The Forgotten Ones, Gailly offers another infinitesimal tale of feelings

Les oubliés  /  The forgotten ones 
by Christian Gailly (2007,  Editions de Minuit)

Schooner and Brighton were driving to Brittany when it happened. Paul Schooner and Albert Brighton, two journalists - "my two English guys" as they were usually called by their boss. Schooner and Brighton in charge of the culture pages of the newspaper, with a specific series on "the forgotten ones": these artists who were gifted and successful, always sources of good stories. That day, Schooner and Brighton were driving to interview Suzanne Moos, cello virtuoso who stopped playing at a young age.

But they never reached the place. Car accident on the highway. Car squeezed in between a truck and a car. Took the train back to Paris. And Schooner never came back to Paris. Died in the washroom.

The Forgotten Ones is another short but sensitive novel by Christian Gailly. 140 pages, not more. An apparently simple plot, only a few action axes: accident, back in the train, death, announcement of the death. Then interview of Moss a few months later. Nothing more, not more than 4 to 5 characters. But a simplicity following the movements of the mind. The little sparkes of ideas almost described in real time. A journalist cooking pasta for the kids of the new widow. Music heard in an Saab cab, until the end of the song. A thunderstorm on the beach. An old story told by a former musician walking too fast.

Christian Gailly is a man of details. A man of humor. Of small, tiny, striking sentences. Condensed paragraphs, usually half a dozen of lines. Short sentences. Small pieces placed next to another. With a nice sensitive ear to the voice, to the small talk. The little self-talks, when language is sometimes unstable, twisted. When humble characters reveals their little ideas & fears, small jokes told for oneself, little vision of love or friendship. Or death. Usual themes of Gailly, music, little life changes happening in one night, middle-aged characters finding love again, humbly, surprised themselves. Precious & modern little tales.

Tout le monde sait ça. Un accident violent c'est ça. On ne sait plus qui on est. Pourquoi on est là. Ni où on va. D'où on vient, n'en parlons même pas.

Everybody knows that. A violent accident that's that. You don't remember who you are. Why you are here. Neither where you go. Where you're coming from, don't even think about it.

La solitude d'après. Celle de quand les enfants sont couchés. Les mères savent ça. Les pères aussi. Même Brighton, qui pourtant ne l'était pas. Juste père d'un soir. C'est pareil. On ne se surveille plus. On peut. On a le droit. On est libre. Du coup ça cède de partout. Et on laisse faire. Ca libère des tas de pensées. Ca vous submerge ou pire. Ca vous noie. C'est ça. Laisse-toi aller.

The solitude after. The solitude when kids are in bed. Mothers know that. Fathers do too. Even Brighton who was not one though. Only father for one night. That's the same. You don't watch after yourself. You can. You have the right to. You are free. Then things break from all sides. And you let things go. Bunch of thoughts are liberated. You're overwhelmed or worse. You're drown. That's it. Let yourself go.

Et après on ira se coucher, d'accord ? Je suis bien vieux, dit Brighton. Moi aussi, dit Moss. On fera ce qu'on pourra.

And then we'll go to bed, OK? I'am really old, said Brighton. Me too, said Moss. We'll do what we can.

Pas une main ne s'était posée sur elle : On croit pouvoir s'en passer, dit Moss. Et en effet, on le peut. On y arrive, on s'en passe. On résiste, on est fidèle et le temps passe.

Oui, dit Brighton. Mais il suffit d'un rien, d'un geste. Pour se rendre compte, mesurer combien. A quel point ça nous manquait. Pas vrai ? Si, dit Moss. Et elle a souri. Et ils se sont aimés. Et ça s'est bien passé. Mais oui.

No a single had touched her: You think you can do without it, said Moss. And indeed, you can. You manage tout, you do without it. You resist, you're faithful and time passes.

Yes, said Brighton. But one small nothing is sufficient, one gesture. To realize, see how much. How much you missed it. Right? Yes, said Moss. And she smiled. And they loved each others. And things went well. But yes.