MICHEL TOURNIER
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me , she's going to protect me . And then the director said, "She will
be coming with her lawyer." At that, obviously, I winced . A lawyer.
What for? The director went on, "So you are of sound mind. Your
signature is valid . Then this is what your former wife, well, your
wife, wants. She wants to marry again . And to do that, obviously she
has to get a divorce first.
If
you were
ill,
I mean mentally
ill,
mad, as
you might say , well, it would be impossible. The law is against it.
When one of the spouses is insane, the other cannot obtain a divorce.
But you aren't mad , Martin, we're agreed on that point, aren't we?"
Not mad, not when it came to losing Antoinette . But mad enough to
stay locked up . I was losing all along the line! The next day I refused
to go to the director's office. I told them I'd sign anything they liked
with my eyes closed, anything at all, even my death warrant if that
was what they wanted. But I didn't want to see anyone . In the end I
did see the lawyer in the common room . I signed, and signed, and
signed all the papers he'd brought in his briefcase.
It
was all over. No
more Antoinette. "VeIl, the new Antoinette, the one I didn't know,
the one who never wanted to see me again, that one had disappeared,
yes, forever. The other one, the previous one, the one who belongs
to our good years, she still exists ... here.
(He taps his heart.)
Antoinette . . . . When I first knew her she was sixteen . I was
nineteen. Our families were neighbors. We saw each other almost
every day . But I was shy . She scared me . And yet I finally managed
to approach her. One Sunday morning, I was just going out, and I
saw her on the sidewalk . She was all in white. She must have been
going to Mass. She dropped a glove. I ran and picked it up.
It
was
made of very fine, openwork batiste, white lawn to be precise. I hesi–
tated a moment , partly out of shyness , and also partly because I was
tempted to keep the glove as a souvenir, that little fabric hand that I
could squeeze in
my
hand, put in my pocket, Antoinette's hand . ...
In the end, I ran after her and gave her back her glove.
It
had hap–
pened! We were acquainted. It would have been too stupid of me to
miss that chance! If I'd only known! Though perhaps I already should
have been able to understand . We met again later, and even then I
didn't understand a thing, even though .. . .
I was doing my military service - in the First Cavalry Regiment.
I had a mare I was very fond of. Her name was Ayesha. When I
harnessed her in the mornings I had the impression that I was dress–
ing her, dressing a woman, yes, with a headstall, a saddle, a girth ,
the lot! One day we were out on exercises. Field-service uniform, the
helmet, the cavalry magazine rifle, the saber, the greatcoat rolled up
