Free Platform by Michel Houellebecq Page A

wanted to go to bed.
    'In Thailand,' Robert concluded, 'everyone can have what they desire, and everyone can have something good. People will talk to you about Brazilian girls, or about Cubans. I'm well-travelled, monsieur, I have travelled for pleasure and I have no hesitation in telling you: in my opinion, Thai girls are the best lovers in the world.'
    Sitting opposite, Valerie listened to him earnestly. She disappeared shortly after, followed by Josette and Rene. Lionel, who hadn't said a word all evening, also got to his feet; I did likewise. I didn't really feel like pursuing a conversation with Robert. So I left him alone in the dark, a picture of apparent sobriety, ordering a second cognac. He seemed to have a sophisticated and subtle intelligence; unless, of course, he was a relativist, which always gives one the impression of complexity and subtlety. In front of, my chalet, I said good night to Lionel. The atmosphere was heavy with the buzzing of insects; I was more or less sure that I wouldn't get a wink of sleep.
    I pushed the door and lit the candle again, more or less resigned to continue reading The Firm. Mosquitoes flew close, some of them charred their wings in the flame, their bodies sank into the melted wax; not one of them settled on me. Despite the fact that I was filled to the dermis with nutritious, delicious blood, they automatically turned tail, unable to break through the olfactory barrier of carbonic dimethylperoxide. Roche-Nicolas laboratories, the creators of Cinq sur Cinq, were to be congratulated. I blew out the candle, relit it, watching the ever-more teeming ballet of these sordid little flying machines. On the other side of the partition, I could hear Lionel snoring gently through the night. I got up, put another block of citronella on to melt, then went for a piss. A round hole had been made in the floor of the bathroom; it flowed straight into the river. You could hear the lapping of the water and the sound of fins; I tried not to think about what might be down there. Just as I was going back to bed, Lionel let out a long series of farts. 'Too right, my boy!' I commended him enthusiastically. 'As Martin Luther said, there's nothing like farting in your sleeping bag!' My voice resounded strangely in the dark, above the murmuring of the river and the persistent drone of the insects. Simply being able to hear the real world was a torment. 'The kingdom of heaven is like unto a cotton bud!' I shouted again into the night. 'Let he who has ears to hear, hear!' In his bed, Lionel turned over and moaned gently without waking. I didn't have much in the way of choice: I'd have to take a sleeping pill.
     
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Chapter 8
    Carried by the current, tufts of grass floated downriver. The birdsong started up again, rising from the light mist which swathed the jungle. Far off to the south, at the mouth of the valley, the strange contours of the Burmese mountains were silhouetted in the distance. I had seen these curved, bluish forms before, but cut through with sudden indentations. Perhaps in the landscapes of the Italian primitives, on a visit to a museum when I was at school. The group was not awake yet; the temperature was still pleasant at this hour. I had slept very badly.
    After the disaster of the previous evening, a certain benevolence floated around the breakfast tables. Josette and Rene seemed to be in good form; on the other hand the ecologists from the Jura were in a terrible state, I noticed, as they shambled in. The proletariat of a previous generation, who had no hang-ups about enjoying modern
    comforts when they were available, proved to be much more resilient in truly uncomfortable circumstances than their offspring, who championed 'ecological' principles. Eric and Sylvie clearly hadn't got a wink all night; in addition, Sylvie was completely covered in red blisters.
    'Yes, the mosquitoes really got me,' she confirmed bitterly.
    'I've got some soothing lotion if you want. It's very good; I can