by Inès Bayard
Laurent returns and Marie hands him the baby so she can go swim. The attention has changed focus: Laurent is now the center of attraction. Marie heads off alone and in silence toward the sea. The water isn’t very warm. She quickly wets the back of her neck with her hands, flicks little splashes of cool water over her thighs and stomach, and makes up her mind to dive right in. She swims away, covering quite a distance so she no longer has to hear the shrieks of children playing on the beach. The swell of the waves carries her calmly, sheltered from the frenzy of the shore. Her body feels lighter. She can’t remember when she last swam alone. Her limbs stretch out into a cross shape, her head tips back into the water until her ears are completely submerged. The suffering stops for a moment. She wishes she could drift to some unknown space and wake in a different life, not her own. She hears a whistle. She’s drifted too far. The lifeguard is waving frantically for her to come back. Marie lifts her head out of the water and starts to swim the breaststroke back toward the shore.
The first steps she takes on the beach are shameful. She is almost scolded, reprimanded. She looks for their parasol but can’t see it. And yet she was sure they set up camp not far from the showers. She keeps walking and spots the group of young women who were watching her earlier. They’re sitting on the sand with their long legs stretched out, forming a circle around Laurent and Thomas. The one with the blond hair and tanned skin can’t be more than twenty years old. She’s sitting next to Marie’s husband, hooting, roaring with laughter, watched by her friends and a smiling Laurent. “Everything okay?” Marie asks. “Am I disturbing you?” Laurent looks up at his wife and asks whether she had a nice swim. The women move away. Marie’s towel, which was being used to sit on, is impregnated with sand. She snatches it up to shake it and grains of sand fly in every direction. “Stop that, can’t you see you’re getting it right in his eyes?” She keeps shaking. Laurent grabs her arm forcefully and she eventually stops. Laurent puts the baby in his stroller, still eyeing his wife with furious bafflement. She ignores his anger, turns to look the other way. They decide to leave. Some way away, the women wave discreetly to Laurent. The baby cries, he’s hungry. They must get back to the villa quickly.
Tomorrow their vacation will be over. Marie is returning to work at the bank, reunited with her coworkers and clients. The baby will be in a day nursery until his mother picks him up in the evening. Laurent is driving quickly. He turns to Marie with a smile. “It’s a long time since I’ve seen a little jealous outburst…I actually kind of like it…” His hand moves from the gearshift onto his wife’s thigh. Marie feels like slapping his face but in the end opts to put her hand over his so as not to exhaust herself with another fight. This physical connection between husband and wife is the first in some time. Thomas grizzles a little on the rear seat, then suddenly gives a long piercing cry that fills the whole car. His parents are surprised; it’s the first time he’s done this. Laurent watches him tenderly in the rearview mirror. Marie turns around to look at him, stares at him for a moment: “Like father, like son.”
The baby is in terrible pain. He howls on the examination table, kicks out energetically, and scratches with all his strength at the small mattress on which he’s lying. Marie is wearing a beautiful dress, cinched at the waist, Laurent a perfectly tailored suit. From the start of the appointment the pediatrician was struck by the couple’s perfect appearance. “It’s still not a pretty sight but it’s better than last time. The treatment is working well and the infection in his penis is gradually going down. He was lucky, it could have been a lot more serious.” Laurent is very attentive, hanging on the doctor’s every word, studying every detail of his face. He’s afraid he may miss one of his instructions. Marie gazes out the window, then briefly rejoins the conversation. She knows it’s her fault, but doesn’t really feel involved in what’s happening to her son.
Laurent has been completely swamped by work for three weeks. He’s been coming back to the apartment late at night and Marie has had to delay her return to work once again so that she can stay with Thomas until they find a place in a day nursery. They put in their application well in advance, but September was already over and the other new parents were several weeks ahead of them on waiting lists. Marie had to look after her son single-handed for days on end. She didn’t wash him every day, changed his diaper only rarely, and camouflaged the unpleasant smell of soured milk in the folds of his neck with baby perfume. When Laurent arrived home at around nine he found his son asleep in his cradle, giving off a pleasant smell of lavender cream. He kissed him on the forehead and set off for work again at seven the next morning.
