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+{"text":"\nPerspective of dietetic and antioxidant\n\nmedicinal plants\n\nDilip De Sarker  \nManas Ranjan Saha  \nSubrata Saha\n\nNotion Press\n\n5 Muthu Kalathy Street, Triplicane,\n\nChennai - 600 005\n\nFirst Published by Notion Press 2015\n\nCopyright \u00a9 Dilip De Sarker, 2015\n\nAll Rights Reserved.\n\nISBN: 978-93-84878-95-5\n\nThis book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.\n\nNo Part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, Xerox or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the authors.\nContents\n\n_Title_\n\n_Copyright_\n\n1. Foreword\n\n2. Acknowledgements\n\n3. Introduction\n\n4. Abbreviations\n\n5. A Note on Biodiversity and Endemism\n\n6. Description of Plants A-Z\n\n7. Bibliography\n\n8. References Cited\n\n9. About the Authors\n\n10. Figures\n\n11. Index to English names\n\n12. Index to Vernacular names\nUniversity of Kalyani\n\nFACULTY OF SCIENCE\n\nForeword\n\nThe cultural heritage of any country or society is imbibed in the food habit of the people of that country or society. India with its diverse culture is no exception. However, with the advent of global network of fast\u00adfood companies the great heritage of diverse food habit is in stake. Our grandmothers used to prepare tasteful food ('Sak' and 'Sabji') using local resources. Such traditional preparations are our heritage and continued to so. These food in our regular dishes contributed vitamin, minerals, proteins, carbohydrates, antioxidants and immunomodulators that we know today. On the other side these herbs are available in the wild state and uncultivated.\n\nNotwithstanding the downfall of rich recipe heritage, the poorest of the poor still collect, prepare and consume such food in the face of habitat destruction, loss of plant species and environment degradation.\n\nDr. De Sarker, Associate Professor in Botany, Raiganj University has been working in the field of Botany for last 35 years, whom I know from his graduation days. This book is unique of its kind, bears the endevour of more than 20 years by his research group. This book entitled \"Perspective of Dietetic and antioxidant medicinal plants\", published by The Notion Press, an International publisher, portrays the medicinal uses of more than 300 important plants, their antioxidant potentiality and distribution status in the Upper Gangetic West Bengal. Folk use of each plant has been beautifully written. Such publication is a genuine contribution to our rich heritage. The book also describes the current status of plant exploration and extinction pressure. I am sure that the book will find an important place in dietetics, horticulture, medical botany and pharmacology.\n\n(S.C. Santra)\nAcknowledgements\n\nThe Senior author likes to express his indebtedness to the following persons, institutions, organizations, business houses, as the instances may, for their invaluable help.\n\nStaff of the AASM garden for medicinal plants, Raiganj, West Bengal, and Sri Tanmoy Choudhury and Sri Manas Ranjan Saha for the basic work.\n\nLate Smt. Renuka De Sarker, my mother, for sharing her expertise on traditional knowledge.\n\nUnited States Department of Agriculture data base for information related to nutrition.\n\nState Council for Science and Technology, Govt. of West Bengal, Bikash Bhaban, Kolkata.\n\nAll the scientists whose tireless work and references were used in various aspects of the book.\n\nMicrosoft Corporation, WA, USA for using the WINDOWS softwares.\n\nGoogle Corporation, Mountain View, CA, USA. For internet Browser and G-mail.\n\nDr. Sreejata De Sarker , my wife for her inspiration throughout the work.\n\nMs. Gracy Preety Gomes , the Project Manager & Mr. Naveen Valsakumar, The Co-founder, and other staff members of Notion Press, Chennai for bringing out this publication.\n\nProf. S.C. Santra, Kalyani University, West Bengal for writing the foreword.\n\nProf. S.C. Roy, Department of Botany, North Bengal University ,Kabiraj Uttam Chakraborty, Sri Debjoy Bhattacharjee, Sri Alok Kumar Sarkar, Late Sri Souren Nag for furnishing the traditional knowledge.\n\nLibrary & Department of Botany, Raiganj University, West Bengal providing the working place.\nIntroduction\n\nThe knowledge of curing various human ailments using available plants is perhaps as old as to the dawn of human civilization. It cannot be denied that human races survived through the ages overcoming various diseases and ailments using useful plants and as such the knowledge gathered throughout the thousands of years, is our present legacy. It is our duty and obligation too to gather such knowledge if now still left undiscovered and disseminate them for the present and future mankind to have a better peaceful life.\n\nRural India relies on local traditional medical practitioner for various ailments. Such treatments are ill organized. Some of the local medical practitioners called as \"Kabiraj\" \/\"Baidya\"- who uses his experiences and inherited knowledge of medicinal plants from several sources \u2013 mostly from family knowledge. Tribal healers often use medical knowledge derived from earlier generations \u2013 which is quite different from \u0100yurvedic medical knowledge. Thus there is distinct knowledge - dichotomy between \u0100yurvedic knowledge and knowledge of medicinal plants and their uses by tribals of various catagories. \u0100yurveda means \u2013 the Knowledge (Veda) of the life span (Ayus). It teaches how one may utilize the span of life apportion by nature. In other terms \u0100yurveda, an ancient science of life is deeply rooted in Indian culture. Most commonly \u0100yurveda has been applied related to medical matters and thus it is justified to say it as medicine provided to the various ailments. Meulenbeld(1990) observes, \"The classical treatises on \u0100yurveda clearly states that this science can be applied to all living organisms.\n\nThe Charak Samhita begins with the verse- athato dirghajiviyiyamadhyam vyakhyasyamah\/\/(Charak Samhita, Su,1.1)\n\n\"So then we shall explain the lesson about Longevity.\" It transpires from this verse and etymologically \u0100yurveda signifies the knowledge of longevity. The Indian indigenous system of medical treatment has a long history of about 3000 yrs. Where \"Vedic\" peoples had expertise for utilizing local plants. The ancient system of treatment could be distinctly divided into medicine (Charak Samhita-1000 BC \u2013 100 AD) and Surgery- (Sushrata Samhita\\- 800-700 BC). However, this system of medical practice confronted with the arrival of colonial medicine. Today's medical treatments are almost the contribution of western medicine knowledge. Ancient medicine was not solely based on empiricism and this is evident from the fact that some medicinal plants which were used in ancient times still have their place in modern therapy (Das and Mondal, 2012) . Herbal medicine is still the mainstay of about 70- 80% of the Indian population, and the major part of the traditional therapy involves the use of plant extract and their active constituents.(Akerele,1993).A large number of Wild Plants and their purified extracts have shown beneficial therapeutic potentials due to the presence of Antioxidant compounds, phenolics and flavonoids etc. There is extensive evidence to implicate free radicals in the development of degenerative diseases. Almost all organisms possess antioxidant defenses that protect against oxidative damage and numerous damage removal and repair enzymes to remove or repair damaged molecules.\n\nHowever, the natural antioxidant mechanisms can be inefficient, hence dietary intake of antioxidant compounds become important. Although, synthetic antioxidants, such as butylated hydroxyanisole (BHA), butylated hydroxytoluene (BHT) and tertiary butyl hydroquinone (TBHQ) have been widely applied in food processing, they have been reassessed for their possible toxic and carcinogenic components formed during degradation. In addition, it has been suggested that there is an inverse relationship between dietary intake of antioxidant rich foods and incidence of number of human diseases. Therefore, search into the isolation of natural antioxidant sources is important. The survey on naturally growing plants (eatable) and folk use of plants of minor food of this district has been done so far and a preliminary analysis revels that there are about 40 plants are in regular use as food adjunct by the local ethnic peoples. Some of the plants are regularly used, some are moderately used and some are occasionally used. These plants constitute a major food source for some poor habitants. Most of the plants are regularly sold in local market and therefore a source of income to the downtrodden. Better understanding of these plants will throw light on conservation, utilization and nutrition aspects.\n\nFood security exists when all people, at all times, have physical and economic access to sufficient, safe and nutritious food that meets their dietary needs and food preferences for an active and healthy life (World Food Summit, 1996). India's high economic growth rate in the past decade has not been fully reflected in the health status of its people, with 22 per cent of its population undernourished. According to the National Family Health Survey 2005-06, 40.4 per cent of children under the age of three are underweight, 33 per cent of women in the age group of 15-49 have a body mass index below normal and 78.9 per cent of children in the age group of 6-35 months are anemic. Under the above context an investigation has been made to find out applicability of wild indigenous plants \/ plant parts as dietary supplement to have the food security for the rural outreach people. The inspiration of writing this book starts here. Several plant species have been recorded for dietary supplement showing good nutritional value in the Northern part of Bengal, India. (De Sarker et al. 2013). These wild plants are collected traditionally from native wild source and are directly brought in the local market for sale. No systematic investigation relating to the money generated from the sales and maintenance of the livelihood of the poor peoples involved in such business. Mostly these wild vegetables are eaten as boiled or fried vegetables alone or in association with other vegetables commonly potato or brinjal. The dietetic value along with anti-oxidant value are not well documented.\n\nDe Sarker (2013) presented a paper entitled : Evaluating edible wild plants to improve food security: A study of their economic, medicinal and dietetic support at the Global summit on Medicinal and Aromatic plants, Miri, Malaysia, Dec,10-13,2013.\n\nSome of the plants are well known medicinal plants, therefore , role of these plants as medicinal source in regular diet is also unknown. How far these plants are protective against several crucial ailments by the way of regular intake in the diet is also unknown. Therefore, in depth research are awaiting for the role of these plants in terms of dietary support as well as medicinal support in daily food intake.\n\nOne of the most promising recent alternatives to classical antibiotic treatment is the use of immunomodulators for enhancing host defence responses. Several types of immunomodulators have been identified, including substances isolated and purified from natural sources such as plants including microorganisms.\n\nIn West Bengal in the year 2014-15 alone there are about 2000+ reported case in W.B., in U.P. there are about 1200+ reported case in Bihar there are about 1500+ cases , in Odisha also there are about 1300+ cases. In W.B. alone 265+ unfortunate death cases have been registered for this year(2014-15) ending in the month of August,2014. Since , there is no specific standard medication is available , enhancement of human immune system with the help of herbals may be a way of remedies. However, vaccination against JE is available but it is still inadequate and over and above the JE virus is continually mutating creating new strain of infection.\n\nUnder the circumstances, herbals which are known for treatment of syndromes of encephalitis including JE may be screened for immunomodulatory(IM) roles and finally active compounds may be isolated for further research and human use.\n\nNotwithstanding many short comings, we have tried to answer some of the above questions in this volume. Hopefully reader would use the data for research , home remedy, nutrition as a ready reference and daily use as well.\n\nWhile describing the plants minimum words have been used to minimize the space avoiding repetition. In doing so, nutrition status have been indicated using star marks ranging from one star to the maximum of five. The all sources for the nutrition have been from peoples' experience. Best available reference\/s have been indicated in case of antioxidant potentiality as superscript for a particular plant.\n\n2nd, March, 2015, Raiganj | Dilip De Sarker\n\n---|---\n\u2022 Meulenbeld, G.J.(1990). Conformities and divergences of Basic Ayurvedic concepts in veterinary texts, JEAS, 1(1990)1-6.\n\n\u2022 Das P K and Mondal A K (2012), \"A report to the rare and endangered medicinal plants Resources in the Drydeciduous Forest Areas of Paschim Medinipur District, West Bengal, India\", International Journal of Drug Discovery and Herbal Research (IJDDHR), Vol. 2, No. 2, pp. 418-429\n\n\u2022 Akerele, Olayiwola : 1993 Nature's medicinal bounty : don't throw it away : http:\/\/apps.who.int\/iris\/handle\/10665\/51722#sthash.iMiu7r09.dpuf\n\n\u2022 De Sarker, D.(2013) Evaluating edible wild plants to improve food security: A study of their economic, medicinal and dietetic support. Global summit on Medicinal and Aromatic plants, Miri, Malaysia, Dec,10-13, 2013\nAbbreviations\n\nAbbreviations used,\n\nB. -Bengali; N. -Nepali; E.- English, for indicating nutrition, one star means -low, two star -moderate,three star-good,four star-very good, five star-excellant.\n\nCNC. - Chopra, Nair and Chopra ; USDA- United States Department of Agriculture\nA Note on Biodiversity and Endemism\n\nVariation is a natural phenomenon and occurs continuously in each and every biological species. So said Charles Darwin in 1859. This variation comes about in an process where genes recombine \u2013 and mutation originates. These small variations, in course of time, segregate so as to give rise to new species.\n\nOften the small variants at a sub-species level are to be found scattered within a particular geographical region. The distinguished Russian agrobotanist, N.I Vavilov(1887-1943), in 1935-1940 studied these variations and their relation to the origin of crop species and listed 11 centres in the world where crop species diversified. He named \"Hindustan\" the second major centre and the Bengal-Sikkim-Assam region constitutes a small but very important part of it.\n\nBiodiversity of a species is defined as a collection of all variant forms of biological units below the species level. The region extending from Sikkim to sub-Himalayan West Bengal and the old Gangetic alluvium range of Malda and West Dinajpur comprise the epicentre of numerous endemic plant species. These variants are the real source of germplasm, considered by scientists to be the most important wealth of any country. Undoubtedly, the germplasm source area accounts for countless important genes.\n\nBoth Sikkim and sub-Himalayan West Bengal constitute a unique ecological niche. Bound by the lofty peaks of the Himalayas in the north and the dry areas in the west, this region receives an annual rainfall of around 250-300 cm. Altitudinal variations (500-1,800 ft.), temperature fluctuations, soil conditions and low intensity light account for this zone being a cradle of many plant taxa. Not too far away, the Assam-Burma centre has been hailed by celebrated botanists like Takhtajan as the cradle of flowering plants.\n\nHowever, large scale deforestation is causing irreparable damage to the biodiversity of this area. Among the biotically diverse, but partially-explored sanctuaries are the Senchal Wildlife Sanctuary, Mahananda Game Sanctuary, Singalilla National Park, Neora Valley National Park, Jaldapara National Park and Kulik Bird Sanctuary at Raiganj.\n\nThough floristically Sikkim and Darjeeling are identical, the former is somewhat richer in biodiversity, with over 4000 recorded flowering plants and endemics, 600 species of butterfly, 1,200 species of moth and insects, 144 species of mammals, 550 species of birds, 48 species of fishes and 39 species of reptiles. There are about 175 species of wild plants that are edible. Besides, 43 endemic grasses and 41 endemic orchid species are also to be found here.\n\nHowever, the list cannot be complete as some parts of this region are inaccessible and, therefore, unexplored, the recently-discovered Neora Valley region forest being one of them. It was only sometime back that the presence of Royal Bengal Tigers in this area was reported.\n\nThe other areas in this region awaiting botanical documentation include the rocky gorge upstream of the Gulma river, some parts of Mahananda valley, the dense subtropical forests of Latpanchar, the upper range of the Nandikhola river, the Ghora Mara forests, Zemu glacier and Lachen valley in Sikkim.\n\nApart from the hilly tracts of sub-Himalayan West Bengal and Sikkim, other North Bengal districts are also rich in biodiversity and a number of economically important crops and vegetables have originated here. Atleast 30 varieties of rice originated from erstwhile West Dinajpur district, including the Tulaipangi, Aalai, Changa, Jhingasal, Parijat, Katari Bhog, Bansphool, Masuri varieties. It is another matter that most of these, barring a few exceptions, are not cultivated anymore, especially after the introduction of high-yielding varieties. These varieties constitute the rice biodiversity of this region and many an important gene are found in them. Though rice production has increased two to three times after the high-yielding varieties were introduced, these run a high endemic risk which may wipe out the entire crop in a fortnight.Prof. S.C. Roy, Department of Botany has a personal collection of 130 rice varieties from North Bengal Region. He is trying DNA profiling of the germplasm collection along with wild species.\n\nAt Raiganj, a unique variety of bringal, Bekaur, is found, each of which weighs atleast a kilogram, not to mention anything of its taste. Any discussion on Malda, however, cannot be complete without the mango. Malda is also famous for silk production. A unique variety of silk cocoon is grown here called \"Nisari\", which is temperature tolerant and disease resistant. Many progressive breeds have been developed using the genome of \"Nistari\".\n\nMalda district may be considered a centre diversification for mango germplasm and has yielded countless varieties \u2013 Fajlee, Surma Fajlee, Lakshman Bhog, Gopal Bhog and Kheer Sapati, to mention a few. Our scientists should identify and isolate genes of these fragrant and tasty varieties and patent them immediately. For we definitely would not want to see a multinational biotech company patenting, say, the Surma Fajlee gene \u2013 not an impossibility! Malda is also known for house of various pulses. \"Sona Moog\" a variety of Phaseolus mungo is found cultivated here for more than a century.\n\nJalpaiguri and Cooch Behar are also equally important as far as the origin of vegetable crops are concerned. Palwal (or Patol) may have originated in the dense jungles of Assam-Cooch Behar and wild Kakrol are still to be found in the Terai region of Jalpaiguri. We also come across several varieties of cucumbers in the local markets. Jalapiguri is also famous for a Basmati like rice variety called \"Kalo Nunia\" having a black coulour husk, distinct from all other rice varieties.\n\nBreeders know the importance of wild genes in improving crop species and their value cannot be measured in money. The recognition of sovereign right on genetic diversity will work in favour of biodiversically rich yet technologically poor country like India. Though acres of our natural forest have been destroyed, we should work towards preserving our heritage of biodiversity or whatever is left of it. For only that can strengthen us.\n\nAbelmoschus (Malvaceae)\n\nA. moschatus Medik.\n\nB.\\- Lata Kasturi; E.- Bamia Moschata.\n\nParts used: Ripe fruit\/ Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRipe fruit extract most commonly used in male-sexual disorder. A major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Dashamularistha and Chyavanprash. Plant used as a tonic, blood purifier, blood enhancer; for rheumatism, colitis, dropsy, dyspepsia, irregular menstruation; seeds used in flatulence, as sex stimulant, increases semen secretion and also used for swelling of gums and eye disorders.