Free Brief Loves That Live Forever by Andreï Makine

enough for me. The bitterness I had been storing up since the morning gave me a longing for some vast, radical change, a revolution that would wipe away the hatred from the world’s countenance and from all those grimacing faces I had come across on my way to the village: those of the men and women crammed together in the bus, and before that, at the orphanage, the boy who had punched me in the face, his gleeful guffaw at the sight of my blood. But also the somber mass of workers whom the factory swallowed up every morning and spat out in the evening, a lava of drained bodies and lackluster looks. The march of History toward the promised future, toward that ideal city where men would at last become worthy of the name, must be speeded up.
    For the first time I spoke about this to my friend. I got up from the bench, gesticulating, my enthusiasm growing the more my talking about it made the dream seem close and achievable. Yes, a fraternal society, a way of life that would exclude aggression and greed, a plan that would bond together everyone’s goodwill, at present fettered by the pettiness of individualism. I think I also talked about the disappearance of the State, for which there would be no need, since all men would form a single community, in which police, army, and prisons would be superfluous. I knew Lenin had promised this in his vision of the future … That was it, a community of men destined for happiness!
    “But aren’t you happy now?” Vika asked suddenly.
    The question threw me.
    “Er … Yes … But I’m not talking about myself. What I meant, you see, was that … in general, this new society will allow other people to lead lives of joy …”
    “I don’t understand. All these people you want to bring happiness to in the future. What’s to stop them being happy now? Not hating other people, not being greedy, like you said. Not punching other people in the face, at any rate …”
    “Well … you see … I don’t think they know the true path yet. They need to be shown. They need to be given a plan, a theory … You know, a doctrine!”
    “A doctrine? What for? We’re happy here, admit it. We’re happy because the air smells of snow and spring. Because the sun’s been warming the planks, because … Yes, because we’re together. Do the others need a doctrine to come down here to the shore and look at the fields beyond the Volga. And watch that bird flying from one branch to another in the willows?”
    I would have preferred to hear a political or moral argument, a theoretical challenge, but Vika’s words expressed a visible and concrete truth, difficult to contradict. The sky, the snow, the noisy trickle of the waters beneath the thick ice floes. To cover up my confusion I exaggerated the intensity of our disagreement.
    “Oh, if it was only as simple as that! Of course they could come here, look at the river, breathe the good air. But they have to work! You forget that we’re talking about the working class …”
    She did not reply at once, remained still for a moment, her eyes blinking gently in the flood of sunlight. Then, in a dry, impersonal voice she asked me, “This working class, do you know what they make at that factory?”
    “I don’t know. Fertilizers, maybe. Or ceramic stuff …”
    “Yes, fertilizers … Very explosive ones. The factory supplies chemical products to other concerns that make the charges for shells and bombs. Don’t repeat that to anyone or you’ll be in trouble.”
    She fell silent, then added in a voice that was calm once more: “This future you talk about is wonderful but too complicated. It’s as if before they can come and look at the river, people have to make reinforced concrete terraces. What’s the point? This old jetty’s enough for us. What needs to be explained to other people is the only true doctrine. It’s very simple. It all comes down to the fact … of loving one another.”
    We returned more slowly than usual. Every step, every glance