Читать книгу Hector and the Secrets of Love - Francois Lelord - Страница 12

OLD François looked out to sea as he spoke, as though the sight of it inspired him. And everybody listened in complete silence.

‘Love,’ he said, ‘a sickness of the body to which the mind consents. Not my words, unfortunately. Love certainly provides our greatest joys, although that word is inadequate; our greatest ecstasies, we might say. That movement towards the other, that moment when our dream becomes reality, that state of grace where at last we think of something other than ourselves, that meeting of bodies that makes us immortal, for a few moments at least, that transformation of the everyday in the presence of the loved one, ah … When their face is engraved on our heart, except that sometimes …’ He sighed. ‘Because love brings such suffering, oceans of suffering … spurned love, loving too much, a lack of love, the death of love, alas …

‘What is left of our loving ways?

What is left of those sunny days …

Faded joys and windswept tresses

Stolen kisses and caresses

What is left of the love we knew?

Tell me now I beg of you …’

He finished the song, and Hector saw to his great surprise that Clara’s eyes were glistening with tears. Old François suddenly noticed that everyone looked full of emotion, and he seemed to rouse himself.

‘Forgive me, my friends, I got a little carried away; I just wanted to answer your question about what can make people unhappier.’

There was a brief silence. Gunther smiled and took the floor again. ‘Thank you for your very remarkable rendition. Listening to you makes me feel as if I am truly hearing the language of love!’

In the meantime, the young girl in the sarong had returned, this time carrying a tray of fruit juice, and again old François followed her with forlorn eyes.

‘And now,’ Gunther went on, ‘I turn to you, dear Ethel. I’d like to hear your opinion, which, I believe, is different.’

‘Yes, it certainly is!’ She turned to the old psychiatrist. ‘My dear François, you painted a marvellous, if somewhat sad, portrait of love for us. But, after all, how dreary life would be without love! It is love that transports us, that fills us with joy! Love turns life into one long adventure, every encounter is a dazzling experience – well, not always, of course, but in actual fact, it is our less successful love affairs that enable us to appreciate the others. I think love protects us from one of the biggest problems facing the modern world: boredom. Because, well, the lives we lead are so safe – I mean in our countries, of course – that love is the only adventure we have left. Hurrah for love, which keeps us forever young!’

And, indeed, when you looked at Ethel, who was no longer exactly young but who had such a youthful air, you said to yourself that love certainly seemed to agree with her.

Gunther appeared delighted. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘what a joyous description of love you have given us, dear Ethel. And how joyful love is, to be sure! Speaking of which, if you’ll allow me …’

Gunther rose to his full height and began singing in a fine bass voice.

‘L is for the way you look at me

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore …

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two …’

All the women round the table suddenly seemed mesmerised by Gunther’s (very good) rendition of Nat King Cole. He had even acquired the self-assurance, easy smile and smouldering gaze of a real crooner, and Hector felt a pang of jealousy. He glanced at Clara but, amazingly, she seemed indifferent to Gunther’s performance; in fact she looked a little annoyed, which made Hector love her all the more.

When he had finished, everybody applauded, even Hector, who regretted his pang of jealousy and who, with Clara’s career in mind, didn’t want to give a bad impression.

‘Thank you, my friends,’ said Gunther. ‘I’m sorry, I still don’t know any love poems in French, but next time you can depend on me! And now you, dear Dr Hector, what do you think about love?’