\n\nFolk diatetic :\n\nYoung shoot eaten as vegetable by local tribes.\n\nNutrition : ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity1.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less frequent.\n\nAbroma (Malvaceae)\n\nA. augusta (L.) L. f.\n\nB.- Ulatkambal; E.- Devil's Cotton.\n\nParts used: leaf & Root bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot bark is useful in physical weakness, gonorrhoea, leucorrhoea, increases semen secretion, induces menstruation and is an effective stimulant. The root has also been applied to treat herpes. Leaf and stem extract used in Gonorrhea\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFresh Juice stimulant\n\nNutrition : *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity2,3.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAbrus (Leguminosae)\n\nA. precatorius L.\n\nB.- Kunch; E.- Indian Licoric. Parts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds used as purgative, emetic and abortifacient.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nConsidered as poisonous plant.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity4,5.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less-frequent.\n\nAbutilon (Malvaceae)\n\nA. indicum (L.) Sweet\n\nB.- Patari; E.- Indian Abutilon.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root diuretic and used for leprosy. The whole plant anthelminthic and laxative. The leaves are used as aphrodisiac, pulmonary and sedative and it can also be used to treat ulcers, headache and gonorrhoea.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity6,7.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAcacia (Leguminosae)\n\nA. auriculiformis Benth.\n\nB.- Akashmani; E.- Earleaf Acacia.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds are used for treating intestinal worms of cow.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity8.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. concinna (Willd.) DC.\n\nB.- Shikakai; E.- Shikakai.\n\nParts used: Burk, fruit and leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as a hair tonic\/vitalizer. the bark of Shikakai is high on saponins , a good cleaning agent, traditionally used as a detergent. Shikakai is used in Bengal for poisoning fish and are documented to be potent marine toxins. Shikakai is naturally low in pH, and does not strip hair of its natural oils. leaf infusion in anti-dandruff preparations.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves taste acidic and are used in chutneys.\n\nNutrition : ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity9.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. nilotica L.\n\nB.- Babla; E.- Gum Arabic Tree.\n\nParts used: Barks & gum.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe gum is one of the major constituents of an ayurvedic preparation, Kushmandadi Chu-rna, a sex stimulant. The gum is used to consolidate watery semen. Bark is used to prepare another Ayurvedic preparation i.e. Mrita-sanjibanisura. Treats cough, gum swelling, diarrhoea, dysentery, indigestion, acidity, gonorrhoea, leucorrhoea, diabe-tes and leprosy.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves uses as cattle feed to induce lactation.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity10,11.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAcalypha (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nA. indica Mull. Arg.\n\nB.- Muktojhuri; E.- Indian Acalypha.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used in cold and cough and ear pain.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity12,13.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAchras (Sapotaceae)\n\nA. sapota L.\n\nB.- Sabeda; E.- Sapota.\n\nParts used: Bark, seed & Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nPrerventive against biliousness and fever. Hepatic disorders, appetizer, hypertension, diseases arising out of malnutrition,astringent, fever.\n\nFolk dietetic : Bark as tonic\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity14,15.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAchyranthes (Amaranthaceae)\n\nA. aspera L.\n\nB.- Apang; E.- Chaff-flower.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Apamargabati, for leucorrhoea. Also used in piles, palpitation and vein rheumatism. The root extract is used to cure asthma, blisters, flatulence, liver pain, toothache, nerve weakness and even in night blindness. The plant is useful in treating leucorrhoea combined with infections and bleeding and also to dissolve abdominal fats. Methanolic extract shows anti-carcinogenic activity .\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity16,17.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAcmella (Asteraceae)\n\nA. oleracea (L.) R.K.Jansen\n\n(syn: Spilanthus achmella (L.) Murray\n\nB.- Rasun Sak; E.- Toothache Plant.\n\nParts used: Flowers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in toothache (local anasthetic) and eaten as vegetable to treat body pain. (During post delivery) Also used as mosquito repellent.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as fried vegetables. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity18,19.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAcorus (Acoraceae)\n\nA. calamus L.\n\nB.- Bach; E.- Sweet Sledge.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root extract clears the vocal cord as well as is used as sedative, analgesic and hypertensive. Rhizome used in asthma, flatulence, goiter, enhances memory; rhizome paste used as emollient on rectum and ear in tonsillitis.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\ncleaned rhizome eaten raw, clears vocal sound. Folk artists use commonly to rejuvenate vocal sound frequency.\n\nNutrition : ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity20,21.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAegle (Rutaceae)\n\nA. marmelos (L.) Corr. Serr.\n\nB.- Bel; E.- Bengal Quince.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits are used in the treatment of diarrhoea, dysentery, swelling and gastric irritability and acts as an appetizer. The root used in dys-pepsia, stomachalgia, cardiospasm, seminal weakness and uropathy. Stem bark used in treating fever and also used in the treatment of constipation. Flowers prevent vomiting.\n\nFolk dietetic: Ripe fruit pulp eaten.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity22,23.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAerva (Amaranthaceae)\n\nA. lanata (L.) Juss. Ex Schult.\n\nB.- Chaya; E.- Mountain knot grass.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used in gonorrhoea.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity24,25.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. sanguinolenta (L.) Blume.\n\nB.- Bishalyakarani. E. -Climbing Wool-plant\n\nParts used: Leaves & stems.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAlcoholic extract of leaves stop bleeding from cuts and wounds. It is also useful in treating various skin disorders. used as wound healing and antiinflammatory for injuries from falls, rheumatic arthritis and pain in muscles , the whole plant was used as diuretic and demulcent, tender shoot of the plant used as decoction form for galactogue to nursing mother and decoction of whole plant was taken twice a day to expel intestinal worms. anti-cancerous\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAeschynomene (Leguminosae)\n\nA. indica L.\n\nB.- Shola; E.- Indian joint-vetch. Parts used: Roots\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed to treat kidney stones and urinary troubles.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Potent phenolic & flavonoid activity26.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAgeratum (Asteraceae)\n\nA. conyzoides L.\n\nB.- Paravanga\/Chikasunga; E.- Billygoat Weed.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nDecoction of the plant prevents bleeding from cut and wounds.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity27,28.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAlbizia (Leguminosae)\n\nA. lebbeck (L.) Benth.\n\nB.- Siris; E.- Lebbeck Tree.\n\nParts used: Root and Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark is useful in treating diarrhea; Root is useful in eczema, chronic asthma, leprosy.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity29,30.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. odoratissima Benth.\n\nB.- Karoi; E.- Fragrant Albizia.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful in loosening of teeth and also in sweating.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity31.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAllium (Alliaceae)\n\nA. cepa L.\n\nB.\u2013 Piaj; E.\u2013 Onion.\n\nParts used: Bulb, leaf and inflorescence\n\nMedicinal uses: stimulating, diuretic, aphrodisiac, anti-bacterial, heart stimulant, reduces blood sugar\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten raw as salad & generally with carbohydrate food. As curry additive, fried, boiled, backed, in soup, in pickles etc.\n\nNutrition:\n\nGood, small one are better, ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity.31a\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated throughout India.\n\nA. sativum L.\n\nB.\u2013 Rosun; E.\u2013 Garlic.\n\nParts used: Bulb,\n\nMedicinal uses\n\nstimulating, diuretic, aph-rodisiac, anti-bacterial, heart stimulant, reduces blood sugar, controls hypercholesterolemia and many more good effects.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nBulb salad & generally with carbohydrate food. As curry additive, fried, boiled, backed, in soup, in pickles etc.\n\nNutrition:\n\nGood, single clove better, ****. Contains anticancer nutraceuticals.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity.31a\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated\n\nA. wallichi kunth.\n\nN.- Gopa sak ; E.\u2013 Himalayan Onion.\n\nParts used: arial parts\n\nMedicinal uses : stimulating, expectorant\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nThe leaf & young inflorescence used as vegetable. Sometimes used substitute of onion by villagers.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: not reported\n\nBiodiversity status: Wild & Cultivated at 1000ft to 7000ft.\n\nAlocasia (Araceae)\n\nA. macrorrhizos (L.) G.Don\n\nB.- Mankachu; E.- Giant Taro.\n\nParts used: Rhizome and petiole.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nUsed in body pain and gout and ash of the petiole used in blister and carbuncle.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf base and corm eaten as vegetables. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity32,33.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAloe (Xanthorrhoeaceae)\n\nA. vera (L.) Burm. f.\n\nB.- Ghritakumari; E.- Aloe.\n\nParts used: fleshy leaves\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful as laxative; for wound healing, eczema, skin burns, skin care and ulcers. Plant juice used in increasing strength and stamina, post natal weakness and in leucorrhoea. Used externally, it is very effective on sunburn, as well as a variety of skin diseases (eczema, pruritus, psoriasis, acne) \u2013 it is extremely constructive and protective. Leaf gel as after shave. Used to remove undesired spot on mouth, age lines and post operative scars.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity34-36.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality. Sometimes cultivated\n\nAlpinia (Zingiberaceae)\n\nA. zerumbet (Pers.) B. L. Burtt and R. M. Smith\n\nB.- Bon-Elach; E.- Shell Ginger.\n\nParts used: Rhizomes.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizomes are stimulant, carminative and also used in rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity37.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare; sometimes cultivated.\n\nAlstonia (Apocynaceae)\n\nA. scholaris R. Br.\n\nB.- Chatim; E.- Devil Tree of India.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Kalmegh, a health tonic. The bark is useful in chronic diarrhoea, dysentery, leprosy and in body weakness, asthma, cold and cough, used as blood purifier and blood enhancer. An infusion of the bark is given for skin diseases such as eczema, ulcers, acne, ringworm and is very useful in case of malaria. It brings down fever steadily to normal in a short time without caus- ing perspiration. Latex of plant is useful in dental problems.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity38,39.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAlternanthera (Amaranthaceae)\n\nA. philoxeroides (Mart.) Griseb.\n\nB.- Salincha; E.- Alligator weed.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as pot herb. Folk dietetic:\n\nFried, eaten as sak.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity40.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. sessilis (L.) DC.\n\nB.- Sanchi; E.- Sessile Joyweed.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is used in dysentery, flatulence, constipation and also in diabetes. The roots are applied externally to cure inflamed wounds.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nMixed with potato, fried and eaten. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity41,42.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAmaranthus (Amaranthaceae)\n\nA. spinosus L.\n\nB.- Kanta-khuria\/Kanta-note; E.- Spiny Amaranth.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe infusion of the plant is used as diuretic, laxative and as an emollient on boils. A decoction is useful for improvement of digestion. Leaves are applied as poultice to relieve bruises, abscesses, burns, wounds and inflammations. Root is used to treat gonorrhoea, eczema, intermittent fevers, leucorrhoea and as a remedy for colic and chronic diarrhoea.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nWidely eaten as vegetables, fried mixed with pulses or fish. (Several varieties available). Boiled, mixed with salts given to cattle to induce lactation.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity43,44.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. viridis L.\n\nB.- Ban note; E.- Green Amaranth.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA decoction of the entire plant is used to stop dysentery, inflammation and even purifies blood. The root juice is used to treat piles, irregular menstruation, cold and cough, constipation, lucorrhoea and burning sensation during urination\n\nFolk dietetic: Used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity45,46.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAmorphophallus (Araceae)\n\nA. margaritifer (Roxb.) Kunth. (Syn: Arum margaritiferum)\n\nB.- Hochi\/Gajer mul. Parts used: Corms. E.- Margarifer arum\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nCorms are eaten in body pain and corm paste is applied externally against arthritis. Antioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare; Endangered.\n\nA. paeoniifolius (Dennst.) Nicolson. (Syn: A. campanulatus)\n\nB.\\- Ol; E.- Elephant Foot Yam.\n\nParts used: Petiole, bulbil & rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMainly used as vegetable. Fresh petiole and bulbils are used to treat gout. The fresh rhizome pieces are taken to cure piles, dropsy and herpes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf and petiole are boiled, excess water decanted off, fried and eaten. Corm sliced and boiled and eaten as curry. Lime juice is used to minimize the throat irritation.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity47,48.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAmpelocissus (Vitaceae)\n\nA. latifolia (Roxb.) Planch.\n\nB.- Goaliar lata; E.- Forest Grapes.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nWhole plant is crushed and paste is applied as emollient against gout, cuts and wounds.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity49.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAnanas (Bromeliaceae)\n\nA. comosus (L.) Merr.\n\nB.- Anaras; E.- Pineapple.\n\nParts used: Leaves & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTender leaves and leaf bases are used for the treatment of worms, cold and cough flatulence and also used to dissolve calculi. Unripe fruit is used as abortifacient.\n\nFolk dietetic: White leaf bases mixed with fresh turmeric given to adults and children against intestinal worms. Eaten as fruit. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity50.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAndrographis (Acanthaceae)\n\nA. paniculata (Burm.f.) Wall. ex Nees.\n\nB.- Kalmegh; E.- King of Bitters.\n\nParts used: Leaves & stems.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituents of some ayurvedic preparations like Kalmegh and Salsa, both are health tonic. Used as remedy to cure fever, cough, asthma, tuberculosis, intermittent fever, malaria, carbuncles, diabetes, hepatitis, jaundice, chronic dysentery, diarrhoea, uric acid, skin diseases and even ulcers; as a blood purifier as well as enhancer; for boils and herpes. The plant extract exhibits antifungal activities like dandruff control.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nSometime eaten as sag.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity51.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAnnona (Annonaceae)\n\nA. squamosa L.\n\nB.- Ata; E.- Custard Apple.\n\nParts used: Leaf, bark, root & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA decoction of the leaves is used as a remedy for cold and for clear urination and killing lice. Bark decoction is used to control diarrhoea, while the root is used in the treatment of dysentery. Fruit is used as appetizer.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruit eaten.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity52.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAphanamixis (Meliaceae)\n\nA. polystachya (Wall.) R.N. Parker\n\nB.- Prithviraj; E.- Pithraj tree.\n\nParts used: Bark & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark is used in an ayurvedic preparation, Rohitakarishta, a health tonic. Bark is used in the treatment of spleen, liver diseases, tumour and abdominal complaints, stomach worms, intermittent fever. It is also used as blood purifier and enhancer. Seed-oil is used in rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity53.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAreca (Palmae)\n\nA. catechu L.\n\nB.- Supari; E.- Areca Nut\/Betel Nut.\n\nParts used: Fruit & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe nut is used against tapeworm problem and as a sexual stimulant. Betel nut increases salivation, for dental hygiene. Root is used as blood purifier, blood enhancer, leprosy, in insomnia, stangury, blood dysentery and even at ulcerative colitis.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nChewing betel nut is a culture of many Asian countries. However, betel nut, pan masala, causes oral cancer. Chewing betel nut banned in Taiwan.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity54,55.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nArgemone (Papaveraceae)\n\nA. mexicana L.\n\nB.- Siyal Kanta; E.- Mexican Poppy.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeed oil is useful in dropsy, herpes, stangury; root paste applied in wasp and bee stings.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung shoots are collected and boiled, excess water is drained off, fried and eaten.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity56,57.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nArgyreia (Convolvulaceae)\n\nA. nervosa (Burm. f.) Bojer. (Syn: A. speciosa)\n\nB.- Briddha Darak; E.- Elephant Creeper.\n\nParts used: Seeds & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots used in flatulence, stangury, poisonous insect stings, as stomachic; seeds effective against mental disorders, filarial and enhance memory.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity58.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nAristolochia (Aristolochiaceae)\n\nA. indica L.\n\nB.- Iswarmul; E.- Indian Birthwort.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation Saibachurna, a body weakness tonic. It is an analgesic, nervine tonic and useful in hypertension and acts as memory enhancer. It induces menstruation. Root acts as tonic, stimulant, emetic and is used in severe fever and leucoderma. Root-decoction is also used in impotency.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity59,60.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nArtemisia (Asteraceae)\n\nA. annua L.\n\nB.- Janglee Karpur E.-Sweet Wormwood.\n\nParts used:- Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nPlant juice is used in diabetes. Antioxidant Potentiality:\n\nHigh activity61.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. vulgaris L.