Chien

Samuel Benchetrit

Audio by Paper2Audio.

roman

Bernard Grasset

Paris to Kate Moran 1.

I could see my son playing with our little neighbor's dog.

But I couldn't watch my son play with that dog for too long, because that my wife was telling me:

— My skin is burning, I'm losing my hair and my nails are turning yellow...

She held out her hands; her nails were painted.

— … I went to see a specialist, Dr. Zenger, and guess what? He finally found the cause of this illness… Do you want to know the cause, Jacques?

- Yes.

— It's you... It's you, Jacques.

- Me ?

— Yes... Besides, you'll learn that this disease now carries

Your name is an acute case of whiteness.

My name is Jacques Blanchot. —

Does that please you?

- What ?

— That a disease should bear your name?

- I don't know.

— It's still a stroke of luck, some great doctors work hard all their lives and will never have any disease or vaccine named after them... Whereas you, you did nothing, and it just happens to you like that.

I wondered if we get paid to have a disease named after us.

Like a copyright.

My wife continued: —

Unfortunately, this disease is very rare, I may be the first victim... Tell me Jacques, do you remember other women affected by this acute blanching?

I have sincerely thought about it.

— For the moment, there is nothing that can be done to cure her… No treatment… No cream… So… you would have to leave.

— When?

— Now... It's starting to itch.

I stood up, my wife remained seated, she continued talking.

— Maybe one day we can see each other again... Many people with allergies suddenly and without explanation... Like my friend Catherine who could never eat oysters.

— And she can now?

— No… But recently she's been able to tolerate the smell.

My wife didn't say anything more, but I didn't dare leave.

She started scratching her forearm, head, and both shoulders at the same time.

— Perhaps I should go.

She nodded.

In the garden, I found my son, to whom I wanted to say goodbye. He continued to play with our neighbor's dog.

— Goodbye, Victor.

- Hi.

My son was twelve years old and he already considered me a stranger.

For my part, I loved him in secret.

— Tell me, Victor, does it itch for you too?

— No, I'm not scratching... Why?

— Your mother has a very rare skin disease, in fact this disease now bears our name, so I was thinking that it might be hereditary.

— It doesn't itch!

- So much the better.

I thought my son had probably inherited my genetic makeup, and given what he thought of me now, he was probably not going to like himself very much either. But I also remembered that he certainly wasn't my son since he was born two and a half years after I last slept with my wife. — Does it please you that a disease bears our name?

— I don't really know... Is it profitable?

— Then I don't care.

2.

I walked down the street in front of my house. My feet hurt. I thought it might be a good idea to buy a pair of sneakers or walking shoes. Our car belonged to my wife, and I saw no reason for her to give it to me.

This made me think that I also needed to find a place to sleep. Like an apartment. The house I was living in belonged mostly to my wife, and with her acute case of the "whites," she didn't want me there anymore.

Finally, while passing by a pet shop, I decided to buy a dog.

3.

The puppies were kept together in groups in what looked like waterless aquariums. Perhaps they were real aquariums for large fish that had not been filled.

The puppies were excited. They were barking, running around, and doing everything they could to get my attention. It pleased me. I was more starved for affection than they were. I walked over to one of the aquariums.

The excitement grew. One of the puppies planted both paws on the glass, barking loudly in my direction. I didn't know if he wanted to bite me or if he liked me. I thought of my wife. In any case, this puppy seemed to be the leader of the aquarium. Behind him, three other dogs were barking, but a little less, probably the other one's second-in-commands.

Further back, a puppy lay on its side against the glass. It looked dead. I approached it, and the other dogs followed.

The leader of the puppies put his two paws back on the window; he wasn't barking anymore but was breathing heavily, his tongue hanging out. I wanted to...

to caress.

— Don't touch!

Behind me stood a man in his fifties. As tall as he was broad. Seeing him, I thought his name must be Max, and I immediately understood the pun in the sign and the name of the pet shop, Max Attack.

- How?

— Don't touch... Most people come here to pet the puppies and then they leave... They just spend five minutes like that, waving their germ-covered hands around, giving the animals silly names and leaving without looking back... Sometimes I have to restrain myself from getting my rifle out...

I wanted to leave, but the guy continued: "Would you like it if strangers stroked your head for five minutes?

By giving you silly names?

- No.

— You would hate it!

- Yes.

The guy watched the puppies who were still getting excited in the aquarium, and then he snapped his fingers, without even raising his hand, and everyone calmed down, and I felt calmer too.

He stared at me. I smiled.

— So... You want to buy a dog?

I kept smiling.

— Or did you just spend five minutes putting your hands all over the place?

— I want to buy a dog.

The guy shook his head up and down, exhaling in short bursts. As if to say I was on the right side of the world. That I was a good person.

That people like me had their place in his shop. That he wasn't going to get his rifle and shoot me in the head.

— Which dog do you want?

I showed the one that was lying on its side and looked dead.

— That one.

— No, that one is dead… It wouldn't be honest to sell it to you.

I wanted to ask why he kept a dead dog in the middle of the other living ones in the aquarium, but I also wanted to stay on the right side of the world, so I kept smiling and shaking my head up and down.

— Come with me.

I followed the guy to another aquarium filled with dogs.

— This is the one you need.

He grabbed a puppy by the scruff of the neck.

— It's the most beautiful one in the whole store!

What he was holding in front of me was the worst thing I had ever seen in real life. I don't know why, but I thought it was Hitler's puppy. And that the puppy was trembling because Hitler was dead and would never see him again. And that the puppy's eyes were bulging because a shell had exploded a meter from its mouth. And also that it was drooling because it had swiped some cyanide from Eva Braun in the bunker.

In short, this puppy reminded me completely of the Third Reich.

— He's handsome, isn't he?

- Yes.

4.

For a long time, I no longer contradicted people who liked something I didn't like. I had abandoned my own taste as one abandons a land on which nothing will ever grow.

At the beginning of my relationship with my wife, I had tried it once or twice to give my opinion.

I had accompanied her to a large home improvement store. She wanted to put terracotta tiles all over the kitchen, bathroom, toilet, and even stick one on the wall near the front door with a nice word written on it like Hello or Welcome.

Everything she had chosen revolved around green. Apple green. Khaki green. Dark green. Mint green. Fir green. Pale green.

We were going to live in a psychiatric hospital.

My wife was excited, and as soon as she spent more than €50, she looked like a madwoman. — It's going to be beautiful, it's going to bring in light.

"Like a February morning in Denmark!" I thought. And I started laughing to myself, it happened to me sometimes. My wife gave me a hard look, and so did the salesman, even though he didn't care that we would now always look unwell.

I said,

"Maybe we could use another color... to alternate..."

Like red.

— You don't know anything about it!

Yet I had been a painter. Five years of study at the Beaux-Arts. And even though I hadn't touched a paintbrush for a long time, I worked as a salesman in an art supply store, at Graf-Art.

But she was right, deep down I knew nothing about it. Or rather, I lost interest in things very quickly. And I was the one who would get used to the green checks the fastest. My son would wear a hat and scarf to go to the bathroom, my wife would remain convinced that it wasn't the green she had chosen. But me, I would be fine, happy to have made a mistake, and on my throne, I would invent stories of forests and treehouses.

5.

I was at the checkout. Hitler's puppy in my arms.

The guy was preparing some kind of invoice with V.A.T. €499.

— Do you have what you need for the dog?

I thought that I didn't even have a place to sleep, and that if the puppy had one, we could have gone to his place.

- That's to say ?

— You've never had a dog?

The guy sold me what I needed. A foam doghouse for €89. A double food bowl for €59. A leather leash for €39. A matching leather collar.

A leash for €29. A flea collar for €19. A fur comb for €19. A carrot-shaped toy for €19. A hedgehog-shaped toy for €19. A unclear-shaped toy for €19. A five-kilo bag of vet-certified puppy kibble for €49. A pack of mini calcium bones for puppy teeth for €29.

He looked at me for a long time, and then he moved his head up and down again while exhaling in short bursts.

— You seem like a nice person!

I smiled.

— My name is Max.

We shook hands.

— Jacques.

He came a little closer to me, as if to create some intimacy and so that the other dogs wouldn't hear us.

"What I'm about to tell you, I reserve for my best clients... I wouldn't want you to end up with a badly behaved dog in six months... An anarchist... What you need are training lessons..."

Ten lessons... I'll give them... Every Saturday morning in the Bois de

Vincennes... You'll be with other owners and their pets... After that, your dog will only breathe if you tell him to...

I thought of the Nazi puppy turned anarchist running while peeing on a vast lawn at the Fête de l'Humanité.

— So, you want a trained dog?

- Yes.

— Shall we take ten lessons?

- Yes.

Ten lessons at €50 each.

6.

Leaving the pet store, I walked a few meters along the sidewalk. The puppy was traumatized by suddenly finding himself in the street. He seemed to have aware of his physique, and his shifty gaze asked what pervert had adopted him.

I had all her belongings in my arms and I needed to find a place to sleep.

I stopped at a pedestrian crossing to wait for the light to turn red.

I knocked over the foam kennel, and when I tried to pick it up, the bag of kibble slipped out of my hand. When I picked up the bag, I dropped the leash, the puppy ran into the road, a bus passed by and ran him over.

The puppy was flattened and no uglier than before. It could have been a pigeon, or a cat.

When I saw it, I thought to myself that the bus hadn't felt anything.

I picked up the leash and pulled on it a little, but the puppy was stuck to the asphalt.

Since no one was around, I unhooked the leash and left.

7.

I found a hotel for €69 a night near Place de la République.

The very thin employee who was looking after me refused to give me the key.

— We do not accept dogs.

— I don't have a dog.

— So what are all these things?

I looked at the dog's belongings as I held the dog in my arms.

— It belonged to my dog.

— Where is your dog?

The skinny employee kept staring at me.

— Listen, this isn't my hotel, I've only been working here for two months... And my boss has been very clear: no animals allowed... If you hide a dog, I'll get fired.

— I'm not hiding a dog.

He didn't believe me, yet I was someone who never lied.

— I hope you're not hiding a dog in your pockets.

— How is that possible?

— A Japanese dog… Or a Chinese one… Apparently, small dogs are all the rage.

I emptied my pockets on the counter.

The skinny employee gave me the key, but he didn't believe me.

8.

I put the dog's things away in my room, which costs €69 a night. The doghouse is in a corner, the toys are in front of it, the kibble and mini bones are next to it, and I hung the leash and both collars on the window handle. As for the comb, I put it on the shelf above the bathroom sink.

I lay down on the bed. The wallpaper was pale green. I would have preferred a carmine red or a satin ochre, but I knew nothing about it, and soon I would find it wonderful.

I closed my eyes.

The door burst open; it was the skinny employee attacking by surprise, just to check on the dog.

9.

It was a ghost town at work. Just an old woman who wanted to give her grandson a box of pastels. I suggested the simplest one: a box of 24 pastels.

She looked at the box for thirty-five minutes before saying: "Don't you have anything bigger?"

I showed him the double-tiered box containing 48 pastels.

She looked at the two boxes for another thirty-five minutes.

— How much is it?

— The set of 24 pastels is €36, the set of 48 pastels is €72.

— It's twice as expensive.

— It's twice as big.

— Often when things are doubled, it's a little cheaper than

The simple version, you know what I mean?

- Yes.

— If you buy a liter of milk for €1, the store can offer you two liters for €1.80.

I continued to hold the boxes while she spoke.

— So we wonder why a single liter isn't cheaper...

Let's say, 90 cents right now... Don't you think?

- If.

— You don't do that kind of thing here... It's obvious... Are you serious... The single box costs €36, so of course, the double costs double... €72 exactly... You wouldn't sell the double for €69 for example?

I didn't know what price I would get for this double box. I wasn't than an employee, and that saved me from asking myself those kinds of questions.

- No.

— That's good... You're serious.

All I knew was that my boss was getting these boxes for €9 for a single box and €14 for a double box.

— It's because I don't see my grandson much... I don't know what he likes... My daughter says he doesn't like anything... So I wanted to give him something... Something big and cheap.

She took the simple box at €36.

At lunchtime, I didn't eat. I no longer had enough money to eat at midday. I preferred to save enough to buy coffee for the morning, or a sandwich for the evening.

I slept poorly on an empty stomach.

I spent lunchtime locked in the store's office.

The place had been a shed used to store equipment, back when we sold it. Now, the artists only painted on digital tablets, and the shed had become an office, in which a computer had been installed, a computer used to inventory the equipment we no longer sold.

Sometimes I would look at things on the Internet. Unlikely things, because I didn't have anything in particular to look for.

I ended up on Christmas tree sales websites in August. Fishing equipment networks. Once, I learned how to refill a scuba diving cylinder with compressed air.

This afternoon, I spent some time trying to figure out the breed of my dead puppy.

Google images.

I entered like a dog.

Then a puppy.

Hundreds of images of cute little faces appeared on the screen.

I typed: Ugly puppy.

Monstrous newborns paraded by, none of them reached the my ugly puppy's ankle.

We would surely have won medals together.

Mine was the sum of all the others. His rough, yellow, and patchy fur, his stained tongue hanging to one side, his large, bloodshot eyes into which the pus of a permanent conjunctivitis would collect, his shifty and terrified gaze, his malnourished body, his bloated belly, his cough.

I missed him for the first time.

I gave up the search.

I typed all sorts of words at random.

Child.

Son.

Man.

Tiles.

Acute blanchoïte.

Itching.

Heart.

I ended up searching for Wikipedia within Wikipedia.

A few months earlier, my boss had asked me to learn how to use the Internet.

He wanted me to "build" a website.

It took me a little over a year to figure out which button to press to Log in.

My boss's idea was to develop a digital sector, like our competitors were doing. Initially, I compared our prices to those of our rivals. We were the most expensive.

Then, I browsed several blogs to read what customers thought of our business. We were portrayed as unfriendly, dishonest, and the store's hygiene was appalling.

One morning, my boss informed me that he had hired a new employee.

One morning, my boss informed me that he had hired a new employee. Michael. A young man in his twenties who would be joining us soon, upon his return from the United States where he was finishing his studies in digital graphic design. Michael was the nephew of my boss's wife, and therefore my boss's nephew by marriage.

My boss had come into the office and announced the news to me like this: — We're going to have a new guy here, a little digital genius, he's my wife's nephew, he's the best in his graphic design school in the United States... He's going to turn the company around!

But here's what I actually heard: — My wife's nephew is coming, so get ready to clear out!

I wasn't a clairvoyant, but I could sometimes foresee my future.

The store was going bankrupt, and I was becoming the worst employee possible, since the store was changing its business.

I was hired as an intern when I was studying at the School of Fine Arts. The students who worked here received a miserable salary but benefited from an exceptional 25% discount on materials.

I had quickly given up on the paint and the 25% discount, but kept the miserable salary.

A year later, my boss hired me permanently, and even though at Over the years my salary had doubled, but it remained half-miserable.

11.

Around 3 p.m., the guy from the bank called me at work. It was now the only place anyone could reach me. I'd never really owned a cell phone. The last one had been stolen by my son, who'd made a habit of robbing me of anything that could fit in his pockets. He usually broke in at night, entering our bedroom with all the subtlety of a drunken blind man.

I watched him. Opening my drawers, tapping on my nightstand, searching my trouser pockets. Sometimes our eyes met in the darkness.

I closed my eyes to reassure him that I was asleep. I knew my son didn't resell what he stole from me. He was being extorted by a gang of thugs at school, to whom he had to make all sorts of offerings several times a week.

The school principal had summoned us about this. My wife started screaming, insulting the entire public service, from the supervisors to the Minister of National Education.

For my part, I was moved, finding a rare opportunity for heredity with this boy.

As I was leaving school, my wife attacked me.

This lasted the entire way home, in the kitchen, during the dinner, in front of the television, in bed.

She seemed to have a cold of hatred. Sniffing heavily, but not trying to blow her nose. Satisfied with her slight fever, relishing each sneeze of anger.

Regularly, she would pause to look at me, and then say with a derisive sigh: — And you don't say anything!

To which I replied: —

Yes.

In truth, I was calculating in my head the differences in seconds between his and you, and you said nothing, and found it amusing when they fell twice in a row at the same interval time.

Once she broke a record without realizing it: nine times, "His and you, you say nothing," fell 97 seconds apart.

I kept his achievement a secret.

For my wife to stop, someone would have had to split her in two with an axe from behind. But most of the time, she exhausted herself, falling into a kind of lethargy, her conversation veering off onto her own life, the emptiness of her days, the hypocrisy of her friends, the misery of our relationship, my weakness, my lack of drive, courage, culture, ambition, relationships...

We both lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.

I listened to him talk, I felt good.

— I feel like you've emptied yourself of everything over the years... You It looks like that vase sitting on the living room table...

I pictured the vase she was talking about. It was quite large, transparent, and could hold a medium-sized bouquet. But I didn't remember it ever having held a single flower. In fact, I didn't think of it as a vase; it was an undefined object, which had escaped its destiny, made for a purpose it would never fulfill.

My wife turned off the light and turned her back on me.

I wasn't any stronger in the dark, but I loved my voice, it made me seemed to belong to someone else.

— Tomorrow I will go to school, I will find the thugs who are bothering our son.

12.

There is always a leader. The one in the gang who mistreated my son was called Stanislas, I knew him by sight, he was thirteen years old, and he was taller than me.

When I walked towards him, he looked at me and smiled.

— I think you took my phone.

— Your son gave it to me.

He was smiling.

— He didn't give it to you willingly.

— You asked him to give it to you.

- No.

- so?

— So what?

— You have to give it back to me and stop stealing from us.

— It's not stealing... He's the one who's always bringing us things from your place...

We never asked him for anything, but he wants us to be friends, so he gives us gifts... things from your place.

My son arrived. He didn't seem pleased to see me talking with Stanislas.

— What are you doing here?

— I came to get my phone back, and I promised your mother I would talk to your friends so they would stop extorting you.

Stanislas said: —

We're not his buddies.

And my son said: — They're not extorting me, I'm the one giving them things.

— But why?… You can be accepted in other ways, for your human qualities.

They both laughed. They seemed to agree on this point: my son had no chance of becoming friends with these guys by relying on his humanity.

— Listen, Dad, you'd better go home... This is none of your business.

— It's still my things you steal every time.

My son stared at me and Stanislas continued to smile, happy to discover where my son got his mediocrity from.

— Why don't you steal things from your mother too?

— She has nothing that interests me or that I can give them.

She's got money... The same bills as me... Why are you telling her

Don't you steal her money?

— I don't know.

In truth, my son and I knew perfectly well why I had exclusive rights to his stolen goods

He didn't consider me his father. Beyond the fact that I certainly wasn't biologically his father, my wife had done everything, from the moment of his birth, to keep us apart. She had succeeded in building a thick wall between us. The first bricks had been questions were posed at the maternity ward, when my wife prevented me from holding the baby in my arms.

— You shouldn't wear it, you're probably sick.

— I am not sick.

— Are you sure about that?

— I feel fine.

— You are often sick...

— That's true, but...

— You coughed yesterday.

- Oh yes ?

— Yes, at lunch.

— I must have swallowed the wrong way.

— Let's not take any risks… It's a very small baby, very weak, wait until it's immune before touching it.

I waited two years.

While he sleeps in his room.

I would set my alarm two hours before my usual wake-up time, and I would go and sit on the small trunk near his bed. I loved those moments.

Even though I was afraid my wife would catch me.

I had prepared some excuses.

He had a nightmare... He coughed... He called me in his sleep... Yes, he screamed my name!

I didn't touch my son that first night. It took several.

My wife had managed to convince me of my chronically poor health.

I belonged to a species too dirty to come into contact with other new and healthy skin.

And the first time I touched him, I hadn't convinced myself otherwise, I placed my finger on his forehead like a selfish person, risking contaminating the pure sleeping being, for my own personal pleasure.

I stroked his profile.

From forehead to chin.

Everything was there.

Perfectly in its place.

When my son opened his eyes, we would cling to each other, and often he would smile at me before returning to his kingdom.

Perhaps he himself was now coming to steal from me in my room at night to remember my nocturnal visits.

Such was our bond, secret and silent.

But when the day arrived, we each took our place again, behind the wall that my wife had built.

I turned back to Stanislas.

— And my phone?

- What ?

— Where is he?

— I gave it to my father.

13.

The guy from the bank called me. Mr. E. Letteret wanted to meet. My wife had already told him she was no longer my wife.

We needed to talk about the outstanding loan on the house where she was still living with my son.

(30 years of monthly installments at €850 per month).

— We need to talk about the deadlines, Mr. Blanchot... It seems your wife no longer wants to act as guarantor... We'll find a solution... Don't worry...

In reality, my banker had no power in the bank that employed him. He represented the second-to-last link in the chain, just one notch above the girl with two-tone nails who issued checkbooks behind her counter.

His only power was over me, and the other thirty million guys like me.

Mr. E. Letteret was in charge of about a hundred of us. And other, higher-ranking E. Letterets were in charge of the hundreds of E. Letterets who were in charge of us.

Often in the evening before falling asleep, I would think about my banker.

I tried to imagine his life, his wife, his house. I pictured him as a non-smoker. A cyclist. A skier in February.

And then, my thoughts always failed in the same place: what Did the E before Letteret correspond to this?

To sum up, when E. Letteret said he wanted to talk about the deadlines, what he really meant was: "How are you going to pay? Huh? How are you going to manage, you poor piece of shit covered in debt flies... Your wife kicked you out, she wants to keep the house, and so, you filthy vomit, you're going to have to find somewhere to shove your shapeless, repulsive 1.70-meter frame... And you think you can just shoulder a second rent payment, you useless piece of trash? You'd be better off selling a kidney to buy a gun and shooting yourself between the eyes."

And when he talked about my wife backing out of my guarantee: "Who can cover you now? We'd bet more on the last bastard in a coma in palliative care in Villejuif... You see him, the bum who comes to lean against the bank's ventilation every night... Take a good look at him... And when you walk down the street, memorize the hot plates, the wire mesh floors...

Anticipate your future, my boy... Aim for the ground... Start walking with your head down..."

Finally, when, in his warm and reassuring voice, he said he wanted to find a solution and no need to worry:

— Drop dead, drop dead, and drop dead... I'm not your social worker, I'm your banker... You can feel the difference...

So worry, you miserable turd, worry deeply... Because I'm the last guy on this Earth who cares about your 850-euro problem... I only look after my own personal account, and I spend my days looking after it... I know about good investments, small stocks here and there...

Oh, I don't take big risks, in my game, I'm also a loser, but a loser with a credit, who accumulates exactly what you lose every month...

I bet you're wondering what the E in front of Letteret stands for... I'll tell you... It's not Emile, nor Etienne, Eric or Emmanuel... It's Asshole.

It was Friday, and a meeting was arranged for the following Monday at 8 a.m.

14.

On my way back to the hotel, I hesitated to stop by and see my son. Actually, I wanted to see my wife. I was worried about her whitehead. Maybe my twenty-four hours away had been enough to cure it? After all, I could easily go back home the day after I left. I still had the keys. Men would do that. They'd go home. They'd come home upset.

Things aren't going well right now. We're having a problem. It's normal to have problems after years of living together. But look, I'm going home. This is still our home.

It's still my home. And besides, I have to put our son to bed. He needs to feel me. To hear my voice. We can't become strangers any faster than we met.

When we bought our house, my wife had just received her inheritance from her father, who had died a month earlier from lung cancer. This money was more than enough to buy the house, but she categorically refused to pay for it herself.

She saw no reason to pay for me.

According to her, it was a question of equality between men and women.

We were living in a small two-bedroom apartment near the Porte d'Ivry. The rent was entirely my responsibility, as were all the other daily expenses. My wife didn't work, and since the birth of our son, she had started training to become a massage therapist, specializing in shiatsu, acupuncturist, and psychologist using foot manipulation.

The first year, I served as his guinea pig.

I spent the month of December in the rehabilitation ward at the hospital. Ambroise-Paré after my wife had crushed two of my vertebrae.

Then in intensive care the following March, in the same hospital, following a five-hour acupuncture session that caused me to lose three liters of blood.

As for my plantar psychology, the result was unequivocal: I was manic-depressive with suicidal tendencies, endangering the lives of others through my own.

I liked my wife's father. He didn't talk much and always smiled, and this old facade gave the impression that he had already talked too much and smiled too little.

One day, he called me to ask me to visit him.

I went to his house one afternoon. He served us two large glasses of cognac, then we sat down in his living room, in two armchairs facing each other.

Time passed silently.

Sometimes, after a sip of cognac, I would say: "It's good."

To which he replied without opening his mouth: — Mmm.

I left three hours later, he walked me back to the door.

Before I left, my wife's father grabbed my forearm and he squeezed tightly and tenderly.

He said: — I know.

I replied: — I know.

And he added:

— I know that you know.

It was the most intense moment I experienced with this family, all across generations.

While we were living in our apartment near Porte d'Ivry, my wife embarked on the hellish process of searching for a house.

She had a budget, double the amount she wanted to invest.

For the other half, she was counting on me.

It was at this time that I met E. Letteret.

He was so friendly the first time that I almost told him my the most intimate secrets and kiss him/her goodbye.

That day, E. Letteret had taken less than thirty minutes to make me sign a loan of €225,000 over thirty years at a rate of 7%.

No one in the world can get you faster and with your consent.

I was going to be one of those who, for three decades, would pay for his children's holidays, their studies, his Christmas and birthday presents, his parents' funeral, his condominium apartment in a ski resort.

I was going to be my banker's bank.

To get my loan, I had to undergo a multitude of health examinations.

They weren't worried about me, they just wanted to know if I'd make it. If my cholesterol or diabetes levels wouldn't skyrocket in the next thirty years. If my heart wouldn't give out. If I wasn't hiding cancer, multiple sclerosis, or AIDS somewhere. If my hepatitis A wouldn't turn into hepatitis C.

