Chapter 5
His father was waiting outside the stage door, his back against a lamppost. Thomas stopped to watch him for a moment. Raymond was wearing his usual blazer, tweed pants, and polished loafers. He looked up and smiled warmly at his son.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Not a single mistake,” replied Thomas.
“How’s your mother?”
“How do you know she came if you stayed out here?”
“I saw her go in,” Raymond stammered.
“Okay . . . Let’s head home. I’m tired.”
Thomas walked to the Metro station.
“We’re not taking a taxi?” Raymond asked.
“Do you think I’m made of money?”
“I’d happily foot the bill, but unfortunately my account has been closed,” his father joked. “I hate the Metro, but since we’ve no choice . . .”
Despite the late hour, their subway car was packed. Thomas changed lines at the Villiers station and managed to find a seat before the train filled up at Saint-Lazare. His father stood next to him without any need to hold on.
“Get up,” whispered Raymond, glancing toward an older woman swaying on her frail legs.
Thomas jumped out of his seat and offered it to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t paying attention.”
The woman smiled at him and sat down, visibly relieved.
“Thanks for saying something,” Thomas whispered to his father. “I honestly hadn’t noticed her.”
“Who cares about an old lady with blocked arteries—she’s already got one foot in the grave, and I would know.
But did you see the stunning young woman sitting across from you?
Thanks to me, she noticed you, or at least your chivalrous gesture.
With a smile like yours and a single word, you could have her wrapped around your finger. ”
Thomas didn’t respond, wanting to avoid looking like a nut job in a crowded subway train. His father looked disappointed when the young woman got off at the Opéra station, brushing against Thomas as she reached the doors.
“You really need my help. And at Opéra, no less—she may have been a ballerina!”
“And if she’d gotten off at Saint-Lazare, would you have assumed she was a train station manager?” asked Thomas.
“Excuse me?” said the older woman.
“Nothing, I’m just talking to myself,” he apologized.
“Don’t worry, I do that all the time.”
Raymond shook his head in exasperation.
When he got home, Thomas dropped his things on the floor and collapsed onto the couch with a long sigh.
“You could at least pretend. Are you really not happy to see me again?” Raymond asked.
“Of course I am.”
“But to admit that is to also admit that I’m really here.”
“The weeks and months after you died were hard. I was just starting to get used to not having you around.”
“I understand that.”
“No, you don’t. When I lost you, I fell into a dark depression. Could you hear me all those times when I poured my heart out to that photo of you?”
Raymond smiled tenderly at Thomas but didn’t answer.
“Where were you during all that time?”
“I don’t know. Dying wasn’t easy for me, either; leaving you was harder.”
“What’s it like in the afterlife?”
“Thomas,” said his father in a grave tone, “I’m not allowed to tell you anything, and even if I was, I doubt I’d be able to explain it. Let’s just say it’s different.”
“Are you happy there?”
“I don’t have arthritis anymore, so there’s that. But with your help? I could be genuinely happy.”
“With my help?”
“Yes, the favor I mentioned.”
“About that woman?”
“Camille. I’d be grateful if you could refer to her by her name.” His father sat down on the upright piano. “When I think of all the things she and I missed out on, all the time we have to make up for . . .”
“Yes, of course, thanks to me. You mentioned that.”
“It wasn’t just because of you. Such choices weren’t considered acceptable back then.”
“So, in fact, you really are here to haunt me. I think Sylvain underestimated the extent of the damage you’ve done.”
“Stop worrying about what that charlatan thinks. You told him you saw a ghost, and he offered some casual, off-the-cuff diagnosis without even bothering to examine you. Would it have killed him to take your blood pressure? If a patient—no, a friend—had told me something like that, I would have sent him off for a series of tests immediately.”
“Is that your professional medical opinion? You think I should go to the emergency room?” Thomas asked.
“It’s my professional medical opinion, yes, but about your psychiatrist friend.
You’re perfectly healthy. Nothing wrong with your head.