\n\nB.- Nagdona; E.- Mugwort.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe decoction of plant is used to treat intestinal worms; leaf decoction in stangury, irregular menstruation, headache, applied externally for ear pus, herpes, sores and scabies; root decoction prevents pregnancy.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity61.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nArtocarpus (Moraceae)\n\nA. heterophyllus Lam.\n\nB.\\- Kathal; E.- Jack Fruit.\n\nParts used: Ripe fruits, seed & leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nVarious parts of the plant are used in treating small pox, swelling and infection, flatulence, dyspepsia, anorexia, tonic, clears constipation, skin problems.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nRipe fruit eaten raw; seed fried and eaten.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity62.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nA. lacucha Buch.-Ham.\n\nB.- Dehuya; E.- Lakoocha.\n\nParts used: Fruit & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUnripe fruits used to clear constipation; reduces abdominal fats; ripe fruits in anorexia, herpes, as laxative. Bark decoction used in jaundice.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity63.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAsparagus (Asparagaceae)\n\nA. racemosus Willd.\n\nB.- Satamul; E.- Asparagus.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituents of some ayurvedic preparations like Dashamularistha, Aswagand- haristha, Chyavanprash. The roots are diuretic, also used as sex stimulant, sperm enhancer, tonic and for constipation. It is also used in stangury, biliary colic, nervous disorders, rheumatism, stomach ulcers, chronic fevers, herpes, acidity, impotence, infertility, leucorrhoea and menopause.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nRoot made into wholesome vegetables. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity64,65.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in Locality.\n\nAverrhoa (Oxalidaceae)\n\nA. carambola L.\n\nB.- Kamranga; E.- Carambola.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits useful in asthma, bronchitis, cold and cough, anorexia, abdominal fat, chronic fever, piles and as a laxative.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruit sliced and made into chutney or ripen\n\nfruit eaten as raw. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity66.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nAzadirachta (Meliaceae)\n\nA. indica A. Juss.\n\nB.\\- Neem; E.- Indian Lilac.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituents of some ayurvedic preparations like Panchatiktaghritaguggul, Neembadi Tel, Saribadi Salsa, Kalmegh, Punarnabashtak Pachan, Nabakarshik Pachan. The decoction of leaves as well as bark is used in toothache, liver pain, vomiting, jaundice, cough and cold, stomach worms, remittent fever, diabetes. It is also used as an appetizer and is very useful in gangrene. Bark extract is used effectively in ulcers, herpes, leprosy, eczema, rheumatism and also acts as a blood purifier, blood enhancer. Neem leaves were found to inhibit tumor promotion. also anti-diabetic.\n\nFolk dietetic: Leaf fried, eaten with rice.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity67,68.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBacopa (Plantaginaceae)\n\nB. monnieri (L.) Wettst.\n\nB.- Brahmi; E.- Water hyssop.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituents of some ayurvedic preparations like Brahmigrita, Brahmirasayan. Acts as a memory enhancer, cognitive enhancer for mental disorder, improves vitality, as carminative, tonic, eyesight enhancer, in stangury, cold and cough of infants, rheumatism, epilepsy and watery semen.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFried with Ghee, eaten as side dish. Decoction of young branch mixed with honey, eaten for improvement of brain function.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity69,70.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBaliospermum (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nB. solanifolium (Burm.) Suresh. (Syn: B. montanum)\n\nB.\u2013 Danti; E.- Wild sultan seed. wild croton\n\nParts used:- Root and seeds.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nRoots are used in dropsy and jaundice. The seed oil is used externally for rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity71.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBambusa (Poaceae)\n\nB. tulda L.\n\nB.- Bans; E.- Bamboo.\n\nParts used: Tender leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTender leaves are used in treatment of gout, piles and its poultice is used for boils.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung Shoots when grown within a earthen pot becomes white and soft. This soft shoots made into cooked vegetables or boiled in water & washed and eaten with chili. Sometimes pickle is prepared.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBarleria (Acanthaceae)\n\nB. lupulina Lindl.\n\nB.- Kanta Bishalyakarani; E.- Hophead.\n\nParts used:- Leaves & stems.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nThe crushed leaves stop bleeding from wounds.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nB. prionitis L.\n\nB.- Jhinti; E.- Porcupine flower.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt cures fever, respiratory diseases, toothache, joint pains and a variety of other ailments. A mouthwash made from root is used to relieve toothache and treat bleeding gums.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity72.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBarringtonia (Lecythidaceae)\n\nB. acutangula (L.) Gaertn.\n\nB.- Hizal; E.- Freshwater Mangrove.\n\nParts used: Bark & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark used in blood purification, dyspepsia and also used for watery semen treatment. Seed powder used as emetic, for nasal blockage, head- ache; seed used in conjunctivitis.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity73.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBasella (Basellaceae)\n\nB. alba L. (Syn: B. rubra)\n\nB.- Pui; E.- Malabar Spinach.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf juice used in constipation particularly in children and pregnant women. Leaf burnt into ashes, used as toothpaste to cure pyorrhoea. Boiled soup of leafy branches eaten in piles, night blindness.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten as curry mixing with potato and brinjal.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity74.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBauhinia (Leguminosae)\n\nB. purpurea L.\n\nB.- Rakta Kanhcan; E.- Purple camel's foot.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituents of an ayurvedic preparation, Patrangasab. Herbs is very useful to treat breast tumor; it also treats leucorrhoea, uterine tumour, dyspepsia, burning sensation of body, nervous weakness for memory stimulation and in anorexia.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity75,76.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBixa (Bixaceae)\n\nB. orellana L.\n\nB.- Sindur; E.- Lipstick Tree.\n\nParts used: Seed and Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds are used as a good medicine for gonorrhea, anti\u00adpyretic. Leaves used in jaundice. Cancer76a, kidney diseases, malaria, colic, digestive aid, debility, appetite stimulant, gastric ulcer,cuts and wounds.\n\nFolk dietetic: Fruit eaten\n\nNutrition : ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity77,78.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBlumea (Asteraceae)\n\nB. lacera (Burm.f.) DC.\n\nB.-Kukurmutha\/Kukursunga;  \nE.- Malay Blumea.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction is used for better hair growth.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity79.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBoerhavia (Nyctaginaceae)\n\nB. diffusa L.\n\nB.- Punarnaba; E.- Tar Vine.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in the preparation of some ayurvedic preparations like Salsa, Panchatikta- ghritaguggul and Punarnabashtak Pachan. The whole plant acts as appetizer, blood enhancer, tonic and diuretic when eaten as vegetable . Used to treat chronic cough, asthma, dropsy, chronic rheumatism, to dissolve calculi, ankle sprain and stangury. The plant also effective against liver and kidney ulcers.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung branches are fried and eaten as sak or mixed in fish-curry.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity80,81.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBombax (Malvaceae)\n\nB. ceiba L.\n\nB.- Simul; E.- Silk Cotton Tree.\n\nParts used: Flowers, roots & gum.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe roots are major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Simul Mul Churna, a sex stimutant and flower is used to prepare another medicine, Patrangasab, a breast tumour curing preparation. The gum (Mochras) is also used as sex stimulant and sperm enhancer. Root has also sex stimulant and tonic properties. Flowers (3-5) are used to prevent pregnancy of cows.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFlowers used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity82.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nBorassus (Arecaceae)\n\nB. flabellifer L.\n\nB.- Tal; E.\\- Sugar Palm.\n\nParts used:- Leaves, fruits & flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nTender leaves are useful in insomnia; fruit juice for talkative persons, in leucorrhoea along with bleeding; fruit endosperm is useful in hiccups; male flower is used in acidic dyspepsia. Folk dietetic:\n\nFruit used in various forms. The phloem sap is sugary and taken as drink or made molasses.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity83.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nButea (Leguminosae)\n\nB. monosperma (Lam.) Taub.\n\nB.- Palash; E.\\- Bastard Teak.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves and barks used as an astringent, antidiarrhoeal, anti dysenteric and febrifuge. It is used for intestinal parasites and geriatric tonic. Seeds are used as sexual stimulant and increases semen secretion.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity84.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCaesalpinia (Leguminosae)\n\nC. crista L.\n\nB.- Nata; E.\\- Yellow Nicker.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeed oil is useful for hair growth, nasal allergy, tapeworms and burning sensation of body.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity85.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCajanus (Leguminosae)\n\nC. cajan (L.) Millsp.\n\nB.- Arahar; E.- Pigeon Pea.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used in cold and cough, burning sensation of hands and feet, piles, lack of appetite and jaundice.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung shoot is used sag. And also used as cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity86.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCalamus (Aracaceae)\n\nC. rotang L.\n\nB.- Bet; E.- Rattan Palm.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot decoction used in chronic fever and antidote to snake venom.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity87.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCalotropis (Apocynaceae)\n\nC. gigantea (L.) Dryand.\n\nB.- Akanda; E.- Crown Flower.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAll the parts of the plant are poisonous.\n\nHowever, root bark is useful in treating asthma; leaf paste in centipede stings. Leaves (warm) are well known for retaining heat and also treat gout.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity88.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCamellia (Theaceae)\n\nC. sinensis (L) Kuntze.\n\nParts used : Young leaf\n\nB.\u2013 Cha Gachh E.- Tea plant\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBlack tea ; stimulates CNS, refreshing, diuretic, restorative, suppressive of hunger. Chinese traditional system of medicine recommends for cardiac health, angina, asthma (wikipaedia). Green tea: contains antioxidant neutraceuticals like catechins and polyphenols. Anti-carcinogenic, effective in lowering LDL \u2013cholesterol level, inhibit blood clot, rheumatoid arthritis, cardiovascular diseases, infections and impaired immune function. The major and most chemo-preventive pharmacological effects owe to (-)-epigallocatechin-3-gallate. In black tea EGCG stands low.\n\nFolk dietetic: as energy drink. Often mixed with rice and taken by tea garden workers. Relieves high altitude sickness. Butter in hot tea taken by Tibetans. Lepchas and Bhotias drink tea with flour of Barley or wheat. Lemon tea now a popular drink.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality of green tea: High88a\n\nNutrition : *****\n\nBiodiversity: cultivated , origin in china\n\nCanna L. (Cannaceae)\n\nC. edulis Ker-Gawler.\n\nN. Phul Tarul E. Hill Canna\n\nFolk dietetic: Fleshy rhizomes washed and boiled, eaten as staple food by villagers in Hill areas. 'Chhyang'- a traditional fermented beverage prpared from bolied rhizome.\n\nNutrition : ****\n\nCannabis (Cannabaceae)\n\nC. sativa L.\n\nB.- Bhang; E.- Marijuana.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are known for its stimulative and narcotic properties. Also used in gout, abcesses, general debility, insom\u00adnia. Precaution should be taken as the plant is narcotic, especially the seeds.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf dried and used as narcotic. Dried leaves mixed with milk, sugar made into a preparation called 'bhang'.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity89.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCapparis (Capparaceae)\n\nC. zeylanica L.\n\nB.- Hingsralata; E.- Ceylon caper.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot is used in leucorrhoea. Antioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity90.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCapsicum (Solanaceae)\n\nC. annum L.\n\nB.- Lanka; E.- Chilly.\n\nParts used: Leaves & fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in lowering blood pressure (2-3 green chilies); as home remedy, when doctor not available Leaves are used in wasp stings. used for problems with digestion,intestinal gas, stomach pain, diarrhea, and cramps, for heart and blood vessels including poor circulation, excessive blood clotting, high cholesterol, and preventing heart disease, relief of toothache, seasickness, alcoholism, malaria, and fever.\n\nFolk dietetic: Used as vegetables used to help people who have difficulty swallowing.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity91.\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated throughout. Several varieties available with relative hotness.\n\nCardiospermum (Sapindaceae)\n\nC. halicacabum Linn.\n\nB.- Latafatki; E.\\- Balloon Vine\/Heart Pea.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation i.e. Panchatiktagritaguggul, it is a blood purifier and enhancer tonic. It is used in the treatment of nervous disorder, stiffness of the limbs. The leaves are rubefacient, they are applied as a poultice in the treatment of rheumatism and lumbago. The leaf juice has been used for the treatment of earache, herpes, skin ulcers, gangrene, leprosy and osteoarthritis. The root is laxative and used in kidney stones, clears constipation, irregular menstruation and is a stomachic and sudorific.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nyoung shoots as vegetable also cattle feed.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity92.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCarica (Caricaceae)\n\nC. papaya L.\n\nB.- Pepe; E.- Papaya.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUnripe fruit latex is used to treat bleeding piles, tapeworms, dysentery, and herpes. Whole unripe fruit is used in jaundice, gastric ulcers. Ripened fruits are used for flatulence.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nGreen fruit used as vegetables. Ripe fruit eaten raw.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity93-94.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCarissa (Apocynaceae)\n\nC. carandas L.\n\nB.- Karamcha; E.- Christ's Thorn.\n\nParts used: Roots & fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe ripe fruit is useful in treatment of anorexia, Jaundice, edema, tumor, snake bite, stimulant, diarrhea, burning sensation, biliousness, skin diseases, cold and cough and even effective in gastric ulcers.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nRipe fruit eaten and also made chutny. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity95.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCassia (Leguminosae)\n\nC. alata L. (Syn: Senna alata)\n\nB.- Dadmari; E.- Candlebrush\/Wild Senna.\n\nParts used: Leaves & Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nDecoction of leaves and flowers are used in bronchitis, asthma, ringworm. The roots are used eczema, patches etc.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity96.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. fistula L.\n\nB.\\- Bandarlathi\/Sondal; E.- Golden Shower Tree.\n\nParts used: Fruits, seed & leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe pulp of the seed pod is used as a mild laxative; tender leaves are used as an astringent, gout, in constipation; fruits are tonic and increases vitality.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity97,98.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. occidentalis L.\n\n(Syn: Senna occidentalis)\n\nB.- Kalkasunda; E.- Coffee Senna.\n\nParts used: Leaves, flower & root bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are useful in lack of appetite, clears the vocal cord; leaf decoction used in hysteria, diarrhoea, whooping cough; flower in acidity and gastric problems; root bark in high fever.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity99.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. sophera L.\n\n(Syn: Senna sophera)\n\nB.- Kalkasunda; E.- Sophera Senna.\n\nParts used: Leaves, flower & root bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSame as C. occidentalis.\n\nFolk dietetic: Used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity100.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. tora L.\n\n(Syn: Senna tora)\n\nB.- Chakunda; E.- Chinese Senna\/Sicklepod.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeed powder is used in poisonous insect stings, guinea worms, asthma with eczema, leucoderma, headache; seed emollient is applied in herpes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity101.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCatharanthus (Apocyanaceae)\n\nC. roseus (L.) G. Don.\n\nB.- Nayantara; E.- Madagascar Periwinkle.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt prevents blood cancer, high blood pressure; useful in toothache, diabetes, stomachache and menstruation problems and acts as sedative, hypotensive, tonic. It is also used for wasp stings.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity102.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCayratia (Vitaceae)\n\nC. trifolia (L.) Domin\n\nB.- Choto goaliarlota; E.- Eared Cyphostemma.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaf juice is used in irregular menstruation.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity103.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCeiba (Malvaceae)\n\nC. pentandra (L.) Gaertn.\n\nB.- Swet Simul; E.- Kapok Tree.\n\nParts used: Gum & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nGum is used as tonic, laxative. The root juice is used to cure diabetes.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity104.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCelosia (Amaranthaceae)\n\nC. argentea L.\n\nB.- Morog Phul; E.- Plumed Cockscomb.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds used in diarrhoea, blood diseases, mouth sores and diseases of the eye.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity105.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nCentella (Apiaceae)\n\nC. asiatica (L.) Urban\n\nB.- Thankuni; E.- Indian Pennywort.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituents of an ayurvedic preparation, Bhubaneswarbati. It also cures chronic dysentery, blood stool. Used for memory boosting, neurological disorders, irregular menstruation. It also used in rheumatism, fever, ulcers, leprosy, skin and mouth ulcer.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten raw for treatment of amoebiasis. Green leaves are crushed to make Chutny with coconut-flakes, salt and pepper.