the art of seeping aone why one french woman gave up sex Transated by inda coverdae sophie fontane SCRIBNER New York London Toronto Sydney New Dehi Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 3
SCRIBNER A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Copyright 2011 by Editions Robert Laffont, S.A., Paris. Transation copyright 2013 by Linda Coverdae Originay pubished as L envie in 2011 in France by Robert Laffont. A rights reserved, incuding the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020. First Scribner hardcover edition August 2013 SCRIBNER and design are registered trademarks of The Gae Group, Inc., used under icense by Simon & Schuster, Inc., the pubisher of this work. For information about specia discounts for buk purchases, pease contact Simon & Schuster Specia Saes at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com. The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your ive event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com. Designed by Kye Kabe Manufactured in the United States of America 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 Library of Congress Cataoging-in-Pubication Data is avaiabe. ISBN 978-1-4516-9627-1 ISBN 978-1-4516-9629-5 (ebook) The peope and events described in this memoir refect composites and/or have been created by the author to best convey her experiences. Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 4
For a ong whie, and I reay don t wish to say when it was or how many years it asted, I chose to ive in what was perhaps the worst insubordination of our times: I had no sex ife. It is true that those years were in arge part fied with sensuaity, when dreams aone gratified my ongings, but what dreams! And if I fet drawn to anything, it was ony in my thoughts, but what thoughts.... I reaize now what that ife was made of: a ife in no way insignificant; on the contrary, it was rich, a perfect match for my body and mysef. Yet nothing was simpe, and these words I write woud once have seemed eaden to me, so ashamed was I at times of my singuarity, a strangeness worse than difference. Everyone knows that even peope who are different have a certain sexuaity worthy of the name, things to show for it, defeats they can ay caim to. Whereas we, the oners, an army that does vioence ony to itsef, a sma tribe, unavowabe and hence unknowabe in number, we understand instinctivey that speaking out wi aow the word to send us deeper into exie and foster the kind of stupid nonsense peope say about whatever they cannot comprehend. They turn us into scape- 1 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 1
sophie fontane goats who reassure a others on this point: however probematic their carna peasures might be, we offer proof, through our most definite excusion, that their circumstances are sti better than nothing. From this nothing, which was whoesome for me and taught me to draw upon unsuspected resources; from what a caress means to someone who no onger receives or (very ikey) bestows any; from the obsession that swes within you and goes to your head; from that meek, submissive crowd I sense is out there, those whom I recognize instanty and for whom I fee such tender affection; from a this, I wanted to make a book. 2 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 2
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With my ebows propped on the safety bar of the ift chair, I was raised up to where I just knew the sky woud be bue, with fog sipping away ike a skin skimmed from mik. I was ooking at fir trees, mountaintops, immacuate panes of soid coors, and I was thinking: I want to find this cam for mysef. As for the kind I d aready evauated from persona experience, meaning the matchess scouring performed by sex, we, that no onger interested me. I d had it with being taken and ratted around. I d had it with handing mysef over. I d said yes too much. I hadn t taken into account the tranquiity my body required. Reaizing that I wasn t istening, my body had begun to speak up. Before this winter getaway, a certain resistance had intensified within me. In the privacy of my body, every atom of my being was waing itsef off, yet I coudn t do a thing about it. I had troube uncenching my fists and strained to open my pams fat against the sheet, ony to have them cur shut an instant ater. For weeks, I d been obiged to shake my head at whatever my over proposed. He was growing impatient. I made an effort. This over thought I was giving when 5 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 5
sophie fontane I was actuay conceding. He beieved I was capituating when I was reay cacuating how to end the experience as quicky as possibe. I d become a patry possession for the man who thought he had me in his power. I noticed his air of suspicion; he grew ess and ess sure of his spois. He reminded me of those peope who try to grab you in a fight but wind up hoding your sweater whie you race off, arms faiing. I had run, run, to reach the ski resort. As soon as I got there, I bought a ski suit instead of just pants; I fet safe inside an outfit that was so hard to get off. The hote was at the very top of the ski ift; when that stopped running at four in the afternoon, the pace became a high-pains desert. It was the off-season: there were three of us at the hote, incuding the owner, Jonas. My host had worshipped Johnny Hayday ever since he was a kid, and as he served me he was istening to Longing, his pop ido s 1986 hit. The mountain saps sef-confidence, Jonas remarked, as if to put me on my guard. He coudn t have cared ess about the fresh air. He compained about not meeting any women at such a high atitude, and going out for the evening required taking the snowmobie and coming back up again ater in compete darkness, ten times more aone, drunk, and frozen stiff. His frustration amazed me. Personay, I thought it was deightfu to be far from other peope. And to sing about onging ony for the horizon. To have the creaking of snow for my soe companion. Jonas saw things differenty. He d had no femae company for 6 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 6