I'm filling out a questionnaire about everything that couldn't be surveyed.

And where science could not go, they created forms bearing the title:

Trust questionnaire.

Are you depressed?.....Y/N Do you use illicit substances?.....Y/N Do you drink more than two glasses of wine a day?.....Y/N Apart from wine, do you drink one or more alcoholic drinks a day?.....Y/N

I circled the Ns everywhere.

I wasn't lying. I never lie. I wasn't depressed, a drug addict, or an alcoholic. No member of my immediate family had experienced any health problems before the age of sixty. They died a year later, at the beginning of their retirement, just after having toiled for forty years in the same factories, lifting the same bags of garbage and obeying the same orders.

My parents' death at sixty-one was like a disguised suicide. It suited everyone that they were gone. Generally speaking, they were useless without working. Personally, they couldn't afford to live if they didn't work.

At the bottom of the trust questionnaire page, after answering the twenty or so questions, you were asked to sign under the statement: I swear on my honor.

What kind of honor were we talking about? Personal honor? The honor of France? Medical honor? The honor of the bank?

Did these tests exist because a sick man had lied about his health? A guy suffering from incurable cancer who suddenly decided he wanted to take out a thirty-year loan to buy a 60 m2 apartment?

Or was it one of those bankers who, one morning, having reached his maximum level of disgust for men, had imagined the worst of his brothers, capable of hiding his impending death to buy himself a piece of paradise?

The loan was granted to me. We owned a house.

Today, on my way home from work, I passed by without daring to go there. enter.

As I walked through the reception area of my hotel, the thin employee looked behind me to check that no dog was following me.

15.

I stayed lying down. I didn't have enough money for dinner. Just a little change that I preferred to keep to buy myself a coffee and a croissant the next morning.

I woke up feeling unwell on an empty stomach.

The thin employee entered the room unexpectedly; he seemed disappointed not to find any other living mammals besides me.

I read a study that said it was best to lie on your left side. Being on your heart side promoted rest and prevented back problems, sleep apnea, snoring, as well as the risk of heart attack or aneurysm rupture. No doubt another study in the spring would lean towards the right side, but for now, the left side was the preferred option.

In this position, conducive to my health, I found myself facing the wall, practically pressed against it given the width of the bed. This was my dilemma: sleep without risk of death but with my nose pressed against the wall, or turn over and endanger my life to enjoy the view of my bedroom, dog kennel, bags of kibble, double bowl, and surprise attacks from the skinny employee.

After forty minutes of deliberation, I chose the view of the bedroom and the threat of imminent death.

I was trying to hear my heartbeat, but I wasn't good at these things, like people who seem to know themselves so well that they can determine, without further ado, whether they're suffering from this or that ailment. I couldn't hear my heartbeat, but that didn't mean I was dead, since I was trying to hear it.

Thirty-five minutes later, I made a sort of scientific discovery.

If I turned over in bed (feet-head), then I could be on the right side, the left, with a view of my room.

This was the best news of the day, and while carrying it out, I mentally awarded myself the Nobel Prize in Science.

16.

Night had fallen long ago, but I couldn't sleep.

I had no idea what time it was, no watch, and no indication of the time in the room or on the street.

I was hungry.

I got up to walk around the room a bit. As I left the bed, a creaking sound tore through the silence, and I was unable to tell if it was the bed frame, the floorboards, or my spine.

I looked at the puppy's things.

I missed him.

I felt like going back to the place where the bus had run him over. To retrieve him and find a place for him, to let him rest somewhere in a park, near a tree, or on the quays by the river.

But the sanitation services had certainly already come by and picked it up to throw it in a landfill.

I tried to imagine what our first days together would have been like. I couldn't see anything different. I was in exactly the same place, lying in a bed, or in the middle of a hotel room that would have accepted pets.

Perhaps I should find him a name. It would help me grieve. Every being who has lived on this earth has the right to have a name.

Here again, I was no expert. I hadn't chosen our son's name. And I had been kept even more out of the loop than when my own parents had decided on my first name.

I had never really chosen anything. I participated in the lives of others. I accompanied their projects. I found myself by chance in the midst of their desires. For a house. For travel. For children. And this from my birth, when my parents had, I don't know for some mysterious reason, the desire to have me, or rather to have a child, as if to resemble their neighbors, who had wanted to imitate their friends, who were jealous of their cousins.

I gave up on the idea of finding a name for the dead puppy.

I went and sat on the edge of the bed. I stood for a moment looking down at the floor near the doghouse.

Then I tapped my thigh three times, accompanied by the words: — Come here, my dog!

The dead, invisible puppy poked its little head out of the kennel and crossed awkwardly, she left the room to come and sit in front of me.

I stroked his head affectionately.

— He's a good dog... Gentle...

I got up. The puppy followed me, not knowing where we were going. I grabbed one of his toys. The plastic carrot that squeaks every time it's squeezed.

The dead puppy was staring at the carrot.

— What is this?!

The puppy's tail was wagging excitedly from side to side.

— Is that the carrot?

I threw the carrot to the other end of the room.

Two options opened up in my imagination: The dead puppy was running towards the carrot.

Or, more subtly, the young puppy hadn't yet grasped the concept of "fetching the thing," and remained sitting on its paws watching us.

The carrot and I gently.

(I liked the second option since I was going to pick it up myself.)

I enthusiastically threw the carrot back two or three times, calling out: — Go get the carrot!

The thin employee burst in unexpectedly.

He remained doubtful and silent, discovering me alone and naked in the middle of my room, the carrot in my hand.

He must have mentally placed me at the top of the list of weirdos who had stayed at the hotel.

I went and sat on the edge of the bed.

The dead dog was now only half-existent.

I told him to go to his kennel.

He disappeared completely.

I lay down on my left side.

Sleep finally came.

17.

I woke up in the night, or early in the morning.

It took me a moment to realize I was no longer in my bed, but crouching at the other end of the room in front of the bag of kibble.

A new creaking sound tore through the silence.

I identified him this time.

It was coming from my digestive system.

I was hungry.

Complete food for puppies.

With poultry and vegetables.

Composition: Cereals, meat and animal by-products (including 4% poultry in the brown kibble), oils and fats (including 0.2% fish oil, 0.2% sunflower oil), vegetable by-products (including dehydrated beet pulp 2%), vegetable protein extracts, minerals (including sodium tripolyphosphate 0.7%), vegetables (including carrots 4%, in the orange kibble, including green beans 4% in the green kibble).

I wasn't used to eating better than that normally.

I opened the bag.

The chemical smell that emanated from it flooded the room; I forgot about it after a few seconds, without knowing if it had dissipated or if I had gotten used to it.

I took a handful of kibble.

Some brown, orange and green.

Like the man crouching in his cave, I smelled the new food, observed it from all angles, sniffed it again, before cautiously bringing it to my mouth. It didn't taste as advertised.

No carrots, no poultry, no known fats, no usual oils.

It was something else entirely.

Dog food.

Satiated, I watched the sunrise.

18.

From my bedroom window, I could see a patch of sky, and the close to the facade of the building opposite.

The narrow street seemed to light up in the first rays of sunlight.

It was Saturday, the weather forecast was for today.

I remembered that my dead puppy had an appointment for its first Dressage lesson with Max at 11 a.m. in the Bois de Vincennes.

I couldn't go without a puppy.

But I had paid. And I had nothing else to do.

Men's curiosity is inversely proportional to the affection they receive. And in my desert, participation in a lesson of Dog training, without a dog, could fill some of that emotional void.

I combed my hair with the puppy's comb.

I put some kibble in my pocket.

I took the leash with me, in case someone lent me another dog there.

And they left early, to cross the city on foot.

I arrived ten minutes late.

19.

A circle of about ten men and as many dogs had formed around Max.

The dogs were of different breeds and ages, both female and male.

The men were just men, around forty years old.

Max seemed to have been talking for a while when I joined the group.

He didn't stop when he saw me, but he didn't take his eyes off me.

... A dog that isn't trained isn't a dog... A master who doesn't train isn't a man... A dog is a good soldier; he's only happy if he receives commands... A dog without commands is unhappy, depressed, suicidal...

The men shook their heads up and down as they listened to Max, who finally asked me: "Do you want something?"

I wasn't surprised that he didn't recognize me.

— Yes, I bought a puppy from you a few days ago.

Max lowered his gaze towards my feet, then returned to my face.

— Where is he?

— He is dead.

- What ?

A murmur arose from the group of about ten men. Nothing from the dogs.

— But how did he die?

— As he was leaving your store, he was hit by a bus.

I never lied.

Max shook his head, but from left to right this time.

— Well done!

- I'm sorry.

— So what are you doing here, if you don't have a dog anymore?

— I bought some lessons... Ten dressage lessons.

— What use is that to you now?

— I was thinking that... I could have attended the lessons.

Max watched me for a moment.

— But you're planning to buy another dog?

- No.

— So why do you want to attend one of my classes?

— Out of curiosity.

— Out of curiosity!

- Yes.

— But this isn't a circus... I'm not some puppet show.

to look at as if at the zoo.

The other men laughed when Max said that. Not the dogs.

— No spectators… You participate or you leave.

One of the dogs closest to me started pulling on its leash, it

I could smell the kibble of my dead puppy in my pocket.

Max asked the owner to restrain his dog, but he was having trouble holding him back. It must have been his first lesson. Max snapped his fingers like he had done in his shop, and everyone calmed down, the birds stopped singing, the children sat down, and their kites fell.

Max approached me.

— What do you have in your pocket?

— Kibble.

- Watch.

I took out the kibble, orange, brown and green.

— Why are you walking around with that?

— Just in case.

— In case of what?

— In case I get hungry.

Max took a few steps in the other direction, he moved away from the group.

The men tried to keep their dogs in a sitting position, some snapped their fingers, but the dog excited by the kibble had sown a kind of anarchy in the group.

Max came back to me.

He spoke to me away from the others. I liked that intimacy.

— Do you want to participate in the course?

— I'd like that.

— But I don't like spectators, you understand?

- Yes.

— I don't want an audience.

- All right.

— When people stop in the woods to look at us, it makes me want to hit them.

- I understand.

— Even children.

— Mmm.

— Do you want to participate in the course?

- Yes.

— What's sticking out of your pocket?

He pointed to the other pocket: one end of the dead puppy's leash was hanging out.

— This is the leash for the puppy you sold me.

— Why do you have it with you?

— I thought maybe someone could lend me a dog here.

— No one will lend you a dog.

- All right.

— Do you see a stray dog here?

I watched, even though I knew the answer.

- No.

Why would I let you attend my class?

— I paid.

— But you paid for a dog training lesson.

- Yes.

— And your dog?

— He is dead.

- so?

— It's cancelled.

— It depends.

- What ?

— From you.

— From me?

- Yes.

- For what?

Max paused, looked away for a moment before replying: "You can't attend my class as a man... There's no shortage of men here... Every dog has its man... Every man has his dog... on this earth... just like here..."

I was trying to understand Max, who I found a bit philosophical for a trainer.

— ... All men have their dog... except one!

- Which?

- Look for!

I looked at the group; indeed, a dog was sitting at the feet of There was no shortage of them.

The only one who didn't have a dog was...

— It's you, Max!

He seemed to think I was intelligent.

— Yes, me.

We shook our heads a little, and Max said this: — If you want to take part in my class, you have to do it as a dog.

— But I...

- What ?

— I am a man.

— Are you sure?

- I believe.

— Try the necklace.

- Pardon?

— The leash collar... Try it.

I took my time before putting the collar around my neck. The others were watching us. The dogs too.

— So? —

It's okay.

— Is he squeezing you?

- A little.

— He'll relax... We'll go to the store later to choose one for an adult dog... I've received some new models.

- All right.

— Do you want to participate in the course?

The collar on the leash was choking me.

- Yes.

20.

We joined the group. Max introduced me to the others as his friend, his best friend. He held me by the shoulder and the leash. He explained that I would be acting like a dog during the lesson, and that the others would just have to watch how he did it with me to do the same with their own dogs.

Before we started, Max asked me: — What's your name?

— Jacques.

— That's not really a dog's name.

- It's true.

— It's a man's name.

- Yes.

— Some men's names also work for dogs.

— Mmm.

—Karl…Dick…Hugo…Bob…Joe…

— Mmm.

— But Jacques doesn't work… What's your middle name?

— Charles.

— That was my father's first name!

- Oh yes!

— I can't name a dog after my father.

- I understand.

— We'll find you a name later…Let's begin the lesson.

During class, Max called me The Dog. Then Dog.

The first exercises were quite simple.

Seated position.

Layer.

Standing.

Next, we had to remain motionless in the face of temptation.

Max undid the leash on my collar, then threw a tennis ball to a about twenty meters, telling me: — Don't move!

I didn't move.

— Don't move the dog!

I was waiting.

And then, with the same authority: —

Go get the ball!

I went to get the ball, without really running but without dawdling either.

I brought the ball back to Max, who stroked my head while attaching my collar to the leash.

— Good dog!

— Mmm.

The other dogs were much less obedient than me.

They pulled on their leashes, shook their heads while sticking out their tongues, and Some were even barking in the direction of the ball.

Max made us stand in a circle.

He asked everyone to sit their dog down.

I sat down first.

Max positioned himself in the center of the circle to speak to the men.

— I he goal is to achieve silence… Total silence… We are not old women who talk to their dogs to feel alive… A dog is not a friend to whom you tell your office stories… The goal is silence… And without speech, where will the authority lie between a master and his dog?

The men were thinking, the dogs were looking elsewhere or scratching themselves.

I didn't yet know where I stood.

No one could find the place of authority.

Max continued.

— In the gaze... the eyes... No need to raise your voice, to speak, to move a single finger... A trained dog is a dog that obeys at a glance... Look...

Max turned towards me.

He stared at me.

At first, I couldn't hold his gaze, I looked down a little, trying to escape to the left or right, but it was too strong, I was magnetized, and very quickly I stared back at him, trying to guess what he wanted to tell me.

He wanted me to lie on my back.

I lowered myself hesitantly, like a beginner trying to understand a foreign language.

Max watched me, he seemed to be encouraging me in a crinkling of the eyelids.

Once I was on my back, completely stretched out against the fresh grass, Max smiled at me, then he crouched down next to me and slid his hand under my neck.

— That's good... That's good, Dog.

We were happy.

The others applauded, and some of the dogs, still young and poorly trained They barked in response to the noise.

I returned to the hotel early.

I was tired and hungry.

21.

I ate some kibble. Mostly green ones, they reminded me of the bathroom tiles at home.

I lay down for a while to think about my wife.

I missed her.

I got up and decided to do some sitting-lying-standing exercises.

I executed about twenty of them.

I was tired and hungry.

I ate some kibble.

I lay down for a little while.

I fell asleep.

I dreamt of the kibble.

From a tennis ball.

From my wife.

And that I was being strangled in my bath.

I woke up while it was still dark.

22.

I waited until the sun was fully up and it seemed to me to be it took 11 hours to call home.

My wife answered, I woke her up.

I didn't dare say: — It's me.

Because I was afraid she would reply: — Who?

So I said: —

It's Jacques.

And she understood.

She asked me how I was doing.

I was fine.

She too was doing well, and even though her itching was gradually calming down, she was definitely affected by this whitlow and it would take time, a long and uncertain time, before she was completely cured.

In this regard, she asked me when I planned to retrieve the few personal belongings that remained at our house. Being in contact with my things could trigger a sort of hives or eczema flare-up for her.

"Very quickly," I told him, looking down at my hotel room and the dog's kennel.

She wanted to hang up because she hadn't noticed the time and had a lunch appointment. She even thanked me for calling, because without me she would surely have missed her appointment. She had gone to bed very late.

I asked to speak to our son.

She called to him from afar, telling him that her father wanted to speak to him. I heard our son say: — Oh no!

And my wife was yelling because she was in a hurry for her lunch appointment.

Before putting down the phone, my wife said to me, almost whispering: — I'm sending you a big kiss.

My wife had this ability to be able to shout a sentence and whisper

The next one. Thinking about it, I didn't remember it being a normal size.

I waited ten minutes before my son picked up the phone.

He spoke softly, like someone who had just come out of general anesthesia.

I suggested we meet in the afternoon. We could go for a walk wherever he liked. In a park or along the Seine. Go to the movies. Have an ice cream...

He wanted to meet up with some friends at a skatepark. But he didn't have a skateboard. So I had to buy him one. He knew a guy there who was selling his. I told him I was okay with it and we arranged to meet two hours later.

Before hanging up, my son said to me: —

See you later, Dad.

With the same gentle voice as my wife when she said to me: — I kiss you very hard.

23.

I didn't know how much a skateboard cost, but I could count on my son's expensive tastes. My wife had taught him to hate off-brands.

I was trying to save up to pay for the hotel at €69 a night, and enough to eat a little something other than kibble.

I was planning to ask Mr. E for a loan or an authorized overdraft. Letteret Monday morning.

Something to look forward to.

I was confident, because all men suffer after a certain age.

and remember their past suffering to help their destitute brothers.

I put some kibble in my pocket and left my room.

As I crossed the hotel lobby, I was surprised to discover a new employee. This one was older and plumper than the other, who apparently didn't work on Sundays.

The new employee barely greeted me, before lowering his gaze to to check if a dog was following me somewhere.

I arrived at the skatepark early.

24.

Several groups of young people were gathered here and there.

I wondered which ones were friends of my son.

The groups were similar. About six or seven boys for every three or four girls.

The boys wore identical clothes, wide trousers,

Low-top shoes, patterned t-shirt, and sometimes hoodie.

They remained standing, their plank under their feet, or placed along their legs.

The girls were dressed the same way, and remained seated on the concrete steps, talking amongst themselves.

Sometimes, a boy would leave the group, throwing his board against the asphalt. He would jump on his skateboard, pick up speed, and perform some kind of bizarre trick.

Then he would return to his group, the discussion would resume, and another guy would take his turn.

It made me think of a beach, where young people would sometimes go to cool off.

At one point, the small group of girls sitting looked in my direction. One of them pointed her finger at me while talking to the boys.

They launched their surfboard to come and join me.

There is always a leader. The leader of this group must have been fourteen years old; he was taller and thinner than his friends.

Before speaking to me, he turned back to the seated girls.

He yelled: "Is that him?"

And the girls replied: — Yeah!

The chief moved closer to me.

— Why are you staring at the girls like that?

- Pardon?

— Those girls over there... Do you like them?

- No.

— Why are you staring at them then?

— I'm not staring at them!

— So what are you doing here then?

— I'm waiting for my son.

Another said: —

The big liar!

And the chief said: "Who is your son?"

— His name is Victor.

— Victor, how?

— Victor Blanchot.

The chief repeated foolishly: —

"Victor Blanchot"!

- Yes.

— I don't know.

— He asked me to meet him, I have to buy him a skateboard.

That's when my son arrived. He made a funny face when he...

seeing him talking with the guy.

— Hello Victor!

— What are you doing here?

I tried to lighten the mood.

— I'm talking with these young people.

One of the girls sitting down yelled to her friends: —

So, is he a pedophile or what?

And the chief said to my son:

— Your father shouldn't be staring at the girls like that!

I told my son: — I don't look at girls, I look at... people.

It was best to leave as quickly as possible. I wanted to take my son somewhere else, but he told me:

"It's him I want to buy my skateboard for."

He was talking about the gang leader who had forgotten about my son, whom he had met a week earlier.

— Oh yeah, that's true...

I asked the boss: "So, how much are you selling this skateboard for?"

— Well, I don't really know if I want to sell my board to an old guy who

Check out my thirteen-year-old friends!

— Listen, I already told you I don't look at your friends, I'm here to buy a skateboard for my son.

The chief thought about it.

— Okay... 300!

I didn't know anything about it, but I knew the price was well above average. And also that €300 was almost the cost of four nights in a hotel.

— 300!... I think you're making fun of me.

— I don't think so!

— I saw some boards for less than €50 in a shop.

— Well, you can just give this crap to your son if you don't like it… Your skateboard is just a piece of wood with four plastic wheels.

— Why does yours cost so much?

With a flick of his foot, he brought his skateboard up between his hands.

I looked at my son, who was impressed.

I was too.

The chief continued:

— It's a Nozbone board, with Bones Swiss Ceramic bearings... And most importantly: it's my board!

My son and I didn't understand anything, but we were among those who never ask for too many explanations.

— Listen, I'll give you half, €150 is already a large sum.

— Do you think you're at a flea market? That's €300... With that, your son will wreck everything here!

We may not have been at a flea market, but this boy had the language and manners of one.

I turned back to my son; he hadn't taken his eyes off the skateboard.

— Do you really like this skateboard, Victor?

He nodded his head.

I took out the tickets to give them to the chief.

— At that price, you might be able to show my son a few things.

— And what else, I'm not a teacher!

25.

My son wanted to try his skateboard right away, but he insisted that one isolates oneself from others.

We found a corner hidden by the trees outside the skatepark. A small, flat, concrete space where he could practice.

I sat on a low wall to watch it.

He had trouble balancing more than two meters on his board.

I applauded him.

He was saying: — Stop!

A few years earlier, I had taught him to ride a bike. We were going every weekend in a square near the house at Porte d'Ivry.

When I removed the two small wheels at the back, my son thought I was a traitor.

— I'm going to fall!

— No, you'll succeed.

That was the only time I was really able to reassure him, and he believed me enough to get back on his bike.

At first, I helped him get started, then I held his handlebars straight on the hundreds of meters, while he pedaled with the clumsiness of a fledgling.

He understood how to navigate.

So I kept my hand on his shoulder so he wouldn't fall.

I ran alongside him, while, full of confidence, he drove faster and faster.

Sometimes I had to open my hand on the back of his neck and, with a light pressure, encourage him to go a little more to the left or to the right.

I could touch him without embarrassment. Without fear of contaminating him.

I touched him to protect him.

Other kids have arrived at our secret area.

Seeing them swing their boards and jump on them, my son immediately picked up his own and came to sit next to me.

We watched them perform their bizarre acts.

— Why don't you go with them? You could learn something.

— I don't want to.

We sat there for a long time, I almost fell asleep.

My son said: —

It's a kickflip.

- What ?

— What they're doing are kickflips.

— Is it hard?

— I don't know.

My son suddenly stood up and swung his skateboard away. against a sidewalk a little further away.

— What are you doing?

— I'm going home, skateboarding sucks!

I thought: €300...

And I picked up the skateboard while following him down the street.

Upon arriving home, my son immediately went up to his room.

I could hear my wife in the kitchen. I didn't know if I could go find her to say hello, or if I should talk to her from afar and see her from a distance.

In the living room, the dinner table was already set, with three place settings. Anyone else would have thought he was the third person. The guest. But that idea didn't even cross my mind. The three place settings were for my wife, my son, and a third guest I didn't know.

The house was beautiful and cozy. The lights flickering here and there would soon take over from the daylight, reassuring us when night fell upon the world. The air smelled deliciously of cooked chicken. Like every Sunday evening.

And my absence didn't seem to have changed this habit at all.

Sunday evening was the most important time of the week for my wife. She had been raised in a boarding school, and Sunday marked the end of the weekend at her parents' house and the bi-monthly separation from her friends.

So since she became a mother, Sunday evening was a performance ritual, where we had to tidy the house, wash up, turn on the lights, set a nice table, open a bottle of wine and cook a free-range chicken.

Then at the table, we pretended to be chatting and interested in each other.

Then my son would go back upstairs and lock himself in his room, I would clear the table and do the dishes, while my wife remained collapsed on the sofa, the usual meeting place for her weekly bout of melancholy.

When I passed by her, plates or the chicken carcass in hand, I would call out to her: — Are you okay?

To which she replied: — It will pass.

And it happened every time at the precise moment I finished tidying up.

We were going to bed, and from his side of the bed, I could hear him fall asleep with a sigh accompanied by:

— That's how it is!

Which meant that she had grown up in deep suffering, but that she had gotten through it and forgave the whole world for this injustice.

My wife called me, her voice was loud but cheerful: — Jacques, come, I'm in the kitchen!

I crossed the living room to join her.

I was moved.

27.

She was busy between cooking the chicken, chopping tomatoes and opening a bottle of wine.

She handed me the bottle.

— Can you help me, please?

I pushed the tip into the cap and turned it.

My wife was beautiful, made up but not too much, as she knew how to do. Her hair was neatly tied back. She was wearing a black outfit that I didn't recognize.

While I was opening the bottle, I watched the chicken cooking in the built-in oven at my height and estimated its weight. It must have weighed at least two and a half kilos; it was a beautiful chicken, and I didn't remember ever seeing a bigger one browning here.

The cork gave way, I placed the bottle on the worktop.

My wife glanced at me between two slices of tomato.

- How are you?

- good.

I leaned a little against the fridge, so as not to look like I was standing there in front of her, and to show that the place was still familiar to me.

— I'm late, do you know what time it is?

I looked at the microwave. — 6:57

P.M.

— I'm late.

I was hungry.

I wanted to open the fridge door to eat something. A piece of cheese or some leftover food.

I also wanted to kiss my wife.

Kiss him on the mouth.

I moved away from the refrigerator to take a step towards her.

She scratched her shoulder with her chin because her hands were busy with the tomatoes.

— I'm going to go.

— Did you speak to the banker on the phone?

— Yes, I'll see him tomorrow morning.

- Alright.

I turned around to leave.

— Wait, Jacques.

- Yes.

— Would you mind putting the bottle of wine on the table when you leave?

In the living room, I placed the bottle in the center of the table, where I used to put it.

28.

At the hotel, I wanted to eat my croquettes on a plate, but I didn't dare ask at reception.

I took the glass from above the sink and filled it to the brim.

I decided to take a bath.

I turned on the water taps and filled the bathtub halfway.