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity106,107.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCereus (Cactaceae)\n\nC. triangularis (L.) Haw.\n\nB.\u2013 Night queen. E.- Queen of the night.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe fruit is used in syrups, ice cream, fruit salads and even beverage enzymes. Unopened flower-buds are cooked and eaten as vegetables.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity108.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nChenopodium (Amaranthaceae)\n\nC. album L.\n\nB.- Batua; E.- White Goosefoot.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is useful for bleeding piles, rheumatism, dysentery, biliousness and appetizer. Leaf juice used for constipation and treats stomach worms.\n\nFolk dietetic: Eaten as fried vegetables (aerial parts). Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity109.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. ambrosioides L.\n\n(Syn: Dysphania ambrosioides)\n\nB.- Chandan Batua; E.- Epazote.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed to prevent flatulence, asthma, hysteria and shows carminative properties. It is also eaten as a vegetable.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten as fried vegetables (aerial parts). Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity110.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nChrozophora (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nC. rottleri (Geis.) A. Juss. ex Spreng.\n\nB.\u2013 Sahodebi; E.- Rottler's Chrozophora.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nJuice of the fruit is given in case of cough and colds.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity111.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nChrysopogon (Poaceae)\n\nC. aciculatus (Retz.) Trin.\n\nB.\\- Chor Kanta; E.- Love Grass.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFresh root used in stomachache and gastric disorder.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCinnamomum (Lauraceae)\n\nC. tamala (Buch.-Ham.) Nees & Eberm.\n\nB.\\- Tejpata; E.- Indian Bay-Leaf.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves and bark are useful in flatulence, stangury, anorexia, body odour, for cold and cough, herpes, for hypercholesterolemia, stimulant pain in gums and prevents vomiting.\n\nFolk dietetic: Leaf used in curry. Leaf rolled and fired and smoked like cigarette instantly relieves sore throat and pain in gum. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity112.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent and cultivated.\n\nC. verum J. Presl (Syn: C. zeylanicum)\n\nB.- Daruchini; E.- Ceylon Cinnamon.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful hyppercholesterolemia, diabetes, to reduce nervous tension, to increase memory, colds, to stop vomiting, headache, rheumatism in flatulence, anorexia, bronchitis, cold and cough, eczema, herpes, cardiac disorder and fever.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nBark used in curry. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity113.\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated.\n\nCissus (Vitaceae)\n\nC. quadrangularis L.\n\nB.- Harjora; E.- Veldt Grape.\n\nParts used: Stem\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed to treat fracture of bones, constipation, biliousness, asthma, irregular menstruation, intestinal worms and rheumatism and also act as a laxative.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity114.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCitrus (Rutaceae)\n\nC. aurantifolia (Christm.)Swingle. (Syn. C.medica var.acida).\n\nB.\u2013 nebu \/lebu; E.\u2013 The lemon.\n\nParts used: Fruit, leaf\n\nMedicinal uses: Fruit appetizer, refreshing, anti-vomiting, in  \nJaundice, in exhaustion  \n(specially in sportsl), in piles, in malnutrition. Lemon drops & rose water for skin nourishment; antiradical, antioxidant, anti-  \ninflammatory and anti-cancerous114a\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves contain volatile geranial, limonene, and neral ; twisted leaf smell for vomiting & unconsciousness. Fruit in digestion; alleviates anxiety and nervousness; relieves stress related disorders as in insomnia or nervous originated digestive disorders.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity114b.\n\nNutrition : *****( USDA)\n\nBiodiversity status: cultivated and wild in North eastern sates & Indian W. peninsula.\n\nC. reticulata Blanco.\n\nParts used : Fruit,Fruit peel\n\nB.\u2013 Kamala lebu E.-The orange\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nsweet, tonic, laxative, aphrodisiac, astringent, enhances CNS.\n\nFolk dietetic: fruit juice drop given to ailing baby for curing Jaundice. For quick recovery from illness. Antioxidant Potentiality:\n\nHigh activity114c\n\nNutrition: *****(USDA)\n\nBiodiversity : Cultivated\n\nC. sinensis (L.) Osbeck.(syn. c.aurentium L. var.aurentium)\n\nParts used : Fruit\n\nB.-Musambi E.- Sweet orange\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nlike orange\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nallays thirst,Fresh rind rubbed on face to remove acne.(CNC)\n\nAntioxidation potential : Good114d\n\nNutrition : ****(USDA).\n\nBiudiversity: Cultivated and wild\n\nC. maxima (Burm.) Merril.\n\nParts used : fruit\n\nB.-Batabi lebu\/ Chokotara E.- The pomelo\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nnutritive, cardiotonic, refreshing. Leaves in epilepsy,anti-diabetic,\n\nFolk dietetic: have nutraceuticals\n\nAntioxidation potential : good114e\n\nNutrition : ****\n\nBiodiversity: Cultivated and wild\n\nClerodendrum (Lamiaceae)\n\nC. indicum (L.) Kuntze\n\nB.- Bhamot\/Bramhajosthi; E.- Tubeflower.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is used in rheumatism, as a blood purifier, sudorific, chronic stomachic, in dropsy, imtermittent fever, jaundice, bronchial pain, cough and cold, asthma; root bark in asthma, mumps; roots and leaves useful in tapeworm.Though not proven, but people use the dried stem as a garland to cure a special type of boil in children.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity115.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. infortunatum L. (Syn. C. viscosum)\n\nB.- Ghentu\/Titvat; E.- Hill Glory Bower.\n\nParts used: Apical bud & Leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe bud and leaf decoction destroys tape-worm, hair lice; useful in skin problems, cough and cold, liver disorder and also acts as blood purifier and reduces malarial fever.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity116.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nClitoria (Leguminosae)\n\nC. ternatea L.\n\nB.- Aparajita; E.- Butterfly Pea.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf paste use to treat bleeding piles, alleviates swelling and pain. Root used in toothache.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity117.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCoccinia (Cucurbitaceae)\n\nC. grandis (L.) Voigt\n\nB.- Telakucha; E.- The Ivy Gourd.\n\nParts used: Leaves and Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe juice of the roots and leaves is used for diabetes, cold and cough. The plant is used internally in the treatment of gonorrhoea and also as a blood purifier. Leaf decoction used in diabetes. Fruits are bitter; sometimes used in diabetes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf and young branched are boiled, fried in cooking oil with paanch phoran, eaten as sak. and eaten. Fruits of one variety called \"Kudri\" (C. grandis var. kudri) is eaten as vegetable like pointed gourd and also used in treatment of diabetes. Leaves are chewed every morning to keep blood sugar under control in diabetes.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity118,119.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCocculus (Menispermaceae)\n\nC. hirsutus (L.) W. Theob.\n\nB.- Jaljomani; E.- Broom Creeper.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is used as mild laxative, digestive, appetizer, and in anorexia, asthma, cough and cold, carmination, in mouth ulcers, pruritus, dyspepsia, colic, flatulence, bronchitis, gout, intermittent fever, hypertension, herpes and general weakness. The leaf juice relieves from stangury. The juice of leaves is salutary in burns and carbuncles. It is a sex stimulant and it delays the ejaculation.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity120.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCocos (Arecaceae)\n\nC. nucifera L.\n\nB.- Narikel; E.- Coconut.\n\nParts used: Fruit & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBurnt roots are used in gum swelling and toothache; fruit water is used in dysentery, con- stipation, stangury, dyspepsia.Folk dietetic:\n\nGreen coconut water is used as anti-dehydrate in summer months. Solid endosperm used in various food preparation.Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity121,122.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCoix (Poaceae)\n\nC. lacryma-jobi L.\n\nB.-Gargare\/Gabeduk; E.- Job's Tear.\n\nParts used: Seed and root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds are used in urinary retention, and as a general tonic. Root is used for menstrual disorders.\n\nFolk dietetic :\n\nEaten as substitute of bread millet during food crisis. As per Classical Sanskrit lit. flour of the seeds made into bread or boiled as burley potently reduces fat in body.\n\nTo reduce blood cholesterol bread prepared from grounded flour of grains to be taken for 1-2 months. Galactogauge.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity123.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nColocasia (Araceae)\n\nC. esculenta (L.) Schott.\n\nB.- Kachu; E.- Green Taro.\n\nParts used: Corm & Petiole.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nJuice of corm is used against scorpion sting as well as the cut end of a petiole is used to stop bleeding from wounds.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung leaf and petiole boiled, fried mixed with onion and eaten. Corm sliced, fried eaten or cooked as vegetables. (Several local varients are available)\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity124.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCommelina (Commelinaceae)\n\nC. benghalensis L.\n\nB.-Kanchire; E.- Whiskered Commelina.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is useful in skin diseases, ringworm, eczema, blisters, pus in ear, rheumatic colic and acts as a stomachic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity125.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCorchorus (Tiliaceae)\n\nC. olitorius L.\n\nParts used : Young Leaf\n\nB.\u2013 Mitha pat E.- Jute plant\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nleaf responsible for the antidiabetes and antihypertension, diuretic, tonic.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nas leafy vegetable, leaf fried in cooking oil with 'panch foron' and eaten as 'sak', popular among villagers. Leaf soup appetizer, improves liver dysfunction.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality : High125a\n\nNutrition : ****\n\nBiodiversity : Cultivated,origin S.E.Asia\n\nCordyline (Agavaceae)\n\nC. fruticosa (L.) A.Chev.\n\nB.- Agniswar; E.- Ti Plant.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizome eaten with betel as a remedy in case of diarrhoea.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity126.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCoriandrum (Apiaceae)\n\nC. sativum L.\n\nB.- Dhaniya; E.- Coriander.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Vaskaralabana. The plant is used in the treatment of ulcers, cough, insomnia, vomiting, diarrhoea, dysentery and biliousness. The seed is used in menstrual disorders, for stomachache, conjunctivitis, headache, carminative, jaundice and fever. The leaves are used as appetizer.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nCrushed leaf mixed with salt and batter, fried in oil and eaten. Chutny and leaf salad is prepared.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity127.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCostus (Zingiberaceae)\n\nC. speciosus (Konig) Smith.\n\n(Syn: Cheilocostus speciosus (J. Koenig) C.D.Specht)\n\nB.-Basikaran\/Kuttus; E.- Crepe Ginger.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizome is used for impotency, gonorrhoea and used in birth control.\n\nFolk dietetic14a: To hypnotize somebody, debility. Leaf juice is taken twice daily for 14 days.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity128.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCrateva (Capparaceae)\n\nC. religiosa G.Forst.\n\nB.\\- Barun; E.- Sacred Garlic Pear.\n\nParts used: Bark & wood.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Barunadya Louha, a health tonic and Barunastak Pachan. The bark is used for rheumatism, jaundice, burning sensation of body and goiter. It is also used as antiinflammatory, diuretic, dropsy, demulcent and tonic. The bark-wood is also useful against kidney and vesicle calculi.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity129.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCroton (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nC. bonplandianum Baill.\n\nB.- Churchuri; E.- BanTulsi.\n\nParts used: Latex.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe watery latex of the plant stops bleeding.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity130.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCurculigo (Hypoxidaceae)\n\nC. orchioides Gaertn.\n\nB.- Talmuli; E.- Common Curculigo.\n\nParts used: Rhizome & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Dashamularistha. The rhizomes of the plants are used for increasing vitality. Root is aphrodisiac, appetizer, and useful in treatment of piles, biliousness, fatigue, blood related disorders. Root paste is used in arthritis and gout.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity131.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nC. recurvata W. T. Ait. (Syn. Molineria capitulata)\n\nB.- Banshmora; E.- Recurved-Leaved Curculigo.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot is used for piles and rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nCurcuma (Zingiberaceae)\n\nC. amada Roxb.\n\nB.- Amada; E.- Mango Ginger.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizome used in flatulence, anorexia, dyspepsia and gout. Folk dietetic:\n\nUsed in cooking. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity132.\n\nBiodiversity status: rare.\n\nC. caesia Roxb.\n\nB.- Kala Halud; E.- Black Turmeric.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizome used as carminative, stimulant as well as in sprains and bruises.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity133,134.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nC. longa L.\n\nB.- Halud; E.- Turmeric.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt has anticancerous property. Used as an antiseptic; treats stammers, filaria, allergy, asthma, conjunctivitis, cuts and wounds, sprain, boils and even clears skin. It is anthelminthic in nature, antibacterial, antifungal and antivirul.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten raw against pox and measles.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity135.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. zedoaria (Christm.) Roscoe\n\nB.- Shothi; E.- White Turmeric.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizome is given to young children as a healthy alternative to other farinaceous products, it also prevent loose motion of children.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nGiven as baby food. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity136.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCuscuta (Convolvulaceae)\n\nC. reflexa Roxb.\n\nB.- Swarnalata; E.- Giant Dodder.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe seed has been found to have positive effects on sperm health and motility and has antioxidant benefits. The whole plant is used in several eye disorders.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity137.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCymbopogon (Poaceae)\n\nC. citratus (DC.) Stapf.\n\nB.- Lemon Ghas; E.- Lemon Grass.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAromatic plant, used as an disinfectant and insect repellant.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity138.\n\nBiodiversity status: Not frequent.\n\nCynodon (Poaceae)\n\nC. dactylon (L.) Pers.\n\nB.- Durba; E.- Bermuda Grass.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaf extract is applied to fresh cuts and wounds. It is also used to treat inflamed boils, abscess, skin diseases, bleeding piles and herpes. The plant paste applied on the upper eyelid to relieve redness of the eye due to sunburn by Munda tribes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity139.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nCyperus (Cyperaceae)\n\nC. kyllingia Endl.\n\n(Syn. Rhynchospora colorata (L.) H.Pfeiff.)\n\nB.- Nirbish; E.- White Kyllinga.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe whole plant is used against snakebites along with Eleucine indica.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nC. rotundus L.\n\nB.- Mutha Ghas; E.- Nut Grass.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is used to treat fever, dyspepsia, dysentery, inflammations, epilepsy, wounds,  \npyorrhoea and other maladies. It acts as an antidote against bites of wasps. The burnt tubers are used to treat wounds, bruises, carbuncles etc.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity140.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDalbergia (Leguminosae)\n\nD. sissoo DC.\n\nB.- Sisu; E.- Sissoo.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTender leaves are useful in vomiting, excessive menstruation; bark is used for reducing abdominal fats and enema.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity141.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDatura (Solanaceae)\n\nD. metel L.\n\nB.- Kalo Dhutra; E.- Devil's Trumpet.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf paste applied for promoting hair growth; root used in rheumatism, joint pain and gout. Seed is poisonous.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity142.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nD. stramonium L.\n\nB.- Sada Dhutra; E.- Jimson Weed.\n\nParts used: Seed\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAll parts of the plant contain dangerous levels of poison, and may be a fatal if ingested by humans or animals. Seed paste used for poisoning of fish.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity143.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDaucus (Umbelliferae)\n\nD. carota L. var. carota D.C.\n\nB. Gajor, E. Carrot\n\nParts used : Tap root, young branches, seeds\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nOrange coloured varieties are source of carotene, a precursor of vitamin A. also contains minerals,protein and carbohydrates. Cures night blindness, Seeds aphrodisiac and stimulant, carminative, seed paste used in early baby birth also stimulate birth pain. Root Anti-helmintic, relives thirst\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nMixed with sugar\/honey a country liquor prepared called 'Kanji', a good appetizer. Root taken as raw as well as cooked in curries, made into pickles and sweetmeat. Root juice taken to reduce body weight and fat\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity143(a).\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated all over India, central asia thought to be its centre of origin. Wide variety are found, from black and red to yellow.\n\nDelonix (Leguminosae)\n\nD. regia (Hook.) Raf.\n\nB.- Krishnachura; E.\\- Flame Tree.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark, flower and leaf paste are used in piles. Bark is used in boils; bark and leaves prevent vomiting, intestinal worms; root bark induce menstruation.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity144.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDendrocalmus ( Poaceae)\n\nD. hamiltoni Fn.\n\nN. Choya bans. E. Tufted Bamboo\/Hamilton Bamboo\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung shoots up to 2 ft. cut into pieces and boiled. A few burning wood coal added to it. Cooked as vegetables. Made into pickles.\n\nNutrition : ***\n\nBiodiversity: wild & cultivated\n\nDendrophthoe ( Loranthaceae)\n\nD. falcata (L. f.) Ettingsh.\n\nB.- Dharua; E.- Honey suckle mistletoe.\n\nParts used: Leaf & stem bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nStem bark is used for wounds and menstrual disorders. Leaf paste used in various inflammation.