But actually, it wasn’t as hard as I thought.
You have to have faith in humanity sometimes.
Because it turned out that everyone was shocked by the principal’s new rules—they just didn’t know what to do about it.
My camcorder and I would be the choreographers.
I started with Joris and Sonia. They would be my inspiration.
They were already together when they started high school. They’ve known each other since kindergarten. They’ve been kissing since elementary school.
So they had no objection.
And they didn’t even need to pretend.
They kissed—in front of me.
On camera.
Long, wet, soft, intense, sweet.
I watched them. I was fascinated by their skin. By the way Sonia pressed into her man. I got a lump in my throat. I wondered if anyone had ever wanted me that way.
Obviously, the answer was no.
Sure, I’ve had a few girlfriends.
Nothing serious. While some science teacher was talking about atoms, I’d roll up a note into a ball and throw it to the other side of the class, and the replies would land in my pencil case. I think you’re cute. We should go out. Meet outside the school at 5, ok? I was in grade six.
Then technology entered the picture. I’d get texts on my phone between classes. Someone likes u. Can u guess who? Abbreviations, emoticons, cookie-cutter sentences. I’m not making fun of it—I wrote them, too.
Except…
Except it never lasted long.
I’d always get dumped.
Always nicely.
I’m not someone you want to hurt.
It’s just that—there was no “chemistry. ”
One girl, Laura Green, told me it was a relief when we stopped going out together. It was “too weird” dating me, apparently. It was like I wasn’t there. Like I was in my head, just observing, instead of doing something, making a move. “You would daydream and daydream, and I just kept waiting for you to snap out of it and kiss me already,” she told me. I couldn’t help laughing—she did, too. We’re still on good terms. I’m on good terms with all my exes. It feels stupid to call them “exes,” though. Ex-whats? Anyway, it doesn’t matter—they all live in another city now.
Ever since I came here last year, I’ve had no luck with girls at all.
What’s for sure is that I’ve never experienced anything like this. Hearts beating wildly, the smell of each other’s skin, bodies calling to each other, with all their strength, with all their weakness—a kiss. I don’t know who I am when you’re not with me. Another kiss. Forgetting the world outside.
I’ve never been Joris. I’ve never been Sonia.
Those two were my first. I filmed them behind the cafeteria building, on the grass. It was 1:35 in the afternoon. There was no one around except us.
I know it might seem weird. I know it might seem perverted. But actually, it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.
When it was over, the three of us held hands. They were a little red-faced, and so was I.
My cheeks were still flushed when I got to class and sat down next to Evan, breathless. He whispered, “What have you been doing?”
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later. ”
He nodded and said that whatever it was, it suited me. I asked him what he was talking about, but he just smiled.
All through class, I couldn’t stop staring at the Spanish teacher’s lips. I wondered if there was someone, somewhere, waiting for her.
The next day, I went outside with Lisa and Sam.
Lisa and Sam are in my class. They’ve just started going out. They’re low-key—they don’t make waves. He’s not a very good student, and she’s one of the best. She’s an overachiever and he’s always flunking. They know that a lot of people say they won’t last. But already, you can see the connection between them. When they have a problem, they face it together. It doesn’t scare them.
Still, I wasn’t sure how they’d react to my plan.
Lisa was tying her shoes while I told them about my project. I started out very clear and calm, but when they didn’t say anything, I came undone. I started searching for words and mumbling. Then Lisa lifted her head and said, “Okay, we’ll do it, but just him in my arms. ”
I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but I was so surprised she agreed to it that I said yes, for sure.
They sat against the wall of the main building, in the April sunshine.
He put his head on her shoulder.
She stroked the nape of his neck, gently and rhythmically. I shot a close-up of her hand and his neck. A light breeze ruffled his hair.
It took my breath away.
It happened little by little. I held the camera, transfixed by the two of them. Lisa stroking him, calming, reassuring. Sam’s head lifting toward her. Her finger tracing the outline of his left ear—so delicate and fragile—and her hands like a whisper—I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here. I felt a tingle just above my belly button. It slithered up my chest like a snake and coiled in my neck. My eyes filled with tears. I could have held them back by looking up at the sky—the serenely blue April sky—but I couldn’t look away, or maybe I didn’t want to. I stayed there, watching the little moving square, watching Lisa’s hands and Sam’s hair, and letting my tears flow.