In the meantime, I undressed and did some sitting-lying-standing exercises.

Once in my bath, I grabbed the glass but it slipped and the

The kibble scattered everywhere in the water.

It looked like an aquarium, with the small multicolored pebbles and the Fish too big for its bowl.

The phone rang, I rushed out of the water. Running towards The phone, I thought it must be my wife.

— Jacques, why did you leave? I had prepared this dinner for you, for us, I chose the biggest chicken, we are at the table with Victor, we are waiting for you to start.

It could also have been my son.

— I wanted to thank you for this day, Dad. I love spending time with you. If I spend more time with you, I would like you to teach me how to fish.

I picked up the phone.

— Mr. Blanchot, this is the reception desk. There is a note here indicating that you spent three nights in the hotel, and under the note there is a question mark. When my colleague leaves me this kind of note with the question mark, it means that management wants to know how long you intend to stay and also when you are going to pay?

While the employee was speaking, reality was settling back into my mind. Neither my wife nor my son knew where I was, and I was more likely to find me in the hospital or in prison than here.

— I think I'll stay a little longer... I'll pay you tomorrow evening.

The employee didn't say anything; I didn't know if he was still at the other end.

- Hello?

— Mr. Blanchot, there is something else on the note, a sort of motif which I don't understand.

- What is this?

— It looks like… An animal… Like a bear… Or maybe a rabbit… Or a dog… Yes, perhaps a dog, surrounded by a circle and striped diagonally… Do you understand this sign, Mr. Blanchot?

- No.

I hung up.

Some kibble had remained stuck to my skin.

I ate a few of them and went to bed.

I was no longer in my bed but lying on the floor.

Was it the fall that woke me up, or did I fall because I was waking up?

I had no idea what time it was.

I tried to turn on the television.

Not a single chain worked, it was just snow and more snow.

I was tired but I was afraid of falling back asleep if day broke soon.

I could have called reception, but I didn't want to wake anyone up the employee if he himself was asleep.

I decided to get dressed and go for a walk in the city.

In the lobby, the new employee was watching 80s music videos on his computer.

I asked him the time, he pointed with his chin at a clock fixed to the wall above the elevators. 3:54.

I had an appointment at the bank at 8 o'clock.

Plenty of time to go back to bed, but I wasn't tired anymore.

I asked the receptionist how to get my T.V working.

With a distinguished sound from his mouth, he replied that he knew nothing about it. I went outside.

30.

I arrived at my house half an hour later.

I hadn't chosen this destination, but most of my limbs were mysteriously connected to my unconscious and to desires I didn't admit to myself.

I always had the key to the house.

I entered quietly.

I could easily find a reason for my presence if my wife caught me there:

— I came to collect my belongings as you asked me to.

— At this time?

— I work during the day, and I refuse to let you scratch yourself because of me.

In the living room, the table was still uncleared. The chicken carcass sat next to the three-quarters empty wine bottle. Inside the three plates were scraps of skin, tomato pulp, and cheese rinds. All of this would slowly dry overnight, making the dishes all the more difficult to wash the next day.

I moved slowly in the twilight; although I knew the place very well, my vision was clearer tonight.

Our bedroom overlooked the living room on the ground floor. I seized the

He grabbed the handle like a newborn baby's hand and opened the door a crack.

My wife was sleeping in her usual spot, but in a different position than I knew her to be; she was wedged like a puzzle piece into another body opposite her. A man's body that was in my place, and which even took up a bit more space, since it must have been twice the size of mine.

They each had one arm under the other's neck, and the other arms crossed at the waist.

I couldn't see how their legs were doing because the duvet covered them, except for one of the man's massive, muscular legs which must have been hot and was sticking out on my side of the bed.

I closed the door.

As I walked back into the living room, I stumbled upon a shoe. A gigantic red sports shoe, brand Puma.

I picked it up and smelled it.

It had no particular smell, yet the shoe was worn, and if I myself had owned a sports shoe, it would have given off a foul smell after two hours.

I checked the size. 47.

And I put the pump back in its place.

I went up to my son's room, which was upstairs.

It had been a long time since I had made this journey at night.

ever since he was a small child, when I would secretly go and watch him sleep.

I entered his room with less caution. He was still fast asleep, and if he woke up, I would tell him that his mother and I were back together. The next day, he would tell his mother, who would reply that he must have had a bad dream.

I sat down on the bedside table that had replaced his toy chest. There was still a childlike scent lingering here. It wasn't quite his anymore, but yesterday's, too recent to have completely dissipated. My son's sleep had always represented peace in the world to me.

I never resisted synchronizing my breathing with his, like soldiers marching in step. His nights were a kind of spectacle, minimalist or grandiose, and I loved being the sole witness. Each performance was different. I watched for the slightest twist. A blink. An exhalation. A groan. Or like that particular, miraculous night when my son was seized by fits of laughter.

As the sun set, my son's room transformed into a time machine. He was the adventurer, sometimes returning from distant lands, with his little noises, his movements as an offering.

My son freed the duvet with his feet and let one leg escape like the man who slept in my place, nestled inside my wife.

I gently put the duvet back on so that it wouldn't fall.

My son opened his eyes.

I smiled at him.

— What are you doing?

— I'm pulling your duvet up.

— I'm fucking hot!

- Excuse me.

He yawned, still lost between his two worlds.

— What time is it?

— I don't know, 5 a.m.

— What are you doing here?

- Nothing.

— If Mom sees you, she'll kill you!

- I know.

He yawned again.

— I'm exhausted.

And closed my eyes.

— You know, Victor, maybe we won't see each other again... It's nobody's fault, not your mother's, not mine, and certainly not yours...

Life decides... I think this world is collapsing around me...

Each man climbs the slope of his own volcano, an ever-steeper incline... And I feel the heat beneath my feet, and I know my volcano will soon erupt... I must run now, hurtle down this slope and never...

— I'm fucking useless!

- Excuse me.

— Let me sleep now!

He turned over on the other side of the bed.

I got up and crossed the room to leave.

- Dad?

I turned back to my son.

-Yes?

— The door.

I closed the door quietly.

I sat down on the sofa, just like before, when I had just paid a late-night visit to my son.

I stayed there waiting for daybreak and the time to leave for work.

I had imagined many things in that place, especially the day when my wife would live with another man.

I got up and started clearing the table.

I performed the movements in slow motion so as not to wake anyone.

I took the plates and the chicken carcass on the first trip. Then the glasses, the cutlery and the bottle of wine.

The cheese platter, the water carafe, and the clementine peels lying around.

I then returned with a sponge and a cloth.

I removed the tablecloth, which I planned to shake out later, then I wiped the table with a sponge, rubbing thoroughly, before finishing with a wipe of the cloth.

In the kitchen, I let a trickle of lukewarm water run and scrubbed the plates, cutlery and glasses.

I put everything back in its place in the cupboards.

I opened a garbage bag, slipped the chicken carcass into it, and

I took the opportunity to eat some of the bits that were still stuck to the bone.

I washed the dish, dried it, and put it away with its siblings in its cupboard.

I finished the remaining quarter of wine in the bottle in one go.

I opened the kitchen window and shook the tablecloth methodically, with a regular rhythm.

I folded the tablecloth and put it away with its sisters in the drawer near the washing machine.

I grabbed the garbage bag, the empty bottle, and left the kitchen.

Before leaving the house, I turned around.

A thought assailed me, a thought that seemed not to come from me, but from another body, invisible, and besides, I had the impression of only repeating what this terrifying voice was whispering to me:

— You'll be dead the next time you come here.

31.

E. Letteret wore a coloured shirt that heralded spring.

For him, this season represented the time when people are no longer protected by winter, and by laws on accommodation.

At the bank where he worked, he had specialized in real estate. Credit. Purchase. Insurance... And once the great cold had passed, he would recover all sorts of properties, emptied by indebted people whom the State had thrown out.

This was the case with the house that my wife and I had bought.

During the first visit, the evicted family was still living there.

It was the end of February, and their departure was scheduled for the following month.

I had been talking with the father of this family in the kitchen, while My wife was visiting the upper floor.

— Do you like the house?

— I don't really know, it's mainly my wife who can say.

ere.

The couple had four children; we saw them when we arrived, sitting...

They had said hello to us after their father had asked them to do so.

— It's a good house… Well built… Quiet… And the neighborhood is nice.

The man was leaning against the worktop; I noticed that the kitchen had recently been emptied of its appliances. Wires and connecting pipes hung everywhere, and the footprints on the tiled floor had not yet been cleaned.

We would have stayed if we could have... I haven't paid the rent since One year... I was laid off, I thought I'd find another job but...

He raised his arms only to let them fall back down immediately.

— And where are you going to live?

— At my brother's place, near Lille.

My wife arrived. She pretended to be uninterested in the house, but her crazy look betrayed her slightly.

— Can you come for two minutes?

I followed her into the bathroom.

— What do you think?

I didn't really know what to say, I was happy at Porte d'Ivry.

- And you?

— It's good, it's very good even... Well, there's some work to be done, but overall it's very good, very very good even, and again, I think that after a good cleaning, we'll see more clearly... The floors are covered in marks, I don't know what happened, people are disgusting.

— I think the bailiffs have removed their furniture.

— Perhaps, in any case, we shouldn't show them that we like the house.

— What does it matter to them? They're not the owners, it's the family that is being evicted!

— You never know.

My wife raised her head.

— This bathroom is sad, it needs tiles, you know, nice tiles.

I said yes.

We went outside and finished the visit by pretending to find the average set in front of the family sitting on the sofa.

32.

E. Letteret was searching for my various files on his computer.

Sometimes he would look up at me and smile, saying: "It was easier before computers!"

He and I both knew that he didn't believe a word he said.

Having found my files, we did not use them, because he knew my situation perfectly well, and we were not there to find solutions or talk about the future, but to see how to bury the past and block the present.

— Your wife informed us of your separation, and believe me, I am very sorry...

I didn't believe it.

— You are currently paying monthly installments of €850 on a 30-year loan at a rate of 7% for a property where your share of the loan is €225,000... Is that correct?

- Yes.

— The problem is that your wife had acted as guarantor for your credit, and she withdrew from it.

— So what?

— So you no longer have a guarantor.

— And is that serious?

— That is to say, without a guarantor, you are not supposed to get this loan.

— But guarantor or not, I'm always the one who paid... I've always paid.

— Of course, Mr. Blanchot, but if you could no longer...

I imagine that with this separation you will have to find an apartment, and a second rent will be added to your expenses.

— But I think my wife hasn't told you everything, in fact she suffers from a very rare skin disease, and as soon as she is cured, I plan to return to live at home.

— But in the meantime?

— I'll manage.

— You never know how long an illness lasts, especially if it is rare… And I understood, if I may say so, that your wife was disengaging, that she was regaining her freedom in a way… If you will allow me.

I was trying to say the word "disengaged" in my head and I was counting the number of letters it contains.

— What do I need to do?

— Do you know anyone else who could act as guarantor?

I didn't need to think.

- No.

— I believe, Mr. Blanchot, that you should have a discussion with your wife regarding your share in the purchase of this house.

- Certainly.

— She might want to buy it back from you.

- I don't know.

The word désolidarisation has 14 letters.

— I understand, if I may say so, that she was counting on the to do, at least in part.

I wasn't really following the discussion, so I repeated his last words:

— A part?

— Yes... I understand that your wife will have custody of your son... Victor, is that correct?... So, this will require you to pay monthly child support... Approximately €400 per month. — €400 per month.

— Yes... You currently have a gross monthly income of €1750, after deducting €850 in rent, a pension of approximately €400, and standard expenses such as phone, electricity, food, and daily living costs... You will You will very quickly find yourself in debt, and this will only worsen over the months...

I imagine you don't own any personal property?

— I imagine so.

I was lobotomized.

— Yes, valuables that you would have kept in case of emergency

— I have a neesh.

- Pardon?

— I own a doghouse.

— What type of neesh?

— A doghouse.

— Okay... But is it a valuable neesh?

— It's a foam neesh.

He didn't say anything for a while.

— I think you should have a discussion with your wife, try to clear the air a bit, and I suggest we meet again next Monday at the same time.

— At the same time.

33.

When I arrived at work, my boss rushed to take me to the old equipment shed where the computer was now located and, since this morning, behind the computer, was Michael, the young digital prodigy, his wife's nephew, fresh off the boat from his American university.

— Jacques, I'd like you to meet Michael, the little genius.

I squeezed his amazing hand.

My boss continued: —

Michael, this is Jacques, the employee I told you about.

He squeezed my normal hand.

— Michael already has many ideas for the company, and he arrives with about a hundred contacts related to his American training...

The scholar continued:

— Yes, that's the advantage of these top schools, building networks, and it's in everyone's interest to "maintain" a good relationship, since we will certainly be working together across our different sectors... I have many friends in advertising, computer graphics, fashion, audiovisual...

I was really wondering what this guy was doing at Graf-Art.

— And you?... What was your training?

— The Fine Arts.

My boss was enthusiastic about others, and about the good things that had happened to you in life.

— I knew Jacques when he was a student, he won first prize!... The prize... What was it again, Jacques?

— Of excellence.

Michael pretended to be impressed.

— Wow... Is that paint?

- Yes.

— I would love to see your paintings.

— I don't have any.

— Ah... Are they on display somewhere?

I thought: yes, to the Jacques Blanchot Memorial.

— No, I don't have any canvases. I never painted again after my studies.

— That's a shame, why?

— Because I came to work here as a salesman.

34.

I started working at Graf-Art in the middle of my first year of studies. Business was going well, especially since the store was located about a hundred meters from the Fine Arts school.

My boss had hired three students like me to advise his clients. It was clever, since he paid us peanuts, could regularly refresh his staff, and we had a certain knowledge of the equipment, given that it was the one my boss provided to our school and which we used all day.

The real turning point during this period (if we listen to those who represent life as a trajectory and who use all sorts of automotive and road metaphors to talk about it) occurred at the end of this first year of studies.

From the perspective of my teachers and all the other students, I was the most technically skilled. By technique, I mean beyond the use of colors, pigments, gradients, composition, perspective, and the use of oils, acrylics, and pastels. I was the one who could most easily reproduce what was shown to me, perfectly executing any portrait from a model, landscape painting, or photograph. By the end of my first year, I was a kind of photocopier, incapable of the slightest imagination, and forgetting to imbue my tracings with even the smallest emotion.

Everything that passed through my brush became a still life, and even the youngest fruit rotted on my canvas.

While others saw in this white linen the mirror of their tortured souls, I found only emptiness, and the need to paint a face without particular expression, a nature without melancholy or movement.

The others sought to make art of their lives, and I only wanted to paint an apple that would look like an apple.

Once my courses were finished, I no longer thought of painting as an art, but as a kind of material that I could best advise Graf-Art's clients on.

The professor who circled our frames during lessons often came to whisper in my ear: — Personality, Blanchot... Where is your personality hiding?

I had looked everywhere, from my smallest toe to the tip of the highest hair sticking up on the top of my head, but I hadn't found it.

I was born without it.

Just as some are born without legs or arms, I lacked this function, this fingerprint of the soul, which could have made me see a woman in this apple.

35.

My boss left Michael and me alone.

The young graduate spent the morning in front of the computer updating and perfecting the new Graf-Art website, which was now called Graf X Art.

Sometimes, Michael would answer phone calls on his mobile phone.

or was passing through himself.

He picked up the phone saying: — Yes!

But then the discussion continued in French.

All these conversations seemed wonderfully pleasant.

full of friendship, dates and splendid discussions to come.

When Michael hung up, his last smile lingered on his face for a few seconds, then vanished like mist on a mirror.

For my part, I spent the morning making a mock inventory of the little equipment we had left.

On a notepad I wrote down: Large brushes no. 8:2 Medium brushes no. 7:1 Paintbrushes: 1 Knives: 2 Canvases 50 times 60:1

Then I checked my accounts and started again: Large brushes no. 8: 2

Medium brushes no. 7: 1

Paintbrushes: 1

Knives: 2

Canvases 50 times 60: 1

Since it was still early, my mock inventory was finished, and Michael seemed to be working himself to death and loving it, I decided to make an inventory of the things we didn't have.

I started from scratch, placing myself in front of an empty wall, or a deserted shelf.

- so...

I started: Ivory

Black acrylic paint: 0 Matte Black acrylic paint: 0 Opaque Black acrylic paint: 0 I noted down a hundred references of paints that we did not have and that we would never sell again.

By the end of the morning, I had managed to fill every page of my notebook with thousands of references, colors, accessories and materials corresponding to all the known techniques from the Renaissance to the twentieth century.

36.

At precisely noon, my boss took his nephew to lunch.

I found myself alone in the shed, hungry and with the computer on.

I wanted to do some research on the Internet, but I didn't dare touch the folder currently on the screen. It was titled: New Clients File.

With lists of names, surnames, professions, email addresses, telephone numbers.

I read the entire list. I didn't recognize a single name.

I tried to remember the names of the old clients, those who they used to come and buy the equipment for my dream inventory.

I couldn't remember any names either.

I connected to the Internet and resumed my usual searches: Ugly dead puppy.

I was hoping to find some trace of my little puppy that was crushed on the road.

After all, the internet was overflowing with strange information, and if we could find people covered in mud drinking urine to techno music, I could, on my small scale, get some news about my dead dog.

Perhaps a road worker, after removing the puppy from the asphalt, wanted to share his story on the Web.

No results found.

Puppies.

Deaths.

Dead puppies.

But not mine.

I was trying to imagine how the road worker would have reported his story.

I entered:

Puppy, dead, crushed, Hitler.

Now most of the images were in black and white and showed photos of Hitler with his German Shepherd.

I refined my search: Puppy, dead, crushed, Hitler, 2014.

The images were returning to color, but they only showed a bunch of idiots dressed as Nazis posing with their dog, or other idiots who had dressed their dog up as Hitler.

I moved on to something else.

Puma sports shoes.

I was looking in these images for the same red shoe as the one that I had held it in my hands earlier in the night.

She finally appeared.

A shiver ran through my heart.

I stood for a moment in front of the pump on the screen.

I typed something else.

Handsome man with red Puma shoes.

I spent my lunch hour looking at pictures of sportsmen and athletes in stadiums, airplanes, and on beaches, smiling, handsome, and tall in their infinitely large red Pumas.

In the afternoon, the old woman who had bought a box of pastels for his grandson returned to the shop.

I recognized her immediately.

— Hello, I don't know if you recognize me.

- Yes.

— Ah… I came on Friday to buy a box of pastels.

- Yes yes.

— For my grandson.

— Mmm.

— A box for €36.

— Mmm Mmm.

— There you go. — Did he like it?

- No.

— Ah...

— I don't know him well, my daughter says she doesn't like anything… So I chose a box of pastels, because nobody's against pastels…

A pastel is harmless... At worst, you say thank you, put the box somewhere and forget about it.

- Yes.

— But he told him he didn't like it at all... He flew into a terrible rage... He said that... No, I can't repeat what he said... I can't put those words in my mouth...

I didn't know what that kid had said to his grandmother, but it must have been a lot because the old woman kept turning her head from left to right, clicking her tongue as if to expel the remnants of vulgarities from her mouth.

— In short... I would like a refund for this box.

— We do not give refunds, I can give you a credit note.

— But I paid for this box.

— Yes, but we don't give refunds.

— That's terrible!

— Mmm.

— Does that mean you're not giving me the €36 that this box of pastels cost me in cash, but that I can choose something else in the store for the same amount?

- Yes.

— That's rape!

- Pardon?

— It's rape, just rape!

— A rape?

— No, a robbery.

— Because you said rape!

— No, I said theft, it is theft, and I know what I'm saying!

I didn't understand why the old woman was talking about rape, but

I had nothing to say about the flight.

She moved a little away from the counter to look at the shelves and empty display stands here and there.

— So... Let's see what you have...

I followed the old woman.

— What do you sell here again?

— Art supplies.

— And what kind of art?

— Especially painting, drawing and sculpture.

Since I had just taken inventory about ten times that morning, I knew exactly what we had left. Not much. For €36, the old woman could leave with two pots of neutral white acrylic paint, a set of two standard brushes, a pack of six mini rollers, and three A.3 sketchbooks. Or she could combine the products: one pot of neutral white acrylic paint with three mini rollers.

Michael arrived at the store, his arms laden with various digital devices: touchscreen tablets, graphic designer keyboards, drawing styluses...

On each trip back and forth, he placed his treasures on the shelves.

The old woman chose a digital tablet and handed it to me.

— I'll take this instead of the box of pastels.

— I think it's more expensive.

— How much is it?

Michael reappeared.

— Excuse me, how much does this tablet cost?

— Is this the P.X.T 80?

I looked at the back of the tablet where it said P.X.T 80.

— Yes.

— €399.

I repeated the amount to the old woman. — €399.

— It's more expensive!

— Yes.

— How much of a difference does it make?

I calculated.

—€363.

— Ah yes, it's much more expensive.

— Mmm.

— And what does that do?

— Well... It's a digital tablet.

— Okay... And what does that do?

I didn't know much about it, and now, digital technology was the territory of my brilliant colleague.

— I'll let you discuss this with my colleague; he's the specialist.

— Okay, you're the pastel box specialist!

She wasn't being sarcastic when she said that; she really meant it.

I found Michael.

— Excuse me, this customer wants information about the tablet.

Michael found my old wife after she had dropped off some other things of the future on a luminous display.

I stayed behind the till watching Michael talk with my old wife.

He spoke with an enthusiasm that this store hadn't seen since the late 90s.

Apparently, he was going to describe all the functions of this tablet to my old lady, who seemed to know even less about new technologies than her own grandson.

The old woman had left the box of pastels on the checkout counter.

I noticed that the box was completely destroyed on one entire side.

Pieces of wood were missing and it was scratched in several places.

I opened the box (which no longer closed), three pastels were missing, a pink, a light green, a brown, and the primary yellow was broken in two.

Michael came to the checkout followed by my old wife.

— Here, you'll give me €399 less the deposit for your box of pastels.

My old lady was under Michael's spell; he never stopped talking so that no silence would call his sale into question.

— Your grandson will love it, you know young people are crazy about these things.

"I hope so, because my daughter says he doesn't like" anything." "This, I assure you, he'll like..."

Michael turned to me: "How much is it with the deposit?" "€363 but..."

He quickly turned to my old lady: — For €363 you'll become her favorite grandmother! — It's worth it!

— Michael, excuse me?

Michael looked at me, he had a silly smile that wasn't meant for me.

-Yes?

— Can I talk to you for a second?

- now?

- Yes.

We apologized to the old woman, and Michael accompanied me to the shed. He was afraid to leave her and that she might change her mind about the tablet.

— What do you want?

— We can't give him an advance.

- For what?

— The box she brought back is completely wrecked.

— So what?

— Well, we can't take it back.

— Is it really wrecked, or just a little bit?

— No, it's very damaged... I think her grandson gets angry easily... He must have thrown the box against a wall.

Michael thought about it, but quickly, because he couldn't leave the old woman there too long.

— How much do you get for the box of pastels? — €9.

Michael laughed, quickly.

— Listen, who cares, I get these tablets for €25 each! — €25!

— Yeah, it's crap, actually it's a batch with a manufacturing defect, after fifteen minutes the tablet overheats and burns your fingers.

- Ah good.

— Yeah, so the calculation is quick, your €9 plus my €25 makes... — €34.

— Correct, €399 minus €34? — €365.

Michael raised his hand so I could high-five him.

I've reached the agreement.

We went back into the store.

The old woman was deep in thought, Michael attacked her again so that she wouldn't go too far and would realize the madness of her action.

— Ah madam, my colleague was just telling me that I was crazy to let you take advantage of this unique opportunity!

— What does he know about it? He's in charge of the pastel boxes!

I imagined his grandson's anger when the tablet burned his fingers.

38.

At the end of the day, my boss asked to see me.

I went to his office.

I loved that place; there were photos of his family, his wife, his children, his grandchildren. And also a black and white photo of his father. who had died quite young, but who had taught his son not to let himself be pushed around.

Back when I started working at Graf-Art, when he talked about his son, my boss would say with a satisfied laugh: — That one doesn't let himself be pushed around!

I liked it when my boss said that.

Tonight, I noticed a new photo in a frame. A smiling little boy in his red anorak on a Breton beach.

— Is that your grandson?

My boss barely glanced at the photo; he was engrossed in his paperwork.

— Yeah, he's a little brawler...

I was waiting for the end of the sentence, which pleased me.

He doesn't give up easily!

I was happy, even though my boss had said it without any particular satisfaction.

— You wanted to see me?

— Two minutes!

He continued tidying his papers, making a neat pile from a bundle of sheets and invoices, then looked at me for a moment before starting: — So... What's this Nazi business about?

- Pardon?

— This whole story about Nazis, Hitler, and guys in shorts?

- I don't know.

— Jacques!... You must tell me!

— Yes, but what?

— As you know, Michael is a whiz with computers and such…

This afternoon, he saw the computer's history... He was shocked... Your searches are very disturbing...

My boss rested his chin under one of his hands.

— Jacques... I'm not judging anyone... Everyone is free to do what they want... But in their own home...

If you want to look at "handsome men" in shorts and red shoes, okay... If it excites you to stare at ugly, dead puppies squashed on the ground, that's your problem... But Hitler!

This is going too far!

— It's not what you think.

— I don't believe anything, I look at the history.

— I know, but...

— Have you done this research?

— Yes, but not in the way you think... Actually, I bought a small

A puppy in a shop, and this puppy reminded me of Hitler's puppy...

— I didn't even know Hitler had a puppy!

— Me neither, but he looked like the puppy Hitler might have had if he'd had a puppy...

— What did he look like? With a mustache and a lock of hair?

— No, that's Hitler!

— But what the hell could Hitler's puppy look like!

— I don't know, it was a feeling.

— Okay, go on.