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity145.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDesmodium (Leguminosae)\n\nD. gangeticum (L.) DC.\n\nB.- Salpani; E.- Ticktree\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of an Ayurvedic preparation, Salsa, a health tonic. Plant is used for treatment of fever, dropsy, liver disorders, stangury, diabetes, rheumatism and also as a blood purifier and stomachic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity146.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDillenia (Dilleniaceae)\n\nD. indica L.\n\nB.- Chalta; E.- Elephant Apple.\n\nParts used: Fruits & root bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUnripe fruit juice is used in hysteria; ripe fruits used as laxative, in watery semen, ano\u00adrexia, for improving lactation, general debility; root bark in food poisoning.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nParts of fruit used as cattle feed to induce lactation. Fleshy calyx cut into pieces added in 'dal' or made into chutny.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity147.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDioscorea (Dioscoreaceae)\n\nD. alata L.\n\nB.- Kham Alu; E.\\- Purple yam.\n\nParts used: Tubers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe tubers are useful in haemorrhoids, leprosy, intestinal worms, seminal weakness, post menopausal syndrome and general weakness. Folk dietetic:\n\nAerial bulbul and underground tubers eaten as a substitute of potato. Since, it contains diagenin too much intake causes sterility & lower sperm count.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity148.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nD. bulbifera L.\n\nB.- Lata alu E.- Air Yam\/ Air Potato.\n\nParts used: Tubers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful in treatment of herpes, leisons, fistula, diabetes, urinary caliculi.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUnderground tubers eaten as a substitute of potato. Various dish is prepared while adding the pieces of tubers. Since it contains diagenin, too much intake causes sterility.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity149.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nD. esculenta (Loureiro) Burkill\n\nB.- Kanta alu; E.- Lesser Yam.\n\nParts used: Tubers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTubers is consumed by the tribal people.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity150.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nD. oppositifolia L.\n\nB.- Kham alu; E.-Yam\n\nParts used: Tubers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTubers is used as vegetable and used as substitute of potato.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nD. pentaphylla L.\n\nB.- Kanta alu; E.- Five-Leaf Yam.\n\nParts used: Tubers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTuber is consumed by the tribal people.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nDiospyros (Ebenaceae)\n\nD. discolor Willd.\n\nB.- Chayna Gab; E.- Velvet Apple.\n\nParts used: Leaves, bark & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe bark and leaves are used for itching and other skin ailments as well as eyewash. The decoction of bark is used for cough, fever, dysentery and diarrhoea.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruit eaten fresh or can be dried and mixed with other fruits in salads, as cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High  \nactivity151.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nD. malabarica (Desr.) Kostel.\n\nB.- Gab; E.- Indian Persimmon.\n\nParts used: Bark & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe bark is used against boils and tumours, and the juice of the fresh bark is useful in bilious. The unripe fruit is astringent and when ripe, beneficial in blood diseases, and leprosy.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruit is eaten raw as salad, also as cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity152.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent\n\nDiplasium (Athyriaceae)\n\nD.esculentum (Retz.)Sw.\n\nB.\u2013Dhekipata\/Dhekiasak; E.\u2013 Vegetable Fern.\n\nParts used: Younf Frond\/leaf and rhizome\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\ncough, asthma, phthisis, fever, dyspepsia, stomachache, diarrhea and as antidysenteric,\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung immature fronds are wiped with a cloth to remove red petiolar scales and cut into pieces fried in cooking oil and eaten as sak. Also mixed with fishes and made into fish- curry \u2013most popular in Assam and North-east, also in sub Himalayan India.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity.149a\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nNote: One of the unique fern edible almost all southern slope states of India, uncultivated and collected from wild source with immense market value\n\nEchinochloa (Poaceae)\n\nE.crusgalli (L.) P.Beauv.(syn. Panicum crus-galli L.\n\nB.\u2013 Burashama; E.- Barnyard Millet, Barnyardgrass .\n\nParts used: Seeds, ,Young Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses\n\nfolk remedy for carbuncles, haemorrhages, sores,spleen, cancer wounds.\n\nFolk dietetic :\n\nSeeds are boiled and eaten as a substitute of rice in time of scarcity of food. Some parts of Northern India grains used to make pudding. The young shoots are eaten as a vegetable during food scarcity. Used as fodder.\n\nNutrition: almost like rice, *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity showing antihypercholesterol activity in animal model.152a\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent, especially in wet places, throughout.\n\nEclipta (Asteraceae)\n\nE. prostrata (L.) L.\n\nB.- Kesut; E.- False Daisy.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Kalokesurja Taila, a hair tonic. The decoction of the whole plant helps to calm the mind from excessive activity, headache and soothes noisy sleep. It is mainly used in hair oils.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity153.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEichhornia (Pontederiaceae)\n\nE. crassipes (Mart.) Solms\n\nB.- Kachuripana; E.- Water Hyacinth.\n\nParts used: Flowers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFlowers are used in skin diseases of horses.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed either alone or cut into pieces, boiled and mixed with khesari dal (Cajanus cajan) for lactation and nutrition. Nutrition: **\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity154.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nElaeocarpus (Elaeocarpaceae)\n\nE. serratus L.\n\nB.- Jalpai; E.- Indian Olive.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves used in rheumatism and antidote to poison.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruits eaten; made into chutny and pickle. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity155.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nElephantopus (Asteraceae )\n\nE. scaber L.\n\nB.- Hastipada; E.- Prickly-leaved elephant's foot.\n\nParts used: roots and leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots and leaves are used in diarrhoea, dysentery recently reported as anti-inflamatory.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity156.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEleusine (Poaceae)\n\nE. indica (L.) Gaertn.\n\nB.- Jabra ghas; E.- Indian Goose Grass.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe roots are used in case of dysentery. Leaves are used against snake bite 10 gms. of leaf mixed with 10gms.leaves of Kylinga nemoralis and made paste and given orally to patient as antidote in snake bite (Late G.R. Bakshi of Raiganj used this practice).\n\nFolk dietetic: Used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity157.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEnhydra (Asteraceae)\n\nE. fluctuans Lour.\n\nB.- Hyalencha; E.- Marsh Herb.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are used as vegetable. The leaves and stem are used as blood strengthening tonic and also used in flatulence and constipation.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten as cooked\/fried vegetables.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity158.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nErvatamia (Apocynaceae)\n\nE. coronaria (Jacq.) Stapf.\n\n(Syn. Tabernaemontana divaricata)\n\nB.- Kathmalati\/Tagar; E.- East Indian Rosebay.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nStem bark used in skin diseases.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity159.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nErythrina (Leguminosae)\n\nE. variegata L.\n\nB.- Madar; E.\\- Coral Tree.\n\nParts used: Root & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in physical weakness, musculoskeletal disorder, fever and dissolves kidney stones.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity160.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEucalyptus (Myrtaceae)\n\nEucalyptus sp.\n\nB.- Eucalyptus; E.- Eucalyptus.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nEucalyptus oil is known to be a good medicine for relieving nasal congestion in cold.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity161.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEupatorium (Asteraceae)\n\nE. odoratum L.\n\n(Syn: Chromolaena odorata)\n\nB.\u2013 German Lata; E.- Siam Weed.\n\nParts used: Leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves used to stop bleeding from wounds.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity162.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nE. triplinerve Vahl.\n\n(Syn: Ayapana triplinervis)\n\nB.\\- Ayapan; E.- Yapana\/White Snakeroot.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe decoction of the whole plant helps to calm the mind from excessive activity, headache and soothes noisy sleep.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nSometimes consumed as vegetable. Nutrition: **\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity163.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEuphorbia (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nE. hirta L.\n\nB.- Dudhe Jhar\/Dudhiya; E.- Asthma Weed.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is used to treat abdominal pain, bronchitis, asthma and intestinal amoebic dysentery.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity164.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nE. neriifolia L.\n\nB.- Patsaji; E.- Manasa Sij.\n\nParts used: Stem.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in leucorrhoea.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity165.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nE. tirucalli L.\n\nB.- Jata Lanka; E.- Pencil Tree, petrolium plant.\n\nParts used: Stem.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nJuice of the stem is useful in gonorrhoea, whooping cough, asthma, dropsy and leprosy Latex is toxic to fish, birds and rats. Reported to be anti-cancerous.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity166.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nEuryale (Nymphaeaceae)\n\nE. ferox Salisb.\n\nB.- Makhna; E.- Fox nut.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTreatment in conditions like spermatorrhea, prevents early ejaculation, neuralgia, incontinence, Local Kabirajes prescribe in preventing early discharge of semen and restores sexual vigor in older men. Makhna helps in conditions like arthritis,dysfunction of respiration. This herb has antioxidant properties and helps in digestion specially in persons unable to ingest any food. rejuvenates respiratory system and prevents frequent urination, increases libido and helps in female infertility\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nSeeds are fried and made into popcorn (locally known Makhna khoi) and given to patients with adverse stomach illness.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity166a.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less frequent and cultivated.\n\nEvolvulus (Convolvulaceae)\n\nE. nummularius (L.) Mill.\n\nB.- Musakarni; E.- Roundleaf Bindweed.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nPlant ash is used on cuts and bruises.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity167.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nFicus (Moraceae)\n\nF. benghalensis L.\n\nB.- Bot; E.-Banyan tree.\n\nParts used: Bark, aerial root, tender leaves and latex.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot used for gonorrhoea; bark in piles of females, watery semen, burning sensation of body, leucorrhoea; bark paste is used as emollient in sprains; tender leaves used in cracked feet, boils; gum useful in toothache.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung buds consumed as vegetable.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity168.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nF. bejamina L.\n\nB.- Pakur; E.- Weeping Fig.\n\nParts used: Leaves, bark & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot and bark are used for gonorrhoea, nerve weakness, mouth ulcers; leaves used in treating pus in ear.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity169.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nF. racemosa L.\n\nB.- Dumur; E.- Cluster Fig Tree.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe fruit is used as a vegetable. Unripe fruits used in dropsy, flatulence, anaemia, liver and kidney disorders, chronic rheumatism anorexia, and also act as blood purifier, tonic. Fruit reported as anticarcinogenic. After chemotherapy in patients used as dietetic food for early recovery.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nConsumed as vegetable. Made in pickle or marmalade or dried use; Given to cattle for inducing lactation.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity170.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nF. hispida L.f.\n\nB.- Khoksha; E.- Hairy Fig.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed only in absence of Ficus glomerata for the same reasons. Folk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity171.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nF. religiosa L.\n\nB.- Aswattha; E.- Buddha Tree.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful in fever, herpes, sores, boils, wound, granulation and pigmentation, splint in fracture and dislocations.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung buds collected, boiled and the excess water is decanted off and fried and eaten.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity172.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nFlacourtia (Flacourtiaceae)\n\nF. indica (Burm. f.) Merr.\n\nB.- Bainchi\/Paniaia; E.- Governor's Plum.\n\nParts used: Fruits, leaves & roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe fruits and leaves are used against diarrhoea. Fruits are used in jaundice, burning sensation of body, prevent vomiting; root oil in tooth-ache, itches and acne.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity173.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGarcinia (Clusiaceae)\n\nG. mangostana L.\n\nB.- Chayna Gab; E.- Mangosteen.\n\nParts used: Fruit rind, bark & leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe fruit rind is ground and used in the treatment of diarrhoea, dysentery and for skin diseases. A tea made from the leaves and bark is used to lower fever and for urinary disorders.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity174.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGeodorum (Orchidaceae)\n\nG. densiflorum (Lam.) Schlt.\n\nB.\u2013 Vui orchid; E.- Nodding Swamp Orchid.\n\nParts used: Bulbs.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBulb paste mixed with sugar used for diabetes.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High amount phyto-chemicals present175.\n\nBiodiversity status: Endangered.\n\nGlinus (Molluginaceae)\n\nG. oppositifolius (L.) Aug. DC.\n\nB.- Gima Sak; E.- Bitter Cumin.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in hepatic disorder, urinary disorders of female, indigestion and act as appetiser. The decoction used in clearing uterus.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFried eaten or mixed with potato\/brinjal to prepare curry. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity176.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGloriosa (Colchicaceae)\n\nG. superba L.\n\nB.- Ulatchandal; E.- Glory Lily.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot used in ulcers, leprosy, piles, inflammations, abdominal pain, itching and used as abortifacient.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity177.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGlycosmis (Rutaceae)\n\nG. pentaphylla (Retz.) DC.\n\nB.- Atiswar; E.- Orangeberry.\n\nParts used: Root & stem.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot paste is used in bone fracture, ankle pain, gout and rupturing boils. Stem used as tooth-brush.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves consumed by goat. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity178.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGmelina (Lamiaceae)\n\nG. arborea Roxb.\n\nB.- Gamari; E.- Goomar teak.\n\nParts used: Fruit, bark & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Dashamularistha and Salsa. The root and bark are stomachic, astringent, galactagogue, laxative and anthelmintic; Bark is useful in leprosy, and in skin ulcers. The fruit is used as sex stimulant and for watery semen.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity179.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGossypium (Malvaceae)\n\nG. herbaceum L.\n\nB.- Karpas; E.- Levant Cotton.Parts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot decoction is used in dysentery, leucorrhoea; root bark in psychic disorders and as a stomachic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity180.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nGymnema (Apocynaceae)\n\nG. sylvestre (Retz.) R.Br.ex Schult\n\nB.- Gurmar; E.- Gymnema.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe decoction\/dust of the leaves is used as an ingredient in most ayurvedic preparations for treatment of diabetes. Oral intake of fresh leaves (3-4) helps in decreasing of diabetes.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity181.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nHelicteres (Malvaceae)\n\nH. isora L.\n\nB.- Aatmora; E.- Indian Screw Tree.\n\nParts used: fruit, root & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits used in treating intestinal complaints, colic pains and flatulence. Roots used in diabetes and in convulsions. Root and bark used as antigalactogogue to expectorant.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity182.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nHeliotropium (Boraginaceae)\n\nH. indicum L.\n\nB.- Hatisur; E.\\- Indian Heliotrope.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf juice used in conjunctivitis, dysentery and cough. Fresh leaf decoction is applied to wounds, boils and pruritus.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity183.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nHelminthostachys (Ophioglossaceae)\n\nH. zeylanica (L. ) Hook.\n\nB.- Ekbir; E.- Helminthostachys.\n\nParts used: Rhizome & Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRhizome used in sciatica, dysentery aperients. Leaf juice relieves blister on tongue.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity184.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nHemidesmus (Apocynaceae)\n\nH. indicus (L.) R. Br. ex Schult.\n\nB.- Anantamul; E.- Indian Sarsaparilla.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituents of an ayurvedic preparations like Saribadi Salsa, a health tonic. The plant is used as blood enhancer and blood purifier and also reduces abdominal problems like stomachache, dyspepsia, anorexia and skin diseases. Decoction of the root is used to promote hair growth. Root paste is applied to treat rheumatic joints and boils and kidney stones.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs vegetables by tribes.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity185.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nHemigraphis (Acanthaceae)\n\nH. hirta T. Ander.\n\nB.\u2013 Dudhiya; E.- Hairy Hemigraphis.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe decoction is used in dysentery and mouth ulcer.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nHibiscus (Malvaceae)\n\nH. mutabilis L.\n\nB.- Sthal Padma; E.- Cotton Rosemallow.\n\nParts used: Flower, bark & stem.