The Erotic Potential of my Wife by David Foenkinos Read Free Book Online

affair of silence. A silence like the beginning of processions; each felt as though they were making love with a church.
    Some minutes later, Hector was enveloped by the uneasiness of sudden happiness. Brigitte also did not feel comfortable; she clenched her fists. After long methodical breaths, they made love again. Many, many times again. At nightfall, Hector got dressed; he wanted to walk under the stars. Brigitte kissed him on the landing. As soon as he was outside he thought again about the shoulders of this woman he wanted to love madly, the nape of her neck in the afternoon. He then began to stagger; feelings gnawed at his legs. He allowed himself several detours before going home to stretch his legs, dizzy in his happiness. He was thinking about Brigitte’s body again, he wanted to see her under a magnifying glass, raise her skirt in the lift and slip himself between her thighs. The body of the other, the body of the woman, what is the word? He felt as though he had suddenly become pure. We progress through the body of the other; it is through the body of the other that we become innocent.
    Hector’s night of wandering ended in the office. His brother arrived on the dot at the time he arrived every day. He was surprised to see him so early. He was sick of waiting, he had walked all night! He wanted to see his brother to announce the big news. His wedding, yes, he was going to get married to Brigitte! Ernest paced up and down, it was the least distance required to express his frenzy. He brought out his address book to notify everyone; hello, are you sitting down? After two hours, cursing himself for not knowing more people, he began a new round of his address book, and announced the wonderful news yet again. At Gilbert Associate and Co., a reception was organised to celebrate the event. There was a spread of appetisers, and Hector did not flinch in front of the cocktail sticks. Of course, Marcel was invited. (Laurence could not free herself because she had a vital training session before a vital competition.) Champagne arrived triumphantly at six, and people kissed him a lot. There were many great ‘hip, hip, hip, hoorays’ for Hector. Finally, he was asked the name of the lucky lady. And it is at the precise moment when he pronounced the name ‘Brigitte’ that he remembered not having notified the lucky lady of his intentions.
    A strange paradox had been torturing Brigitte the whole day: it was during her total immersion in urban solitude that she had met the man, seemingly, of her life. She hesitated to change the subject of her sociology thesis, and then considering happiness to be a selfish matter, she had preferred to protect her fundamental discovery: to find love you have to seek solitude.
    Hector’s brain, completely stuck in Brigittian flavour, had neglected that one of the particularities of marriage is to unite two people. That did not really matter anyway, wasn’t this irrevocable proof? You could always forget to announce your intentions when they were flagrant. It was a fact, they were going to be married. And that evening when they met for their second night together, the matter was simply outlined. Shall we get married? Yes, let’s get married. What simplicity, this Hector and this Brigitte! They were like Swiss heroes. Sexual pleasure developed all aspects of its incipient hegemony. Brigitte’s calves were themselves surprised at their Olympic suppleness, Hector discovered himself an adorer of ear-lobe nibbling. Underneath the sheets, they became anonymous. They practised saying
yes
in all languages. The next day at lunchtime, Brigitte would be peeling leeks, and the peels would be fascinating.
    Lovers always feel two emotions skimming gentle hysteria. First, they discover all the good qualities in life. Suddenly, the daily routine goes on a diet, and the worries that were the encumbering existence of every respectable single person disappear in a new lightness. Life seems beautiful to them