— And as I was leaving the store, my puppy was run over by a bus... He was stuck to the asphalt and I couldn't get him off the road... Since then, I've had some remorse, so I'm trying to find out if someone, a road worker for example, has told this story on the Internet.

My boss didn't say anything for a moment, he was looking at me with his hand under his chin.

— The story of the dog's detachment?

- Yes.

— But why would the squashed puppy have made him think of Hitler too?

— I don't know.

He kept looking at me.

— And what does that have to do with the "handsome guys" in shorts and red shoes?

— It's because my wife and I no longer live together for the moment.

— Oh no?

— No... She has a very rare skin condition that is triggered when she comes into contact with me.

— Oh yeah?

— Yes, in fact, this disease is named after me.

— Okay, but what does that have to do with guys in shorts?

— It's because last night I went sneaking into my wife's house... I still have the key... I opened her bedroom door a crack and saw that she was sleeping with a man...

— Yes, a man who seemed very tall and who was sleeping in my place in the bed… As I closed the door, I noticed one of his shoes lying on the floor, a red Puma sports shoe.

— What size was it? —

47.

— Hey!

- Yes.

— So you wanted to see what guys who wear

Red Puma shoes?

- Yes.

— So what?

— It's mostly images of famous athletes.

He looked at me for a little longer, and then he removed his hand from his chin. quite quickly, like someone changing position in their sleep.

— If I didn't know you, I'd think you were making fun of me...

But I know you, and I believe you.

My boss knew that I never lied.

39.

It was while walking back to my hotel that I thought back to my waking up on morning. I don't know why, it came back to me almost twelve hours later.

But above all, I wondered how, at the time, this event hadn't puzzled me more.

Last night, after sneaking into my wife's house, after discovering her nestled inside another man in my place in bed, after sniffing her size 47 red Puma, after watching my son sleep, after saying goodbye to him, after clearing the table, washing the dishes and tidying the living room, I returned to my hotel.

The new employee was asleep behind his counter in front of a Whitney Houston video.

I went back to my room, ate some kibble and went to bed hoping to sleep for at least an hour before my appointment with E.

Letteret.

Sleep came quickly, as I lay on my left side facing the wall.

I woke up an hour later, but I was no longer in bed; I had changed places in the meantime.

I was in the puppy's kennel.

At the other end of the room, in the fetal position, lying on the rug mousse, completely curled up in the neesh.

40.

At the hotel, the thin employee had found his place again.

He couldn't help but look at me like I was mentally ill.

before lowering my eyes to acknowledge the invisibility of my dog.

— Mr. Blanchot!

I went to find him behind his counter.

- Yes.

— There's a note for you.

He placed an envelope with my name on it on the counter in front of me.

This was the bill for the last few nights spent in the hotel. €276.

I put the bill in my pocket, telling the employee I would pay it soon.

- That's to say ?

— I don't know yet how long I'll stay, I'll pay you leaving.

The employee closed his eyes and said:

"No, no, no, no..."

And then:

— In a week the hotel will be full, we have a reservation for all the rooms, a lounge at Porte de Versailles, you'll have to leave before then and pay tomorrow...

He calmed down a little.

— You know, my boss is very strict… I don't like asking customers for money, preventing them from having a dog, throwing them out, but if I don't do it, I'm the one who will be thrown out.

I returned to my room thinking this:

— Nobody blames you for doing your job, little man, but don't find no reason to behave like shit.

41.

Mr. E. Letteret had advised me to have a discussion with my wife, and also to "lay things out on the table."

I didn't understand whether we should "lay things out" together, or whether I should "lay things out" myself first, and then call my wife once I'd laid things out.

I thought about it while eating some kibble from the bag (which was seriously dwindling), then dialed the house number.

I let it ring one hundred and twenty-seven times before hanging up.

I called my wife's cell phone.

No ringing, but her immediate voicemail, whose message she had changed.

From now on, my wife would apologize for her absence by preventing herself from laughing, then stop herself by asking another person to stop (making her laugh, we assumed), then go to the end of her announcement, only to finally let her joy burst forth, cut short by the beep.

I left a message with the same energy: — Yes, it's

Jacques! Jacques, Jacquot, Jackie!... Ha, ha, ha...

Call me back when you can... And if you want to... Wow... Kisses...

I hung up and went to look at myself in the bathroom mirror.

I combed my hair with the dog's comb.

I had always worn a parting on the left side.

I tried on the right.

I looked sad and crazy.

As I straightened my parting, I whispered the message I had left for my wife. I did it several times, like a recorder endlessly switching from rewind to play.

After the tenth attempt, I understood my mistake: Call me back when you can.

But where?

If she called my cell phone, she risked reaching Stanislas's father, my son's fake friend, to whom he had given my phone, who had in turn given it to his father.

I hadn't cancelled my contract with the operator. Not out of laziness or fear of reprisals, but because I was incapable of ending anything; and it would take me months, and a few hundred euros, to bring myself to do it.

I called back on my wife's cell phone.

I was surprised because this time, and so soon after the first call, I heard a dial tone.

After the third ring, she answered. She was in keeping with the message on her answering machine; her voice was cheerful, and I seemed to be disturbing her in the middle of one of her new fits of laughter.

— Hello!

— It's Jacques.

I tried to maintain the same energy.

— Jacques!

— Yes, Jacques, Jacquot, Jackie!

- What ?

— No... It's Jacques... Blanchot.

— Yes... but I can't talk to you right now.

— I tried calling you at home… Nobody a la casa!

I had some knowledge of English and Spanish.

- What?

— Nothing… I wanted to talk to you.

— It's just that… I'm not in Paris, I've gone away for a few days to the seaside.

It broke my heart.

And everything that was by the sea caused a collapse of the soul within me.

— Ah.

— I'll be back Sunday evening.

— And Victor?

— Victor is at a friend's house from his class... Stanislas.

I thought my son must have given him a stolen car so that Stanislas would agree to host him.

— Okay, I'll call you back in a few days.

I was about to hang up.

— Wait, Jacques?

- Yes.

— Did you see the banker?

— Yes, that's why I was calling you.

Ever since my wife told me she was at the seaside, it has been...

seemed to hear the waves behind and the wind blowing.

— So what?

He told me I needed to have a discussion with you and put the

Things are clear... I have to see him again next Monday.

— Wait a second.

I understood that she was moving slightly to the side to talk to me, and I didn't know if her " wait a second" was meant for me, or for someone else she wanted to get away from.

— Jacques?

— Yes, I'm here.

— Listen, Victor and I have agreed that we should stay together.

— You and me?

She laughed.

— No, him and me… I want to live with my son… You will be able to see him regularly.

— When?

— Regularly. — What does that mean?

— Regularly!

— And for the house.

— This is our home.

— At your place and mine?

— No, at Victor's and my place.

For some time now, I had abandoned my falsely lighthearted tone.

I suddenly felt like I weighed three hundred kilos to say: "You know, maybe we won't see each other again... It's neither your fault nor mine... Life decides... We're on a boat and have sailed together for so many years, yesterday the wind picked up, the storm is hitting today, I jumped into the lifeboat to save you and Victor... and tomorrow..."

— Jacques!

-Yes?

— You're going to have to pay alimony.

- How?

— I spoke to a judge… It's normal that I live with Victor in the house, but you have to pay alimony, even if you decide not to see him anymore…

- How much ?

— I suggest you continue paying your share of the house.

— It's very expensive… And I can't afford it… I couldn't do it anymore to live once the pension is paid.

— You should have thought of that before.

— But normally, pensions aren't calculated based on income of the person who pays?

— How petty you are… Me, me, me… You don't want your son to live in a hotel because you have no personal ambition. If you're happy with the mess, you don't have to impose it on others.

My distress boat was punctured, I was surrounded by sharks and I could no longer see land.

— Listen Jacques, we'll talk about it later, I can't talk to you right now

Now for hours... See the banker, he'll explain it to you.

— And Victor?

— I'll tell him to call you.

She hung up.

I wondered where she would tell our son to call me.

42.

During the night, I woke up in the puppy's kennel.

I got up and went back to bed.

I quickly fell back asleep.

Day had broken, I woke up in the puppy's kennel.

I got up, ate some kibble, and went to do my hair in the living room baths and went to work.

43.

When I arrived, I found Michael, my boss, and the old woman in the store.

The old woman wore a bandage on one hand and another around her head. Her face was covered in small wounds.

She was crying as she spoke: "My grandson, who doesn't like anything, was happy when he opened his present..." Ah, you were right, he'd been dreaming of a tablet... He rushed onto the sofa to use it right away, he couldn't wait..." Thank you, Grandma," he kept saying, " Thank you, Grandma..." My daughter made some tea... We went to chat in the kitchen, and five minutes later...

The old woman struggled to continue, she was trembling, and was forced to take a deep breath to continue.

… Five minutes later, we heard a scream, a terrible scream of pain… My daughter and I ran into the living room, and there we found my grandson, screaming, the tablet on fire in his hands, as if flames were coming out of his arms… I snatched the tablet from his hands, and burned my own, then I threw the tablet to the other end of the room, My grandson jumped up and headbutted me, knocking me unconscious... I don't know if he did it on purpose or if he panicked...

She took another breath, a calmer one, like my wife's on Sunday evenings, when she buried her melancholy by saying: that's how it is!

The old woman finished: "The three of us—my daughter, my grandson, and I—woke up in the hospital... Neighbors called the fire department when they saw the house burning..."

One last breath, then: — There is no more house.

Michael and my boss didn't say anything for a while. They were watching The old woman was injured and traumatized, then they looked at each other.

Michael spoke like a specialist:

— Your grandson must have made a mistake!

— But you didn't tell me the tablet could make fire?

— Well, yes.

— We need to warn people, it's very dangerous... Which key do I press to make a fire?

— #/#F.

The little old lady took the tablet out of her bag. It just looked like a piece of melted plastic.

— The firefighters recovered it from the fire.

Michael took the tablet and examined it.

— Mmm, I see… There has been… a user error.

— Oh really... But how do you know that?

Michael raised his head towards the old woman.

— Well, it's burnt!

— Yes, but...

— If it burned, there must have been a user error.

— Ah… But couldn't it be that the tablet was faulty?

Michael laughed, we were watching him, the old woman, my boss and I.

— No madam, tablets do not burn on their own, tablets are not pyromaniacs who suddenly decide to burn people and their houses!

He handed the piece of melted plastic back to the old woman, who looked at it for a moment in her bandaged hand.

— So you can't give me a refund?

— Sorry, we can refund defective equipment, but not that which is broken or burned.

— My grandson said that it caught fire in his hands just like that, without him doing anything.

— I understand that your grandson is rather... aggressive...

For the first time, Michael turned towards me. That's when I understood.

that he had noticed my presence as soon as I arrived.

— Right, Jacques?

He wanted me to approve of him regarding the grandson's aggression.

My boss was also looking at me; I could see he was embarrassed, he was smiling at me slightly.

I did not reply to Michael.

The old woman left suddenly. She looked dazed. She turned around and headed towards the exit.

We were watching her.

As she passed by me, I heard her mutter: "Pastels are harmless... Pastels are harmless..."

Before leaving, she turned back to Michael and my boss.

— You are... thugs.

44.

I needed to ask my boss for an advance.

At least enough to pay for the hotel.

All morning, I was trying to figure out how to ask him. I didn't know how to do that kind of thing without feeling like I was begging or committing a robbery.

With what had happened this morning, and the embarrassment I had seen in his eyes, I thought my boss would easily accept, because he was a good man, who would want to make amends for this bad deed with a good one.

Just as I decided to go and knock on his office door, he arrived at the store:

— Jacques, come to my office, I need to talk to you.

I was disappointed that he triggered it first.

I would have found it harder to ask him for that advance if he felt it wasn't a deliberate act on my part. I didn't want him to think I was asking him because I happened to be in his office at that moment.

I looked sad.

45.

I sat down opposite him. On his desk, a new computer had replaced his columns of files and took up all the space.

— Actually, I wanted to talk to you too. I was about to come see you when...

— Jacques, I think you and I want exactly the same thing.

Even though I found it surprising that my boss wanted to give me a cash advance, I replied:— Yes.

— You've been working here for a long time now, how long? Twelve years? Fifteen years?

I had been working at Graf-Art for eighteen years and eight months.

— In those waters.

— So I would like to understand... What happened this morning?

- This morning?

— Yes, with that old woman?

— Nothing, she returned her defective tablet and you refused to reimburse her.

My boss chuckled, but not really laughed.

Defective!...Refund!...

He stared at me for a moment. I had trouble meeting his gaze, I looked up and fell on the black and white photo of his father.

He continued:

— This morning, you weren't with us... Well, you were Graf-Art... But you were missing an X... I saw your look, you must have thought you were right, that you represented justice, normality in this store, facing this poor woman... Right?

His "isn't it?" didn't expect any response from me; it was just a "isn't it?" like that, to continue his thought: "But I'm going to ask you something... What is the

Normality, Jacques... What is normality?

This time my boss was expecting a response.

(I considered normality to be the most precious asset of our civilized world.

Normality for me was simply humanity.

The one thing that allowed men to live together without hurting each other. Normality prevented others from shooting me in the stomach at the slightest provocation. And today, I was counting on it to keep me from drowning.

— I don't know... Balance.

— Balance!… Yes, okay, balance… But you'll admit that not all normalities are the same depending on the point of view… The nuances can even be very subtle… You know perfectly well that sometimes it takes a very trained eye to differentiate one color from another other...

I wondered what he would have found if we had sold refrigerators or washing machines.

— This morning, you threw us off balance… You weren't on our side of the scale, and Michael and I were heavily tipped… I can't carry that kind of weight…

I was a little lost in the metaphors of measurements and weighings, even though I understood the general intention.

— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.

He looked at me for a moment.

— Do you think I'm a thug?

— Jacques!... Do you think, like that poor woman, that I am a thug?

No.

— Damn it… I'm firing you Jacques, without compensation, nothing, professional misconduct, that's it, the dead puppies, the Nazis, the “handsome men”, your arrogance this morning, professional misconduct, that's it!

He moved closer to me, resting both forearms on his desk.

I couldn't look him in the eyes and once again I found refuge in the black and white portrait of his father, hanging on the wall behind him.

His father had the same look as his son, and even more, the same look as the little boy who posed on a Breton beach in his red anorak.

I understood at that moment that my boss had the eyes of a child. Tender eyes. Eyes that did not intend any harm.

And as he leaned towards me, searching for every excuse in the world to send me away (his first attempt, with my bizarre internet searches, having failed), trying to get me to say something bad about him (even though the old woman had already touched him that morning), I thought of nothing but the love we felt for each other. I had never seen him love me so much. He couldn't help but ask me to leave. For he loved other people even more: his wife, his children, his grandson, his nephew. But his love for me was great, and undiminished.

I took her hand, the one closest to me.

— I love you very much.

He clung to me for a moment, then with a sweep of his arm he violently yanked the computer off his desk, sending it crashing against the wall and the floor.

He took his head in his hands and collapsed in tears.

— That idiot Michael... my wife's nephew... You think I want to spend my days with that pretentious little shit?... That bastard is my only chance of survival... at my age... Can you believe it?...

You know what he said when I told him I was going to fire you? That I had to do it in less than two minutes... Some stupid school administrator's nonsense...

He raised his handsome face towards me.

— Come see me sometimes, Jacques... We'll go to lunch together... Please...

Before closing the door, I turned back towards my boss's office.

Then I felt the invisible body again and its terrifying voice: — You will be dead the next time you come here.

46.

I had to pay for the hotel. When I arrived in the lobby, I went to find the receptionist myself, just to be the first one there. I explained that I would pay by Monday at the latest. My idea was to ask E. Letteret for an overdraft facility.

The employee was not behind his counter.

I waited a moment for him and hesitated to grab my key hanging from the locker to go up to my room.

He finally arrived.

- Good morning...

— Yes, hello, you need to settle the bill today.

— That's exactly why I came...

- Of course!

He didn't believe me. He couldn't accept that I never lied because he had learned that most men always lied.

— I will be able to pay you on Monday.

- Monday!

— Yes, I have an appointment at my bank and I'm going to ask them to give me enough to pay you.

- Alright.

He moved on to something else, collapsing into his armchair and plunging his face in his computer, an A.X.T 203, I think.

- Excuse me?

-Yes?

— Can I have the key to my room?

— Yes... Monday.

He remained glued to his computer and his Facebook page, which displayed photos of laughing friends, alone or in groups, on beaches. in stadiums, or in nightclubs.

— My things are in the room!

— You will get them back on Monday, when you pay.

— But I'm not going to leave if I want to go back to my room.

It's good that I don't want to leave!

— We are holding your belongings as collateral.

— But there's nothing up there, just my puppy's things.

— Well, your puppy will get its things back on Monday.

— But he is dead.

The employee didn't say another word.

I'd seen this kind of scene in movies before. And for over a century now, life has borrowed heavily from cinema. Particularly in hatred and love. Heroism and baseness.

Today, my employee was playing the part of the unscrupulous businessman with too much power. I was the outsider. The prisoner on probation. The one whose shutters were closed as people passed by. And when cinema drew inspiration from life (and by life I also mean television), it drew inspiration only from itself, from its past, from its own hatreds, loves, heroes, and cowards.

Today, my shopkeeper wouldn't look up from his screen, he'd keep my key and the puppy's things, so I'd turn on my heels and go back to my destiny, but it wouldn't be the last scene, because if cinema has taught life anything, it's to have surprising endings.

47.

I went back home for a few days. My wife and son

Since I wasn't there, they wouldn't be bothered by my presence.

I left the shutters closed, did not answer the phone when it rang (it never rang for me), and did not touch anything, neither the refrigerator, nor the dishes, nor the household linen, sheets, blankets and towels.

My wife was due back on Sunday, and it would have been a shame if she'd had another bout of itching, especially since she was probably on the road to recovery. of healing.

I spent my days sitting or lying in different spots on the floor of the house. I drank water straight from the tap. I took two baths and stayed naked in the empty bathtub waiting for my body to dry.

48.

Several times during those days, our neighbor's little dog came to scratch at the door.

Our house had a rather modest garden, and the dog could reach to sneak in, God knows how.

When I went to the other side of the door to talk to him or send him a few little signals of life, the dog became even more excited and cried with impatience.

I finally opened the door a crack, to give him a caress and to show that I had nothing against him.

Upon seeing me, the dog quickly backed away a few meters. He remained agitated, standing on all fours, his tail wagging as fast as a fly's wings in flight.

I discovered at my feet that he had left his bone.

I picked it up.

It was not a real bone, but rather a kind of reproduction, imitating a cartoon bone more than real animal cartilage.

Its smell was a mixture of fish, poultry and various vegetables; I recognized the scent of my kibble.

I threw the bone to the dog.

He went to get it but brought it back to me immediately.

I had the impression that he didn't want to play "fetch the thing". even though he seemed to be used to it.

I threw it at him again.

He watched the bone fall pathetically near him.

He barked at me, then walked away and disappeared from the garden. secret.

The dog had just explained to me that he was offering me his bone.

I stood for a moment contemplating it, not daring to leave the house to retrieve it.

It took me over an hour before I decided to rush off and pick up the bone and go back and lock myself in the house, which took me four seconds.

This bone was my companion day and night. At first, I spent my time licking it, because even if I were starving, it was pointless to try to bite into it. The bone first had to soften, then crumble slightly, before breaking into several pieces, which I then had to lick again.

Sometimes I would leave it lying around for an hour or two somewhere, then pick it up again (mechanically or voluntarily) to continue my tasting.

The little neighbor dog came back again.

I opened the door a few centimeters, just enough to let my hand to scratch the top of his head.

He also gave me a mini plastic mouse (more suited to cats (in my opinion) that squeaked with every press.

The dog did not stay long, and its unscheduled visits resembled those of prison visitors.

49.

On Friday night, while I was sleeping under my bed in my In the room, I was awakened by the squeaking of the plastic mouse.

I opened my eyes and turned onto my right side so I could observe the rest of the room.

Two pairs of legs moved slowly; they belonged to... boys who, above, were speaking in whispers.

— What is this mouse?

— I don't know!

I recognized my son's voice. I also recognized his jeans and his multicolored striped sneakers.

The other pair of legs could have belonged to Stanislas, but I wasn't certain.

— Don't you want to turn on the light?

— No, nobody's supposed to be at my place… And besides, you can still see out.

— I can't see anything!

I was happy that my son had the same night vision ability as me.

The other kid was getting impatient while my son opened and rummaged through the drawers of the dressers.

— Are you sure this is the right place?

— Seriously! I saw her hide it before they left, he didn't want to take his watch to the sea.

— Doesn't her watch go underwater?

— You're telling me, it's a super old watch, it must be worth at least €5,000!

My son searched the bedside tables. First my wife's, in which he seemed to find nothing.

then mine, on my side of the bed, and just above where I was at that moment.

— There's nothing, damn it!

— Look under the bed, people often hide things under the bed.

I saw my son get down on his knees and bend down.

And instead of finding a watch, he came face to face with his father.

I smiled at him.

He was speechless.

We remained gazing into each other's eyes for a few seconds, then he sat up.

- so?

— There's nothing there... Come on, let's get out of here.

— And the watch!

— We'll come another time...

The front door slammed shut in the distance.

I stopped moving.

Once again, my son and I found ourselves at night in one of those rooms, one leaning over the other, who was lying down.

Except this time, we were both strangers in our own home. And from now on, we would have to rely on these unexpected encounters, where our wanderings would lead us to the same crossroads in life.

50.

On Saturday morning, I got up at the same time as the day was discreetly appearing in the house.

I gathered the few pieces of my bone and made sure that none were left behind. no particles anywhere else.

I put the plastic mouse in my jacket pocket and left.

As I walked through the alley lined with other houses identical to ours, the little dog appeared in front of me.

dot jng

The dog accompanied me to the entrance gate of the condominium.

Apparently, he was ready to go out on the street with me.

— No, I have to leave now.

The dog was listening to me.

— I can't take you, I'm going to a dog training lesson.

The dog was listening to me and seemed to find what I was telling him strange.

— I'm coming to sleep here again tonight, I'll bring you something from the woods.

He looked satisfied and ran back home.

I arrived an hour early at the Bois de Vincennes, at the same spot than the previous week.

I was the first, and that made me happy, because I knew that Max would thrilled.

The woods were still deserted, and only a few healthy joggers were moving about here and there, running with a serious air, focused on their challenges and personal records.

I also decided to do some exercises and started a series from sitting-lying-standing.

Outside the context of the training lesson and the circle of masters and their dogs, I quickly understood the ridiculousness of my movements when joggers looked at me in astonishment as they passed by.

I then remained seated, and even found a pine cone which I buried in my pocket, to offer to my neighbor's little dog.

I lay down with my back pressed against the grass.

A light wind caressed the treetops and their movements resembled those of underwater seaweed.

I was one of those whom nature overwhelms.

However, I only discovered it very late, in adulthood, during First vacation with my wife.

We had gone to visit one of her childhood friends forty minutes from Paris, via the R.E.R C.

After lunch, we went for a walk in the surrounding countryside. My wife and her friend walked ahead, discussing their boring lives and giving each other advice on how to change them.

(My wife later told me that I wasn't popular with her friend because she found me unambitious, and I probably appeared to be the first thing to change.)

During the walk, I often stopped to observe a tree, a flower along the path, or simply the light that illuminated certain places in the forest and the shadows cast.

I lost myself mentally (the only space where one can truly get lost) and then ended up getting physically lost.

In a clearing, the birdsong and the glimmer of leaves had replaced the sharp complaints of the two women who preceded me.

I recognized my home. My natural place. And even though I had never set foot there before, everything was miraculously familiar. The thicket where I would lie down.

The tree that would serve as my shelter and roof. I would quickly find the river to drink and bathe in food to eat, and the sky would be my constant spectacle.

I decided to throw myself into a bushy corner, hidden behind wild grasses.

I remained like that, lying still and motionless, determined to disappear.

Time passed, and I quickly lost track of seconds, minutes, and hours.

Nature, initially surprised and wary, soon reasserted itself, the ants resumed their path, and the birds their song.

After a while, the exact duration of which I cannot say, my ankle burned.

I scratched myself with my other foot.

But the itching kept coming back, and I couldn't help but sit down to relieve it with my hand. Then that same hand started itching in turn, and then both arms, the other hand, the back of my neck, my shoulders, and my whole body.

I jumped to my feet and leaped into the air, feeling as if I were on fire. My hands weren't enough to ease the pain all over my body.

I undressed completely and discovered thousands of tiny bumps and blisters all over my skin. The overall color ranged from light red to saffron yellow.

Luckily, a cool little breeze picked up as I jumped around scratching myself like a madman.

That was the moment when my wife and her friend arrived in my clearing.

They just stood there watching me squirm like a worm.

— What are you doing?

— I'm burning!

— What is he talking about?

— I lay down there... and ever since... it's been itching terribly.

My wife's friend took a step towards my makeshift bed.

— That idiot threw himself into some nettles!

— Why did you lie down in those nettles?

— I don't know... I didn't want... anything...

My wife and her friend continued to watch me gesticulate in the breeze. They could have found amusement in the situation and even seen it as a genuine alternative to their boring lives. But not the slightest smile flickered across their lips, and one could discern in their eyes: disgust in my wife; pity in her friend.

They eventually turned their backs on me and went back the way they had come.

— Come on, let's go home.

I followed them.

My wife said to me without turning around:

— Wait a minute, I don't want a naked guy jumping follow us at a distance of two meters.

So I stayed in my clearing for a while longer.

No hard feelings.

Because if I had suffered physically by lying down there, I would find it again mentally, like a refuge, a secret Eden, an ambition.

Dog...Dog?...Dog?...

52.

I opened my eyes, Max was standing in front of me, lying on the lawn.