Last Saturday evening Marie was having dinner in a restaurant with Sophia. Glad to be spending some time alone with his son at last, Laurent stayed at home to look after him. Before Marie left, she told him she’d already changed and fed the baby. At about ten o’clock Laurent heard Thomas cry, almost choking. He was burning up with fever, sweating, his clammy wet skin shifting from red to gray. His eyes closed slowly and his breathing grew increasingly halting. Laurent called his wife immediately and left a message telling her to meet him in the emergency room as soon as possible. Marie didn’t get there until midnight; she’d turned off her cell. The pediatrician’s diagnosis was incontrovertible: “This is clearly a case of neglect. Your child hasn’t been washed or changed properly for weeks. I’d say easily a month. The infection started in the anal canal. On examination I found a significant anal fistula that will require a course of antibiotics. His penis is also beginning to succumb to infection because it hasn’t been washed or had the foreskin drawn back. I would say he has balanoposthitis, an inflammation of the glans and foreskin that we’ll try to treat with drugs in the first instance.”
The word “neglect” smacked Laurent full in the chest. He struggled to stay upright on his chair, stunned by the situation. His cell phone rang, it was Marie, who’d just arrived at the hospital. He thanked the doctor, assured him he would follow his advice to the letter, would be very careful, they were just tired new parents with no experience, still not entirely used to looking after a baby. The pediatrician understood, asked him to be careful and vigilant. He printed out several prescriptions and set an appointment for the following week to see how the treatment was going.
The click of high heels rang out in the corridor and a breathless Marie arrived. “Is it over already? I’m so sorry, I ran out of battery and then I went home…There was nobody there, I was scared. What did the doctors say? What’s wrong with him?” Marie’s panicky words sounded hollow. She leaned in toward her baby but Laurent turned the stroller away, said Thomas was very tired and they should go home. On the way home he sat in silence, his hands gripping the steering wheel. Marie had had a good deal to drink, she and Sophia had done a lot of laughing. She was relaxed, enthusiastic, she didn’t want to come back down from her emotional high into the drab and restrictive family life she’d been subjected to for months.
Laurent didn’t know how to broach the subject with his wife; then, infuriated by her inappropriate calm, he eventually launched his offensive: “We need to find a place in a day nursery real soon. Things can’t go on like this, Marie. Not for you or for Thomas, or even for me. Do you get what just happened? The doctor basically called us unfit parents. He used the word ‘neglect.’ I don’t know if you understand what that means. Parental neglect is really serious.”
Marie thought he was overdoing it. Well, she’d been exhausted the last few weeks, but then she was the one looking after their son full-time. She was the one who gave up her career for the sake of her husband’s, staying at home with her son every weekday with no help. And now he was calling her an unfit mother because she didn’t change a diaper right and she didn’t keep cleaning dribbles of milk off his neck.
Confronted with his wife’s rebuke, Laurent was placated, he understood. He knew she was very tired with the new routine, that she thought it was unfair she couldn’t work like him. He kissed he
r, forgave her, promised to find a solution the very next day even if that meant hiring a nanny to help her. Over the next few days Laurent came home from work earlier.
* * *
—
Her colleagues asked her to bring the baby into the office. They’re waiting expectantly to welcome her outside the bank. Marie had no desire whatsoever to show off her son to everyone; keeping her career and her family life separate has been her only source of comfort in the last few months. But they insisted and she didn’t feel able to refuse. Her office, which used to be clean, neutral, and tidy, is littered with a multitude of little niceties and gifts sent by her most loyal clients. “And look…Even Laurent helped us.” Hervé hands Marie a small gilded frame holding a photograph of her, Laurent, and Thomas in the hospital’s maternity unit. She remembers the moment very clearly. Her heart breaks. It’s six thirty in the evening, the end of the day, and her coworkers have organized a little drink to celebrate her imminent return. “Things have changed a bit, you know. Janine left, Xavier took over Patrice’s job…” She listens but is already swamped by the tide of information she’s given. Little Thomas is handed around from one person to the next.