When we were done—when they saw the tears running down my cheeks—Lisa came up to me. Sam, too. They hugged me for a long time, without saying a word. And then we pulled apart.
I knew their bodies had left a mark on my skin. And I knew from then on, they’d stand by me, right to the end.
After that, word got around.
There’s someone at school who… Do you know the guy who…? What do you think of the…?
So I didn’t have to look for my subjects anymore.
I was scared that the principal would hear the rumors. But I told Evan about it, and he made sure everyone honored the code of silence. He didn’t say a word to his mother, even though she wouldn’t have done anything to discourage me. He said it was our business, not hers. He emphasized the word “ours. ” I felt supported.
Supported.
Carried.
Carried away.
They came to see me with their ideas. No special effects, no staging, no acting—just natural lighting and ordinary gestures, captured on film.
There was Finn and Matilda. He held her face in his hands and they just looked at each other, not even smiling. It was as if they were drowning and saving each other at the same time.
Then, Ellen and Mosef. The two of them rode across the parking lot on her bike, his head resting on her shoulder. I thought Mosef wouldn’t want to do it. He said, “Well, you’re wrong! My mom would be super excited if she knew I was in a movie. Even a movie like this. ”He laughed, a booming laugh, and then Ellen started laughing. They had a really hard time being serious after that.
And Mya and Michael, behind the fence, sitting on a low wall. They held hands. They closed their eyes and let the sunshine flood over them. A moment of peace in a world of conflict. A forbidden interlude.
Love.
The most overused, insignificant, abused, invincible word.
Love in every color, every way, every shape.
And me—my hand steady, my eyes riveted to the scene—detached, but extremely present.
And then, my project expanded.
It was a Thursday morning.
The English teacher tore into the computer lab at full speed, glanced around, sat down next to me, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “It’s too simple. You’re not the only ones in this school. And not everything is about love. There’s hate, suffering, bravery, kindness—you need to show all of it. ” She stood up and left the room without turning around.
I was blown away. All of a sudden, my project took on a larger meaning. I felt dizzy, but at the same time, I understood what she wanted to say.
So, I picked up the pace.
After class, the teacher lecturing two students she had held back. Speaking with her hands, her fingers flying up in the air and descending again, frenzied.
In the hallway, the juniors studying for their big math test. Elise walking up and down the hall, reciting magic formulas.
In the courtyard, Alice and Peter, breaking up. Her running away, waving her hands furiously to stop herself from crying. In the custodians’ room, people erupting in laughter.
In front of the cafeteria, two boys and a girl improvising a dance, with their friends around them, clapping.
Someone coming out of the teachers’ lounge, slamming the door. Through the crack, a glimpse of the coffee machine and Pascale W. smiling. In the bathrooms, a little farther away, the sound of muffled sobs. And then the bell ringing and everyone scattering like a spooked herd of cattle.
On the second floor, Jeff P. and Jeff C. fighting, almost coming to blows. Emily running toward them, furious, screaming even louder than them, making them go quiet.
And as I watch it all, nobody pays attention to me. I hide my camera.
People are starting to say hi to me in the morning. More than they did before.
When I pass in front of the fence, there are smiles, nods—signs of recognition. But the girls who used to hang around me have stopped. They watch me, a little nervous, a little puzzled.
Back at home, I edit the movie. It’s how I spend all my time. I cut and insert and rearrange.
One moment, then another.
Joris and Sonia’s kiss, Alice and Peter breaking up, the teacher talking to the students after class, Ellen and Mosef laughing.
One after the other, and one moment dissolves into the next.
I was afraid they wouldn’t go together, but I was wrong.
Five minutes and thirty seconds of life.
If I only had an hour to live and had one last wish, I’d ask to watch those five minutes and thirty seconds again.
Even if I was forty. Even if I was sixty or a hundred.
For a long time, I couldn’t decide what to do about the soundtrack. I couldn’t decide because with music, it’s all about different groups and scenes. One person’s taste totally excludes another’s. Music doesn’t bring people together—it divides them. It turns them into cliques.
Even jazz. Even classical. Especially classical.
So I decided on silence.
A deafening silence.
I cut out all the sounds, then recorded the sound of my breath and the sound of my heart beating.
Five minutes and thirty seconds of life.
The final product.
