Free Consequences by Philippe Djian Page A

special, Marianne. You know that. Whatever you want, just ask.”
    â€œYou’re too kind, Richard. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in stride very soon. Spring is going to help me. I’m going to start going to the gym. I’m going to sign up at one.”
    â€œIf you want, I’ll give you the address of the one I go to. I think it’s the best one. Do you want me to take care of it?”
    Their conversation went on like that for quite some time. It was incredible. Marc was laughing sarcastically about it for a long time after Richard cleared out at the wheel of his Alfa Romeo, swallowed up by the pale night. Incredible. Grotesque.
    â€œI should have caught this on camera,” he jeered. “I could have watched it again.”
    â€œYou couldn’t be more wrong. You’ve got an overactive imagination.”
    He caught the packet of cigarettes she threw at him in midair.

T he next day he got up early and went for a long walk through the woods and far into the surrounding soft green hills as a way of avoiding the temptation to go back into town in hope of running into Myriam, or maybe walk up her street, peek through her windows, or something to that effect.
    Having his mind invaded by a woman like this was something new for him. He wasn’t being invaded by fear, resentment, a desire for vengeance, or other lovely thoughts like the ones his mother used to inspire in him, or even the somber ambivalence his sister could evoke in him; he was being invaded by a pleasant, mysterious power that sometimes began churning like an incredibly beneficent, dangerous flood. It was incredibly new.
    More than ever, walking seemed necessary. If you put the number of miles he’d traveled through these woods end to end, amidst these hills, over these streams, faults, and chasms, you’d lose your bearings. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the leaves slapping against his face, rain and night falling on his terrible path one evening in November when she was chasing him with a pitchfork. But he could also see incredible mornings sunnier than gold coins, sparkling with light that forced you tosquint, when he’d go swimming with his father in a stream so icy that his father ended up having to squeeze him in his arms until his teeth stopped chattering. Today the air smelled good—a mixture of cold earth and new grass.
    For the first time since he woke up, he thought for an instant of Annie Eggbaum and the problems waiting for him when he reappeared on campus. He hurtled down a slope covered with dead, shriveled, dry gray leaves and got back on a path that passed above the road. Having no convincing explanation to give the student, or any he could be very proud of, he wagered she wasn’t going to spare him her resentment. Anyone in her place would act like that. Anyone would cry out for revenge.
    He held on to the idea of the private lessons she’d been clamoring for since the start of the year. He could come off as open to that; how much leeway he showed was pretty important. He could begin by giving her the gift of the first week and see what she thought of it. Raise a low grade for her from time to time to bring back her smile.
    When he got near the pit, he glanced around and noticed nothing in particular, saw nothing, detected no smell coming from the damp, mossy darkness that plunged deep into the earth. Barbara’s sleep was silent and peaceful, and you could only be overjoyed about it, for both of them. This pit certainly was the last word when it came to graves, the best you could want under certain circumstances. Its depth made it final, absolute. He threw in a few crocuses he’d picked up on the way and lit a cigarette, each one of which tasted more superb than the one before.
    In the end, maybe he’d have to go to bed with Annie Eggbaum, he thought vaguely. It would be the only option if shetook too hard-line a position and was counting on making him