Status Updates From Henri Duchemin and His Shadows

"La lune avait disparu. Et, sans elle, comme sans chef, les étoiles semblaient en désordre."

Encore un haïku à la manière de Bove. Je pense qu'ici "chef" signifie "tête", et que les étoiles sont comme des cheveux. Image très drôle et étrange!

Un autre pseudo-haïku, plus direct mais encore plus sombre:

"Henri Duchemin ouvrit la fenêtre. Une maison que l'on pouvait toucher se perdait dans la nuit."

"Avec de nombreux coups d'ailes, un oiseau traversait lentement l'espace."


C'est comme un haïku, n'est pas?

"- Tu as peut-être besoin d'air?
- Oui... ouvre.
Henri Duchemin ouvrit la fenêtre. Une maison que l'on pouvait toucher se perdait dans la nuit."

“I was also leaving behind things, old things I had believed useful, and that I had never wanted to get rid of, even when I changed rooms: a pair of trousers, a metal can, a perfume bottle that was empty but made of heavy glass,photographs, worn-out shirts, letters and envelopes—I cannot tear up a letter, and I always keep the envelopes as if,without them, the letters would not be letters.I had left everything”

I was leaving behind an ordered life, so well ordered that I was surprised, now, that it no longer existed. The person who would take over my room would not get up at the same time as I had. I would no longer buy my rolls at the neighborhood bakery. No one would see me anymore. In a month, after the customary time of an illness or a vacation, perhaps people would think of me for a moment, and then it would be over.

I stood up. As if he were at home, Paul walked me to the café door. Never have I seen a man so moved. I felt he was looking for one last word to say to me, one word that would sum up his pain, his hope, and he could not find it.

I will remember that lunch my whole life. There was so much trust between Monsieur Boudier-Martel and me, so much solicitude, that I can hardly believe nothing remains of it today.

Henri Duchemin walked straight ahead. On the horizon, wisps of smoke stood motionless against the gray sky. It was Christmas Day.

He vaguely remembered his dream. He recalled an old man who had said that in order to redeem oneself, one must suffer. But that did not concern him, for he had never done anyone any harm.

¡Contar mi vida! ¿Acaso se le cuenta la vida a un amigo? ¿Es posible contar la propia vida sin mejorarla o sin empeorarla, sin mentir? En cuanto a las confidencias, ¿es posible hacerlas solo porque te lo pidan? Hablarle de mi vida y de mí a un recién llegado, no, no era posible.

Ese almuerzo lo recordaré toda la vida. Hubo tanta confianza entre el señor Boudier-Martel y yo, tantas finezas que hoy en día me cuesta creer que de todo aquello no quede nada.