Do you really think I haven’t been studying you since I came back?
You look tired, sure, but no one your age who doesn’t wear themselves out is really living.
When I was thirty-five I worked eighty-hour weeks, and it didn’t kill me. ”
“Well, it did eventually.”
“A little respect, please. I happen to think I held up pretty well. I’m telling you, you’re fine. If you go to the emergency room and tell them you’re having little chats with your father’s ghost, you’ll end up getting checked into Sainte-Anne Psychiatric Hospital.”
That was probably true, Thomas thought. His father seemed to take his silence as encouragement to continue.
“Camille has just died.” Raymond lowered his head as if suddenly plunged into a flood of grief. “What do you have to say about that?”
“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for her, but it’s not like I knew her.”
“A kind word would have been nice. In any case, now that she and I are both on the other side, we’ve decided to tie the proverbial knot, so we’ll always be a couple.”
“Good for you, but what does any of that have to do with me? Other than the fact that when Mom dies, I won’t be able to console myself by picturing the two of you together.”
“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite. You were the first to say our divorce came as a relief.”
“Fine, but how do I fit in to your eternal plans?”
“Well, it’s just—if Camille and I are to spend eternity together, our ashes need to be united.”
“Excuse me?”
“Or, mixed together, if you prefer. All you have to do is pour the contents of one urn into the other and give it a good shake. Once you scatter them all, we’ll be free and together forever.
Now, don’t look at me like that; I’m not the one who came up with the rules of the universe.
Being buried side by side could also have worked, but it’s too late for me on that front.
And anyway, why should we settle for a tiny studio when we could have a huge terrace with an ocean view? ”
“What’s this studio you’re talking about?”
“A grave or coffin, naturally! And who knows who we’d have as neighbors. No, Camille and I want to spend our eternity outdoors. It’s not like I’m asking you for the moon here.”
“What exactly are you asking me for?” Thomas held his breath.
“Something as easy as pie. Camille’s funeral will take place in a few days. You simply go to the ceremony, wait for her to be cremated afterward, then briefly borrow her urn so you can pour in the contents of mine. That’s it!”
“You forgot to mention giving it a good shake,” Thomas deadpanned.
“That goes without saying.”
“So, to sum up, you want me to attend the funeral of a woman I didn’t know but who was your mistress, and then steal what’s left of her out from under the nose of her family.”
“You’ve got it!”
“I’d rather you’d asked me to get you the moon. It certainly would be easier. Where is this funeral, by the way?”
“In San Francisco.”
“Naturally.” Thomas sighed.
“Why did you say ‘naturally’ in that weird tone of voice?”
“Now my tone is weird?”
“Very. Quite strange.”
“I guess it would have been too easy for the funeral to take place in Pantin or at Père-Lachaise Cemetery.”
“Not necessarily. But I had nothing to do with it. I’m not the one who sent her to live so far away.
Despite our exceptional discretion, her husband figured out what we were up to and was careful to keep us away from each other.
He arranged to get a job transfer to California, choosing—rather selfishly, if you ask me—to uproot his family. ”
“I actually think it’s pretty brave of him, leaving everything behind for love. Traveling to the other side of the world to protect his marriage.”
“Not for love, out of jealousy!”
“Why did his wife go with him if she loved you so much?”
“Because of her daughter. The same reason I stayed in Paris for you.”
“Oh, right. For a moment, I forgot that I ruined your life.”
“I never said that, and I didn’t think it, either. In any case, keeping us apart didn’t change the way she felt.”
“How do you know that?”
“After she left, I decided I needed to live with the choice I’d made.
I let her go because I couldn’t leave you and your mother.
I refused to torment Camille, so I kept quiet for months.
I felt the pain of that silence every single day, and even more so when we were on summer vacation.
If Camille had fallen back in love with her husband, she wouldn’t have started writing to me, and we wouldn’t have continued to correspond for the next twenty years. But she did, and we did.”
“You told some other woman all about our lives?”