the art of seeping aone three years. I m turning into a goat, he said, adding three ogs more than necessary to the firepace. Such roaring bazes were his revenge on monotony. He paid me a few compiments that first evening. Proof, suddeny, of our isoation. Tanned, athetic, Jonas was a former chasseur apin, a sodier in the eite mountain infantry of the French army, and he had those pae eyes mountain fok tend to have. Untouched by the eements, the skin beow his neck was white, and if I d wanted I coud have had a coser ook; he woud certainy have shown me. When it occurred to me a refex that going to bed with this man might be a possibiity, the mere thought sent my body into ockdown. It was out of the question: my whoe being was samming shut. I remembered the time I was doing a crossword puzze in Le Monde and had such troube coming up with the word portcuis. At that moment, though, it popped right into my head. I eft Jonas and went off to my room. I thought about Paris, and what I d escaped from, and that evening s escape as we. I opened the window onto the backness I knew was so white. I breathed.... With the snow a around, my destiny seemed to me ike an Eden sweet with birdsong. My ife woud be soft and fuffy. I was through with being had. 7 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 7
Those who set themseves free have the whoe universe before them. I ve seen it happen to peope in their nineties. If I think back to my teenage years, I can see that I was ike that: behind my appearance of obedience was the impuse to run away. The casses I skipped, the heady feeing that gave me! It seems crazy to compare sexuaity to the servitude of schoo, and I know such notions of boredom, homework, the drudgery of essons, and the tyranny of power wi present a poor picture of the gir I turned out to be. We ive in a cuture in which peope woud die rather than admit to having fet istess about sex at one point in their ives. This ack of interest is often confused with impotence. A great many of us know that it isn t that we can t, it s that we can t see ourseves sticking with it. After the peasure payoff then what? Yesterday s imperative has faded; the game s no onger worth the cande. That s why we wander off. I d even caim it does a word of good. After my snow retreat, my scrunched-up face reaxed in a matter of weeks. I know mysef, and it coudn t have been the fresh air aone. Proof: in Paris, once the other benefits of 9 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 9
sophie fontane the mountain had worn off, not ony did I keep that face, but my appea increased. In a photo, I discovered that I d begun to gow. What encounter had so transfigured me? To what rendezvous was I hastening, eyes shining with confidence, skin radiant with newfound freedom? When my over met me in a café one ast time to attempt the impossibe, he found this brightness more disagreeabe than anything I coud have said. The man coud see it: my backbone was much straighter. His frown tod me that he didn t know whether to consider me from now on more dangerous than a virgin, or possiby autistic, under ock and key in spite of my new, affabe face or gravitating toward another man, which woud have expained everything. He checked me out from head to toe, took ten seconds to evauate my metamorphosis, and then it was the ony soution he coud think of asked me if I was in ove. 10 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 10
He wasn t the ony one to wonder about that. After watching me sai sunniy into the café in my seven-eague boots, my friend Henrietta wanted to know: What s his name? As soon as you ve found yoursef, others start trying to guess who the new person is. I know who it was, the one for whom I was eaving everything: the gir I d been years before. At thirteen, she ooked sixteen. That gir had been given the gift of reading and woud become a writer, but for the moment that was not what preoccupied her: she was dreaming of ust. A man s open shirt, especiay if he had bue eyes, or that pace where men have what women have in a different and unseen way such things unsetted her. In her ight summer dress, she was precocious. She assumed that we earn nothing about the senses, such knowedge being innate, and she was an adoescent bursting with impatience, eager to undergo a confirmation quite unike that du one in church. There had to be eevations a damn sight more esoteric. In the meantime, she studied hersef in the mirror. Given her ack of perfection, she knew she was ucky to be ta and sim. What she didn t know: one of her 11 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 11
sophie fontane pecuiarities was the hint of darkness in her eyes. And men recognized that darkness. Men recognized what was askew in that gir. What was his name, that chance encounter, a honey-tongued tourist from Mexico with the cury hair of an archange? Tus ojos, he said to her: Your eyes... It was in a nightcub that shoud never have et her in at her age, of course. Not that she woud have been aowed out, at that point. They d seen each other again the next day; he wanted to go to a museum. This interest in cuture made her fee safer, and her chatter positivey sparked. He had to swing by his hote, but she didn t mind seeing a paace. It was near the famous church La Madeeine. He took off some of his cothes, just for fun. That guy s perfect sweet-as-sugar torso... He iked the Impressionists, and he was handsome. Fascinated, she was hopefu. He d taken off the rest of his cothes: he was naked, and the gaiety reached its zenith. This reay was what she d aways had in mind. It was fabuous. No need to worry about it anymore: one day, everything woud happen. At thirteen, ecstatic at such favorabe signs, she wanted to eave it at that. To rest secure in that knowedge for a few years. She started to get out of the bed. The guy grabbed her wrist. She said she wanted to eave. He aughed in a stupid, bad-boy way. He was twenty years oder than she was. I m reay thirteen, she protested. For a her inteigence, she was ridicuousy naïve. Because what was she thinking? That a man at such a pitch of desire, a stranger who woud go back home to his own country the next day, woud pause for a discussion? 12 Fontane_ArtOfSeeping_2P_kk.indd 12