Marie feels as if she is having her period, her pants feel wet. She entrusts her son to her manager’s care and slips away to the restroom. After the exhaustion of her pregnancy, she and Laurent would rather wait before conceiving a second child. Marie doesn’t want one, anyway; she went back on the pill as soon as Thomas arrived. She thinks how quickly everything changed. A day, an hour, the last moment before her rape, she could see herself living with Laurent and their four children. They would have moved into a larger apartment in Paris, maybe even a small house. Laurent is now earning a lot, everything would have been possible. She doesn’t have her period yet, just a feeling. “But really, going back to work after just a few months…She just doesn’t want to look after her kid. With my first I stayed at home for two and a half years to bring him up. But she and her husband must be planning to have a nanny so they have no problem! I tell you, some women…” Marie doesn’t recognize the voice. The two women are talking next to the washbasins, criticizing her for coming back to work so soon. They think she’ll be out of her depth with the new business model, that she’s already a little too old to achieve her goals. Marie feels tears pricking her eyes, her throat constricts. She doesn’t have the courage to come out of the stall to confront the women and chooses instead to wait till they’ve left.
When she rejoins her coworkers Thomas is still bouncing on her manager’s knee. Marie needs to leave, she wants to be on form tomorrow and to use the weekend to study her files. Hervé hands her a large file in which he’s arranged printouts of up-to-date information on all her best clients. “So you’ll know exactly where you stand on Monday without any panic.” She’s touched by his kindness. His genuine smile, the awkward way he always has his arms crossed, his too-big suits, his nervous little laugh, his colorful Disney ties; if he were her husband he’d understand her better than anyone, she’s sure of it.
When she’s back at the apartment Laurent calls to tell her not to wait up, he’s having dinner with his boss to discuss an important new case. The baby’s lying on his playmat. She doesn’t look at him and starts heating some noodles left over from yesterday. Thomas cries, he’s hungry. When he was tiny she always delayed his feeds, constantly balking at being forced to breastfeed him. Laurent eventually noticed this after a few months. Since the baby’s infection she needs to be vigilant. She came up with the idea of expressing her milk and making up bottles in advance. Thomas can wait till she’s finished her noodles this evening, then she’ll take the bottle from the fridge. She sits on the kitchen counter and watches the baby crawling on the floor. He’s very agile for his age. In fact the pediatrician said he was clever and alert. She finishes her meal and goes over to the baby with the bottle in her hand. When she has him in her arms she tries not to make eye contact for too long. She’s aware of his smell, would like to stroke him, kiss his forehead, whisper sweet nothings in his ears. But she can’t. She can’t get her rapist’s face out of her mind. She settles for supporting Thomas so that he can finish his milk as quickly as possible and can then go to bed. Before, she didn’t even take the time to burp him but she now feels she has to. She doesn’t want to risk him choking, a danger that had never occurred to her before the doctor mentioned it.
Laurent comes home from work and she regrets that she’s not asleep. Pumped up by alcohol and the new case, he’ll try to touch her again. She can’t pretend anymore and wishes she could tell him to find another solution to satisfy his sexual needs. The last time they had sex was two months ago. She let him have his way. Penetrated by her husband for many long minutes, waiting for him to finish. But he was particularly active that evening, turning her in every direction like a sack of potatoes, stuffing his fingers in her mouth, muttering dirty talk in her ear. He ejaculated over her stomach, pulling out at the last minute as if afraid of coming inside her.
Laurent tiptoes into the room, undresses, and lies down next to her. There’s a strong smell of whiskey on his breath. He presses his erection up against her buttocks, slowly rocking his hips. Marie grunts, asks him to let her sleep. He slips his hands between her thighs. She moves away. Laurent gives up, gets out of bed, and leaves the room. He seems annoyed but she doesn’t take much interest.
