Free Platform by Michel Houellebecq Page B

trembling, her plate of rice in her hand. All conversation at the next table had stopped. I really thought she was going to chuck the plate in his face, and I think it was only fear that stopped her. Robert looked at her with the most serious expression, the muscles under his polo tense. He didn't look like the sort of person to let himself be pushed around; I could well imagine him punching her. She viciously slammed down her plate, which broke into three pieces, turned on her heel, and vanished into the darkness, walking quickly toward the cottages.
    "Tsk," he said softly.
    Valérie was stuck between him and me; he stood up gracefully, walked around the table, and sat where Josiane had been sitting, in case Valérie, too, wished to leave the table. She, however, did nothing; at that moment, the waiter brought the coffees. After she had taken two sips, Valérie turned to me again. "So is it true you've paid for girls?" she asked gently. Her tone was intrigued, devoid of any real reproach.
    "They're not as poor as all that, these girls," added Robert. "They can afford mopeds and clothes, some of them even have their tits done. It's not cheap getting your tits done. It's true they help their parents out, too," he concluded thoughtfully.

    At the next table, after a few whispered comments, everyone quickly left —doubtless out of solidarity. We remained the sole masters of the place, in a sense. The moon now bathed the whole pontoon, which gleamed a little. "Are they that good, those little masseuses?" asked René dreamily. "Ah, monsieur!" exclaimed Robert, deliberately grandiloquent, but, it seemed to me, basically sincere. "They are marvelous, positively marvelous! And you haven't been to Pattaya yet. It's a resort on the east coast," he went on, "completely dedicated to lust and debauchery. The Americans were the first to go there, during the Vietnam War, and after that, a lot of English and Germans; now, you get a lot of Russians and Poles. There, they have something for everyone, they cater to all tastes: homosexuals, heterosexuals, transvestites . . . It's Sodom and Gomorrah combined. Actually, it's better, because they've got lesbians, too."
    "Aaah, aaah .. . ," the ex-pork butcher seemed thoughtful. His wife yawned placidly, excused herself, and turned to her husband. She clearly 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 welltraveled, monsieur, I have traveled for pleasure and I have no hesitation in telling you: in my opinion, Thai girls are the best lovers in the world."
    Sitting opposite, Valérie listened to him earnestly. She disappeared shortly after, followed by Josette and René. 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. He was at the very least a relativist, a position that always gives one the impression of complexity and subtlety. In front of my cottage, I said good night to Lionel. The atmosphere was heavy with the buzzing of insects, and 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 dimethyl-peroxide. Roche-Nicholas Laboratories, the creators of Cinq sur Cinq Tropic, were to be congratulated. I blew out the candle and relit it, watching the ever more teeming ballet of these