Part 18 (1/2)
”May we know what is forbidden?” asks the organizer, who is starting to feel uncomfortable.
”Well, money, for example. All of us around this table have money, or pretend that we do. We a.s.sume we've been invited here because we're rich, famous, and influential. But have any of us ever thought of using this kind of event to find out what everyone actually earns? Since we're all so sure of ourselves, so important, why don't we look at our world as it is and not as we imagine it to be?”
”What are you getting at?” asks the director of the car-manufacturing firm.
”It's a long story. I could start by talking about Hans and Fritz sitting in a bar in Tokyo and go on to mention a Mongolian nomad who says we need to forget who we think we are in order to become who we really are.”
”You've lost me.”
”That's my fault. I didn't really explain. But let's get down to the nitty-gritty: I'd like to know how much everyone here earns, what it means, in money terms, to be sitting at the head table.”
There is a momentary silence-my gamble is not paying off. The other people around the table are looking at me with startled eyes: asking about someone's financial situation is a bigger taboo than s.e.x, more frowned upon than asking about betrayals, corruption, or parliamentary intrigues.
However, the Arab prince-perhaps because he's bored by all these receptions and banquets with their empty chatter, perhaps because that very day he has been told by hisdoctor that he is going to die, or perhaps for some other reason-decides to answer my question: ”I earn about twenty thousand euros a month, depending on the amount approved by the parliament in my country. That bears no relation to what I spend, though, because I have an unlimited so-called entertainment allowance. In other words, I am here courtesy of the emba.s.sy's car and chauffeur; the clothes I'm wearing belong to the government; and tomorrow I will be traveling to another European country in a private jet, with the cost of pilot, fuel, and airport taxes deducted from that allowance.”
And he concludes: ”Apparent reality is not an exact science.”
If the prince can speak so frankly, and given that he is, hierarchically, the most important person at the table, the others cannot possibly embarra.s.s him by remaining silent. They are going to have to partic.i.p.ate in the game, the question, and the embarra.s.sment.
”I don't know exactly how much I earn,” says the organizer, one of the Favor Bank's cla.s.sic representatives, known to some as a lobbyist. ”Somewhere in the region of ten thousand euros a month, but I, too, have an entertainment allowance from the various organizations I head. I can deduct everything-suppers, lunches, hotels, air tickets, sometimes even clothes-although I don't have a private jet.”
The wine has run out; he signals to a waiter and our gla.s.ses are refilled. Now it was the turn of the director of the car-manufacturing firm, who, initially, had hated the idea of talking about money, but who now seems to be rather enjoying herself.
”I reckon I earn about the same, and have the same unlimited entertainment allowance.”
One by one, everyone confessed how much they earned. The banker was the richest of them all, with ten million euros a year, as well as shares in his bank that were constantly increasing in value.
When it came to the turn of the young blonde woman who had not been introduced to anyone, she refused to answer: ”That's part of my secret garden. It's n.o.body's business but mine.”
”Of course it isn't, but we're just playing a game,” said the organizer.
The woman refused to join in, and by doing so, placed herself on a higher level than everyone else: after all, she was the only one in the group who had secrets. However, by placing herself on a higher level, she only succeeded in earning everyone else's scorn.
Afraid of feeling humiliated by her miserable salary, she had, by acting all mysterious, managed to humiliate everyone else, not realizing that most of the people there lived permanently poised on the edge of the abyss, utterly dependent on those entertainment allowances that could vanish overnight.
The question inevitably came around to me.
”It depends. In a year when I publish a new book, I could earn five million euros. If I don't publish a book, then I earn about two million from royalties on existing t.i.tles.”
”You only asked the question so that you could say how much you earned,” said the young woman with the ”secret garden.” ”No one's impressed.”
She had realized that she had made a wrong move earlier on and was now trying to correct the situation by going on the attack.
”On the contrary,” said the prince. ”I would have expected a leading author like yourself to be far wealthier.”
A point to me. The blonde woman would not open her mouth again all night.The conversation about money broke a series of taboos, given that how much people earn was the biggest of them all. The waiter began to appear more frequently, the bottles of wine began to be emptied with incredible speed, the emcee-c.u.m-organizer rather tipsily mounted the stage, announced the winner, presented the prize, and immediately rejoined the conversation, which had carried on even though politeness demands that we keep quiet when someone else is talking. We discussed what we did with our money (this consisted mostly of buying ”free time,” traveling, or practicing a sport).
I thought of changing tack and asking them what kind of funeral they would like-death was as big a taboo as money-but the atmosphere was so buoyant and everyone was so full of talk that I decided to say nothing.
”You're all talking about money, but you don't know what money is,” said the banker.
”Why do people think that a bit of colored paper, a plastic card, or a coin made out of fifth-rate metal has any value? Worse still, did you know that your money, your millions of dollars, are nothing but electronic impulses?”
Of course we did.
”Once, wealth was what these ladies are wearing,” he went on. ”Ornaments made from rare materials that were easy to transport, count, and share out. Pearls, nuggets of gold, precious stones. We all carried our wealth in a visible place. Such things were, in turn, exchanged for cattle or grain, because no one walks down the street carrying cattle or sacks of grain. The funny thing is that we still behave like some primitive tribe-we wear our ornaments to show how rich we are, even though we often have more ornaments than money.”
”It's the tribal code,” I said. ”In my day, young people wore their hair long, whereas nowadays they all go in for body piercing. It helps them identify like-minded people, even though it can't buy anything.”
”Can our electronic impulses buy one extra hour of life? No. Can they buy back those loved ones who have departed? No. Can they buy love?”
”They can certainly buy love,” said the director of the car-manufacturing firm in an amused tone of voice.
Her eyes, however, betrayed a terrible sadness. I thought of Esther and of what I had said to the journalist in the interview I had given that morning. We rich, powerful, intelligent people knew that, deep down, we had acquired all these ornaments and credit cards only in order to find love and affection and to be with someone who loved us.
”Not always,” said the director of the perfumery, turning to look at me.
”No, you're right, not always. After all, my wife left me, and I'm a wealthy man. But almost always. By the way, does anyone at this table know how many cats and how many lampposts there are on the back of a ten-dollar bill?”
No one knew and no one was interested. The comment about love had completely spoiled the jolly atmosphere, and we went back to talking about literary prizes, exhibitions, the latest film, and the play that was proving to be such an unexpected success.
How was it on your table?”
”Oh, the usual.””Well, I managed to spark an interesting discussion about money, but, alas, it ended in tragedy.”
”When do you leave?”
”I have to leave here at half past seven in the morning. Since you're flying to Berlin, we could share a taxi.”
”Where are you going?”
”You know where I'm going. You haven't asked me, but you know.”
”Yes, I know.”
”Just as you know that we're saying goodbye at this very moment.”
”We could go back to the time when we first met: a man in emotional tatters over someone who had left him, and a woman madly in love with her neighbor. I could repeat what I said to you once: 'I'm going to fight to the bitter end.' Well, I fought and I lost, and now I'll just have to lick my wounds and leave.”
”I fought and lost as well. I'm not trying to sew up what was rent. Like you, I want to fight to the bitter end.”
”I suffer every day, did you know that? I've been suffering for months now, trying to show you how much I love you, how things are only important when you're by my side.