moment as the night before, trying not to say goodbye, when I had been wondering all afternoon if I’d try to kiss Judit, casually, to place my lips on hers and when we were there, Elena a little withdrawn, a little erased in the shadow of the overhanging balcony where that revolting neon light was still blinking, at that precise instant when people look at each other with tenderness since they’re headed toward absence and memory, when desire is all the keener since it guesses its vanity is faced with the departure of its object, we were facing each other in silence, and I was incapable of doing anything except leaving, all caught up in the stream of my half-baked romantic thoughts, it was time to be a man, to move toward her like a man and kiss her on the mouth since that’s what I wanted, what I dreamed about, and if we don’t make an effort toward our dreams they disappear, nothing changes the world except hope or despair, in equal proportions, those who set themselves on fire in Sidi Bouzid, those who get beatings and bullets on Tahrir Square, and those who dare French-kiss a Spanish student in the street, obviously that has nothing to do with the others but for me, in that silence, that instant lost between two worlds, I needed as much courage to kiss Judit as to shout Qadafi! Bastard! in front of a jeep of Libyan soldiers or to yell Long Live the Republic of Morocco! alone smack in the middle of the Dar-el-Makhzen in Rabat, and this moment stretched out, we’d just said goodbye and it was she of course who ended up bringing her face close to mine and placing an ambiguous, disconcerting kiss on the corner of my mouth, a kiss that could pass either for clumsiness or a pledge, but I could still feel her breath so close, and the softness of her lips, and I turned around like a tin soldier after squeezing both her hands for an instant in mine, and then left at almost a run back to the world of nightmares.
Doubt in my heart. Certainty in my heart.
The Propagation of Thought was deserted, no trace of Bassam.
I immediately sat down in front of the computer, got out the piece of newspaper where she had copied out her email address, wrote her a long impassioned letter that I erased little by little, piece by piece, ending up with nothing but “Bon voyage! Je t’embrasse et à très bientôt j’espère!” I sent her the same message via Facebook, Judit Foix; unfortunately there was no photo on her profile page.
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