“I told her about mine. The letters were mostly about me, but not entirely, it’s true.”
“What about her husband? What did he do out there in California? No, you know what, don’t even answer that. I don’t know why I’m asking.”
“He went there as an aeronautics engineer, but he played the tech boom in Silicon Valley just right and ended up a multimillionaire. I find it all a bit gauche, but to each his own, right?”
“Did you know him?”
“Of course I did. The situation was all terribly banal. We couples ran into each other all the time on vacation, so we ended up becoming friendly. We had dinner together on occasion, and we even shared a babysitter, who watched you and their daughter at the same time. Right up until Camille and I understood that we had fallen for each other.”
“Those must have been fun evenings. Two lovers and two emotionally abandoned spouses—one of them Mom—all at the same table.”
“Wait until you’ve lived a little more before you judge me. Would you believe me if I told you that my relationship with Camille was always perfectly chaste?”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you? You’ve told me far more unbelievable things than that.”
“Listen to me, Thomas! If her husband scatters her ashes before you get there, it’ll all be over.”
“What will be over?”
“Us. Camille and me. She couldn’t be my partner in life, but I want her to be my partner in death. I can’t do that without your help.”
“Have you asked Camille what she thinks about all this? Do you have any idea what she wants?”
“You really think that, after twenty years of exchanging letters with her, I don’t know what she wants?”
“Did you keep them?”
“They’re in a wooden box next to my urn.”
“That’s a charming image. Where is your urn, anyway?”
“Hidden behind some books on the top shelf of the bookcase at your mom’s place.”
“So, you really were there when I saw you in the office, then.”
“Yes. Well, what’s left of me.”
“And you’re telling me that Mom kept the letters from the woman who stole her husband?”
“Camille didn’t steal anything—I stayed with your mother. She and I remained good friends. We could count on each other, whatever the circumstances. The box is locked, and your mother is very smart. She knows better than to try and open it.”
“I understand now,” Thomas whispered.
“What do you understand?”
“Why Mom refused to scatter your ashes. I thought it was because she couldn’t bear to let you go, but she really was just respecting your wishes.
You told her that you were leaving her everything, and all you asked in return was that she keep them.
You even made a dark joke, saying that if your presence bothered her, she could store you in the basement.
That made the lawyer laugh. So, were you planning this all along? ”
“Not really. I couldn’t imagine that someday I’d ask you to do me this favor.
I certainly didn’t know what lay ahead for me.
But Camille and I always dreamed of reuniting in another life, of spending eternity together.
Will you think about it tonight? About making our dream come true?
Go to bed now, and give me your answer tomorrow.
Don’t oversleep—we’re running out of time. ”
“I doubt I’ll sleep late. I don’t know if I’ll sleep at all after everything you’ve just told me. Thanks for that.”
“Would you rather play poker, then?” Raymond asked cheerfully. “You loved playing poker as a kid. I would always let you win, because you fell into a black rage every time you lost. Now that you’re a man, you won’t find it so easy to beat me.”
“Can you actually hold the cards?” Thomas asked, surprised.
“No. Good point. You could play solitaire, though. I’ll sit across from you. A fantastic idea! Instead of playing against each other, we’ll play as a team.”
Thomas studied his father with amusement.
“Is this little charm offensive supposed to convince me to do what you want?”
“Son, when I was alive, I was constantly trying to charm you into one thing or convince you of another. But if there’s one thing my experience as a parent taught me, it’s just how little control I had.”
Raymond placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Strangely, Thomas could feel his presence. A glance passed between them that said everything words could not.
Thomas went to grab the deck of cards from his desk drawer. He placed one face up, then six more face down in a row. Sitting across from him, Raymond watched and occasionally made a suggestion.
The evening continued in this way until Thomas’s head dropped to the table and he drifted off to sleep. Watching with a mischievous glint in his eye, Raymond whispered in his son’s ear that he would be more comfortable in bed.
With that, Thomas rose and walked all the way to his bedroom, still wholly and deeply asleep.