Many long minutes later he hasn’t come back to bed. The alarm clock on the nightstand says two thirty. Marie gets up to see what her husband’s doing. There’s a dim light on in the living room. She walks along the corridor past the front door without a sound. Laurent is sitting on the sofa with his laptop on his knee. She can’t see the scene very clearly, there isn’t enough light. She steps silently closer behind him, hears the sounds, understands. Laurent pants, gasps, masturbating over porn: a girl taken by two men. He sighs, his erect penis in his hand. His legs are spread, his head resting on the back of the sofa. Marie watches him, frozen behind him, slightly shocked. Laurent’s no different from any other man, he never has been. He’s just a man who wants to have his wife whenever he feels like it. “The woman is passive as a toilet, for the man to do his business in.” This sentence from the writer Elfriede Jelinek suddenly comes back to her. She was lent the book Lust years before she was raped. She remembers not finishing it. She found it shocking, unfair, disgusting, particularly that sentence. A stupid feminist bitch. Things are different now. Marie wants to wait to see her husband come over his porn film. She wants to know if he’ll be the same as when they’re together. After all, she didn’t know many men before him. He gives a restrained little cry. Semen spurts over his stomach, his penis still erect in his hand. The laptop slides onto the sofa next to him. The video continues. She watches the images of the girl dressed in school uniform and covered in semen, kneeling before two huge penises that strain in front of her face. Marie creeps away without her husband noticing her. She buries herself under the covers. She can feel her vagina is swollen, wet, hot. She squeezes her legs together, refuses to experience any arousal after what she’s just seen. Her body arches. She puts her hand inside her panties, slowly strokes her clitoris. Marie has succumbed but she’s alone at last. He won’t come now.
On the last Saturday before Marie goes back to work she’s bubbly with happiness, she’s almost forgotten the incident the night before. Laurent comes into the kitchen with his eyes barely open. “I slept really badly last night, I’m going back to bed soon.” Marie keeps stirring the scrambled eggs in the pan. The baby has been very placid for a few days and he’s just slept through the night for the first time. It’s Laurent’s turn to give him his bottle this morning. A relief for Marie. She can’t get used to looking after her child.
“Baptiste gave me a new case yesterday. Kind of complicated, I’m not sure I’ll take it.” Marie likes it when her husband tells her about his current clients. Probate cases are often boring, divorces are more titillating. “It’s a med
ia magnate. His wife wants a divorce but the problem is she’s accusing him of raping a minor. Apparently he got a little too close to one of his daughter’s friends. Thirteen, I mean really…” This is the second time their paths have crossed on the same word. Last time was with Paul. Marie doesn’t say anything, lets him keep talking: “But nothing’s been proved yet. I think it’s something his wife cooked up to get a fatter settlement out of him. The mother of the girl is a really good friend of hers. I don’t know…You should see him, he doesn’t look like someone who’d do that sort of thing.”
That sort of thing. She thinks of her CEO. He doesn’t really look like a rapist either.
“So what do you think they do look like, guys who rape women? Do they have bleeding vaginas tattooed on their shoulders or wear swastikas around their necks?” Surprised by her aggressive remark, Laurent instinctively looks up from his cup of coffee. Marie is shocked by her own words. She didn’t think. She turns away, suddenly regretting letting herself get carried away. She needs to focus now, think about what she says next, not awaken any suspicion. She tempers her words, rephrases them to moderate their impact, smiles at her husband, spoons the eggs onto the plate, ends up changing the subject. He’s stopped listening. Has already forgotten.
* * *
—
As she works her way up and down the supermarket aisles with her stroller, Marie can’t help thinking over what she said this morning about Laurent’s client. She thinks he’s going to start realizing something. The shelves of vitamins and food supplements are laden with hundreds of boxes in all shapes and sizes. Marie desperately wants to lose her excess weight, be back to the slim attractive woman she was before her pregnancy. An older lady next to her coos over Thomas. Marie knows that he finds new fans every time they go out. The questions, always the same: how old he is, whether he’s sleeping through the night…There are about ten women in the health and vitamin aisle. Most of them are overweight, lingering over boxes of diet pills, shamelessly grabbing big pots of protein powder and tossing packets of low-calorie meal replacement bars into their carts. Marie is a little skeptical and wonders whether these products really work. She’s ashamed to be in this part of the supermarket. Before having her baby she wouldn’t have hung around here for a moment, she would even have made fun of these poor lazy, overweight women who may still hope their husbands will find them attractive when they come home from work. Marie scours the displays, drifts from one end of the shelves to the other. She doesn’t know which brand to choose, tries to find her shopping list. Nothing.