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in ayurvedic preparation like Chyavanprash. Bark and stem useful in gonorrhoea, urinary problems; as a tonic and flatulence. Flower is used in stangury.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf and flowers used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity186.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nH. rosa-sinensis L.\n\nB.- Jaba; E.- China Rose.\n\nParts used: Flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFlower is one component of Ashokaristha and Patrangasab, both are female tonic. Flower is used to treat menstruation, and tumour in uterine.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nflowers consumed by goat.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity187.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nHolarrhena (Apocyanaceae)\n\nH. pubescens (L.) Wall.\n\nB.\\- Kurchi; E.- Indrajao.\n\nParts used: Bark & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Kutjaristha, a tonic for chronic dysentery and piles. Bark is used for chronic diarrhoea, chronic dysentery and is also useful in treatment of bleeding piles, skin diseases, and urinary troubles. Seed (named as 'Indrajab') is used in diabetes and guniea worm.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity188.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nHouttuynia (Saururaceae)\n\nH. cordata Thunb.\n\nB.- Anstanag; E.\\- Chameleon Plant.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used to treat cold, measles, dysentery, indigestion and skin ailments.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity189.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nHygrophila (Acanthaceae)\n\nH. auriculata (Schumach.) Heine. (Syn: H. spinosa)\n\nB.- Kulekhara; E.- Marsh Barbel.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nCooked leaves given for increasing haemoglobin content in blood. The leaf decoction is used in dropsy and insomnia. Seeds are used to dissolve stones in kidney and gall bladder. The plant is used in jaundice, wounds and herpes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAerial parts eaten as vegetables. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity190.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nHygroryza (Poaceae)\n\nH.aristata (Retz.) Nees ex Wight & Arn.\n\nB.- Uri dhan\/ N\ufffdbar , E.- Bengal wild rice\n\nParts used: seed grains.\n\nMedicinal uses\n\nTo treat weakness of semen 10 grams boiled grains for 3months. Boiled grain applied for skin's natural texture and moisture and in sore throat (Bhattacharyya, 2008). Useful in biliousness, astringent, cooling, anti-inflammatory ; antioxidant190a\n\nFolk dietetic :\n\nTo reduce body fat 25 gms of boiled grains to be taken twice a day for 2 months. This 'aranyadhanya' (in Sanskrit literature) collected from wild source eaten substitute to rice\/wheat. Grains fried made into 'khoi' eaten with milk.\n\nNutrition: whole grain as good as rice, ***** .\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nactivity high190a\n\nBiodiversity status: aquatic, common in ponds and ditches, throughout\n\nImperata (Poaceae)\n\nI. cylindrica (L.) Raeusch. (Syn: I. arundinacea)\n\nB.- Ulu ghas; E.- Cogon Grass. Parts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots are used in stangury, dropsy, flatulence and excessive thirst.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nIndigofera (Leguminosae)\n\nI. astragalina DC.\n\nB.- Neel; E.- Silky Indigo.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is used in flatulence, dropsy, stangury, piles; root bark is used in piercing pain.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity191.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nIpomoea (Convolvulaceae)\n\nI. aquatica Forssk.\n\nB.- Kalmi; E.- Water Spinach.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction reduces increases lactation. It is useful in treatment of boils, gonorrhoea and also relieves painful stings.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten as fried\/boiled or cooked with other vegetables or with fish\/meat.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity192.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nI. paniculata R.Br.\n\n(Syn: Jacquemontia paniculata )\n\nB.- Bhui Kumra; E.- Milky Yam. Parts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe rhizome is used in case of urination, problem, digestive problem and it induces menstruation as well as it boosts sexual desire.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity statuts: Frequent.\n\nI. quamoclit L.\n\nB.- Tarulata; E.- Star Glory.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is used in case of dysentery, blood coughing, piles and body weakness.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity193.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nIxora (Rubiaceae)\n\nI. coccinea L.\n\nB.- Lal Rangan ; E.- Jungle Geranium.\n\nParts used: Roots & flowers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots and flowers together used in case of stomachache, diarrhoea and dysentery.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFlowers consumed by goat Nutrition: **\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity194.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJasminum (Oleaceae)\n\nJ. multiflorum (Burm. f.) Andre.\n\nB.- Jui; E.- Star Jasmine.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot bark decoction is used to prevent tapeworm; leaves used in herpes.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJ. sambac (L.) Ait.\n\nB.- Beli; E.- Arabian Jasmine.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used in anorexia; leaves used in mouth ulcers, acne.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity195.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJatropha (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nJ. curcas L.\n\nB.- Sada Varenda; E.- Barbados Nut.\n\nParts used: Latex.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLatex is used to treat toothache. Seed used for the production of biodiesel.\n\nFolk dietetic: Cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity196.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJ. gossypiifolia L.\n\nB.- Lal Varenda; E.- Bellyache Bush.\n\nParts used: Leaf, Latex.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nHighly toxic to people and animals. Medicinal use not reported here.\n\nFolk dietetic: Cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity197.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJusticia (Acanthaceae)\n\nJ. adhatoda L.\n\nB.- Basak; E.- Malabar Nut.\n\nParts used: Leaves & stems.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA decoction of the leaves is used for cold and cough, bronchitis, tuberculosis and other lung and bronchiole disorders and even chicken pox. The leaves are applied to wounds for their antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity198.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJ. gendarussa Burm.\n\nB.- Jagatmadan; E.- Gandarusa.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is beneficial for respiratory disorders like cough, cold, bronchitis and chronic rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity199.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nJ. spicigera Schltdl.\n\nB.- Lal Basak; E.- Mohintli.\n\nParts used: Leaves & stems.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nActs as stimulant & antidysenteric. Used as an anti-inflammatory for the treatment of uterine cancer, gastrointestinal disorders like nausea, stomachache, cramps and diarrhea.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity200.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nKaempferia (Zingiberaceae)\n\nK. angustifolia Roscoe.\n\nB.- Mudunirbish; in malaysia known as Kunchi pepet.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nExcellent fragrance and is usually used as medicine to treat cold, stomach-ache, and dysentery, while its rhizome is used for coughs and as mastication. Rhizome used as vegetable. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nK. galanga L.\n\nB.- Ekangi\/Bhui Chapa; E.- Aromatic Ginger.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as expectorant, carminative, diuretic. Used in catching fish.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity201.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nKalanchoe (Crassulaceae)\n\nK. pinnata (Lam.) Pers. (Syn. Bryophyllum pinnatum)\n\nB.- Patharkuchi; E.- Air Plant.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are used to dissolve kidney stones, calculus and the leaf juice is also used to treat cold and cough, flatulence, dropsy, acidity, abdominal pain of children, epilepsy and acts as anti-diuretic.\n\nFolk dietetic: As cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity202.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLagerstroemia (Lythraceae)\n\nL. speciosa (L.) Pers.\n\nB.- Jarul; E.- Queen Crape Myrtle.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation like Dashamularistha. Bark used as a tonic, blood purifier, blood enhancer, cold and cough. Bark and leaves are purgative; decoction of dried leaves is used in diabetes.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity203.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLannea (Anacardiaceae)\n\nL. coromandelica (Houtt.) Merr.\n\nB.- Jiga; E.\\- Indian Ash Tree.\n\nParts used: Bark & gum.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark is useful in diarrhoea and dysentery, cardiac diseases. The gum is used as sperm enhancer.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity204.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLantana (Verbenaceae)\n\nL. camara L.\n\nB.- Chotra; E.- Lantana.\n\nParts used: Leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant decoction is used in rheumatism and for the treatment of measles.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity205.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLasia (Araceae)\n\nL. spinosa (L.) Thw.\n\nB.- Jokha\/Kanta Kachu; E.- Lasia.\n\nParts used: Root & petiole.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot and Petioles are used in throat infection of cattle.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity206.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLawsonia (Lythraceae)\n\nL. inermis L.\n\nB.- Mehendi; E.- Henna.\n\nParts used: Leaf & flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaf paste are useful in shoulder pain, burns, leucorrhoea, dandruff, mouth ulcers, steam and is also anti inflammatory. It is also used as hair tonic. Flowers are useful in insomnia.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves for cattle feed. Nutrition:***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity207.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLeea (Vitaceae)\n\nL. macrophylla Roxb. ex Hornem.\n\nB.- Hastikarnapalash; E.- Leea.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot decoction used to control ringworm and root paste externally applied for pain. Exhibits anti-cancerous effect Leaf juice is recognized as anti-inflammatory agent and used in boils, arthritis, gout and rheumatism . The dried powder of root with clarified butter is prescribed in morning as age sustainer.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nLow activity (presence of phenolics)208.\n\nFolk dietetic: Leaves of the plant are used as vegetable by tribal people.\n\nNutrition : Root ****\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nLeucas (Lamiaceae)\n\nL. aspera (Willd.) Link.\n\nB.- Dandakalash\/Dulfi\/Swetdron; E.- Common Leucas.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used to treat ulcers in tongue and also in biliousness, anorexia, and it acts as a stomachic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity209.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLimonia (Rutaceae)\n\nL. acidissima Groff.\n\nB.- Kat Bel; E.- Wood Apple.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark and fruits are used as tonic, laxative, blood enhancer, culminates acidity, lack of appetite, dysentery; Juice of unripe fruits are useful in treating acne.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity210.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nLitsea (Lauraceae)\n\nL. glutinosa (Lour.) C.B. Rob.\n\nB.\u2013 Darodmoyda\/Pipulti; E.- Indian laurel.\n\nParts used: Leaves and bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used in diarrhea, dysentery and also for excessive semen flow in young boys; decoction of bark applied to sores, scabies and in pains.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves as goat feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity211.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMadhuca (Sapotaceae)\n\nM. longifolia (Koen. ex L.) Mac Bride\n\nB.- Mahua; E.- Mahua.\n\nParts used: Seed, fruit, flower & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeed oil used in headache, rheumatism, cuts and wounds; flowers and fruits are used in cold and cough, anorexia, insomnia; bark is used in diabetes. Used as a preservative in Ayurvedic preparations as it produces alcohol.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFlowers used in preparation of indigenous liquor by tribes. Tender leaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity212.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMallotus (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nM. philippensis (Lam.) Muell. Arg.\n\nB.- Kamalaguri; E.- Rottlera.\n\nParts Used: Fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nThe dried fruits are dusted and applied externally to rupture boils and in puss.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity213.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMangifera (Anacardiaceae)\n\nM. indica L.\n\nB.- Aam; E.- Mango.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds and tender leaves are the major constituents of an ayurvedic preparation, Asho- karistha. Leaf extracts are used as antiseptic in the treatment of burns, dandruff control and early graying of hair. The bark is useful in dysentery and diarrhoea Ripe fruit for hemorrhage from internal organs, laxative, diuretic, astringent. Bark in uterine bleeding (CNC).\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruits of varied taste available in several varieties. 'amsatya' a dried mango pulp produce often made - which can be stored for several years. Green mango slices without seed, sun dried and slightly fermented called 'amchur' can also be kept for years. 'amsatya' best eaten with milk. 'amchur' eaten as chatney or mixed in curry. Fresh green eaten as chatney or raw. The dried kernel pieces used as poultry feed, pig feed or cattle feed. pulp rich in soluble sugars (70-90%), mostly fructose (60-67% ).Crude fibre 2%-16%. Green mango grilled and made into delicious chatney.\n\nLeaves as cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity214.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent Cultivated.\n\nManihot (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nM. esculenta Crantz.\n\nB.- Tapioca; E.- Cassava.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTubers are eaten as vegetable.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity215.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMarsilea (Marsileaceae)\n\nM. quadrifolia L.\n\nB.- Susni; E.- Europian Waterclover.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed in asthma, inosomnia, blood pressure, epilepsy, insect stings as well as reduces inflammation of urinary tracts.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFried leaf and petiole is mixed with potato and eaten.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity216.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMartynia (Martyniaceae)\n\nM. annua L.\n\nB.- Baghnakhi; E.- Devill's Claw.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf juice used as gargle for sore throat.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity217.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMelia (Meliaceae)\n\nM. azedarach L.\n\nB.- Ghora Neem; E.- Indian Lilac.\n\nParts used:- Bark & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:-\n\nMajor constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Patrangasab. Bark is effective in breast tumour, biliousness, piles, leucorrhoea and constipation. Seed-oil is used in rheumatism. Wood-extract is used in asthma.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity218.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMelothria (Cucurbitaceae)\n\nM. heterophylla (Lour.) Cogn. (Syn: Solena amplexicaulis)\n\nB.- Rakhal Sosa; E.- Melothria. Parts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation like Mritasanjibanisura. It is a blood purifier and enhancer. It is also used in anorexia and insomnia.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruit used as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity219.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMentha (Lamiaceae)\n\nM. arvensis L.\n\nB.- Pudina; E.- Wild Mint\/Corn Mint.\n\nParts used: Leaves, flower & oil.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nActs as carminative, pain killer and mouth refresher and used in jaundice. Leaf extract mixed with salt given in dehydration.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nIngredient of chutny. Leaf made into paste mixing with salt and pepper and eaten raw with rice by indigenous people.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity220.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less frequent and cultivated.\n\nMesua (Calophyllaceae)\n\nM. ferrea L.\n\nB.- Nageswar\/Nagkesar; E.- Indian Rose Chestnut.\n\nParts used: Flower, stamens & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparation like Bhaskarlaban and Salsa. Flowers is used as carminative, clears constipation, relieves vomiting. Also used as blood purifier and blood enhancer. The stamens and flowers are used in the form of powder to treat diarrhoea, cough, leucorrhoea; seed oil is used in rheumatism, sores, scabies.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity221.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMichelia (Magnoliaceae)\n\nM. champaca L. (Syn: Magnolia champaca)\n\nB.- Chapa; E.- Champac\n\nParts used: Leaves, bark & flowers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are used in stomachache; bark in headache; flower in vomiting, flatulence, boils.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity222.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMikania (Asteraceae)\n\nM. scandens (L.) Willd.\n\nB.- Assam Lata; E.- Climbing hempvine .\n\nParts used: Leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves used to stop bleeding from wounds. Used in stomach ulcers, inflammation and gastritis problems.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as vegetables by tribes. Extensively consumed by rhino and other wild herbivores. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity222(a).\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMimosa (Leguminosae)\n\nM. pudica L.\n\nB.- Lajjabati; E.- Touch-Me-Not.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used in toothache and gum bleeding, ear pus, piles, dysentery; root is used in leucorrhea; Leaf decoction is used in breast cancer.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves as cattle & goat feed. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity223.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMimusops (Sapotaceae)\n\nM. elengi L.\n\nB.- Bakul; E.- Bullet Wood Tree.\n\nParts used: Bark, flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe bark, flowers, fruits and seeds are aused as astringent, cooling and anthelmintic. Bark decoction is used in pyorrhea, bad odour of mouth, bleeding of gums and loose teeth. Extract of flowers are used in leucorrhoea and menorrhagia. The bark is useful in stangury.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFruits are eaten by poor village children. Favoured by birds\n\nLeaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: **\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity224.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMirabilis (Nyctaginaceae)\n\nM. jalapa L.\n\nB.- Sandhyamalati; E.- Four 'O' Clock plant.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used in cough; leaf paste used as emollient on boils; root used in piles and general debility.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity225.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMollugo (Molluginaceae)\n\nM. pentaphyla L.\n\nB.\u2013 Khetpapra; E.- Five Leaved Carpetweed.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as pot herb; as laxative and stomachic.