I played it on a loop on my computer, over and over—I couldn’t look away. I felt waves passing through me, getting stronger. I felt like the ground was shaking. I never realized, before I made this film, how much all these people were a part of me.
I burned a copy for the English teacher, another one for the Spanish teacher. And one for Marion, and one for Evan, too.
Evan came with me yesterday to film the final scene—where Clement comes out of the school and down the steps and Selena runs after him. She’s about to put her hands over his eyes when he turns around, and they’re face to face, lips to lips. It’s the end of the day, but the sun is still shining brightly.
I expected Evan to make fun of me, to make some sarcastic remark. To say it was sappy, or shallow. There was plenty of stuff to attack, but it never stopped me. I just had to keep going.
But Evan didn’t say anything last night. He just watched. And he took off before I could get my things together. Clement and Selena were already far away. I was alone in the courtyard. I felt at peace, and at war. Alone, and connected. I’d never felt so connected to other people before. I’d never felt so alone before.
The next afternoon, Evan called me. He had just watched the film. He said, “Something’s missing. ”
“What?”
“You. You’re not in it anywhere. ”
“I’m behind the camera. ”
“I have an idea for a final scene. Can you meet me?”
We met in the school parking lot. It was deserted. It was Sunday, 5:40 p. m. The date and time were displayed on the screen.
Evan set up the camera.
He positioned it so I was in the frame.
He said, “Don’t move. ”
He started filming and then, suddenly, he left the camera running and walked over to me. He came closer and closer. His breath on my neck. My heart beating. My breathing getting faster.
And the kiss.
Tuesday.
I’m standing in front of the principal’s office. The door is closed. It’s 3:00 p. m. I’ve been waiting half an hour.
Yeah, I’m a little scared.
But I’m ready for it.
I know I’ll be expelled.
I’ll get what’s coming to me.
The new version, the one with the final scene, made the rounds. The English teacher showed it in class. A physics teacher did, too. The Spanish teacher kept giving me little half smiles—I couldn’t tell if they were meant to be ironic. The blogs went crazy. I found out it was forbidden to film on school property without obtaining permission first. Actually, I’d known that before, but nothing was going to stop me.
I heard that the principal was hysterical.
He wanted to punish “the ringleaders”—but there was just me.
I’m not a ringleader.
I’m just a transcriber. A secretary. That’s it—an executive secretary. I just recorded what was already there.
I was summoned earlier this afternoon. To the office, immediately. A teacher came with me. He’s waiting with me. He says it will be okay. I say it doesn’t matter.
I have no regrets.
I’m not ashamed.
I feel freer and prouder than I’ve ever felt.
The teacher goes to the window to look outside.
He comes back toward me. He’s trying to hide a smile. He says, “They’re all down in the courtyard. ” I don’t understand what he’s saying. He takes my arm and leads me to the window. “Look!”
Look at them.
All of them. Every class, every grade.
Sitting on the pavement. In the unusually warm April sun. Looking up at the principal’s office.
Calm, determined.
They’re occupying their territory—their place to live.
Ours.
First published in France as Un endroit pour vivre, ©Actes Sud, 2007
English translation ©2009 Annick Press
Annick Press Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyrights hereon may
be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic, or
mechanical—without prior written permission of the publisher.
Series editor: Melanie Little
Translated by Paula Ayer
Copyedited by Geri Rowlatt
Proofread by Helen Godolphin
Cover design by David Drummond/Salamander Hill Design
Interior design by Monica Charny
Cover photo ©Shutterstock
To J.-L. Guillaume, O. Bigeard, and V. May. To my colleagues. To my students, past and present, particularly to the T euros 06/07. To U.V. and A.K.
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.
ONTARIO ARTS COUNCIL
CONSEIL DCS ARTS DE L'ONTARIO
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Cataloging in Publication
Karle,Vincent
Descent into paradise / Vincent K
arle.
(Single voice series)
Translations of: Un clandestin aux Paradis and Un endroit pour vivre.
Title on added t.p., inverted: A place to live / Jean-Philippe Blondel.
ISBN 978-1-55451-235-5 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-55451-240-9 (bound)
I. Blondel, Jean-Philippe, 1964- II. Blondel, Jean-Philippe, 1964- .
A place to live. III.Title. IV. Series: Single voice series
PZ7.K1448De 2010 j843'.92 C2009-906438-3
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