met on the road stood up and walked over to three boys their own age. One boy was holding a sort of flute and one of the girls a long two-stringed guitar.
The circle widened to give them room.
There was silence as they began to play, the flute’s soft lament seeming to wrap itself around the guitar’s thin notes, while their friends danced gracefully on the spot, smiling and spinning on their tiny feet.
Hector felt very moved at the sight of this calm happiness, which suddenly seemed to him so easy to attain. He and Vayla exchanged glances; she smiled at him, and he said to himself that, with or without chemistry, they loved each other.
The children stopped and everyone cheered. They bowed modestly and did a few more dance steps before rejoining their group.
‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ whispered Professor Cormorant. ‘I know of ethnologists who would give an arm and a leg to see this!’
Hector agreed, but he was beginning to be more interested in Japanese ethnology. As a result of drinking the bowls of fermented rice wine the chief had given them, Miko and Chizourou’s cheeks had turned bright pink, like two little geishas on a spree. To explain what they were doing in Gna-Doa country they had said that the big environmental organisation they worked for had sent them there to check up a bit on the conditions of orang-utans in that region. None of this was entirely convincing as, in that type of organisation, it is seldom the same people taking care of ruined temples and endangered species – but because in Asia you must always be very polite and allow people to save face, Hector, Jean-Marcel and Professor Cormorant pretended to believe them, and Miko and Chizourou pretended to believe they believed them, and they pretended to believe they believed they believed them, and so on, but they still seemed quite uneasy.
Through a haze of alcohol, Hector glimpsed a small purple stone sparkling in Miko’s ear. And suddenly he remembered: it was identical to the one he had seen young Lu wearing in Shanghai. The East certainly is mysterious, he thought, because he was becoming too tired to have any original thoughts, but deep down he had understood, which shows that fermented rice wine didn’t affect his inner mind.
But later, Chief Gnar went away and came back with two bottles that looked as if they came from another era. On the faded labels, the edges of which had been nibbled away by several generations of insects, you could make out a young native woman smiling beneath a cone-shaped hat and, above, the words: Siam and Tonkin General Distillery Company.
‘Choum-choum!’ said Gnar with a big smile.
‘Ah, this is going to do some damage!’ said Jean-Marcel.
HECTOR AND THE RISING SUN
HECTOR awoke at dawn. Jean-Marcel’s loud snores reverberated from the other side of the room.
Vayla was still sleeping, on her side, as though she were trying out a different pose for the sculptor who in her dream was immortalising her on a temple wall.
The air was chilly. Hector slid the ladder down, taking care not to make a noise, and descended cautiously because Gna-Doa ladders only have one central pole, and woe betide the clumsy.
He noticed some women already at work in the paddy fields where a few patches of mist lingered, while others sat weaving in the doorways of their house. A few small children were busy gathering up rice husks. The men hadn’t appeared yet. Professor Cormorant had explained that the Gna-Doas only drank alcohol on traditional feast days, but Hector had understood that there were quite a few of these in their calendar.
He walked over to the house where he knew Miko and Chizourou were staying. Their ladder was down, and he climbed up without making a sound. He heard a whispered conversation in Japanese, or thought he did anyway.
Standing next to their big backpacks, the two young Japanese women were clearly preparing to leave. They jumped when they saw Hector, and were even more surprised when he greeted them by the names Lu and Wee. Then they looked at each other. And Hector understood that Chizourou, the one who supposedly spoke no English at the temple, was probably Miko’s boss.
Hector thought he must put them at their ease and he said he would tell them some interesting things provided they explained to him who they really were. And, moreover, as he already had his suspicions, they only stood to gain from this exchange.
He found himself sitting cross-legged like them – which was very uncomfortable for him, but he didn’t want to appear in a position of inferiority – listening to Chizourou, who, it turned out, spoke perfect English. She’d studied at Emmanuel College, Cambridge. She explained that they really did work for a big non-governmental organisation concerned with nature conservation. And this organisation was interested in Professor Cormorant’s research, because his results might help endangered species to breed in captivity, like the pandas at Shanghai Zoo. And, incidentally, that cuddly animal was their organisation’s logo!
Hector said this was all very interesting, but if they were telling him tall stories he could tell them even taller ones. What’s more, he wondered whether the endangered species that most interested Miko and Chizourou wasn’t in fact Japanese babies. And he added that when people didn’t tell him the truth he felt under no obligation to tell them the truth.
There was another little whispered exchange between Miko and Chizourou, and this time Miko admitted that, all right, there was some truth in this story about the Japanese babies. The Japanese population was getting dangerously old and one of the reasons for this was that young women were having fewer and fewer babies, and this was more and more because they were remaining single, she explained.
