Chapter 18 Chapter Twelve

In Paris, the funeral took place on a sunny day.Curious crowd.A piece of black.My father and I shook hands with Anna's elderly relatives.I looked at them curiously: they would definitely come to the house for tea, once a year.People looked at my father sympathetically: Weber had probably spread the news of the marriage.I saw Cyril looking for me at the exit.I avoid him.I hate him for no reason, but I can't stop myself from hating him... Everyone around us mourned this stupid and terrible incident.Since I still have some doubts about the accidental aspect of this death, this pleases me.

When I came back, in the car, my father took my hand and held it in his.I thought: "You have only me, I have only you, we are lonely and unhappy." So I cried for the first time in my life.It's pretty good tears.They bear no resemblance to the emptiness, the terrible emptiness, that I felt in that hospital, facing the lithographs of Venice.My father looked haggard and handed me his handkerchief without saying a word. One of us lived like a widower and the other like an orphan for a month, shutting ourselves out, eating dinner and lunch together. We also talked a little bit about Anna sometimes: do you remember, that day..." We talked about these things carefully, keeping our eyes away, lest we hurt each other, or something suddenly occurred to someone's mind, so that we could say something irreparable. This mutual caution, mutual poise was compensated. Soon we were able to talk about Anna in normal tones, as if we were talking about someone who had lived happily with us but was called by God. I don't say Occasionally, we say God, but we don't believe in God. Believing in this case is still a blessing.

Then one day at a friend's house, I ran into one of her cousins.He pleases me; I please him.I went out with him several times a week with the cautiousness of the beginning of the relationship and the enthusiasm of frequent meetings.My father, not quite used to being alone, was in constant company with an ambitious young woman.Life resumed as before, as it had been foreseen.When we, my father, and I were together, we laughed and talked about our respective conquests.He must have sensed that my relationship with Philip was not platonic, and I was aware of the price I paid for my new girlfriend.But we are happy.Winter is coming to an end.We will not be renting the villa of last year, but the one near the Juan pine forest.

Only at dawn, as I lay in bed, listening to the only car on the streets of Paris, memories sometimes popped up against my will: the summer and all memories of it came back.Anna, Anna!In the dark, I called out the name softly and for a long time.Then something came to my mind.I closed my eyes and greeted it by calling its name: hello, sorrow.