The sun was blinding me, and I had to straighten up a little to create a a sort of eclipse with Max's head.

In one hand he held a large net that contained all sorts of things undefined items, clothing, orange plastic cones, knee pads...

- Standing!

I stood up.

He looked at me, smiling, then started doing his thing of moving his head up and down.

— You were good last week!

- Oh...

— Very good!

He bent over his net, opened it, and searched inside.

— I have something for you.

I was a little excited while he was searching in his net.

Max handed me a beige leather dog collar.

— It's for an adult dog… The other one was squeezing you last week.

— Thank you, Max.

— Do you like it?

— Yes, he is handsome.

— Do you want me to give it to you?

— Yes, I'd like that.

Max positioned himself behind me and opened my shirt a little to reveal my shoulders to fasten the necklace around my neck.

The joggers who were passing by were once again treated to a bizarre spectacle.

— You have the neck of a young girl!

- Pardon?

— The necklace is too wide.

He came back in front of me.

I was disappointed.

— Can't we make a hole like in a belt?

— No, the leather is too thick and I'd rather not damage it. We'll go to the store later and choose one together.

Max placed both hands around my neck, he was measuring its diameter.

— Mmm… You have the neck of a young Labrador.

- Ah good.

— You're going to give the lesson without a collar.

— Okay... What are we going to learn today?

— You'll see.

We took the things out of the net.

First, the orange plastic cones that we installed at a equal distance of thirty strides so as to form a large square.

Then came strange clothes, padded with foam and with sleeves and the crotches were wrapped in Chatterton.

Finally, Max changed into a more comfortable outfit: khaki fatigues, a navy blue t-shirt emblazoned with the inscription Max Attack and his telephone number, a dark green cap, and he put a cord held by a whistle around his neck.

— The others won't be here for another fifteen minutes.

Max caught a tennis ball and sent it about forty meters away.

I looked at him for a moment, then went to get it to bring it back to him.

- Sat!

I sat down.

He threw the ball again. I watched where it landed and

I was about to go get her, when: — Don't move!

I looked at Max.

He stared at me without blinking.

— Don't move!

I didn't move an inch.

Max raised his face and turned away from me to look elsewhere, into the distance.

— Go get the ball!

I ran to the place where I had memorized the ball's landing. I found it, brought it back to Max, and sat at his feet without even waiting for him to ask me to.

Max stroked the top of my head, and I was moved to feel the affection in him. his firm hand, his gaze, and his head which he moved up and down.

53.

The ten or so men accompanied by their dog arrived on time and we began the lesson.

Max explained the presence of the four orange cones.

The aim was to define a territory.

A dog had to learn to know its limits.

I remained seated at his feet during this initial introduction.

Then, Max waved the tennis ball in front of my face and sent it flying a few meters, inside the defined perimeter.

— Go get it!

I rushed to pick up the ball and brought it back to him.

Max threw the ball much further, out of bounds.

— Go get it!

I moved towards the ball again, well aware of what was going to happen. It happened, just as I arrived in front of the orange cone, Max yelled at me:

— Stop!

I stopped dead in my tracks.

- Sat!

I sat down.

He blew his whistle and made a hand gesture that meant I

I had to come back as soon as possible.

I complied.

I sat down opposite Max without him asking me to, and I felt a slight admiration from the other men.

Max stroked the top of my head.

— Go on, fetch the ball.

I ran back towards the tennis ball, slowing down a little in front of the orange plot, Max encouraged me: —

Go!

Leaving the territory, I didn't feel very comfortable.

And I was only happy when I crossed the imaginary line again to place the ball at Max's feet.

— The ball in your hand!

I picked it up and placed it in her hand.

Max leaned over me.

Dogs don't have hands!

He dropped the ball to the ground.

I was looking at the ball, wondering how I could catch it with my mouth.

I opened my mouth wide and managed to bite it on one side, then placed it in Max's hand.

- Alright.

He scratched the top of my head.

— Come on, lie down now.

I went to bed.

— It's your turn!

For fifteen minutes, I watched the other masters send the ball to their dog, inside and outside our territory.

Obviously, the dogs had no problem during the first part of the exercise, but as soon as it came to preventing them from crossing the orange cones and invisible lines, things went haywire.

The owners were yelling, running after their dogs, and one of them even went so far as to tackle his own chihuahua to the ground.

Max couldn't help but laugh when he looked at me, and I laughed too.

We were fine.

After that, Max asked everyone to sit in a circle, men and dogs alike.

Max and I had the privilege of being at the center.

I was lying down, and like the others, I was watching Max who, standing up, was explaining the rest of the lesson to us.

— A dog can learn a lot of things... You can take him through the stages of traditional training one by one... You could also come here every Saturday morning for a year, and you'd see your dog grow up faster than he listens to you... Other dog trainers will break down the basic commands into twenty-five lessons, and what we covered this morning and last week... You won't find that kind of amateur here...

The men applauded Max, some whistled with their fingers, and the dogs barked with their mouths in the air; this meant that they were happy to be in good hands, that they were on the right side, and that they were not the type to be fooled.

— You can tell a child to be careful around fire... They'll never be as cautious as if they'd burned themselves once... The same goes for a dog... It will never love you as much as if it defends you one day in its life...

A dog that defends you isn't a dog that attacks, it's a dog that saves you... A dog that saves you is a dog that loves you...

Max took a few steps towards me, he bent down and stroked my head. He continued talking while running his hand through my hair.

— You can have a fleeting love affair with your poodle, to which you toss scraps of ham fat in front of the television... But that same poodle... who looked at you kindly, who liked you because you filled his bowl, will soon contemplate you with passion, devotion, pride, after the night he jumped at an aggressor's mouth to bite his cheek...

Max had put some ardor into the end of his explanation, I felt his hand squeeze my hair, and the others applauded once again, so much did they dream that their dogs would eat people out of love for them.

He began to gently stroke my head again.

— I'm not here to teach your dog to turn into a doormat, to make him a remedy for your loneliness, a decorative object, a gift for children... A dog may be man's best friend... But above all, he is his extension... His weapon... His indestructible faith...

Max approached a man sitting next to a medium-sized dog of unknown breed.

— Please stand up, sir.

The guy stood up; he was as tall as Max.

— What is your dog's name?

— Gringo.

— Are you Spanish?

- No.

— Why Gringo?

— I don't know... it was mostly my wife who chose!

— Is that your wife's dog?

— No... It's ours.

— And you, do you like Gringo?

— I don't know... That's funny!

— Do you have a dog to be funny?

- No !

— Do you want people to laugh in the street when you call your dog?

— No, I...

— Do you know what Gringo means?

— Uh… It's…

—The stranger.

— Ah, there it is!

— Do you think a foreigner would protect you in case of an attack?

— I don't know, he's still young and...

Max shoved the man violently, slapping him sharply in the chest with the flat of his hand. It looked like something a soldier would do. The man staggered back a couple of meters, lost his balance, and fell to the ground.

Gringo squeaked, and dug his head a little deeper between his paws when he saw his master being mistreated; then he got up to circle around his master on the ground and lick his face.

Max extended his hand to the man to help him up and show that the demonstration was over.

— Change your dog's name, or stop coming to this class.

Max took a few steps in front of the other seated men.

He stopped in front of one of them. Smaller, frail, with shaved hair and eyes framed by thin-rimmed glasses. Next to the man sat a small dog, its fur as short as its master's hair.

- And you?

The man jumped up; he was also wearing camouflage trousers.

— Yes sir!

— What is your dog's name?

— Thor!

— By the name of a god!

— A warrior god!

They started moving their heads up and down.

Thor was licking his inner thigh.

The man said: —

Hit me!

He had a vicious smile.

Max pushed the man who exaggerated his fall while yelling his name dog, like in a scene filmed in slow motion in a war movie.

Thor stood up on his paws, barking, and circled around Max, making small jumps, like an intimidation dance.

Max went over the man on the ground and pretended to him.

to deliver kicks to the face and stomach.

Thor couldn't take it anymore, he finally grabbed Max's ankle, who didn't seem to mind it much and continued to kick the other, who stayed in character and screamed like a soldier being machine-gunned in Vietnam.

— Calm your dog.

— Enough, Thor!

Thor was out of control, he was still clinging to Max's ankle and his body it was waltzing around in all directions.

— Tell your dog to let go.

— Coward Thor!... Thor, coward!

Thor wouldn't give up, his master got down on all fours to jump on his dog and try to detach it from Max's ankle.

— You're going to let go, you fucking bastard... Let go of the ankle now, or else...

Max grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck, and the man by the collar. his jacket.

He straightened them both up.

— Otherwise, what?

— Otherwise nothing, it was so he would give up!

— Some words don't exist in canine language… And if they do, they're part of it… You don't promise a dog anything… No future… no threats… no blackmail… The present, just the present.

I loved it when Max said that; it seemed like pure joy on earth.

Max gave his dog to the man, and Thor tried to eat his own master's hand.

The man tackled his dog to the ground to correct it, but Max tackled the man to the ground.

— Not at all!

He tried to bite my hand!

— And you think that by beating him he'll learn not to do it anymore?

The man got up.

— Leave my class!

- Pardon?

— Take your dog, and find yourself another training course.

— And what about the lessons I paid for?

Max said nothing more. He stared at the man.

— Come on, Thor!

They both left; the man was saying things, but he wasn't speaking loudly enough to be heard.

Max returned to the center of the circle.

— It's not enough to teach your dog to defend you, you also have to make sure he knows his limits... His territory... Don't forget this: An animal only acts according to its territory... The world as he sees it is made up of invisible lines, delimited by the smell, the heat, the power, and the voice of his master.

— Dog, sit!

I sat down. my legs were numb and I had pins and needles in my buttocks.

Max walked a little way in front of the men, then stopped above one of them.

- What is your name?

— Patrick.

— What is your dog's name?

— Petrus.

— Like wine?

- Yes.

— Do you like it?

- A lot.

— And the Petrus?

— I've never drunk it.

— It might not be good!

- I don't know.

— Please stand up.

The man stood up. He looked to be in his forties and was wearing a yellow shirt, similar to E.'s.

Max turned his back on the man and took a few steps in front of him.

— Attack me!

- How?

— Attack me from behind!

The man didn't quite know how to proceed; Max was truly enormous.

— Jump on me, damn it, strangle me, from behind.

People often need to accompany their follies with a louder scream. The man let out a very high-pitched, little girl's scream as he jumped onto Max's shoulders.

Everyone was looking at me and counting on me to defend my 130-kilo, 2-meter-tall master and get rid of the shy boy in a yellow shirt who was clinging to his back.

Max said:

— Dog!

I did what needed to be done.

Without too much effort, I managed to free the man and put him on the ground.

I held him pinned to the grass, my two hands immobilizing his arms, my legs paralyzing his.

And while the man was neither trying to struggle nor to offer any resistance

With no resistance, this thing sprang forth from me.

It came first from my stomach, then gained all its strength as it passed through my throat, finally appearing in a tremor: I groaned.

The man's eyes widened, surprised and worried by this threat.

sound.

He tried to break free by waving his arms, but my growl intensified, it even seemed like there were two of them, like a polyphony; I held him more firmly to the ground, and without feeling anything coming, I started barking at him several times in the face.

Max had to intervene for me to release my prey.

- Dog!

I went to find him.

- Layer.

I lay down, without taking my eyes off my imaginary attacker.

My throat was sore.

It was burning me more and more.

It was not an ailment resulting from an illness, or the symptom of future suffering; it was a pain of creation, one of those that announces birth, the genesis of a new organ.

My mouth was completely dry, and I could feel a thick paste on my tongue.

I was so thirsty. I wanted to drink from a lake, to have stayed bent over a cool river forever.

Max brought me a bowl filled with water.

He smiled at me as he placed it in front of me, and scratched the top of my head. He knew.

He knew about my changes before I understood them myself.

And as I drank by lapping the water directly with my mouth, my head buried in the bowl, I felt an infinite gratitude invade every inch of my body.

I loved Max.

54.

After class, Max said goodbye to everyone and explained that there would be no lesson the following week as he had to be away for the weekend.

We stayed together for a while.

Then Max picked up his net and walked away.

I watched him leave, my heart was heavy, I couldn't understand how he could leave like that.

I would have liked him to take me with him of course, but at least to have a caress, a smile, or just a look.

A new little noise escaped from my throat.

A sort of high-pitched squeak. A sonorous tear.

Max stopped and turned towards me.

I didn't dare look at him too much.

I didn't want him to feel anything negative coming from me.

— Come!

I rushed towards him and sat down at his feet.

Are you hungry?

— Mmm.

The growling had made me hungry.

- Come on!

Max continued on his way, I followed him a meter behind. All sorrow had disappeared.

55.

Max had parked his car, a 4x4 with large Max Attack stickers on the doors, at the exit of the woods.

He opened the chest, swung the net, and leaned over me.

— Get in!

I jumped into the trunk, turned around a bit to find a place, and quickly decided on the most comfortable position, my back against the net on the padded clothing side, my head resting on my forearms.

Max closed the door and went to get behind the wheel.

We left the woods to return to the Porte de Vincennes, then the Place de la Nation, up to the Max Attack store, which is closed on Saturday mornings.

Max opened the trunk, I jumped onto the sidewalk, and waited for him to take the net out of the trunk and open the store door.

Upon our arrival, the puppies and dogs were locked in aquariums without "Water!" they all barked in chorus, each with its own particular tone.

Max snapped his fingers and silence fell immediately.

Following Max, and passing near a glass enclosure, I noticed that most of the puppies were growling at me, and that the less aggressive ones were trying to sniff me by placing their muzzles and noses above the

On my first and last visit here, the dogs had stood out with an excitement that expressed their enthusiasm and dreams of adoption.

They didn't see me the same way anymore.

Max told me to follow him.

We crossed the store to take a narrow staircase which led to his apartment.

The small two-room apartment was cluttered with furniture, several sofas and armchairs, a multitude of electronic devices, flat screen television, old cathode ray tube television, D.V.D player, V.H.S player, stereo system, several rugs on top of each other on the floor, too many chairs for a medium-sized table on which were piled stacks of mail, files, dictionaries, specialist books on greyhounds, Great Dane, Pinscher, Bulldog, Boxer, plastic bags filled with waste, new light bulbs, fuses, ropes, cleaning products, packs of bottled water, beer, Coca-Cola, a few floor lamps with lampshades yellowed and burned in some places; a room with an unmade twin bed, a bedside table with a red plastic alarm clock showing two hours late, dozens of clothes, briefs, jerseys, sweaters, shirts, socks, boots, clogs, belt, scattered on the floor, brown velvet curtains completely closed.

— Wait for me here.

Max went into the kitchen, I heard a bag being opened and kibble being poured into a bowl. Then the squeaking of a tap and the sound of water running into a bowl.

He returned with an iron bowl full of kibble, and a bowl of water.

He placed everything near the front door.

— Go eat!

I went and sat down in front of the bowl and started to eat some kibble, serving myself directly with my mouth.

It was a different brand and variety.

They tasted much better than my usual kibble.

I recognized certain spices of curry and saffron, flavors of ginger and basil.

I left a few pieces at the bottom of the bowl so as not to look too impolite, and also because I couldn't get them without using my hands, and drank large gulps of water.

Max had sat down in one of the armchairs. He was looking at me. I was embarrassed and didn't quite know where to sit.

— Come!

He patted his thigh, and I went and sat down in front of him.

He tapped again.

This was a new element in our relationship, a change from sitting

Lying down and standing up, I felt like I was acquiring a new function.

I sat up on my knees and placed my forearms on her thighs.

Max grabbed my head between his large hands and rubbed my cheeks vigorously.

Then he ran his hand through my hair several times and kissed my forehead.

— Good dog!

He stood up.

— Come!

I followed him on all fours to his room and to a wardrobe which he opened.

Max rummaged around a bit in the highest shelves, I shook my head, trying to understand what he was looking for.

He grabbed a large brown cushion with a padded rim about thirty centimeters high.

Max placed the cushion near his bed, on the side that seemed to be his.

— You will sleep there.

I approached the cushion.

The scent of another dog was strongly noticeable, and as I approached

Furthermore, I discovered hundreds of white and black hairs on the fabric.

Max took off his shoes and lay down on the bed.

— I'm going to sleep for twenty minutes... I always sleep a little before opening on Saturday afternoon.

He lay back with his arms folded across his stomach and closed his eyes.

I remained seated for a moment, then went to lie down on my cushion, turning around to find my place, first on my left side, then my right, and finally on my stomach.

Max kept his eyes closed as he spoke. His voice was distant, slowed down; each word spoken seemed to have been brought from a dream into reality.

I listened to him from my cushion:

"You're the first one to come here... Since Dick left... It's been two years... I could have gotten another dog...

I see hundreds of them every year... But I think I was waiting for Dick to come back..."

I don't think he's dead... Someone would have told me... He had a microchip... I don't think he's dead...

Even though microchips aren't always reliable... He followed me everywhere... One morning, I woke up, he wasn't on his bed, nowhere in the house... He knew how to open doors...

Sometimes, he went out alone, for walks, to relieve himself... He was an independent dog, wonderfully intelligent... He must have gone out during the night... Got lost...

To be adopted by homeless people... Kidnapped... I hope he didn't drown... That he wasn't crushed without being identified...

Max opened his eyes, he was waking up from his nap in stages.

— … I can't replace a dog like that so quickly… Dick was peculiar...

He turned his head towards me.

— You're special too, aren't you?

— Mmm.

He patted me on the top of my leg, I jumped on the bed and found a place against him.

58.

Before opening the store, Max chose several necklaces which I tried on one after the other.

I could see that he was looking for what was best for me.

The circumference of my neck was unusual, too small for adult necklaces, too large for junior ones.

Max decided to add an extra hole to an adult collar.

Then he cut off the strip of leather that was sticking out.

My necklace was made of red leather with a chrome ring.

I spent Saturday afternoon lying behind the cash register at Max's feet.

Many customers came in, but never to buy a dog; most came to be moved by the animals, to stroke their heads, and to give them silly nicknames.

Max looked up in their direction and sighed, turning his head from left to right.

The first time I met Max, in this same store, he told me about a rifle, which he was stopping himself from going to get behind his till to shoot bullets into people's heads.

From my place behind the till, I could see the rifle was there, and I watched every customer as if they were potentially dead, especially one who grabbed a puppy in his arms and lifted it in the air, shaking it and calling it my baby!

Max placed his hand on the stock and a finger on the trigger.

The dogs that were locked up were very young; most of them could not have been more than six months old.

At first, they looked at me curiously, trying to sniff me from afar, growling, or on the contrary, wagging their tails and turning around, to rejoice in my presence.

Only two dogs behaved differently towards me.

I had already noticed the first one when I came to buy my puppy. He appeared to me as the leader of the gang. The strongest. The most damaged. Even beings of only a few months old bear the deep marks of their past.

I learned his name was Paco. When a customer tried to stroke his head, Paco bit his hand. Max yelled his name, demanding he let go. The customer, his hand bleeding, became agitated and said he wanted to file a complaint.

Max replied: "You would file a complaint against the snake that bites you in the...

Jungle?... The lion in its savannah?... The shark in its ocean?

The customer said nothing; blood was flowing heavily.

— Go away!

After the client left, Max calmly resumed reading his magazine, and Paco remained seated, continuing to stare at me calmly and seriously.

Sometimes I dared to glance at him, I smiled at him, and Paco would just freeze. like a statue, without love or anger.

If Paco impressed me so much, it was because his eyes seemed to be... windows open onto the wild garden of his soul.

He was a mongrel, with short, beige fur and a lean, firm body, like those who will forever suffer the deficiency of their undernourishment.

In fact, Paco and I were alike, except that his gaze was more human than mine.

The other dog that seemed different to me behaved in the exact opposite way to Paco.

He lay calmly at the bottom of the aquarium, pressed against the thick glass, his head resting on his paws, casting me a few shy glances, sometimes closing his eyelids with the tenderness of a newborn.

I also had the impression that he smiled at me several times and gave me a few winks.

When I could no longer meet Paco's powerful gaze, I would to find rest and gentleness in the eyes of the other dog.

And it took me the whole afternoon to realize that it was a female dog.

59.

Max closed the store at 7 p.m. sharp, and we went upstairs. I felt awkward leaving the other dogs in their glass enclosure, so that I knew a soft velvet cushion was waiting for me.

The evening passed quietly. Max prepared dinner, half a dozen lamb chops, sautéed potatoes, and he opened a bottle of red wine.

I stayed in the kitchen, lying down near the refrigerator.

In the living room, Max turned on the television and chose an entertainment program, in which celebrities had to take on challenges proposed by the host.

The audience roared with laughter and applauded whenever a guest fell into a swimming pool, or slipped on a floor covered with eggs, oil and flour.

Max sat down at the table in front of the T.V for dinner, and I lay down at his feet.

As soon as he finished a chop, he would send me the bone and I would finish the work, gnawing, licking, crunching.

For a long time, I had eaten nothing but kibble and the reconstituted bone that the neighbor's dog had given me, and these natural ribs seemed to me to have come straight from a lamb in the Garden of Eden.

Max stayed at the table for another hour; he drank the entire bottle of wine. while watching the T.V show.

He went into the kitchen, where I followed him, and opened another bottle of wine, then went back to sit down.

Max watched television without any attention; he was neither amused nor even concerned by what was happening on it, and the notion of entertainment had no effect on him.

I even caught him several times looking elsewhere, his eye half-enclosed, bound to an invisible sadness, floating in the apartment.

At the end of the show and the second bottle of wine, Max turned off the T.V and the lights.

— Come!

We went into the bedroom, he undressed and lay down in his place. in bed.

I found my pillow, and Max plunged the room into darkness.

I could hear his heavy breathing coming and going, and the smell of wine sometimes wafting through the air.

— You're the third… Before Dick, I had another dog… There was Dick… And before that, Sultan… Beautiful dog… Purebred… Dick was a Great Dane… Sultan a magnificent Rottweiler…

I could hear the bed frame creaking when he moved.

— I don't know your breed... Probably some Border Collie part of you...

I didn't know what the dogs he was talking about looked like, but I loved listening to it in the dead of night.

— Sultan!... He's gone too... With my wife... Well, she took him with her when she left... Good riddance... She'd turned that dog into a real chick, a Rottweiler who's become a female Bichon!

He laughed and the bed creaked in response.

Everyone has left... Everyone has left... I will leave... you will leave... he will leave... we will leave...

He conjugated the verb "to leave" several times in the present and past tenses, and it eventually put us to sleep.

60.

I woke up in the night. The room seemed brighter than when I had fallen asleep.

Max was sleeping soundly, his breathing had slowed.

After a few seconds, I heard what sounded like small voices, similar to those of children.

These were not just words.

It sounded like singing.

Mysterious.

And sad.

It was crying.

Those puppies and dogs were crying downstairs.

I got up and quietly crossed the room on all fours, then the living room to the stairs leading to the ground floor, like a lost sailor lured by sirens.

When I arrived at the store, the dogs replaced their sobs and whimpers with chirps of joy and excitement.

I was their sun in the night. The one who reassures by his immediate presence.

I sat down in the middle of the store, between the three glass aquariums.

Most of the dogs came to take refuge as close to me as possible, sending me their little heads, and their licks, snouts and legs.

Only Paco remained apart, sitting upright on his two hind legs. an eye as sharp at night as during the day.

As a reflex, I immediately looked for the dog.

She was lying in her place, waiting for me with the same look. tenderness.

Paco aboya.

A dry, deep bark, calling me.

With a nod of his head, he indicated a direction.

I followed the line of his gaze and fell upon the window.

He wanted me to open it.

Paco could make me understand what he wanted.

It was not telepathy or any other form of spiritual communication; it was a different language, a physical one, the language of instinct, of the senses, of the present moment.

What happens now?

What are we looking for?

Does the wind speak to you too?

It was no longer the language of society, but that of nature.

He didn't want me to open the window to escape. He wasn't one of those cowards who abandon ship in the middle of the night, throwing themselves overboard and leaving their fellow sufferers behind. He belonged here; he was the leader, the mediator who, through his calm and control, reassured the tribe.

He found the heat stifling and was worried about a group of six young puppies, barely weaned, who were suffocating in a corner.

I went to open the window and wiggled the two uprights for a moment to create a sort of air current.

I went back to sit in my seat.

Paco nodded to thank me.

I noticed that most of the water bowls were empty, especially those of the youngest puppies.

I retrieved the bowls and went to fill them one by one at the tap near the toilets.

I placed the bowls in several locations within each aquarium.

The young puppies, overwhelmed by the artificial heatwave, had difficulty... to stand on their feet to lean around the chrome container.

I helped them.

The other dogs went to drink two by two, following a silent and precise organization, which gave priority to the youngest dogs, then to the oldest, then to the largest...

I noticed that Paco wasn't drinking.

He watched the others act, and preserved by his quiet authority the smooth operation of operations.

When it was the turn of the sweet, smiling dog to go for a drink, I watched her get up; she walked with wonderful grace, almost in slow motion, her shoulders rising and falling like waves.

After drinking, she sat down next to Paco and they both looked at me.

In the language of nature, Paco made me understand that he had been here for three months; he had never belonged to anyone, the litter he came from having been abandoned in a forest on the outskirts of Paris. He had seen his brothers and sisters die one after the other, and decided to return to the city to find food.

The pound had picked him up, and a week later, Max had retrieved and brought here to be sold.

The dog's name was Dina, but the others called her White, a nickname due to her coat of no other color.

She had only been there for a month, enduring the separation from her family. Her owners initially argued over who would keep her, but eventually decided to part with her for good.

Calm had returned, most of the dogs were asleep and the youngest puppies were dreaming, sprawled on top of each other.

Paco nodded to me to tell me that it was best if I went back up now.

Max certainly wouldn't like to know I'm here.

