“I’m sorry they had to call you out for me,” whispered Marianne, gazing into the paramedic’s brown eyes. The man glanced quickly away. “Je suis allemande,” mumbled Marianne. I am German. “Allemande.” It sounded like “almond.”
The paramedic laid a blanket over her and began to dictate a report, his words taken down by a young assistant with a beard. The strong tranquilizer began to take effect.
“I’m an almond,” mumbled Marianne before falling asleep.
In her dream she was sitting on the Pont Neuf. She took off a wristwatch that wasn’t even hers, smashed the glass on the stone, tore the hands from the watch face and threw them into the river. Time wouldn’t be able to stop people anymore. Time would stand still as soon as she jumped, and nobody would stop Marianne from twirling toward the sea.
Yet when she jumped, she fell slowly, as if through liquid resin. Bodies rose through the water, floating upward past her as she fell. She recognized the faces, each and every one of them. They were her dead, the people from the hospice where she had volunteered after her mother died, the place no one else would visit for fear of being contaminated by death. Marianne had held their hands when the time came, and guided by her hand, they had passed into emptiness. Some had offered resistance, whimpering desperately, others were ashamed of dying, but all of them sought Marianne’s gaze and clung to it until their own eyes went dim.
In her dream they groped for Marianne’s hands. Their voices mourned every unfulfilled wish, every step they hadn’t taken and every unspoken word. What none of the death-bound could forgive themselves for was what they had left undone. On their deathbeds all had confessed this to Marianne: the things they hadn’t done, the things they hadn’t dared to do.
—
The light was dazzling, and when she opened her eyes, Lothar was standing at the foot of the bed. His dark blue suit with gold buttons made him look as if he’d just stepped off a yacht. Next to him stood a woman in white. An angel?
It was awfully loud here too. Machines were beeping, people were talking, and from somewhere came the sound of a television. Marianne put her hands over her ears.
“Hello,” she said after a while.
Lothar turned to look at her. She couldn’t see herself in his eyes. He came nearer and bent over her, examining her more closely, as if he were unsure of what he was seeing.
“What’s the big idea?” he eventually asked.
“The big idea?”
He shook his head as though completely bemused. “All this fuss.”
“I wanted to kill myself.”
“Why?”
Which lie should she tell first? “It’s all right,” when nothing was all right? Or “Don’t worry,” when he should?
“I…I…”
“I, I,” growled Lothar. “Now there’s a good reason: I.”
Why didn’t she tell him: I don’t want to carry on, I can’t carry on, I’d rather die than carry on living with you.
She tried again. “I…I want…” She faltered once more. It was as if her mouth were choked with sandstone. “I wanted to do what I want.”
Her husband stood up straight. “Do what you want! Aha. And where’s that got you? Just look at yourself.” He glanced at the nurse, who was still standing there observing the scene.
Marianne felt color rise into her cheeks. Lothar sat down on the edge of the bed and turned his back on her. “After the call came through, I left the restaurant immediately. I had to pay for your meal, of course. The chef couldn’t care less if you’d killed yourself or not.”
Marianne tried to pull up the bedsheet, but her husband was sitting on it and her efforts were in vain. She felt naked.
“The Métro only runs until one. And they call this a global city! I had to take a taxi and it cost as much as the return coach journey to Paris. Do you realize?” Lothar exhaled loudly, as if he were about to start screaming. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? Do you want us to grow apart? Do you want me to have to leave the light on every night to keep an eye on you?”
“I’m sorry,” Marianne squeezed out.
“Sorry? Who do you think is most sorry? Do you realize how other people look at you when your wife tries to kill herself? It can ruin everything. Everything. You didn’t consider that when you wanted to do what you want. As if you even know what you want.”
Lothar glanced at his Rolex, then stood up. “The bus leaves at six on the dot. I’ve had enough.”
“And…how do I get home?” Marianne heard the imploring tone in her voice and felt ashamed. She had nothing, not even her pride.
“The insurance will cover your trip back. A psychologist will be here tomorrow to travel home with you. My ticket’s only valid if I leave today. You jumped off the bridge on your own, I travel home on my own; that way we both do what we want. Any objections?”
“Could I have a hug?” Marianne begged. Her husband walked out without looking back. As she turned her head, she met the eyes of the woman in the next bed, who was studying her.
“His hearing’s not very good,” explained Marianne. “He just didn’t hear. Didn’t hear, you see?” Then she pulled the sheet over her head.
An hour later, nurse Nicolette tore Marianne’s bedsheet away and slammed a tray down on the bedside table.
Marianne didn’t touch the food. It looked like roadkill. The butter was rock-hard and the soup was thin, containing only three cubes of carrot and a single slice of spring onion. She gave it to the woman in the next bed. Marianne flinched when the lady tried to stroke her arm in return.
Now she was pushing her IV drip along on its castors while holding the short hospital johnny shut because it kept flapping apart, showing her bottom. The soles of her bare feet squished every time she lifted them off the floor. She walked along the corridor until she reached another one that ran perpendicular to her block. Tucked away in the corner was the glass-walled nurses’ room.
A small television set showed an excitable Nicolas Sarkozy venting his displeasure to the nation. A cigarette smouldered in an ashtray and the radio played as Nicolette leafed through a magazine and unwrapped a small madeleine.
Marianne moved closer. The music…Violins, an accordion, clarinets, bagpipes. She closed her eyes to watch her own private film. She saw men dancing with beautiful women. She saw a dining table, children and apple trees, the sun glinting on the sea at the horizon. She saw blue shutters on old sandstone houses with thatched roofs, and a small chapel. The men had their hats pushed back on their heads. She didn’t know the song, but she would have loved to play it. The notes of the accordion pierced her heart.