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity226.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMomordica (Cucurbitaceae)\n\nM. charantia L.\n\nB.- Karola; E.- Bitter Gourd.\n\nParts used: Leaves & fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction is used to treat small pox, malarial fever, bilousness; leaves and fruits in anorexia, diabetes, allergy and guinea worms. Decoction of fruit used in hyperglycemia.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs wholesome vegetable. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity227.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent and cultivated.\n\nM. cochinchinensis (Lour.) Spreng.\n\nB.- Baro Kakrol; E.- Spiny Bittergourd.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used in anaemia; root paste stops hairfall; seeds in normal cold and cough. And also used as like M. charantia.\n\nFolk dietetic: Like M. dioica.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity227(a).\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nM. dioica Roxb. ex Willd.\n\nB.- Kakrol; E.\u2013 Spiny Gourd.\n\nParts used: Fruit and Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nToasted root is used to stop bleeding from piles and in urinary disorders. Fruit used in diabetes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs wholesome vegetable. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity228.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMoringa (Moringaceae)\n\nM. oleifera Lam.\n\nB.- Sajna; E.- Moringa.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful to treat high blood pressure, tumour, hiccups, piles, leprosy, ringworms, cold and fever, swelling of gums and eye problems. Leaf juice is used in diabetes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves fried and eaten as side dish; flower mixed with batter fried eaten. Leaf decoction given to stop hiccup.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity229.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMucuna (Leguminosae)\n\nM. pruriens (L.) DC.\n\nB.- Alkusi; E.- Velvet Bean\/Cowhage.\n\nParts used: Seed & roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe seeds are the main constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Banarboti, a highly sex stimulating preparation. It is also used in another Ayurvedic preparations like Salsa and Mritasanjibanisura. It is also used for menorrhagia and spermatorrhoea. It is one of the best tonics to improve vitality. The decoction of pod is a powerful nervine tonic, anthelmintic, aphrodisiac. The root powder is used as laxative.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity230.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMurraya (Rutaceae)\n\nM. koenigii (L.) Sprengel.\n\nB.- Curry Pata; E.- Curry Plant.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are digestive, stimulant and also used for diarrhoea, dysentery and to check vomiting. Bark paste is antiseptic, applied to skin eruptions.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as spices in various dishes and mixed with batter fried and eaten.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity231.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nM. paniculata (L.) Jack.\n\nB.- Kamini; E.- Orange Jessamine.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot bark is used in acute dysentery; boiled mashed leaves used in dropsy; leaf decoctions along with root paste relieve pains on application.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nMusa (Musaceae)\n\nM. paradisiaca L.\n\nB.- Kala; E.- Banana.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAn unripe fruit helps in treating diarrhoea.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit. Leaves as fodder. Young core of inflorescence bases (locally known as vadal\/ thod) cut into pieces, fried and eaten as vegetable meal served on the leaf believed to be hygienic. The flowers in spadix is also eaten.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity232.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nM. sapientum var. paradisiaca L.\n\nB.\u2013 Kach Kala ; E.\u2013 The Plantain.\n\nParts used: Fruit, Inflorescence, stem core\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAn unripe fruit helps in treating diarrhea and amoebiasis. Nutritious , Inflorescence used in diabetes.\n\nFolk dietetic: fruit boiled in rice given to patients having fever. The young flower petals cut and made into delicious curry. The white core of the tree cut into pieces sold in market for vegetable. Grilled unripe fruit given to post natal care.\n\nNutrition: **** (USDA)\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: high232a\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nNelumbo (Nelumbonaceae)\n\nN. nucifera Gaertn.\n\nB.- Padma; E.- Lotus.\n\nParts used: Whole plant, seed\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are useful in rectal and uterus prolepsis. The flower decoction used in angina pectoris. The nectar is quite useful in cataract.\n\nFolk dietetic: Young seeds are eaten like nut. Often the fruit ovary cooked eaten. Nectar is given to child for development of immunity.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity233.\n\nBiodiversity status: cultivated \/less Frequent.\n\nNeolamarckia (Rubiaceae)\n\nN. cadamba (Roxb.) Bosser.\n\nB.- Kadam; E.- Kadam.\n\nParts used: Leaves, bark & flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaf decoction is used to treat hydrocyl, mouth ulcers, round and thread worms. The bark paste is used for tumour and flower used to prevent bad odour in mouth cavity.\n\nFolk dietetic:Flower as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity234.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nNerium (Apocynaceae)\n\nN. oleander L.\n\nB.- Karabi; E.- Oleander.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used to treat diabetes along with other plant leaf-juice.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity235.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nNyctanthes (Oleaceae)\n\nN. arbor-tristis L.\n\nB.- Shiuli\/Sephali; E.\\- Night Jasmine.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves and bark are useful in remittent fever, anorexia, cynus, cold and cough. Leaves are also useful in diabetes, guinea worms, burning sensation of body, biliousness, sciatica and acts as stomachic.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nYoung leaves mixed with mustard oil fried and eaten.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity236.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nNymphaea (Nymphaceae)\n\nN. rubra Roxb.ex.Salisb\n\nB.- Lal Shaluk; E.- Red Water Lily.\n\nParts used: Flower & root (tuber).\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some aurvedic preparations like Dashamularistha and Chyavanprash. The roots (tubers) are useful in irregular and excessive menstruation; tubers and flower are useful in post pregnancy weaknesses; flower stalk in anorexia, digestion. Seeds are used to clear constipation. It is also used as blood purifier.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nThe long petiole peeled cut into pieces, steamed and cooked and eaten; seeds are used during famine and draught; sand fried seeds made into popcorns; also used as cakes with molasses.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity237.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nN. nauchali Burm.f.\n\nB.- Neel Shaluk; E.- Blue Water Lily.\n\nParts used: Flower & root (tuber).\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe roots (tubers) are useful in irregular and excessive menstruation; tubers and flower are useful in post pregnancy weaknesses; flower stalk in anorexia, digestion. Seeds are used to clear constipation. Used as blood purifier.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed like N. rubra\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity238.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nOcimum (Lamiaceae)\n\nO basilicum L.\n\nB.- Babui Tulsi; E.- Sweet Basil.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are used to treat cold and cough, dysentery, diarrhoea. Flowers are used as carminative, diuretic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity239.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nO. gratissimum L.\n\nB.\\- Ram Tulsi; E.- African Basil.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSame as O. basilicum. Antioxidant Potentiality: High activity240. Biodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nO. sanctum L.\n\nB.- Radha Tulsi; E.- Sacred Basil. Parts used: Leaves & seeds.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as an expectorant for cold and cough, bronchitis and also used in scorpion stings. Antioxidant Potentiality: Low activity241. Biodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nO. tenuiflorum L.\n\nB.- Krishna Tulsi; E.- Holy Basil.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSame as O. basilicum. Antioxidant Potentiality: High activity242. Biodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nOldenlandia (Rubiaceae)\n\nO. corymbosa L.\n\nB.- Khet Papra; E.- Old World Diamond Flower.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nPlant used in liver disorder, skin ulcer, spleen disorder, acne, as blood purifier, in burning sensation of body and thirstiness.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity243.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nO. diffusa (Will.) Roxb.\n\nB.- Khet Papra; E.- Slender Oldenlandia.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is useful in elephantiasis, fever, inflammations, asthma and ulcers. Plant also used in skin ulcer, spleen disorder and acne.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity244.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nOphioglossum (Ophioglossaceae)\n\nO. vulgatum L.\n\nB.- Aktir; E.- Adder's tongue.\n\nParts used: Leaves & rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves and rhizomes are used as a poultice for wounds. A tea made from the leaves is used as a remedy for internal bleeding and vomiting. Folk dietetic: Testy, fried and eaten especially in Darjeeling hills. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity (Present study).\n\nBiodiversity status: Endangered.\n\nOroxylum (Bignoniaceae)\n\nO. indicum (L) Vent.\n\nB.- Sona; E.- Indian Calosanthes.\n\nParts used: Bark, root & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Dashamularistha and Salsa, a health tonic. The root and bark are stomachic, astringent, galactagogue, laxative and anthelmintic; They are useful in rheumatism like gout and sciatica, leprosy, blood diseases and even in skin ulcers, cold and cough. The seed is used as sex stimulant and for condensation of watery semen.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity244.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less frequent.\n\nOryza (Poaceae)\n\nO. sativa L.\n\nB.- Dhan \/Dhanya; E.- the Rice plant\n\nParts used: Rice grains\/ in different forms\n\nMedicinal uses\n\nNutritious, digestive. De-husked grain with bran layer important for antioxidation in intestine space. Rice poultice used in burn-wounds. Oryzanol present in bran layer is anti-lipidomic. Tocoferol good for skin. In Weakness due to malnutrition. Brown rice contains oryzanol in deeper layers of the grain.\n\nFolk dietetic: Flattened rice along with curd prescribed for blood dysentery. Rice washed water (Sun dried rice) demulcent, coolant, in intestine inflammation. Rice mixed with tea taken by tribes of North Bengal. Fermented rice often eaten in villages of rural India. Straw as fodder.\n\nNutrition: ***** .(USDA) 80% carbohydrate. 1.2% fibre. & others.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nmoderate activity244a.\n\nBiodiversity status: More than hundred varieties Cultivated \/O.sativa var. fatua is wild.\n\nOxalis (Oxalidaceae)\n\nO. corniculata L.\n\nB.- Amrul; E.- Yellow Sorrel.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed to treat cold and cough, sciatica and also enhances appetite and improves digestion. Folk dietetic:\n\nBoiled and mixed with rice and eaten by indigenous people. Chutney prepared from leaves, eaten for treatment of acidity and gastritis.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity246.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPaederia (Rubiaceae)\n\nP. foetida L.\n\nB.\\- Gandha Vadal; E.- Stinkvine.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are useful against loose motion, dysentery and improves digestive capacity. It is also used in rheumatism. A soup prepared with green leaves along with green banana and fig is ideal diet for people suffering from stomach troubles and intestinal disorders.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed to stop loose motion of cattle;\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity247.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent\n\nPandanus (Pandanaceae)\n\nP. amaryllifolius Roxb.\n\nB.- Payespata; E.- Pandan.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAn aromatic plant. The leaves are used in cooking for good smell.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed in rice preparation to enhance the smell.\n\nNutrition: **\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity248.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nPaspalum ( Poaceae)\n\nP. scrobiculatum L\n\nB.\u2013 Kodo Dhan E.\u2013 Kodo Millet\n\nParts used: Fruit grains\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIn scorpion sting, occasionally develops narcotic properties(Chopra, Nayar, Chopra, 1956)\n\nFolk dietetic: Chhaang, a raw beer is prepared from the grains. The drink is popular in Bhutan, Sikkim, Nepal and North Eastern hills. Nutritive and refreshing, very popular for the Trekkers. Commonly believed to cure common cold, fevers, allergic rhinitis, and alcoholism and others. The grain grounded made into flour used in pudding, eaten substitute of rice. Contains 30% fibre.\n\nNutrition: like rice grain , *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity due to polyphenols247a.\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated in sub-Himalayan region , wild\n\nPergularia (Apocynaceae)\n\nP. daemia (Forssk.) Chiov.\n\nB.- Ajashringi\/Chagalbati.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Salsa and Dashamularistha, both are health tonic. It is used for the treatment of liver disorders as well as in bronchitis, bodyache, abdominal tumours, food poisoning, constipation, anorexia, leprosy and also acts as a blood purifier and blood enhancer.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity249.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPersicaria (Polygonaceae)\n\nP. chinensis (L.) H. Gross.\n\nB.- Moicharan; E.- Chinese Knotwood.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed for eye diseases and as a poultice for stomachache.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nP. glabra (Willd.) M.Gomez (Syn. Polygonum glabrum)\n\nB.- Bish Kantal; E.- Denseflower Knotweed. Parts used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root is used in case of rheumatism along with other ingredients.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPhlogacanthus (Acanthaceae)\n\nP. pubinervius T. Ander.\n\nB.- Singha Puccha; E.- Red Nongmangkha.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed to treat bronchitis, tuberculosis and other lung disorders and even chicken pox. Decoction of the leaves is used for cough and other symptoms of cold.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity250.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nPhoenix (Arecaceae)\n\nP. sylvestris (L.) Roxb.\n\nB.- Khejur; E.- Date Palm.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nEnhances memory and sleep, nutritive, effective in cold and cough and chronic bronchitis.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit. Phloem sap collected to prepare indigenous fermented liquor or Khejur Gur. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity251.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPhyla (Verbenaceae)\n\nP. nodiflora (L.) Greene\n\nB.- Bhuiokhra; E.- Frog fruit.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFresh juice is applied to bleeding gums. Infusion of leaves and tender stalk is given to children in indigestion and to women. (Post delivery)\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity252.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPhyllanthus (Phyllanthaceae)\n\nP. acidus (L.) Skeels\n\nB.- Labli; E.- Otaheite Gooseberry.\n\nParts used: Leaves & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe fruits are used as liver tonic to enrich the blood. The syrup is used as a stomachic; and the seeds are cathartic. A decoction of the leaves is given as sudorific and in cases of gonorrhoea.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity253.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. emblica L.\n\nB.- Amloki\/Amla; E.- Indian Gooseberry.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nOne of the ingredient of Trifolachurna, a ayurvedic preparation. Fruit is useful in acidity and conjunctivitis; fruit decoction helps in culminating fever occurring from poisonous stings, alopecia, skin diseases, to maintain healthy hair, hair loss and graying of hair, sore throat, pain, sex stimulant, useful in leucorrhoea, biliary colic, insomnia and also in diabetes.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit; made into chutny, pickle; the soft part of the fruit mixed with salt, eaten as appetizer.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity254.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. fraternus Webster (Syn. P. amarus)\n\nB.- Bhui Amla; E.- Bhumiamala.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is used in gastric ulcer, stangury, cough, burning sensation of body, hiccups, jaundice, piles and applied as an emollient on sores, scabies.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity255.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. reticulatus Poir.\n\nB.- Panishitki\/panijuli; E.- Black-Honey Shrub.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction is used as remedy for bleeding of gum. Leaves are diuretic to infants.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity256.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPhysalis (Solanaceae)\n\nP. peruviana L.\n\nB.- Tepari; E.- Cape Gooseberry.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is used in stangury, dropsy, dysentery, dyspepsia, anorexia; fruits are diuretic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity257.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. minima L.\n\nB.- Tepari; E.- Ground Cherry.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe juice of the leaves used for earache or pus.\n\nFolk dietetic: as cattle feed\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity258.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPiper (Piperaceae)\n\nP. betel L.\n\nB.- Pan; E.- Betel leaf.\n\nParts used: Leaves. Medicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction is used in pyrrohoea, herpes, boils and control of hair lice.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf is chewed with areca nut. Leaf & betel nut reported to be inducer to cancer.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity259.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. chaba Hunter\n\nB.- Chai; E.- \"Dee Plee\" pepper. Parts used: Fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits are used in cold and cough and in haemorrhoidal infection as well as carminative.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity260.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. longum L.\n\nB.- Pipul; E.- Long Pepper.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe plant is useful in bronchitis, cold and cough, asthma, tonsilitis, goitre, pharyngitis, dysentery, constipation, piles, and also acts as a laxative, blood purifier, antidote and appetizer.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs spices. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity260.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nP. nigrum L.\n\nB.- Golmorich; E.- Black Pepper.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is also used in cold and cough, dysentery, dropsy, controls stomach worms, in insomnia and even poisonous stings. Also used as a tonic, laxative, blood enhancer, appetizer, culminates fever, gonorrhoea and bleeding piles.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs spices.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity261.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPistia (Araceae)\n\nP. stratiotes L.\n\nB.- Topa Pana; E.- Water Lettuce.