My place was on the brown velvet cushion.

I had trouble falling back asleep. Any notion of time had disappeared, and I lived only to the rhythm of sunrise and sunset.

This metamorphosis of time had rapid and powerful effects on my memory.

I felt things gradually fading away, and I had to make more and more of an effort to remember certain people and events, some of which were not so distant.

My father's face.

Our childhood home.

My professors at the School of Fine Arts.

What color resulted from mixing green and red?

The names of the colors.

What was the name of the young digital prodigy hired last week?

passed to the place where I worked?

Was he my boss's son or nephew?

My boss's first name.

Did I know how to drive a car myself?

Where are the cars going?

Were there other women before my wife?

What were my wife's hands like?

And his back?

I think I loved his father.

The faces blended together.

Nature was growing in the city, like a virgin forest invading the buildings and minds.

I was clinging to the essentials, my appointment with E. Letteret on Monday morning at 8 o'clock. And, bring the pine cone to our neighbor's dog.

I fell asleep thinking about my son.

When I met Max at sunrise, he was in the kitchen, already dressed, and sitting at the small table in front of a bowl of coffee.

He didn't even glance at me.

He got up, filled my food bowl with kibble and my water bowl with tap water.

I started by drinking some water, then began my meal.

— Don't make so much noise with that food!

I raised my head, Max still wasn't looking at me, he took a sip of coffee.

I continued eating, trying to suck on the kibble before swallowing them chewing to dampen the noise.

— Were you the one who opened the shop window last night?

I raised my head.

— Is that you?

I didn't understand what he was talking about. I had no recollection of tonight.

- Sat!

I sat down, my face reaching the height of the table.

— Do you open the window at night?

This question didn't require an answer. Max remained staring forward, his skin tightening and turning purple as he spoke.

— Do you open the window at night?… Do you get up at night? Do you go down to the store?

Max was completely purple when he turned towards me.

His face was taut like a drumhead and he couldn't close his mouth.

— Do you open the shop window at night?

I could hardly meet his gaze, I slumped under the table.

— You filthy dog...

Max flicked his coffee bowl with the back of his hand, sending it flying and shattering against the wall. He jumped up, and my forehead was pressed against his knees.

We stayed like that for a moment. I could feel the fabric of his pants against my skin.

— Get out of here!

I made a hasty retreat and found refuge on my velvet cushion.

— Dirty dog!

I heard my bowl go flying across the kitchen, and the sound of my

Kibble scatters, the chair scrapes the floor and Max sits down.

Paco barked twice, downstairs, in the store.

This was meant for me; he was making me understand not to move. To let the anger pass as long as it took.

I didn't move an inch on the cushion, my eyes and attention completely focused on the kitchen.

After a while, an indefinite amount of time for me, I heard Max get up and his not heavy, approaching.

When he arrived in the room, I immediately noticed that he had not calmed down.

He came and stood above me.

"You can't do what you want... You think you own the place... I offer you shelter, food, my love... And you thank me with contempt, with disrespect...

You deserve to be disciplined... You deserve to be thrown out... Do you understand? And if someone had entered the store last night, someone who had stolen things, hurt the animals..."

My heart beat faster as he spoke. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying, but I was sure he had a right to be angry. My mistake must have been terrible. I would have given anything for him to calm down, to be my friend again, like before.

Downstairs. Paco barked incessantly, trying to divert attention.

from Max so that he won't quarrel with me anymore.

Max approached me, and I had the impression that his skin was regaining its natural color.

He whispered to me curtly:

"Things work according to my rules, and if you don't respect them..."

He sat up and stared at me for another moment.

I kept my head down in my cushion. Paco barked again.

Max went down to the store.

The dogs became excited.

He snapped his fingers.

63.

I spent a good part of the day lying on the cushion.

I rarely changed position, and when I did, I did so with extreme slowness, moving first one limb, then another, adopting my new posture as one lays the bricks of a wall.

Paco barked, I raised my head, he was warning me that Max was coming to see me.

I sat up in my cushion to wait for him.

When he entered the room, I felt a shiver run through my heart.

— Come on, let's go!

I couldn't believe it. He loved me again. Like before. I wanted to take him in my arms, hug him tightly, run around him to envelop him in a cloud of love.

In the bathroom, Max gave me a quick comb through my hair, then he He undressed and shaved in front of the mirror.

In the room, he put on a clean white shirt and black trousers.

Sitting on the bed, he put on brown leather moccasins.

We left the apartment, and as we walked through the store to get out, Paco barked in my direction to tell me to stay on my guard.

Before leaving, I looked for Dina; she was in her place and sent me one of his winks.

I replied to him.

64.

Max and I took the car, drove across Paris, then through a deserted, concrete jungle where glass towers had sprung up. Neon signs at the top of the towers displayed their names: Total, Europe, areva, aurore, A.X.A, and the tallest one: G.D.F Suez. We then drove alongside a forest for a few hundred meters.

I would have liked us to stop there, but we quickly left to reach the nearby suburbs and go to a building where an old woman lived whom he called mom.

The decor of his apartment was very similar to that of Max's, but here, everything seemed older. The clutter, the piles of mail and magazines on the table, the dust, the light that old white curtains tried to filter; and although no one smoked, a smell of tobacco still hung in the air, as if a ghost continued to puff on his cigarette.

Max sat down on the leather sofa, opposite his mother who was used to the armchair.

I lay down between the two of them, but closer to Max nonetheless.

The old woman could not have been more than 1.4 meters tall; her dry, wrinkled skin reminded me of Japanese writing paper, which I thought I had touched once.

She was looking at me with her head tilted.

He's not very graceful!

- Mom!

— Well, he's not handsome! We can say that, can't we?

- Yes.

— It looks like a… sick dog… It has no fur… except on its head…

What kind of breed is that?

— I don't know.

— You don't know anything about it… You're in the dog business and you don't know anything about it! Well, that's a story!… You'll tell me, your father, he made nails, well, when he It was a matter of planting one, but he wasn't up to it... What an idiot! Your father... I don't miss him!... So, what do we call this dog?

- Dog!

— What, Dog... That's not a name, Dog... It's his brand... Surely you'll find a name for that beast?

— I don't know, Mom.

— Ah! He has no race, he has no name!

She bent down towards me and stared at me for a moment.

— Me... I would call him... Dick!

— That was the name of my old dog!

— Yes, well, he was handsome and kind, he wasn't a pitiful sight like that piece of meat!

She remained leaning forward, but her attention was fixed on her son. She must not have been able to hear very well because she was speaking too loudly.

— How did Dick die again?

— He may not be dead, he may have gotten lost.

— He's lost his way, my ass... He's run off, yes!

- But no!

— But if my boy... You'd bathed him again, that one... You could never help yourself... Sometimes you love your animals, and then, a whack on the nose, a fit of anger, and bam!... you bathe them... Like that other one there... the last one...

— Sultan!

— Look, the Sultan is the same!

— No, it was Beatrice who took it when she left!

— Well, you bathed her too!

— Stop!

"I'm not crazy, you know! I saw her with that slanted eye! Beatrice was nice, like Dick and Sultan... You could never help yourself...

Even as a little kid, you were cruel... When we took you to the beach with Dad... you'd spend whole days torturing those poor lizards... you were a real legend to them!... We'd tell you: Go play with the others your age... But you preferred to stay on the rocks with your lizards, burning them and cutting them in half..."

— I love my animals!

— You love them, but they end up loving you more… It's something, isn't it, that a cruel kid like you is in the dog Today!

I didn't really understand what they were saying, but I was fine on that old woman's rug. Sometimes she would lean closer to me to say: "You've landed in the wrong place, my poor dog!"

Even though I didn't understand what she was talking about, I raised my head to show her that I wasn't being impolite, and that Max wouldn't be ashamed in front of his mother.

65.

On the way back, we took a different direction. I realized this when we drove through the forest for several kilometers.

Max stopped on a path a little off the main road. He turned off the engine and I sat up in the trunk.

I looked at Max, who remained seated behind his steering wheel.

I thought we were here to enjoy nature for a while, throw some balls and go for a walk.

— Stay calm!

Max opened his door to get out of the car and locked it.

I watched him walk away into the woods.

Again, a squeak escaped my throat.

And when Max disappeared completely behind the foliage, I felt

My heart empties, a winter wind rises in my body.

I don't know how long I stayed alone in the car, but as long as the day was bright, it wasn't so bad.

I climbed onto the armchair in front of me; the back seat had the same smell and hairs as my velvet cushion.

I spent some time there. Sitting with the tip of my nose pressed against the window, forgetting the forest in front of me and watching for the slightest sign of my master's return.

I decided to take his place behind the wheel.

I was better off here, in what little presence he had left behind. I was content with the remnants of his scent, the traces of his sweat on the back of his chair, like the living find comfort in a shroud.

I found a way to lie down and lose myself in those scents.

I close my eyes and fall asleep to forget the absence and the time.

The sound of the car door woke me with a start.

Joy: Max was there, in good spirits, lively and smiling.

— What are you doing here!

Sadness: He was not alone, a young woman was with him.

— That's my dog!

The young woman had long black hair, and red lipstick.

It was drooling, and the rest of her makeup was running around her eyes.

— He's not mean?

She had a man's voice, deeper than Max's, and an accent.

— No, he is brave.

Max stroked my head.

— Go ahead!

He offered to give the woman the same caress, and I moved my head forward to invite her to do so.

Her hands were huge and wide, her bitten nails bore old, peeling nail polish.

Max and the woman with the deep voice seemed to know each other because they were on familiar terms, but seeing them together, you would have sworn they were meeting for the first time.

— Where do you want to stand?

— At the front.

— There's your dog!

— Get behind!

He gave me a friendly little pat on the bottom, and even though I didn't want to leave them, I listlessly climbed the seats to get back to my place in the trunk.

Max and the young woman sat down in the front.

I sat and watched them.

I was hot and I had to open my mouth to breathe.

Max wanted to kiss the young woman but she pushed him away.

— You're not forgetting anything?

- Oh yes.

He took a bill out of his wallet and offered it to the young woman; I recognized all the generosity of my master, and thought that she did not really deserve this gift; I did not like his tone and manners.

Max kissed the young woman, he was doing it with great passion, while she barely moved, remained sunk in her chair and kept her arms at her sides.

Max pulled away.

— Are you okay?

The young woman turned towards me.

— That's your dog!

- What ?

— I don't know, he's weird... He doesn't look like a dog!

— What does it look like?

- I don't know...

Max looked at me, my breath quickened in my open mouth.

- Layer!

He said this to me authoritatively, and I lay down on the other side.

— Is it better here? Do you want me to close the curtains, open a

Bottle of champagne, I'm going to put the classical music to shame!

— Shut up, come on, go ahead!

What a stupid woman, I thought, Max is offering her all these things delightful, and she responds only with vulgarity and disenchantment.

I could hear their kisses, their clothes opening and sliding over their body.

Then the heavy silence of the forest abandoned to the wind, sometimes mingled with the chirping of birds and the moans of Max.

I straightened up to sit down.

I glanced at Max to make sure that his little noises were the result of pleasure and not violence.

He was in his seat, his back sunk into the chair, one hand gripping the head of the young woman leaning over him, performing a sort of prayer over my master.

Max caught me looking in the rearview mirror.

— Shh!

I turned back towards the window.

On this side, the forest was much more beautiful.

I hadn't noticed it earlier, too obsessed with Max's return.

But now I could indulge in this contemplation, reassured by his presence, which I could not forget since he continued to moan, and louder and louder.

The view overlooked a magnificent clearing, its fern-covered ground bisected by shadow and light. This luminous, natural boundary seemed to come not from the sky but from nature itself, deciding what light it needed.

The trees that surrounded it and shaped its architecture resembled a family, mingling their creeping roots beneath the earth and their branches at the top, to form a roof shared with the sky.

The car started moving more seriously. I didn't dare to return.

— Here, sit in the back seat, I'll recline the front seat.

The young woman found herself kneeling on the bench, her hands gripping the backrest, and her face very close to mine, turned in the same direction, towards the clearing.

Now there were two of us enjoying the view, and I was delighted.

secretly knowing that the young woman would soon be moved.

After saying a prayer in an up-and-down motion, the young woman was now performing another one going from front to back.

— Go ahead, baby.

I didn't understand this woman who could call Max her baby, when she had just told him to shut his mouth.

For my part, I would have liked to tell him about the clearing. To tell him how familiar the place was to me.

As the young woman continued her pacing, I thought of Dina and Paco. I imagined us here, playing with the shifting shadows, lying on a bed of moss. I watched Dina walk to the center of our house, sit in the breeze, and come back to me, full of love, thanking me for having transformed her glass aquarium into a forest of trees.

And Paco, my brother, came running from I don't know what thicket, eager to show us a fishing spot in a wild river.

— Ahhhh... bitch!

Max collapsed in the back of the car. I couldn't help but...

go back and worry about him.

He remained lying on the young woman's back, breathing quickly and heavily.

The young woman was motionless, breathing normally, she was looking at me.

— That dog is strange.

66.

When we arrived at the store, the heat was even more stifling. The dogs barely stirred. Only Paco sat in his place, straight and proud as usual.

I noticed that the bowls were empty, and I had no recollection that Max has filled them in the last two days.

I looked for Dina, she was asleep in a corner, as if stunned and incapable of the slightest effort.

As I passed by, Paco barked. He wanted me to come back down when Max was asleep. He had something to tell me.

Dina opened her eyes and, with a slight nod, signaled to me that the situation was serious. Instinctively, I glanced at the litter of youngest puppies. They were motionless, huddled together, seemingly as one, sharing their last reserves of strength.

I spent the rest of the day lying in front of the living room window waiting for night to fall.

When Max was getting ready for dinner and I heard the bag of kibble being opened, I pretended to be interested by going to find him in the kitchen.

I barely ate.

— You're not hungry!... I know what you want... You want me to give you My own food, eh?

But in truth, I didn't care about his pork ribs grilling in the stove, I was only thinking about finding Paco and Dina.

When the bed stopped creaking and his breathing became heavy and steady, I decided to leave my velvet cushion and go down to the store.

Once again, I was caught by the heat, and without Paco asking me anything, I naturally went to open the window and fill the bowls with water from the tap.

Paco was watching me and following my every move with his head.

The dogs could barely get on their feet, and the society, so well organized the previous night, was now struggling to find its bearings.

I sat down opposite Paco.

He barked softly, and each of his barks was a sentence that I understood perfectly.

I learned by listening.

(In the language of nature, exchanges were reduced to a minimum.

The balance between sounds, frequencies and emotion.

The words came from yesterday or tomorrow.

In the language of nature, the present barely existed or did not matter.

They were talking about things from the past.

Or, we were warning each other about the future.)

From the first bark, Paco told me this: — The young puppies are going to die, they haven't been fed properly since they arrived.

From the second and third barks: — We're going to have to get out of here and find a place for them... You'll help us.

From the fourth bark: — You had become attached to Max, as other dogs before you had been, but they had no choice but to flee, to avoid the violence and the blows; the time will come when you too will flee...

From the fifth bark: — We were waiting for you, Dina said so as soon as she saw you, we will only live here to die.

Dina remained lying down, she was looking at me.

The light suddenly came on and Max appeared in all his bulk, enraged, purple, charging at me like a bull in the arena.

I remained frozen, as surprised as I was paralyzed with fear.

His heavy hand struck me violently on the back of the head, I collapsed to the floor and my face hit the glass of the aquarium behind which Paco was standing.

Max bent down and lifted me up by the shoulder to send me a series of blows to the head and ribs.

I was struggling to protect my body from the storm that was raging around me.

I could hear Max yelling things while hitting me but I didn't understand, only the language of nature sometimes reached me, and the barking of Paco and the other dogs yelling at me to lie down, bite or run away.

I was incapable of anything.

I had liked Max.

I should leave.

The present was painful.

68.

Max carried me out of the store and threw me into the street.

I landed on the hard asphalt and didn't move an inch.

Max stood in front of the door, he looked into the distance and seemed relieved to find the street deserted.

I could feel the blood running down my face, some of my ribs tearing at my skin when I breethd, and my right ankle felt broken.

Max and I were out of breath, like two fighters after a brawl.

Except that there had only been one. My rapid breathing was due to the shock, his to his bulk which put him in that state with the slightest exertion.

Max still wanted to beat me; I could see he was in a sort of a crisis that nothing, except my absence, would calm.

And yet, I did not want to leave.

My love for him still existed despite everything, but he had to become a memory in order for me to forget him.

— Dirty dog, go away... You want to continue doing whatever you want...

He gave me another kick in the stomach. These blows landed on me with the speed of lightning, and I couldn't touch the impact until a second later, when the damage was done.

Max grabbed my ears and violently pulled me upright. He brought his face within an inch of mine; I could smell his breath, heavy with sleep and wine.

— What's wrong with you... huh... What's wrong with you... You do what you want here?...

You have to leave now... If you stay I'll kill you, you understand... Sort out what you want to do tonight... decide what you want to be... and only come back when you've chosen.

He got up, stepped back a little while looking at me, then came back quickly to deliver another flurry of kicks, hitting me in the stomach, face, and legs. I cowered mechanically, like an insect trapped in fire.

Paco barked at full volume in the store, but my ears, heated by Max and the rain of blows, prevented me from hearing him.

Max yelled and struck: — Go away!

And Paco, with all his might: — Go!

I took advantage of a kick to slide a little further and limped away.

In the distance, I could hear

Paco: — You will come back for us tomorrow.

I could no longer put my foot on the ground, and standing was making my skin feel tight. and my chest, causing me horribly pain.

I was walking on all fours, with the slowness and clumsiness of a young elephant.

I had to stop every fifteen or twenty meters and take a step.

against a wall to rest.

I had left my last strength in the escape, running for a long time because I thought Max was still chasing me, and even after, I remained on my guard, jumping at the slightest noise, fearing the shadows of passers-by, the flight of a pigeon.

So I resumed my journey, letting my body go, one step after another, no longer recognizing the smells, the lights, my own reflection in the shop windows.

My blood was spreading in droplets on the sidewalks, I abandoned my thumbnail, half torn off during the fight, and got rid of my shoes.

At the end of a narrow street, I came across a small garden, surrounded by a wire fence.

I noticed a fountain overflowing with water from a jet in the center of the monument.

I was thirsty.

The door was locked with a padlock, I climbed over the fence and collapsed onto the gravel on the other side.

I crawled as fast as I could towards the fountain and stood up on my knees. gripping the stone to plunge my head into the basin.

The water was so cool that I stayed in it for several minutes, not noticing the I just needed to catch my breath.

I felt my strength returning, the blood of the past disappearing into the whirlwind, and the natural elixir cleansed the wounds on my face.

After drinking, I leaned against the low wall for a while.

I had to hold out until the next night.

I knew there would be a day in between, and that in the evening, when

The darkness would have completely settled in, and I would find Dina and Paco again.

— Hey, you!

Fear filled my heart so quickly that I realized it had never gone away.

— What are you doing here!

A man emerged from the shadows and walked towards me. He was as tall as Max and wore a brown fur and leather coat.

— You can't stay here, you understand!

I got up and slowly stepped back.

— This is my garden!

The man picked up a handful of gravel from the ground and threw it in my direction.

It wasn't painful, but I understood the message.

I ran off and almost disemboweled myself climbing the fence.

70.

The smells gradually returned, and the warmth of the tracks indicated their more or less recent past. Even though I had no awareness of my route, I was certain I was being guided by a supernatural force, like a shepherd following his star.

My mysterious trail led me to a wooden door on a sloping street.

It did not overlook a building but an alley lined with small houses.

The place was not unfamiliar to me.

As I cautiously moved forward, I recognized the smells of jasmine, roses, and urine.

I went to the end of the flower-lined passage and stopped in front of one of the houses, whose large bay window opened onto a living room plunged in twilight.

I remained on all fours, sometimes lowering my head and taking a few steps to search for new scents, new clues.

A light came on in the house. It was coming from upstairs and projecting its beam in the stairwell.

A young boy appeared, went down the steps and crossed the living room, an empty glass in his hand.

I didn't move as I watched him walk by and disappear into another room.

After a moment, the boy reappeared, his glass filled with water, he crossed the living room in the other direction, but stopped suddenly and turned his face outwards.

The boy approached the bay window, he tried to see more clearly by placing his hands around his face against the glass, then extending his arm, switched on a light which illuminated the garden and me.

We remained locked in a gaze for a moment, looking into each other's eyes.

I hesitated to take a few steps towards him, but the constant pain reminding me of my beating made me execute a sort of leap, to turn around and flee on all fours.

A small dog joined me in the alley.

He immediately showed me great affection, and circled around me while improvising an exotic dance.

I didn't stop, but returned his little nudges with my muzzle and his sniffs.

At the end of the path, the little puppy barked several times.

His language was less clear because he didn't seem to use it often.

I understood, however, that his name was Castor and that he was asking me if I had brought him a gift from the woods.

He must have thought I was someone else.

Then, Castor told me to wait for him for a while.

I sat down to signal to him that I wouldn't move.

Castor disappeared, dashing down the alley.

I looked up and saw a row of tin boxes placed near the door. A small piece of paper with a note was stuck to each one.

I was still able to decipher the company's handwriting, without any of These words have absolutely no meaning for me.

Mr. Romaliocha Castor returned.

Table summary: A list of twenty individuals organized into two columns, including names such as Mr. Thorez, Mrs. MOLLARET, Miss LUMBROSO, and Mr. Rubini.

He placed a bone in front of me. Although my jaw hurt terribly Suffering from the blows I had received, I grabbed the bone to do it I turn it between my teeth and lick it.

I promised the little dog I would find him again one day; he wished me well chance and we parted ways.

71.

I continued on my way, searching for my direction in the tracks dark and damp, turning at more or less familiar crossroads, letting my instinct guide me and my memory transform the past into negative or positive feelings.

I raised my head towards the sky, but the night remained suspended above the world, determined not to give in to its darkness.

I stopped in front of a hotel, its neon sign, and its entrance electric.

The smell here wasn't necessarily pleasant, even though I recognized it a few hints of intimacy.

The automatic glass doors opened as I walked past them.

I entered timidly.

The hall was deserted, music was coming from a counter a little further away, but on all fours I couldn't see if anyone was behind it.

I remained seated in the reception area, staring at a comfortable sofa on which I dreamed of lying down.

After a while, a young, thin man stood up from behind the counter.

He didn't notice me right away and I had to bark to get him to do it.

Upon seeing me, the thin man's expression quickly changed, and he became active to rush towards me holding a strangely shaped piece of wood.

— What's this now!… Now get out of here… get out of here right now…

I didn't understand what he was saying and thought he wanted to play "go" "Find the thing" with the stick.

I got up on all fours and hopped around the man.

He wasn't throwing the stick, but was clearly trying to hit me in the face.

— Oh fuck… I'm going to hit you in the face with a bat!

Taking a desperate gamble, I jumped onto the sofa and lay down, panting.

The man grabbed his stick with both hands and slowly advanced towards me.

— You think you're so clever, do you? You'll see... I'll split you in two and show you to my boss tomorrow... He'll understand how much I love my job...

The thin man accelerated, raising his stick; I quickly ran away and I heard the cushion take the hit in my place.

I found myself in darker streets, without any lit shop windows or familiar doors. I was exhausted, but my instincts didn't tell me where to stop, and my tired sense of smell could only detect traces of garbage and excrement.

The trees that lined some of the avenues looked as if they had been torn from my clearing and replanted here, right on the concrete.

I decided to choose a tree to lie down in.

After all, if they were the only affordable nature in the city, they remained its representatives, and we were alike, in our uprootedness.

Hundreds of droppings littered the ground at the foot of the trees, and their trunks were soaked with a thousand different urines.

To find an uncontaminated tree, I had to look for one that was too conspicuous for men to have let their dogs relieve themselves there.

I left the dark streets for a wide avenue lined with Shops of all kinds.

Here, the trees were gigantic, their branches pruned and cared for, their clean and whitened trunks.

The last inspiration of my senses made me choose a chestnut tree planted in front of a shop whose entrance, closed by an iron curtain, reminded me of something.

I lay down under the tree, arranging my back with its roots and resting my head on my hands.

I had a view of the store opposite and its sign: O.B.P

Bank. I turned my gaze away to plunge it into the earth in front of me.

I thought of Dina as I fell asleep.

Life was bustling in every direction, and nobody was paying attention to I, no more than I do the trees, the birds, or the clouds in the sky.

As I sat up, I felt my body assailed by a thousand pains.

The worst pain was coming from my ankle. It was swollen, and the bone seemed to be pushing against the skin. I tried to put my foot on the ground, but the pain made it impossible for the moment.

I remained seated and noticed that blood had continued to flow from my head while I slept and had dried on my hands and probably on my face.

A woman came out of the O.B.P Bank store opposite, whose metal shutter had disappeared.

She approached me quickly but stopped a few meters away, in waving her arms and hands with two-tone nails.

— Come on... Out... Out... We're not staying here...

I watched her without moving and without understanding a word of her language.

— Come on... Out... Out...

Behind the shop, a man in a yellow shirt joined her.

— What's going on, Miss Vigant?

— There's still a dog in front of the bank, it's going to scare the customers, Mr. Letteret.

I looked at the man.

My reinvigorated instinct sent me a signal of mistrust.

I had to remain on my guard.

The man approached me slowly; he seemed curious and frowned.

a little more raised eyebrows with each step.

I barked several times in their direction.

The man slowly moved his hand forward, hoping to touch my shoulder.

— What are you doing, Mr. Letteret?

— Nothing… This dog is strange, Miss Vigant… He has something about him…

The man's hand was moving closer to me.

— Something like what, Mr. Letteret?

— I don't know... Has Mr. Blanchot arrived yet? We had an appointment this morning at 8 o'clock.

— Not yet, Mr. Letteret.