‘Japanese men too macho,’ said Chizourou, who also spoke a bit of Hector’s language, but not very well. ‘Women modern! Japanese men work too much, go out always with other men, drink saké, karaoke, come home drunk, behave not nice! Japanese women prefer stay single, go on holiday with women friends! Good job, earn money, no need for men!’
And Hector remembered that in his country it was true that most Japanese tourists were in fact young females travelling in pairs, like Miko and Chizourou.
And so the Japanese government was very interested in a drug that would make men and women stay in love with each other, which would produce new generations of Japanese babies brought up in a happy loving environment.
Hector remembered the speech made by Dr Wei, the important Chinese man in Shanghai. Professor Cormorant’s drug, far from being a potion intended for personal happiness, could have important consequences for the fate of a nation, perhaps even for humanity itself.
But Miko interrupted these reflections. Now it was Hector’s turn, what could he tell them?
Hector had begun explaining laboriously in English about oxytocin and dopamine when Vayla’s worried face appeared in the doorway, followed by her graceful body as she reached the top of the ladder and walked over to them with quick, determined steps. Hector drew her to him and she slipped into a sitting position between his legs, leaning back against him as if she were in an armchair.
‘As I was saying,’ Hector r
esumed.
Miko and Chizourou looked very impressed.
They glanced at one another again and then Chizourou asked whether they might not be able to take one of Professor Cormorant’s drugs, on a trial basis. Hector was about to say they would have to take it with their respective fiancés, but suddenly he realised Miko and Chizourou might not be just fellow workers any more.
There really were a lot of people interested in Professor Cormorant’s research.
HECTOR BLOWS SOMEONE’S COVER
JEAN-MARCEL was lighting a fire outside, watched by a group of Gna-Doa children who followed his every movement with interest.
‘Aren’t they adorable?’ he said to Hector.
And with their bright smiling faces and flower-patterned clothes that were like something out of an oriental fairy tale, the children looked like perfect miracles who should be protected forever from television advertising and factory-made sweets.
‘You seem in a good mood,’ said Hector.
‘Yes, I hooked up the satellite dish and I’ve been able to exchange a few emails with my wife.’
‘And what does she say?’
‘Some rather nice things. She says she’s reinventing herself. Do you understand what that means?’
‘That she’s building herself anew, like building a new house to welcome you home again.’
‘Excellent! I really hope you’re right.’
‘What about your Chinese interpreter?’
‘Well, in the end nothing happened.’
Jean-Marcel explained that he and Madame Li had felt very attracted to one another, and had even confided their feelings over two glasses of iced green tea, but finally they had decided it was wiser not to endanger the relationships they were each trying to patch up.
‘That’s wonderful!’ said Hector.
‘Possibly,’ said Jean-Marcel. ‘But it’s not easy. Though I have the feeling I’ve grown up a bit. It’s the first time in my life I’ve voluntarily turned down a promising and very tempting affair.’
Hector thought this type of self-denial was probably one of the noblest demonstrations of love, even though it usually had to remain a secret. You can’t go home and say: ‘Darling, I nearly had a passionate affair, but I love you so much I stopped myself at the last minute.’ Because, for many people, ideal love would be not being tempted, even for a second, but does that kind of love really exist? In the end, isn’t resisting temptation more meaningful than not being tempted at all?
He opened his little notebook and wrote: Loving someone means resisting temptation.
Vayla had come up to them and was watching him with interest as he wrote. Hector sensed that she longed to understand the meaning of his notes, as if then she could be sure of always understanding him.
‘I ought to tell you Vayla asked to use my computer to send an email in Khmer to someone at the hotel. I think the letter is meant for you, and she is waiting for an English translation to be sent back.’
Vayla had understood what they were talking about, and she smiled at Hector with the gleeful look of someone who has just played a good trick on you.
‘Where are the Japanese girls?’ Jean-Marcel asked.
‘They were leaving, but decided to stay on a bit longer.’
‘They’re funny tourists,’ Jean-Marcel said.
‘And you’re a funny businessman,’ Hector said.
Jean-Marcel didn’t respond and went on busying himself with the fire.
‘Do you want me to tell you what they told me?’ asked Hector. ‘So you can put it in your report to Gunther.’
Jean-Marcel froze. He didn’t reply. Then he smiled. ‘Well, there’s no need to pretend any more, is there?’
‘No, there’s no need.’
‘Only I’d rather Gunther didn’t find out you’ve blown my cover. Can I ask you not to mention it to him for the time being?’
‘Agreed.’
Jean-Marcel seemed relieved, and that surprised Hector. He said to himself that a real professional would never allow his cover, as he called it, to be blown so easily. Confronted by Hector, who only had unfounded suspicions, Jean-Marcel could have denied everything and possibly persuaded Hector he was being paranoid. Hector thought that Jean-Marcel had probably allowed one false cover to be blown in order to hide another. He couldn’t be working for Gunther. Hector thought of Captain Lin Zaou of the People’s Liberation Army, and Dr Wei, and then of Miko and Chizourou’s real employers. Wasn’t this affair becoming a bit too serious for a psychiatrist suffering the torments of love?
