«The Return», unpublished novel, episode 10

Every month, Le Regard Libre publishes the unpublished novel Le retour by young Swiss author Elliot Mazzella, in the form of fifteen episodes. A return to fiction in these pages, a return to the old tradition of the serial novel.

The slaughter has taken place, and neither Pierre nor Joseph has been present. The brothers, who have always been enemies, find themselves reunited in their shared exile, far from the village. Simeon, for his part, senses an impending catastrophe. Something is amiss in village affairs, and he knows it only too well...

Joseph walks along a path. He is alone. He is searching for the tree that once bound two destinies together. The slowness of his pace adds to the solemnity of the moment. The light flows like a river whose source is the sky. At times, it is caught in the branches and falls drop by drop onto the path. Joseph walks through this curtain of rain. He doesn’t know where he’s going, nor does he seek to know. 

He comes upon a clearing where two shadows are playing with the wind. They are children playing at the impossible. With nets, they try to capture the wind. But the wind blows right through them and laughs at their dashed ambitions. The children laugh in turn, for to them, nothing matters…

Joseph goes further and rediscovers the cabin where he had taken refuge when he was younger, back when people began to mistrust him. He recalls the insults, the tears, the mockery, the betrayals. He had to learn to know her, to respect her, and finally to love her, for she would be the mistress of his life. She was a faceless woman, a queen whose beauty he did not know. She appeared to him only from behind or veiled. Her hair was long and took on the hue of the setting sun. She came only in the evening. Irregularly, she obeyed no law but her own. There were times when she did not come for months, and then, on a still-warm summer evening, she would appear, more desirable than ever. But Joseph never waited for her. His love was proportional to his fear. He knew she would never abandon him, that she would be faithful to him until death, which is why he longed to leave her for so long. But he quickly realized that this would not be possible. We do not choose our destiny; it chooses us. 

When he reached the threshold of the cabin, Joseph collapsed. Only ruins remained; the wood was rotten and infested with larvae, and all the walls that had once protected him had been destroyed by the passage of time. 

In the distance, he sees a man walking toward him. He decides to wait for him and continue on the road with him. 

They greet each other. Each goes their separate way, separated from the other by an invisible chasm. They could touch each other, lick the salt from their hair, hold hands… yet they would remain distant, thousands of kilometers apart. They speak the same language, yet the words are different for each of them. Their silence, too, is different; it conveys something else, speaking to two distinct worlds. 

A woman is waiting for them at the edge of the forest. She has her back to them and doesn’t hear them coming. Perhaps she has no face and is ashamed of it? She seems, rather, to be lost in thought. At the grave of a lover, standing over the remains of Pierre or Joseph… Their eyes meet. They finally recognize each other. 

– She's beautiful, isn't she?

– Yeah, but… I'd like to see her. 

– There's no point. You know who she is. 

Over his shoulder, Joseph recognizes the promises carved into the oak wood. 

She will turn around and make her choice. She will have to accept it—accept losing everything and letting herself die in this dream, or emerge from the forest and embrace life. 

– That's my wife. I love her, you know? 

– You're lucky—really lucky… 

– Why do you say that? Are you alone? 

– Yes. 

The White Lady turns majestically. Her eyes are sad. Weighed down by the vision, they could flow like bitter tears. She didn’t have to choose; she’s always known. Serious and resigned, she lets the wind carry her to him. Pierre’s face darkens. She now raises her glassy eyes to Joseph, who is smiling. They kiss like two lovers finally reunited after years of exile. There is no longer any room for pity, nor for Pierre, who slowly withdraws into himself, extinguished, as if the butterfly had retraced its steps and slipped back into its chrysalis. The landscapes are consumed; the frost chills the blood of the vanquished, while on the other side, the sky opens onto a vast ocean.

Pierre wishes he had never lived, never desired anything, and could simply vanish into the earth. He covers his ears and closes his eyes. Soon he will beg them to tear them out, to pierce his eardrums, and to put him out of his misery in silence. But his plea goes unheeded. Nothing else exists around the lovers but the scent of her hair and her lips, to which Joseph clings as if drinking from the very source of life. Pierre forgotten, Pierre denied, cast into nothingness like a burdensome memory, a superfluous detail. And now that the verdict has been handed down, he has no business being there anymore. He must set out on the road again like a beggar, make himself forgotten far from this land that is no longer his, that never was his, and that urges him to flee into the desert and pray to heaven that he may die as soon as possible. The vultures will clean his bones, which will crumble to dust and return to the barren earth to which he has always belonged. 

The man who is now nothing weeps, overwhelmed by the laughter of Joseph and Leila, who no longer know who he is or who he was to them in that shared past from which all three have escaped. Joseph can’t stand it; he’d like to break free and throw himself into the arms of his blood brother, but he doesn’t have the strength… he’s fine where he is, in the arms of the woman he stole from him, nestled in a happiness that’s not his own, the sweetness of life finally within reach… No, he doesn’t have to worry about him. He’s not worth it. And his wife… she’s beautiful, her breast is warm; he’s going to sleep in their bed. But why all these questions? Why doubt now? Let him have his hours of anguish!

«—Boredom is yours, Pierre! Ashes are yours! Loneliness and her cold body—I left her back there, in the cabin! You can take her—she’s you! She’s yours!»

More next month.

You have just read an episode published in Le Regard Libre No. 90.

You can read l’the previous episode.