The hand continued on its way.

I couldn't resist biting her.

I bit into his hand and held it tightly in my jaw.

The man and woman screamed in unison, causing some to stop. passers-by and other men leaving the store.

They tried to make me let go, they threw themselves on me to pin me to the ground, but, quicker than a wild cat, I freed myself, leaped onto my four paws, jumped over the men and found myself behind them, proud and ready to face them.

The man in the yellow shirt fell to his knees, holding his hand.

Two women and a man came to check on him, leaning over him. — Are you all right, Mr. Letteret?

He bit me! He bit me!

The other men were advancing towards me in small steps. Actually, they weren't advancing, but rather moving sideways, one step to the right, two steps to the left, crab-like.

These men didn't know how to fight. None of them were prepared for a real physical battle.

— We need to call the pound.

— Go ahead, we'll surround him.

One of the men returned to the O.B.P Bank store.

The man in the short-sleeved shirt continued to moan on the ground, blowing on his hand.

Those who were standing opposite me changed their position in line to to position themselves in a semicircle.

If I kept going backwards, I would soon be cornered, trapped against the wall. of the building behind me.

I had to react instantly; there was no way I was going to let myself... Caught by these people, Dina and Paco were waiting for me, my life was elsewhere.

I remembered Max's lessons.

Man does not fear the dog in the face, nor in the heart... but in the extremities: hands... feet and ankles... penis.

I was looking at the men in a semicircle in front of me.

Their hands were spread apart and raised high, as if to give each other a kind of balance and poise.

Their feet were enclosed in leather shoes, some of which went up above the ankle.

Only their penises remained easily accessible, simply protected by the fabric of their pants, which were quite open in the crotch, since they held their thighs apart like their hands.

I chose a man whose height was comparable to my face.

He was not very tall, older than the others, and stood out because of his full, dark suit, while the others did not wear jackets over their shirts.

I was waiting to touch the wall, to get my momentum from it.

I kept my eyes on my prey, considering its behavior, the reaction time of others, and the distance I would have traveled by the time they decided to pursue me.

I thought back to Max and the last lesson.

Letting go was the second movement of the attack.

A dog that doesn't let go of its prey quickly finds itself in danger.

Like Thor clinging to Max's ankle.

Today, I could only rely on myself. I had to quickly bite the penis of the man in the dark suit, without getting attached to it, and above all without waiting for my master's voice to order me to get rid of it.

A dog without an owner.

I felt the wall against my buttocks, it was too late to think, it was now a matter of tensing my muscles, opening my chest, freeing my senses, and aiming for the penis.

I used the wall like a spring and suddenly leaped towards the men.

They were surprised, but encouraged each other with: — Whoa... Gently... Whoa... Calm down...

I picked up speed without losing sight of the penis in the dark suit.

The man in the yellow shirt stopped moaning and silence fell. suddenly on the street.

The direction of my run became clear to everyone, so much so that the other men completely distanced themselves from the one in the dark suit who remained motionless and trembling, seeing me rush towards his crotch with my mouth wide open.

I had plenty of room to pass.

An avenue to the right, a boulevard to the left.

But if nature is well made, it is because it does not change its mind over the course of its seasons.

So I bit the penis of the man in the dark suit as I passed, with a clear and decisive bite, then released my grip immediately, to exit to the right and continue my sprint without looking back.

I heard in the distance a cry, weeping, moaning, and the flight of pigeons in the mauve morning sky.

The day passed quickly.

74.

My paw hurt, and I was looking for a quiet place with a water source to refresh myself, treat my wounds and rest.

The sea smells first led me to a market, then to a fish shop, before I reached my goal, on the banks of the great river that runs through the city.

The place, below the city, was deserted. The people bustling above seemed to have forgotten the existence of this moving paradise, a witness to the distant mountains traveling towards the seas and oceans.

I was able to swim peacefully.

I first plunged my face, my hands and my feet, to let it slide completely into the deep river.

I stayed in my bath for a long time, completely immersing myself and swimming to the bottom. I came across a few pike and bream, discovered ancient rocks, green and yellow algae, and... mopeds, household appliances, bodies in varying states of decomposition...

As I was coming back to the surface, a couple stopped to look at me.

He didn't seem malicious, and the man grabbed his camera to take some pictures.

I did the plank, somersaults, the handstand...

The woman applauded.

He's crazy!

— Completely!

75.

I spent the rest of the day lying under a weeping willow, sharing in its joy at being so close to the water.

I slept all day, sometimes woken by a horn, a siren, but a new contemplation of the river and its regular flow quickly returned me to dreams.

Among the litter of puppies was a human child.

Max was driving a bus and was trying to run me over in a deserted street.

Paco explained to me that we were only chasing after the moon.

Dina and I were each locked in a cage, facing each other, we looked at each other.

The day was waning. It was time for me to leave. As I stood up, I I noticed that I was suffering less from my injuries.

My right leg was still hurting, but I would know how to...

preserve, walking sideways, until Paco and Dina are found again.

I abandoned my last clothes on the banks of the river.

They were soaked, dirty, covered in mud, in tatters, and now useless.

I greeted the benevolent willow, the friendly river, and returned to the human surface.

76.

I arrived at Max's place before nightfall.

I walked past the shop window several times, glancing in each time, and without being noticed, neither by Max behind the till, nor by the dogs in their glass aquariums.

I sat down a little further away, on the opposite sidewalk, hidden between two parked cars, with a view of a corner of the store.

I had to get in before closing time, which was imminent.

I studied the situation.

The way I was supposed to present myself.

How would Max react?

I couldn't think of anything other than a simple and discreet arrival. No need to mince words, to play the injured man, to feign emotion about a grand reunion; Max wouldn't have been able to handle it.

He needed to understand that I had learned my lesson. That I didn't hold anything against him, and certainly not the blows he had given me, since they were justified by my fault.

I had to stop myself from limping, from showing my injuries, and from letting anything show that would remind him of his anger.

Anger breeds anger in men.

I was disoriented by the reaction of the men in front of the O.B.P Bank.

They hadn't behaved the way I'd imagined. And if I was to learn anything from this experience, I had to rely on more baseness than courage.

Whatever you do, do it with determination.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The night will not be half-night.

The wind will blow no less than it should.

The tree will not take in more water than it needs.

I crossed the street and went into the store.

Max noticed me immediately, but continued reading his newspaper on the counter of his cash register.

I sat down in front of him.

The dogs got excited, but I paid no attention to them; Max must have seen that I was different, and not of the same ilk as those ignorant, untrained dogs.

Paco didn't bark; I knew he understood my game.

I sat silently for a long time, contemplating Max, well

Standing upright, chest raised, avoiding putting weight on my injured leg.

He folded his newspaper while looking at me, then walked around his cash register, and The store began closing.

The two moments Max had spent looking at me were more than enough for him to analyze me. He didn't need a second more to understand you.

Where you came from.

What you were feeling.

What you were preparing.

I remained focused, trying to make the best impression possible.

Max would not have wanted a weak and whiny dog, and only a defeated but dignified attitude could make him want to keep me, and not arouse suspicion.

While he bent down to put a turn of the key in the lock of the

Through the glass door, I glanced quickly at Paco.

He gave me a nod to tell me that he approved of my conduct.

Max got up and looked at me for another moment.

I lowered my head, a sign of my inferiority, but kept my eyes clinging to his, proof of my undiminished affection for him.

— Come on, let's go!

I suddenly became excited as I stood up on all fours. Partly to stay in character and show her how happy I was to be accepted again, but also because I was genuinely happy to see my plan working.

While crossing the store to follow Max upstairs, I looked for Dina. She was no longer where she belonged. Panic seized me, imagining she had been sold, gone forever. Paco sensed my anguish and nodded in another direction.

Dina was lying in the place of the litter of young puppies. His gaze was empty and filled with the deepest sadness. I realized that the puppies were dead.

77.

Max was in a good mood that evening at the reunion.

He shook my head several times, energetic and complicit, often pausing and letting out a laugh, to remind me how stupid I had been, but that he didn't hold it against me.

I was given almost half of his steak. Lying at his feet under the table, I saw his hand go down about ten times to offer me a piece of meat.

I wasn't hungry. My body was barely recovering from the blows it had dealt me the day before, and if you don't bite the hand that feeds you, you have a hard time eating from the one that beats you.

I still sat up to grab the meat and not show any resentment, and also to gather strength and perhaps taste one last time the cooked and prepared food.

Max watched television sitting on the sofa.

I remained lying on the rug at her feet.

I was thinking of Dina, lying on her deathbed, imagining the pain that afflicted her, and the night they must all have spent, helplessly witnessing the long agony of the puppies.

I turned onto my other side, puffing out my breath, trying to let go of the anger that was burning inside me.

- Dog!

I raised my head towards Max.

— Come!

He wanted me to get on the couch, snuggle up to him, and for us to lounge around together watching entertainment.

He patted the cushion again.

- Come on!

I sat up sluggishly, and, clinging to Dina's gaze as

At the lighthouse in the night, I jumped up to join him.

We remained like that for an eternity. My back pressed against his thigh, his hand moving back and forth on my torso, sometimes grasping my neck, settling on my shoulders, and after a laugh, the fall of a candidate, resuming its movement, along my spine, on my still aching ribs.

I didn't flinch, and held back from shivering or biting him. when he brushed against a wound or when his fingers met my bumps.

The moment he turned off the T.V and the lights to go to bed, I was so relieved that I arrived in the room first.

He mistook this for enthusiasm, and my impulsiveness cost me dearly since he wanted me to sleep in his bed.

This would make my nighttime escape more difficult. The bed creaked more than an old cargo ship, and Max, like all men used to sleeping alone, combined with his military nature, was sensitive to the slightest movement.

While waiting for him, as he undressed in front of me, I decided to following a position anticipating my future escape.

Lying on his stomach, half his body in the bed, and the other half hanging in mid-air.

So I could easily put my weight on my foot (even though it was my injured right foot) and slide along the ground, to crawl gently towards the exit.

"You're giving me too much space!"

said Max, stretching out with his full mass.

His weight problem suddenly became mine, because when he lay down, the bed sank with him, and my freed half-body was pulled back onto the mattress.

Max put his arm around me, and I was a prisoner again.

78.

I matched the rhythm of her breathing, inhaling and exhaling harder to train her, marking the same apneas, imitating her coughs.

I moved his arm away millimeter by millimeter and didn't budge yet. a long time once I got rid of it.

My night vision allowed me to visualize the obstacles in the room in advance.

I shifted my weight to slide to the floor, tensing my muscles, and it took several minutes before I felt my right big toe on the parquet. My foot. One knee. The hand. And the other part. Hand. Elbow. Knee. Foot.

Completely free from the bed, and after maintaining a four-legged-lying position, I flatten myself to crawl.

But as I crawled flat on my stomach through the dust, the senses heightened, a shiver ran through me and I felt a profound joy.

How long has it been since you last felt?

79.

Paco and Dina were waiting for me, sitting as close to the stairs as possible. The other dogs, lying here and there, were unaware of our plan.

Paco sat up, his paws on the edge of the aquarium.

With a low bark, he told me to imitate him.

I stood up and held onto the glass facing him.

He caressed me with his head, and flicked his tongue in my face.

Dina joined us, and joined in the hug.

If Paco's affection was harsh, as can be that of a thug on the run, Dina was more tender than a summer morning, her fur like silk, her tongue as fresh as a wild stream.

But we had to remain on our guard; the threat hanging over us had the scent of Max, who was sleeping upstairs.

I grabbed Paco and lifted him out of the aquarium.

He was heavy, with muscle and nerves.

I did the same with Dina.

The three of us were together for the first time.

Paco stayed in his place, but Dina had a hard time not going to sniff around elsewhere.

Paco walked calmly in front of the other dogs who remained lying behind the glass.

He barked:

"We'll leave... Those who wish to come are welcome..."

The dogs didn't move. They were both tired and unaware of the future.

Paco found me.

He barked.

— Let's go.

And after nodding their heads towards the exit, they followed me.

The window handles were linked by a new, thick chain secured with a padlock.

I tried to open it anyway, but the uprights only moved apart by a few centimeters. The glass door was also closed, and there was no way for us to get out of the store.

I sat down opposite Dina and Paco, who had missed nothing of my movements.

Dina aboya.

— We'll have to find a way out.

Images formed in my mind, I barked them out: — Max has a set of keys that open these doors.

— Where is this set of keys?

— It's hanging from his trouser belt.

We remained silent for a moment.

Paco continued: —

Let's return to our prisons, tomorrow, before going down, you will have to seize this key ring.

Tomorrow seemed longer than my life had been up to today.

— No, let's leave tonight. I don't want to spend another day waiting.

Dina agreed: — He's right, the smell of death is everywhere.

Paco thinks.

— So, now is the time to find that key ring.

I went back upstairs.

Dina followed me for a few steps. I felt her head against my shoulder.

— Do not tremble, Dog, endure misery, but do not tremble before it.

I crawled into the room.

80.

Max placed his trousers on a chair in a corner at the other end of the room.

The shortest route was to go under the bed, and under Max who was lying on it.

But it was also the place that made my presence the least explainable if he found me there.

After all, I wasn't risking anything as long as I was clearly visible in the room, I could have fallen out of bed, gotten up to drink some water.

I moved forward slowly, walking along the edge of the bed frame.

The entire room was plunged into Max's sleep and seemed to be swelled when he inhaled heavily.

I remained on all fours in front of the chair at the other end of the room.

I mustn't let the pants slip down. His pockets were full, his belt

The heavy weight and the key ring risked hitting the floor and waking him up.

I had to grab the keys immediately.

I straightened up on my hindquarters, turned around to check Max's drowsiness and study his breathing to feel his pants during his exhalations.

The key ring was there, shining brightly with all its chrome.

I tried to grab it with one hand to unhook the carabiner with the other.

I hadn't used my fingers for some time; I could open them, stretch out my hand, but it was impossible for me to close them; they remained stiff like those of an old man, clumsy like those of a newborn.

I repeated the operation several times: advance one hand, grab the key ring, close the fingers, then advance the other hand and wedge the carabiner between the thumb and forefinger to pop the push button.

Impossible.

I saw only one solution: Take the trousers with me, since the The key ring was hanging there.

The fabric was slippery, and I couldn't find anything to grip to keep it securely in my hands. Furthermore, I couldn't crawl properly with my hands full.

I had to work with my mouth.

I first tried to poke the carabiner with my teeth, but I didn't have enough experience for that yet, and the sound of steel against enamel squeaked in the night.

I had to take everything with me to go down to the store; once there, Paco and Dina would help me.

I bit the belt and took off the pants to start crawling again.

Max was standing in front of me.

He was staring at me, and I even thought I saw a smile. hanging from her mouth in the darkness.

I hadn't heard him get up, he was too focused on the key ring, his head buried in the garment.

I remained beneath him, frozen and motionless, feeling a shiver swirl in my body.

— Are these the keys you want?

He spoke to me softly, with a kind of complicity, as if he didn't want to awaken the monster within himself either.

But I recognized that tone. The same as the day he beat me, or the times with the girl with the deep voice who had prayed over him in the car.

— Hey, my dog... Are these the keys you want?

Max grabbed the pants, I let go.

He removed the belt and folded the garment in a certain way, with the same calm and without taking his eyes off me, then turned it between his fingers, for a long time, like cigarette paper, until he arrived at a perfect twist, taut, ready to explode.

The trousers now resembled a rope, the bunch of keys hanging from its end.

Max's face had also changed as he prepared his armed.

— Do you want the key?

He raised his arm and remained like that for a moment, unchanging, like the engraved emperor.

I collapsed, unable to flee or even protect myself. Nothing in the world could prevent the blow that was coming, and since the sun did not interfere with the night, I would receive my punishment without flinching.

He struck, sharply, without holding back, aiming for the face or the head, hitting his target, and like a spring, immediately placing his arm back in the air to strike again.

I felt the keys tear at my forehead and left eyelid. I didn't know if my eye was hit because it was quickly covered in blood and my vision blurred on that side.

I heard the dogs howling downstairs, woken up and then excited by anger.

Paco barked louder than the others.

I could easily understand what he was saying to me, since Max took the time, between blows, to straighten his garment.

— Be what you once were, Dog… Forget for now who you are and what you will be…

The second blow was more violent than the first. I collapsed flat on my stomach, my face against the floorboards and in my blood, offering Max my skull, my neck and my back to continue.

Paco aboya.

— You will only live as a man facing man... Get up, Dog... Get up and strike...

The third blow lacerated my back, and despite the size of the keychain, I had the impression that he was slashing me across my entire width.

Paco aboya.

— Get up... He knows dogs too well... Face him standing up...

Dina also barked; I recognized her melodious song in the chaos.

— I beg you, get up, Dog... Get up...

— Remember the man... Remember the man...

I was trying to get myself onto my forearms.

A fourth blow slammed me to the ground.

I closed my eyes.

It's a dormitory in a barracks.

81.

The men wear the same military clothing.

They look like Max.

They are strong.

Shaved head.

Above the bunk beds, large bay windows open onto the night and the snow falling silently.

The younger children do the tasks of the older ones.

The weakest does the tasks of the smallest.

When the weakest goes to bed late at night, the others get up quietly and beat him.

They hit him with their trousers rolled into balls.

Pockets full of stones, apples, or soaps.

In the morning, the weakest one can no longer get out of bed.

He is punished.

The sergeant forces him to perform a series of push-ups.

The weakest lies face down in front of the others and begins his punishment.

At the first stretch, the wounds of the night open, and the man understands that he has not been dreaming.

I grabbed his pants on the fifth blow. Max was surprised and pulled to make me let go. But I held on. I even managed to turn onto my side to get a better grip.

My reaction intensified Max's anger tenfold, and I had the impression that this It excited him like a game.

Downstairs, Dina kept barking to encourage me.

Max ordered me to let go. But I could no longer obey him. I had crossed the animal border, wandering on the wild path where the being belongs to no specific species. Capable of flying without wings.

Of going a month without food. Of recognizing love only by the scent it gives off.

Paco aboya.

— It is in the anger of the other that you will find your own.

I dropped my pants abruptly.

With the effect and the surprise, Max recoiled and collapsed, his back against the nightstand.

He wasn't dazed, just surprised to find himself there. He immediately tried to get up, and I made the same effort. Max was struggling because of his height and weight, while I was discovering new injuries with every movement, forcing me to do things a certain way.

I had to be the first one standing; you don't win a battle by striking once, it's a multitude of strategies, of duels won that bring victory.

Those who get up first will win.

Max could exert his full strength standing up and striking from top to bottom. But in his current position, he was weaker than a sparrow. His weight, the alcohol he had consumed, the amount of food at dinner, the emphysema that was affecting his lungs, prevented him from making the slightest reverse movement, and he could barely lift his head when I approached him.

I hit his knee several times, until I broke it.

Max first tried to defend himself, seeking to get up, to kick me, but I was far too fast and light; I would retreat, step aside to the left or right, and come back to touch my target.

Max gave up all resistance. He took his knee in both hands and rocked back and forth, moaning, like the woman praying in her car.

I took the opportunity to lean behind her and wrap my arm around her neck, squeezing with all my might.

I immobilized him.

When he ran out of air and struggled violently trying to

He was headbutting me, so I bit his cheek.

We stayed like that for a long time, my mouth glued to his face, feeling the flesh give way and his blood in my mouth, a last wisp of air evaporating into the room, eyes locked, then his slowly fading away.

— Thank you... thank you, Dog...

I could have left at that moment; his condition gave me time to get downstairs. and surely to flee with my friends.

But on the wild trail I found myself on, we didn't reason in terms of injuries inflicted, time gained, or future or past actions.

There was only life, and death.

And perhaps eat death.

And to fall asleep with a belly full of death.

The movements simply followed one another in this natural setting, and only an element of society could distract us from it.

Dina aboya.

I raised my head.

— You'll have to come back, Dog.

Max was sprawled on top of me.

I got rid of his body by standing up, and crawled out of the room carrying in my mouth the trousers, the set of keys, and a piece of flesh.

83.

My fingers had regained some of their dexterity.

I managed to insert the key into the lock of the glass door and open it.

Dina and Paco celebrated me by circling around me and licking my face.

Before leaving, Paco turned back to the others and barked.

— Those who wish to come will be welcome.

No dog moved.

— So you were born to be possessed.

84.

My injuries were pulling all over and I had trouble walking without limping.

Dina continued to cuddle me as we walked on.

Paco was lighting our way a few meters ahead.

When he increased his pace, I could no longer keep up with him.

Dina joined him.

— You're going too fast, the dog is hurt.

— We mustn't linger here, the lightning men will quickly take us.

— We will need to find a place to treat Dog.

I found them.

— I know a place, where the tree weeps, below the humans, there is the river.

Dina aboya.

— I knew this place, my mistress used to take me there.

Paco thinks.

— When were you last there?

— The day before that night.

— You will be too weak to find your way back. Dina and I will do it for you.

Dina continued: "I know the river's air; if the wind helps us, we'll find it faster."

They circled around me and sniffed me.

We continued on our way.

I followed Paco and Dina, who went from one track to another, crossing streets after abandoning one trail, walking along concrete walls, the iron shutters of shops, the roads, the garden gates, turning around poles, traffic lights.

When a breeze blew, Dina would raise her muzzle high and question the air.

I remembered Max. I didn't really know how long it had been since we left him, and his image faded with every meter we passed.

But I still had a bit of the taste of his blood in my mouth, mixed with my own bile.

I had left the world of men, perhaps having killed one of them.

But I would have had to remain in that state in order to feel any emotion.

Now, having reverted to my bestial state, I sought only to wash my wounds, and Follow the group to find our river shelter.

85.

When we arrived at the river, I was proud to take the lead in showing the tree to my companions.

In return, they urinated several times on its trunk.

I dove in first.

The sound of my nighttime jump seemed unprecedented in the city and interrupted for a moment the flow of traffic.

I felt each of my wounds cauterize in the icy water.

Paco and Dina joined me.

We spent a long time playing in the water.

Later on the riverbank, we huddled under the tree.

Dina kept licking my bruised body, while Paco, behind me, had placed his head between my shoulder and neck and was blowing hot air at me with every exhalation.

With my eyes closed, I felt as if I were perched on the weeping tree, at the edge of the ocean, on a cliff, in a new world.

I woke up before dawn.

86.

Dina was in the same position, curled up against me. I

I went back to find Paco, sitting further along the riverbank.

I sat up slowly, taking care not to disturb the female dog, and found Paco again.

He watched the water, but did not follow its movement. His soul drifted already in the depths, between the algae and the mud.

He raised his head.

— We will not be able to stay together.

- For what ?

"We'll be too vulnerable with three of us... The dogs can't..." to live in groups without men in their society.

— But we will be stronger together.

— It's the opposite of what you think… In human society,

The individual is stronger than the masses...

Paco looked at me.

— This isn't our territory, Dog… And here, as in nature, no species can survive together outside its territory…

It's every man for himself.

— But if men live on their territory, why aren't they closer?

— They have forgotten... They have become other beasts.

Dina arrived; we hadn't heard her wake up.

She came between us and rested her muzzle on my shoulder.

I asked Paco: — Where is our territory?

Our ancestors knew the yellow plains, the wild rivers, the ancient forests... Then they met humans, their houses, their prepared food, their violence. They believed they had forged a pact of friendship with them, without realizing that the yellow plains were becoming gray cities, the wild rivers sewers...

All that was left for us was to lie down at their feet... This is our territory now... Our lives are much shorter than theirs... We barely have time to realize our fate before we die, sad and powerless...

— What if we found nature, our territory?

— Men are everywhere.

— I know a place… Somewhere where men don't get out of their cars, where women are fragile… A soft and pure clearing where every moment seems like the first of the morning.

Dina raised her head.

— Where is this clearing?

— Beyond the city, behind the towers.

— Which towers?

— The one that says G.D.F Suez on it.

— What does that mean?

— I don't know.

Paco remained motionless.

— Such a place does not exist.

— I saw him outside of dreams, and the three of us were happy there.

Dina moved aside a little to sit further away.

She barked calmly.

— I want to know this place... No matter what happens... I can only be separated from you if men force me... Leaving each other is the best way to accept our fate and forget our true nature...

She walked towards us.

— Paco?

He turned back towards her.

Were you born to be possessed?

Paco said nothing for a moment, perhaps because Dina's question did not expect an answer, but prompted him to think about making a decision.

And it was with his head raised to the sky that he finally barked.

— We must leave early, before daybreak and before the men... Dog, will you be able to lead us to that clearing?

— I think so... As we climb higher in the city, we'll spot the towers.

— Let's sleep a little longer, we'll need our strength for our journey.

We went back to our place under the tree. Dina against me, and

Paco on my back, like a puzzle of fur and skin.

I didn't take my eyes off Dina's bright gaze, like a reassuring light.

— Dina, who are the lightning men?

— I've never seen them... But they say they can create lightning... They're the ones looking for us... They caught Paco once.

I felt Paco tense up against my back.

— Paco… Did you see them create lightning?

— Let's sleep for tomorrow.

87.

We needed to get to a higher vantage point somewhere in the city in order to spot the G.D.F Suez tower.

Dina knew a place. Before her masters abandoned her along with their love, she lived with her mistress in a neighborhood overlooking the city.

She often took me for walks in a garden, and we would sit at watch the lights coming on in the houses below.

We moved forward wherever the road became uphill.

The rain began to fall, which allowed us to drink a little from the gutters and under the drains, but the water also washed away the smells and traces that Dina followed in search of her former life.

I noticed that Paco was right, three dogs running loose, moving forward at Their brisk pace on the city sidewalks worried the men.

They were no longer used to such savagery.

We could read it in their eyes:

They can't be together for anything other than a dirty trick.

It's a gang!

It would be better to separate them!