Just then, Not arrived looking very worried.
‘Kormoh? Kormoh?’
And behind her came Chief Gnar and Aang-long-arms, looking equally worried. Professor Cormorant had disappeared.
THE PROFESSOR AND THE ORANG-UTAN
‘YOU know,’ whispered Jean-Marcel, ‘they were mainly relying on me to look out for you, not really to inform on you. After all, you’re the one who’s supposed to be sending reports.’
They were walking together in the forest, in the middle of a row of beaters – all men from the tribe. Everyone was worried Professor Cormorant might have got lost going to study the orang-utans.
‘I hope he didn’t run into a tiger,’ said Jean-Marcel.
‘I think he would throw even a tiger off balance.’
It was odd but the discovery of Jean-Marcel’s true role hadn’t diminished Hector’s fondness for him. Perhaps the fact that they had shared powerful emotions – the mine in the temple, their problems with their respective partners – had forged a sort of bond between them. He was also curious about Jean-Marcel’s real mission. Was it to kidnap the professor and take him for questioning at the secret offices of an even more secret service? Was it to get hold of the samples and the contents of the hard disks?
This whole mission of spying on the professor seemed of secondary importance to Hector. His main concern was to get hold of a dose of antidote. But to what end, ultimately? In order to take the antidote with Vayla? Why not take it with Clara instead? Mightn’t the antidote help them separate? That was one application Professor Cormorant hadn’t thought of: using chemistry to break a natural but painful bond. An end to heartache, and all the literature it gave rise to.
In front of him, Jean-Marcel motioned to him to stop.
Twenty yards ahead of them, in a small clearing, Professor Cormorant was crouching, whispering to two orang-utans, who were watching him with interest.
‘He’s crazy,’ said Jean-Marcel. ‘He has no idea.’
Hector had noticed the professor was holding two balls of rice paste, probably containing new drugs, and was gradually edging closer to the two enormous primates. Pelléas (for it was he) suddenly seemed unhappy about this growing proximity and let out a low roar. The professor, completely unfazed, slowly stretched out his hand, offering him the rice ball. Pelléas kept growling insistently, letting it be known that he was ready to step up the level of aggression.
At that moment, Hector realised that, beside him, Jean-Marcel was taking aim at the animal, not with a Gna-Doa musket but with a very modern-looking rifle.
It was Mélisande who suddenly leapt towards the professor, snatched the rice ball and immediately swallowed it. Pelléas instantly hurled himself at the professor, knocking him down as he snatched the other rice ball. In a flash, the two animals vanished into the trees.
Jean-Marcel’s forehead was bathed in sweat. ‘My God! I was this close to . . .’
Professor Cormorant lay flat on the ground, motionless. They rushed over to him. He was having difficulty breathing.
‘My friends . . .’ he whispered.
Hector leaned over to examine him and diagnosed a broken rib or two resulting from his brief collision with Pelléas. Pelléas had probably only wanted to scare this strange white-haired cousin in his orang-utan way, which had caught the professor off guard, for, whilst admittedly young in spirit, he was actually rather elderly and weighed less than nine stone.
G
UNTHER IS SCARED
‘WHY did you come?’ asked Clara.
‘This mission is slipping out of control. I wanted to keep an eye on things.’
‘Keep an eye on what things? On me? On him?’
‘On the mission.’
‘Are you going to see him?’
‘Yes, I’m going to see him.’
‘I told him about us, you know.’
‘That hardly makes things easier, does it?’
‘Would you have preferred me never to tell him? Would you have preferred him not to know? Did you just want to keep me as a secret little pleasure for after work?’
‘No, of course not, but it wasn’t the right time.’
‘Oh, really? But it was the right time for us to start an affair?’
‘Listen . . .’
‘Our shenanigans have not really been the best thing for our work, have they? We should have waited a few years, until I moved to another company, right? Then we could have said to ourselves, okay, now’s the right time! We could have synchronised our schedules.’
‘You’re being ridiculous. You always have to exaggerate.’
Gunther and Clara were lying on two steamer chairs made of tropical wood beside a swimming pool in the middle of a heavenly garden with a magnificent view over the forest and the mountains in the distance. To the left, the golden pinnacles of a temple emerged through the leaves . . . It looked like paradise, but it felt a bit like hell, or at least that was what Gunther was thinking.
They were waiting for some suitable means of transport to be arranged that would get them quickly to where Hector and the professor were. Gunther’s two associates who had accompanied him on this trip were somewhere in the hotel frantically arranging this with the company’s local representative.
Hector and the Secrets of Love Page 15