This is for You

An editor at Le Monde calls to invite me to write a short story for their summer series. These are supplements that appear on the weekends and enjoy a significant readership, it seems. Seven or eight thousand words on the subject of travel. My first impulse is to refuse, because I can’t come up with an idea, and then I remember that Sophie had once asked me: Why don’t you write an erotic story? For me. I’d said: I’ll think about it. And I do think about it. In fact, I call the journalist back to say that I’ll take him up on his offer after all, but under one condition, which is that I can choose the date of publication. That can be arranged, he says. So, great. It’s the end of May, and I want the piece to appear in Le Monde as a surprise for Sophie on 20 July, when she will be taking the train to join me and my family on the Île de Ré. I polish off the story in three days, just before leaving for Kotelnich. I don’t tell Sophie anything about my plan. I have no idea that this story will horribly damage my life, and I don’t think I have ever written anything with such ease and delight. I’m not brooding over my grandfather any more. I’m having fun, laughing out loud, quite pleased with myself.