Paco liked the hint of a rogue about him and played it up regularly. He growled at passers-by, approached old women who might have found us "cute," and barked at children who were having a snack in the street to get some of their pastries.

We regularly came across other dogs.

Most of them were on leashes, walking in step with their owners.

If they were surprised to discover us, and might even let out a small, obligatory bark, our wandering gait quickly brought them back to silence. Their tails lowered like their heads; they seemed at once perplexed, envious, and admiring of our freedom.

At every siren that blared in the street, we would run to hide as quickly as possible. Finding refuge behind parked cars, in accessible building lobbies, or running against the flow of traffic in the first alley.

I asked Dina why we had to flee.

— No siren brings good news.

The car traffic and the trees represented the two real dangers of our journey.

While the first is easy to imagine, crossing a street or a venue being quite an achievement, the second was just as complex.

Nature, a rare sight in the city, sent us its hidden perfumes, and a thousand Leads to follow, stories to uncover, past beings.

We had to keep an eye on each other, Dina bringing Paco back to reality, Paco pulling me away from a poplar tree, or myself pulling Dina away from a flowering broom bush displayed in front of a florist.

Fortunately for us, vegetation was rarer than cars and even rarer than sirens, and we didn't waste too much time reaching the heights.

88.

We arrived at Dina's old home as the day was drawing to a close.

The dog was excited and eager to show us this slice of life, like introducing two people you love.

She jumped from one track to another, and we had trouble following her, both amused and wary of finding ourselves in this collection of modern, soulless buildings.

She finally stopped in front of the large windows of a ground floor apartment.

Paco and I surrounded him on either side.

She barked tenderly.

— It's here.

We remained silent, observing the interior of the apartment.

Then a light came on in the living room and a young woman appeared.

Dina tilted her head and let out a moan.

— It's her.

The young woman took off her coat, placed it on a chair, then sat down at the table to read a magazine.

— My mistress...

Shortly afterwards, a man of the same age arrived in the living room, stood behind the young woman and bent down to embrace and kiss her on the neck.

The young woman burst out laughing and writhed under the tickles.

Dina raised her head.

— But... It's him... They weren't supposed to live together anymore... They left me because they didn't want to live together anymore...

The young woman stood up and found herself facing the man in her arms.

They kissed for a long time, then the man turned the woman over to to be behind her, and lowered her hands along her body.

The dress, pressed against the young woman's skin, revealed the rounded shape of her belly.

Dina barked violently.

She tried to move forward, but Paco stopped her by grabbing her throat.

I remained frozen, unable to move, stunned by Dina's sadness.

89.

We spent some time in the garden where Dina used to spend time with her mistress.

The G.D.F Suez tower rose up in front of us and did not seem so far away.

— As the crow flies! barked Paco.

For our species, journeys were long and perilous.

Dina didn't move all evening; she remained lying down, her gaze lost in the city lights.

Paco jumped to his feet.

— I'm so hungry I could eat a man!

Paco's enthusiasm lifted me up with the same leap.

- Me too!

Dina remained motionless. I went around her, giving her a few light headbutts.

His mood gradually changed.

She turned her head the other way.

He returned the same blows.

He got up to escape from me.

I caught up with her and jumped on her.

We pressed ourselves against the damp grass, taking turns lying on top of each other.

When I was under Dina, she placed her muzzle against my neck and licked my face.

Then she sat up sharply.

— I would denounce you to the lightning men for a mouthful of meat!

We resumed our journey at a run, guided by the neon star G.D.F Suez, hoping to find something to fill our bellies before the wonders that awaited us in our promised clearing.

90.

Paco had already lived as a vagabond for a few months before being caught. He had spent several nights wandering. He had met other gangs. He had faced cats and rats.

His highly developed instinct allowed him to instantly sense the the danger of a street, a man's ulterior motive, the turn of the times.

The road he was taking was not straight.

It wasn't a matter of blindly marching towards our goal. We had to anticipate, avoid taking too many short side streets that regularly led to a dead end, and sometimes choose certain busy avenues that led to a roundabout, ideal for finding our way and escaping in case of danger.

Never go down into the subways and underground tunnels, which were nothing but traps without landmarks, without an east or west wind to follow.

What Paco loved most of all were open-air markets.

— These merchants are travellers, and like all nomadic peoples, their view of us is different.

Those who are hunted will recognize those who are hunted.

The smell of spit-roasted chickens quickly helped us to... find one.

The poultry would start turning in their rotisseries hours before daybreak.

We were spoiled for choice as the perfumes were coming to us from different directions.

But we did not deviate from our course, and landed at a market set up in line with the G.D.F Suez tower.

91.

Paco wasn't the only one who loved markets.

Packs of dogs and cats were arriving from everywhere.

Each one more savage than the last, some wounded, maimed, mutilated, others emerging from I don't know what filthy sewers.

Dina snuggled up to me as we walked down a lined alley of stalls of all kinds.

Paco aboya.

— You will have nothing to fear, as long as you do not covet another's food… If one of these merchants sends a chicken skin or fat to be stolen, it is to the nearest person to pick it up.

Most of the animals were already in place in front of the stalls. They sat waiting for the seller to cut up his products and get rid of the unsellable remains.

Dina aboya.

— All seats are taken!

Paco didn't turn around to answer; he had a plan.

We followed him to the end of the alley and left the market to cross the street.

— Paco, we're leaving the market!

He stopped on the sidewalk.

— On market days, local shopkeepers also set up stalls in front of their stores... They are more generous than others since it is an exceptional day for them and few dogs are aware of their practices.

Paco was already looking for a shop to set up shop in front of.

— These ignorant people will only be entitled to a few rotten fruits, whereas We will inherit a whole chicken and freshly grilled sausages.

The nearest smell of poultry led us into a small courtyard at the back of a building.

An open door led into the kitchens of a caterer where we

We could see two men preparing dishes and putting casseroles in the oven.

Paco barked loudly to attract their attention.

One of the men came towards us and stood on the threshold watching us.

The man called his colleague.

— Look at these dogs... A real family!

— Come on, we have work to do!

— Let's feed them!

— No, the boss will realize it!

— There's always too much, just one or two sausages and a little bacon.

— You're too sensitive, Farooq!

— That's what women say, Ali!

The man brought us all sorts of things. Poultry and pork sausages, bacon, cheese rinds, beef-filled ravioli, spaghetti with tomato sauce and meat.

We had barely finished one plate before he came back with another, no never failing to stroke the top of our heads as they passed.

92.

The towers that rose everywhere, surrounding the G.D.F Suez building, seemed uninhabited. The electric lights in the ceilings were on, and outside, bulbs embedded in the ground projected strange beams, replacing the trees.

We advanced slowly, following Paco who walked with his shoulders down and his tail tucked.

Dina pressed herself against me and I felt the shiver that ran through her body.

If men are frightening, the absence of men in their society is even more terrifying.

The wind could not get in here, and no smell or trace of the past reached our senses.

Nor could we rely on the sky to guide us; black clouds hung from every corner of the buildings, like a canvas stretched over our heads.

We had to keep going straight ahead. Watch for the slightest movement, imagine the traps and arm oneself with mistrust.

Paco stopped suddenly.

— What's going on?

— A bird!

A few meters ahead, a sparrow had landed on the concrete forecourt.

— What is he doing here?

— He must have gotten lost.

I added without thinking: —

Let's not frighten him.

But Paco replied: —

On the contrary, he will fly away and we will try to follow him as long as possible so that he gets us out of here.

With a nod of our heads, the three of us charged forward, barking.

that poor sparrow that flew away immediately.

We continued our race, our heads raised to the sky and towards the bird that it slowly faded away and disappeared, sucked into the black cloud.

Dina aboya:

— I can't see him anymore.

— It's not a big deal, he showed us the direction he was going.

— But what if it wasn't the right one? Maybe he was going back to the city.

— We have no choice, we must leave this place.

We continued our run, as fast as possible, trying to escape the threat that surrounded us.

I was having trouble keeping up on all fours, Dina had to come back several times to get me and encourage me with a nudge of her muzzle, and Paco had to slow down so as not to lose us.

That's when the men appeared.

Thousands of men and women, emerging from everywhere, from the ground, from buses, from cars and from the streets.

They arrived as the day dawned.

Similar to a beehive, whose movement seems crazy to someone who is not part of it.

We had to zigzag between their legs, avoid the swarm that came out on the left, and go around the herd that was rushing into a tower.

These men and women were alike; they formed a single group.

one and only person.

A gigantic being that we had to kill.

Everything here was designed to prevent hiding, right angles, walls of

To stop is to die.

Lost in the whirlwind of their parade, we had to find the weakness and pierce the ogre.

The men began to get agitated, insulting us, clapping their hands, warning each other.

We became like large insects that they chased away by waving their arms.

their bags, umbrellas and anything else that could be used to keep us away.

And what man cannot repel, he kills.

Men in uniform, coming out of the towers, began to chase us.

I asked Paco: "Are these the lightning men?"

— No, but they look like them.

Paths were formed to allow the hunt to pass.

A strange procession indeed, these three stray dogs being chased by the uniforms.

A morning diversion that men would quickly forget once they got into their towers.

Now we could leave the crowd, but were chased by the uniforms, and our only chance was to run and lose them.

If only the bird had shown us the way to the forest...

There, we would be stronger, fleeing through the dense thickets, ignoring the nettle thorns, the scratch of the branches.

At the exit of the complex of towers, we emerged onto a gigantic square, on which a million cars were circling, joined by thousands more coming from the avenues that branched off like rays of sunlight onto the immense roundabout.

Paco liked places that offered a multitude of escape routes, but this time, with the uniforms on our tail and the traffic, we risked getting crushed quickly.

We slowed down before crossing the first avenue.

I recognized the place.

I barked:

— We came here before joining the forest, it is located just after this place.

Dina raised her muzzle:

— Yes, I can smell the grass and the pine trees, it's this way.

Dina pointed in a direction, we looked up to see in the distance, hidden behind the buildings, the tops of the tallest trees.

The uniforms arrived in the square.

— What do we do?

— We will have to cross, we have no choice.

Paco set off first, we followed him.

Cars were slamming on their brakes and honking as they narrowly avoided us; a man on a motorcycle managed to kick me in the buttocks, knocking me off course, but I was able to get back up and rejoin the others on the opposite sidewalk.

When we turned around, we were surprised to see that the uniforms hadn't moved. They remained on the other side of the avenue, watching us.

One of them was using a phone and talking while pointing his finger at us.

Dina asked: "Why did they stop chasing us?"

— I don't know, but that's not a good sign either... We

We will continue our journey towards the forest and remain on our guard.

As we moved forward, the trees seemed to grow taller and more... discover behind the buildings.

We took advantage of a traffic jam to cross Second Avenue more easily.

The uniforms were still not moving, stationed at the intersection, two streets away.

Dina was the first to see them.

94.

As we arrived on Third Avenue, the last step before our liberation, a white van with barred windows, covered in fluorescent yellow and blue stickers, stopped abruptly in front of us and suddenly blocked our view.

— The Lightning Men!

Three men in heavy suits quickly exited the van through a sliding door.

Each man held a kind of black metal bar, and one of them was dragging a net. He also wore a belt, on which were hung all sorts of strange objects.

Paco dug his claws into the asphalt and lowered himself, growling, into the direction of the men who quickly surrounded us.

Dina hid behind me.

I remained frozen, overcome with dizziness and unsure of how to behave.

Paco barked several times, and even though he was barking at the men, he was talking to us:

"We mustn't stay still... We'll have to dodge and flee..."

They will surround us and try to strike us with lightning before trapping us in their net.

The men advanced step by step and we could feel the triangle shrinking.

Paco barked again:

— They will attack first and together, jump as high as possible as soon as they trigger... They don't know that dogs can fly!

Indeed, the lightning men lowered themselves to our level as they approached.

Paco, Dina and I would be a little closer to the center of the trap.

Suddenly, the man threw his net.

Paco yelled:

"Now!"

The three of us jumped over the men.

Paco and Dina were rising to a considerable height, while I could barely project myself more than a meter off the ground.

One of the men managed to raise his metal bar to touch me.

The electric shock that seized me abruptly cut off my momentum as well as my mental and physical system.

I remained motionless on the ground, trembling, feeling the electricity coursing through my body.

I saw people crowding all around, the metal bar continuing to spit its blue flashes into the man's hand, Paco and Dina stopping their race on the other side of the last avenue, and realizing my failure, and further on, the majestic trees, guardians of the kingdom of my freedom.

Paco barked:

— You will stay on the ground for a moment longer, men cannot touch you until the lightning has left you... You will continue to pretend to tremble and then jump up to join us.

I was waiting for the electricity to disappear from my body. But I myself was incapable of the slightest movement.

The man who had touched me remained above me, the other two...

were preparing to meet up with Paco and Dina.

I was able to blink with one eye, then the other, the man didn't notice, and gently I felt each of my extremities come back to life, and life spread everywhere else.

I leaped up suddenly, and I had to make a tremendous effort because the lightning had stunned me, and my limbs were not yet fully recovered. retrieved.

I moved forward strangely, like a cripple, pushing with my arms to drag the lower part of my body, then finding myself curled up in a ball, folded in on myself, and repeating the ridiculous gesture.

Dina barked to encourage me.

I didn't understand why the man was still hovering over me, pointing his metal bar. At the speed I was going, he could easily have captured me.

I looked at Paco to understand.

He barked:

"They will want to catch us together, they know that dogs stick together."

I replied listlessly: "Don't stay here... Leave... Towards the forest..."

Dina yelled at Paco:

"He's too weak, he won't make it!"

My strength was gradually returning, I accelerated a little to leave the sidewalk and find myself on the last avenue.

The lightning man who followed my sad path did not like this new energy.

He sent his metal bar into my ribs and gave me another electric shock.

I collapsed to the ground, seized by convulsions more violent than the first time. The contact had been longer and the lightning more powerful; I writhed on the pavement like a fish out of water.

I saw Paco moving briskly towards us.

The other two men faced him, ready to welcome him.

I received another discharge.

Paco rushed forward, unable to restrain himself when he saw me suffering on the ground.

I watched the battle, motionless, powerless and trembling.

Paco, a magnificent mongrel, leaped at the first man, rammed his head into his chest, and bit his arm. But the man felt nothing, protected by the thick suit he was wearing, undoubtedly padded like the clothes Max had shown us.

Paco fell back down, avoiding the metal bars that were trying to hit him from left and right.

More and more people had gathered around us.

I noticed an elderly woman holding a small dog on a leash.

The dog barked at first, but I couldn't understand its language, and its The teacher ordered him to be quiet.

I remained for a moment with my gaze lost in that of this little spectator, a distant cousin, who must have envied our freedom, but not our position now.

The savage will know violence.

In addition to challenging the men, Paco had to watch out for the traffic behind him. The stream of cars pouring into the square didn't have time to slow down when they saw our spectacle. Dina, who was on the other side, warned Paco by barking whenever he backed too far into the road.

He remained for a moment turning around, catching his breath and thinking about the best angle for his next attack.

The men were patient, they seemed to know us, and this was not their first capture.

To excite Paco, the man who had struck me down several times returned towards me to inflict another shock.

Paco jumped before the bar hit me.

He avoided the first two to attack my executioner.

The speed of his action and the violence that followed was such that the herd surrounding us suddenly expanded, and cries from women and curses from men rose into the air.

Paco had managed to pin the man to the ground, he was trying to bite him in the face, but mostly he was biting the hands that were protecting him.

The other two arrived at full speed and tried to move Paco aside, but they couldn't use their metal bars while he was still in contact with them. with their colleague.

Punches, kicks, strangulations, nothing could stop the dog that had crossed the border, and was now on the wild path, where in the confrontation, death is the only possible refuge.

One of the men unhooked an object from his belt.

He came and stood in front of Paco, placed the object in front of his mouth and sprayed him of a powerful grey gas.

Paco barked, but his voice quickly fizzled out, and all he could do was shake his head to try to extract the poison.

It remained erect above the man, but all strength had left it.

The two men standing there kicked him several times. Paco collapsed a few meters away, still coughing, wanting to stay on his feet, dignified and fighting.

The two men surrounded him from behind and together thrust their metal bar into each of his sides, holding the device for as long as possible, until it burned their hands.

Paco's body heaved as it received the shocks.

He found himself on the road, staggering, then lay down further away, in the middle of the avenue.

He kept his head raised for a little while longer, to see what was going to happen next.

kill.

And when a new stream of cars arrived, he dropped his head onto the concrete and closed his eyes.

A wind seemed to rise in the distant trees to make the leaves, and send the unfortunate a final fragrance of joy.

I am certain that Paco was already dead before the car ran him over.

Dina barked with all her heart, and her cry tore through life.

The people gathered gently began to whistle, swear, and boo the lightning men.

They didn't want misery in their city, but they couldn't stand it that she be killed in front of them.

Paco was put in a garbage bag, then in the van.

Dina let herself be pulled by the scruff of her neck to make walk up to the vehicle's sliding door.

And when I was lifted up in turn, I left the men's embarrassed gaze to contemplate the piece of forest that rose behind the buildings.

96.

In the van driving through the city, we were each in a separate compartment. Dina and I, facing each other, never took our eyes off one another. To support each other, but also to avoid looking down at the garbage bag on the floor containing Paco's body.

Another dog was with us. Locked somewhere in a cage at the other end of the van.

Dina aboya:

— Where can they take us?

The other dog replied: —

To the depot... and then they take us home.

— And what if we don't have a home?

— Well, I don't know, for me it's the third time, I'm a runaway, it comes over me at night, I dig in the garden, I go for a walk, and I get lost.

The van picked up speed. It seemed to have left the city and driving on a road without lights or obstructions.

97.

The van stopped. The thugs dragged us out, threatening us with their metal bars.

Dina barked incessantly, the other dog and I barked too, but to that she stops doing it.

We were in a kind of hangar, dark and damp, with no windows to tell us whether it's day or night.

Other vans were parked, from which dozens of animals were being taken out.

Most of them barked:

"I'm scared... It's a misunderstanding... I'm not what you think I am." believe...

I stayed close to Dina and found relief in comforting her.

— I don't want us to be separated!

- Don't worry.

The dog in the van was calm, a real regular at the place, he quietly followed the lightning men.

— Look, Dina, let's do like him, let's not express any anger or we will be punished.

— But I hate them so much... They scare me.

- I know.

A fight broke out between two dogs.

Immediately, they each received two shocks that knocked them to the ground.

Silence returned, until the moment when the men began to separate the dogs in all directions.

After a quick examination, they decided the fate of the beast by leading it in one direction or another.

Our turn came.

Dina pressed herself against me and I felt the sad trembling of her body.

Two men leaned over me. One of them pried open my jaw to look inside my mouth with a lamp, while the other lifted one of my legs.

— What kind of race is that?

— I don't know... He's not handsome!

— Does it have a chip?

— Not that I think so!

— Well, that one's not likely to be adopted anytime soon!

— We should get him right away!

They laughed as they sat up.

— Take him to the infirmary, he doesn't look well.

The man put a rope around my neck and pulled on it. I resisted.

Dina barked, and abandoning all control, tried to bite the men.

She received a discharge.

I couldn't stand it, and also tried to bite the hands that were waving in front of me.

I received a discharge.

Dina and I lay there, our bodies trembling, lost, clinging to each other's gaze, knowing it would be the last.

The man pulled on the rope, and I was dragged into the hangar, unable to move, silently witnessing our separation.

Soon, the sun will rise.

98.

They will bring me some kibble and my bowl will be filled with water.

People will be arriving soon.

They mostly look at others, and for the moment, no one has

I was completely stopped in front of my cage.

Yesterday, the dog that lived across the street was adopted.

He didn't stay long.

Once, he spoke to me: —

Make an effort... Get on your hind legs, tilt your head and stick out your tongue.

I spend my time lying on my stomach.

There were many nights and days.

At first, I would call Dina as soon as I heard the gate of a cage open.

I would wake up barking, or my own barking would wake me up, I would dream of Paco, and gently return to reality in my cage, under the gaze of a new occupant facing me.

I've been here for a long time.

I can't say exactly since when, because I no longer know the hours and days, but for a long time means boredom and thinness.

Some say that at some point, those who did not find masters are killed.

Let them do it.

I can no longer be afraid if I am already dead.

I died as a man. Then as a being.

I can hear the gates opening and people talking. The first ones arrive.

Families. Lonely, sad men. Abandoned old women.

The way they look at me is heartbreaking.

But I'm proud of it.

I don't want to be cute.

I don't want you any more than you want me.

I refuse you.

99.

The day passes.

A child stops in front of my cage.

He doesn't move.

It's been a long time since someone has stayed in front of me this long.

I raise my eyes a little.

The child smiled at me.

A couple joins him, probably his parents.

The child points at me.

— I want that one!

The woman said nothing and looked at me.

The man disagrees.

— We're not going to take that... It's the ugliest one!

— He's the one I want!

The woman calls the guard.

— You can do... Well, tell us about this dog.

— He arrived a month ago… He never moves… I'm not sure that this which would be ideal for your son.

The woman runs her hand through the boy's hair.

— Do you hear Victor? Don't you want to look at the other dogs?

— No… It's that one!

The woman loves her son.

The man does not have the same love.

— We're not going to bring that thing home with us, are we?

— Listen, it's his birthday, we promised him a dog, so it's up to him to choose.

The guard asks me to stand up straight.

I don't want to.

But the child speaks to me, and I love his voice.

— Come on, sit down!

I slowly straighten up, my body is empty, I have trouble moving to the bars of my cage, I sit down in front of them.

The child strokes my head.

— I want that dog!

The woman bends down a little, we look at each other.

— That's weird... there's something... familiar about it.

The man also bends down.

— I find his gaze very distressing… He's a dog who has suffered.

All the dogs suffered.

— What is his name?

— He has no name.

My name is Jack.

It was my teacher Victor who chose my name.

His mother disagreed because they had known someone who

His name was Jacques, and he died. But the child persisted and won.

I live in a house in Paris.

I have a sleeping cushion set up in my young master's room.

In the evening, after his mother kissed him and turned off the light, we looked at each other in the darkness.

He tells me about his secrets and his dreams.

He likes a girl in his class but hasn't told her yet.

He doesn't like his stepfather.

He misses his real father, but he's doing better since I've been here.

I am alone during the day.

My owner goes to school, and never fails to cuddle me before leaving.

His parents are leaving for work.

Since my arrival, I've been chewing on a red shoe that belongs to the my master's stepfather.

He wanted to punish me at first, but my teacher and his mother prevented him.

The red shoe became my toy.

I met the dog that belongs to our neighbor.

He didn't ask me anything about my past, and he has none to tell.

A few days ago, the woman took me with her to pick up her son from school.

He burst with joy when he saw me.

me.

His friends came and surrounded me, giving me pieces of their snacks while petting

One of the kids, taller than the others, firmly grabbed my head and lifted my lips to see my teeth.

My master told him: —

Stop, Stanislas!

But the other one continued:

— Shut up, you don't know anything about dogs… This one's rubbish, he doesn't have real fangs.

I gently nibbled his hand.

The kid cried and I saw the pride in my master's eyes.

The woman is kind to me. She often invites me to lie down next to her on the sofa while she watches television.

She spends her time caressing my stomach and arms.

The man sometimes tried to beat me when the rest of the family wasn't there.

I growled and barked to make him understand that he was just a ant on my land of violence.

He hasn't done it again and has ignored me ever since.

I love when the day breaks. The clear nights when a few stars are visible in the polluted sky. The pink color of the sky sometimes at dusk.

To hear the birds sing. To be washed clean by the wind. To catch distant and new scents. To hear the cats fight. To spin an insect and watch its work. To wait for a raindrop to slide across the windowpane and follow its path. To lie down in the cool air. To sleep in the sun.

Hearing my master's footsteps in the driveway. Seeing him dance to music. Staying in his room when he invites a friend over. Having him splash me when he washes. Watching him get dressed.

Watching him laugh in front of the television. Watching him draw me. Sitting at his feet at the table. Sneaking his leftovers.

Especially the meat. And sometimes, the chicken from dinner. I love it when he takes me out. I love being outside.

When we go to the park. I love it when he lets me off the leash. When we run together.

When he throws things as far as he can. Bringing back the things he's thrown. I love balls. Even more, sticks.

I love not finding the stick and having to search for it for a long time. I love running around for no reason. Lying by the lake and watching the water. When the water ripples.

To startle a fish popping its head up and diving back down. To eat the grass and dirt in front of me. The wild grass. The damp earth. I like to see other dogs. To smell their behinds and remember Dina. I like to think about Dina.

Hoping to find her in the street or at the park. I like knowing that Dina is in life, because it exists within me. I love to dream of Paco and feel him running through my soul.

Now I am in my master's room. Lying on my cushion.

His mother kisses him.

— Good night, Victor!

— Good night, Mom!

Then she leans over me and kisses the top of my head.

— Good night Jack!

I lick his cheek.

She turns off the light.

My master moves to the side and faces me.

We look at each other.

He will soon fall asleep.

He smiled at me.

- I love you.

I bark softly: — I love you.

We close our eyes.

By the Same Author

Comedy on a train platform, theatre, Julliard, 2001.

Story of a slacker, Julliard, 2000; Pocket, 2004.

Minus 2, theatre, L'Avant-Scène, 2005.

Chronicles of the Asphalt, vol. 1, Julliard, 2005; Pocket, 2007.

Chronicles of the Asphalt, vol. 2, Juliiard, 2007; Pocket, 2008.

The Heart Outside, novel, Grasset, 2009.

Chronicles of Asphalt, vol. 3, Grasset, 2010.

Cover illustration: Lara Mendes also known as Luradontsurf

I.S.B.N: 978-2-246-80458-1

All rights of translation, reproduction and adaptation reserved for all countries.

Editions Grasset & Fasquelle, 2015.

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