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root is burned and the ash is mixed with sesame oil and inhaled for two months to prevent goiter.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed to induce lactation; One of the ingredient of poultry feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity262.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPlumbago (Plumbaginaceae)\n\nP. indica L.\n\nB.- Lalchita; E.- Scarlet Leadwort.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Panchatiktaghritaguggul and also in Louhasab, a tonic. Root is useful in ulcers, dyspepsia, cough, gonorrhoea, diabetes, tapeworms, piles, liver and spleen disorders and also used as a chronic stomachic and arthritic, blood enhancer and purifier. It is also effectively used against tumours.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity263.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nP. zeylanica L.\n\nB.- Sadachita; E.- White Leadwort.\n\nParts used: vRoot.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root is used as an appetizer, as chronic stomachic and arthritic, blood enhancer, for gastric ulcers, tapeworms and is antibacterial. Tincture of root bark used in ulcers.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity264.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nPlumeria (Apocynaceae)\n\nP. rubra L. var. acutifolia Bailey\n\nB.- Gorur Chapa; E.- Frangipani\/Plumeria.\n\nParts used: Leaves & latex.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used in the treatment of inflammations as well as the latex is used in rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity265.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPolyalthia (Annonaceae)\n\nP. longifolia Benth. & Hook. f.\n\nB.- Debdaru; E.- Indian Fir Tree.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark is used in dropsy, sleepiness, hiccups and quite effective in dysentery.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity266.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPolygonum (Polygonaceae)\n\nP. plebejum R. Brown.\n\nB.- Chemti Sak; E.- Small Knotweed.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots are used in pneumonia.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFried, eaten. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity267.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPongamia (Leguminosae)\n\nP. pinnata (L.) Pierre\n\nB.- Karanja; E.- Indian Beech.\n\nParts used: Bark & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeed oil is useful for hair growth, nasal allergy, stomachache, fever, herpes and burning sensation of body. Stem helpful in reducing toothache when used as a brush.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity268.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPortulaca (Portulacaceae)\n\nP. oleracea L.\n\nB.- Nonta Sak; E.- Common Purslane.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is used to treat infections or bleeding of the genito-urinary tract as well as dysentery. The fresh herb is applied topically to relieve sores and insect bites on the skin. It increases digestion, improves cough and cold; the leaf juice is used in headache and also used in burning sensation of hand and leg.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nEaten as curry or fried eaten as sag. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity269.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPouzolzia (Urticaceae)\n\nP. zeylanica (L) Benn.\n\nB.- Luchipata; E.- Graceful Pouzolzsbush.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used in ulcers, syphilis and gonorrhoea. Leaf juice is used as galactagogue. Poultice of the herb is applied to sores, boils.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity270.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPremna (Lamiaceae)\n\nP. corymbosa (Burm.f.) Rottl. & Willd.\n\nB.- Gonal; E. Premna.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used as antidiabetic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity271.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPsidium (Myrtaceae)\n\nP. guajava L.\n\nB.- Peyara; E.- Guava.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTender leaves are used in pyrrohoea, diarrhoea, anorexia and as a stomachic; bark in dysentery.\n\nFolk dietetic: As fruit.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity272.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPterocarpus (Leguminosae)\n\nP. santalinus L.f.\n\nB.- Rakta Chandan; E.- Red Sandalwood.\n\nParts used: Bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe bark powder is used in headache, bleeding from gum, irregular menstruation, mumps, ringworm, carbuncle and abscess.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity273.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nPterospermum (Malvaceae)\n\nP. acerifolium (L.) Willd.\n\nB.- Muchkunda Chapa\/Kanak Chapa; E.-Bayur Tree\/Karnikar Tree.\n\nParts used: Leaves & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves stop bleeding. Bark used in itches, acne; flower used in headache. The bark and flowers together help reduce body fat.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity274.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nPunica (Lythraceae)\n\nP. granatum L.\n\nB.- Dalim; E.- Pomme Granate.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruit peel used in diarrhoea, blood stool, dysentery; fruit in dyspepsia, lack of appetite, and insomnia. Tender leaves useful in leucorrhoea. Root bark in tapeworms, enlargement of liver; flower decoction during bleeding of nose.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity275.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nPutranjiva (Putranjivaceae)\n\nP. roxburghii Wall.\n\nB.\\- Putranjiva; E.- Putranjiv.\n\nParts used: Bark & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark used in excessive thirst, seed powder is used for dysentery and rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity276.\n\nBiodiversity status: Less Frequent.\n\nQuisqualis (Combretaceae)\n\nQ. indica L.\n\n(Syn: Combretum indicum)\n\nB.- Madhabilata; E.- Rangoon Creeper.\n\nParts used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe decoction of the roots are used to treat rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity277.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nRauvolfia (Apocyanaceae)\n\nR. serpentina (L.) Benth. ex Kurz.\n\nB.- Sarpagandha; E.- Snake Root.\n\nParts used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMajor constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Sarpagandha Churna and Madhugandha. The extract of the root is used to treat high blood pressure, hypertension, insomnia, weakness and nervous disorders. It is used to improve heart function and also used as an antidote against bites of reptiles (snakes).\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity278.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nR. tetraphylla L.\n\nB.- Sarpagandha; E.- Wild Snake Root.\n\nParts used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is used as adulterant to R. serpentina.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity279.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nRicinus (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nR. communis L.\n\nB.- Rayri; E.- Castor Oil plant.\n\nParts used: Root, seed & leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoot is one of the main constituents of some ayurvedic preparations like Punarnabastak Pachan and Saribadi Salsa. The root extract and seed oil is used for curing chronic arthritis, gout, dropsy, acute diarrhoea, and dysentery. The leaves are heated and applied to a woman's breasts to improve lactation.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity280.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nRosa (Rosaceae)\n\nR. indica L.\n\nB.- Golap; E.- Rose.\n\nParts used: Flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFlower paste is used against acne. Rose water is useful as skin cleanser and eye soother.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity281.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nRumex (Polygonaceae)\n\nR. maritimus L.\n\nB.\\- Jungli palak; E.- Golden Dock.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are applied externally to burns. It is diuretic, enhances appetite. Leaf decoction stops vomiting, burning sensation. Leaf juice used in antidote to insect bites.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nCrushed and used as chutney.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity282.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSaccharum (Poaceae)\n\nS. spontaneum L.\n\nB.- Kashphul; E.- Wild Sugar\u00adcane.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots are astringent, emollient, refrigerant, diuretic, aphrodisiac and useful in treatment of gynecological troubles, burning sensations and piles.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity283.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. officinarum L.\n\nB.- Akh; E.-Sugarcane.\n\nParts used: Stem.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nStem juice is very helpful in case of jaundice and also in kidney stone. Swelling of prostate gland,laxative, diuretic,aphrodisiac. To treat underweight baby. It is a folk remedy for arthritis, bedsores, boils, cancer, colds, cough, diarrhea, dysentery, eyes, fever, hiccups, inflammation, laryngitis, opacity, penis, skin, sores, sore throat, spleen, tumors, and wounds (Duke and Wain, 1981).\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nStem. Fresh cane stems are often chewed, especially by poorer people.\n\nFresh juice have cooling effect and contains antioxidant nutraceuticals. sap collected to prepare akh Gur.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity284.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent Cultivated.\n\nSagittaria (Alismataceae)\n\nS. sagittifolia L.\n\nB.\\- Koukha\/Patajhanjhi; E.- Duck Potato.\n\nParts used: Leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf is used to treat a skin disorders; act as antimicrobial agent.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nStarchy tubers edible; leaves and petioles used as vegetable.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nNot Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSapindus (Sapindaceae)\n\nS. trifoliatus L.\n\nB.- Ritha; E.- Soapnut.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruit powder used in stomachache, asthma, enhances menstruation. Fruit is useful for hair growth and has antilice action;\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity285.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSaraca (Leguminosae)\n\nS. indica L.\n\nB.- Ashok; E.- Ashoka Tree.\n\nParts used: Bark & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nBark is the main component of an ayurvedic preparation like Ashokarishtha, a health tonic for women. It is effective against leucorrhoea, dysmenorrhoea and haemorrhoids and gout . The dried fruits are used in cases of spermatorrhoea, and urinary disorders.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity286.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nScoparia (Scrophulariaceae)\n\nS. dulcis L.\n\nB.- Chinimichri; E.- Sweet Broom Weed.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful in leucorrhoea, mouth ulcer and is anti-diabetic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity287.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSemecarpus (Anacardiaceae)\n\nS. anacardium L.f.\n\nB.- Vela; E.- Marking Nut.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds are used as blood purifier, treats herpes, gangrene, and leprosy. The seeds are effectively used against tumours and applied for abortion. Oil is used in rheumatism.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity288.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSesbania (Leguminosae)\n\nS. grandiflora Pers.\n\nB.- Bakphul; E.- Hummingbird Tree.\n\nParts used: Leaves & flower.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFlower juice is useful in treating cold and cough; leaf decoction is used in night blindness and epilepsy.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nFlowers fried and eaten. Nutrition: **\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity289.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. sesban Merr.\n\nB.- Jayanti; E.- Egyptian River\u00adheme.\n\nParts used: Leaves & seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are used in cold and cough and act as appetizer; seed paste is useful in insect bites.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity290.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSetaria (Poaceae)\n\nS. italica Beauv. (syn. Panicum italicum L.)\n\nB.\u2013 Kang\/ Kaon, E.\u2013 Foxtail millet\n\nParts used: seed grains.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTo improve sexual desire in both sexes and to reduce body fat; 20 grams boiled grains for 60 days(Bhattachartta, 2008). Useful in biliousness, cooling, anti-inflammatory ; antioxidant291a\n\nFolk dietetic : Alternative to major cereals. To reduce body fat 20 gms of boiled grains to be taken twice a day for 60 days. Grains fried in sand made into 'khoi' eaten with milk or pudding is made from grain.\n\nNutrition: whole grain contains good nutraceuticals better than rice, ***** .\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: high291a\n\nBiodiversity status: cultivated or wild, North Bengal plains and drier parts of India\n\nS. glauca (L.) Beauv. (syn. Panicum glauca L.)\n\nB.- Pinginatchi E.- Yellow foxtail\n\nParts used : seeds, leaf\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nNot known\n\nFolk dietetic : Low grade beer produced from the seeds. Plant used as fodder.\n\nNutrition : ***\n\nAntioxidant potentiality: not known\n\nBiodiversity: Common widely distributed.\n\nS. verticillata (L.) Beauv.(syn. Panicum vertcillatum L.)\n\nB.- Silnaja; E.- Hooked Bristle grass.\n\nParts used : seeds, leaf\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nNot known\n\nFolk dietetic : Low grade beer produced from the seeds. During great Bengal famine the seeds were eaten. Plant used as fodder.\n\nNutrition : ***\n\nAntioxidant potentiality: not known\n\nBiodiversity: Common, weedy.\n\nSida (Malvaceae)\n\nS. acuta Burm.f.\n\nB.- Berala; E.- Common wireweed.\n\nParts Used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots are used in biliousness, urinary disorder, stomachache and fever as well as act as aphrodisiac.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity291.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. cordifolia Wight & Arnott\n\nB.- Swet Berala; E.\\- Indian Ephedra.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUseful in dog bites, blisters and women's breast irritation.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves as goat feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity292.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. rhombifolia L.\n\nB.- Peet Berala; E.- Arrowleaf Sida.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Salsa and Chyavanprasha, both are health tonic. It is used as blood purifier and enhancer as well as sperm enhancer. Useful in blisters and hydrocyl. Roots are used in haemoptysis and stangury.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves as goat feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity293.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSmilax (Smilacaceae)\n\nS. ovalifolia Roxb. ex D.Don\n\nB.- Kumarilata\/Baghnokha; E.- Kumarika.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe roots are used for venereal diseases, rheumatic swellings, urinary problems and dysentery.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity294.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSolanum (Solanaceae)\n\nS. indicum L. Sans.\n\nB.\\- Brihati; E.- Indian Nightshade.\n\nParts used: Leaves, fruits & seeds.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits are used in ankle sprain, gout, cold and cough, dyspepsia; fruit juice in uterus itching; tender leaves for anorexia, insect bites; seeds for asthma.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity295.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. nigrum L.\n\nB.- Kakmachi; E.- Black Night\u00adshade.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nMature leaf decoction is useful to treat dropsy, general debility, thread worms, stangury, prickly heat, dysentery, anaemia and in diuretic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity296.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. xanthocarpum Sch. and Weldl.\n\nB.- Kantikari; E.- Yellow - Berried Nightshade.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is a major component of few aurvedic preparations like, Saribadi Salsa, Chyavanprasha, Punarnabastak Pachan etc. It is useful in treating worms, enlargement of liver, muscular pain and stone in the urinary bladder. Dried fruit treats dental infections. Roots and seeds are used as an expectorant in asthma, cough and pain in chest. Seeds are helpful for treating irregular menstruation and dysmenorrheal. Fruits also facilitate seminal ejaculation, itching and fever.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nUsed as cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity297.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSpinacia (Amaranthaceae)\n\nS. oleracea L.\n\nB.- Palong; E.- Spinach.\n\nParts used: Leaves & root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as a wholesome vegetable. Leaf decoction is useful in asthma and roots in insect bites.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTesty and eaten as mixed curry and also as fried sag.\n\nNutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity298.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSpondias (Anacardiaceae)\n\nS. pinnata (L.f.) Kurz.\n\nB.- Amra; E.- Wild Mango.\n\nParts used: Bark, leaves, root & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoots are useful in regulating menstruation. Bark is used in dysentery, diarrhoea, cold and cough, vomiting and rheumatism. Leaves are aromatic and used in dysentery. The ripe fruits are antiscorbutic.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit; Fruit is used to prepare chutny and pickle.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity299.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nStephania (Menispermaceae)\n\nS. hernandiifolia (Wild.) Walp.\n\nB.- Aknadi\/Talalati\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of Salsa, an ayurvedic preparation. Useful in boils, herpes, stangury, sprains, leucorrhoea and acts as a stomachic. The raw tender leaves are well known for preventing pregnancy.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity300.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nSterculia (Malvaceae)\n\nS. foetida L.\n\nB.- Kathbadam; E.- Java-Olive.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeeds are used as carminative and laxative.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity301.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nStevia (Asteraceae)\n\nS. rebaudiana (Bertoni) Bertoni\n\nB.- Stevia; E.- Sweetleaf.\n\nParts used: Leaves. Medicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are used for diabetic patients as an alternative source of sugar.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity302.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare and cultivated.\n\nStreblus (Moraceae)\n\nS. asper Lour.\n\nB.- Shewra; E.- Siamese Rough Bush.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves are boiled in water and the decoction is used to prevent loose motion.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity303.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nStreptolirion (Commelinaceae)\n\nS. volubile Edgew.\n\nMedicinal Uses:\n\nJuice prepared from the root used externally on wounds of vital organs\n\nFolk Dietetic: Young inflorescence boiled and eaten as vegetable curry at villages.\n\nNutrition : ***\n\nStrychnos (Loganiaceae)\n\nS. nux-vomica L.\n\nB.- Kuchila; E.- Poison Nut.\n\nParts used: Seeds.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is mainly used to induce vomiting as well as in abdominal pain, constipation, intestinal irritation, insomnia.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity304.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nSyzygium (Myrtaceae)\n\nS. cumini (L.) Skeels\n\nB.- Jam; E.- Jambolana.\n\nParts used: Leaves & seeds.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction cures blood dysentery, vomiting, cuts, wounds and scabies. Seed powder is useful in diabetes and diarrhoea.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit; leaves as cattle feed. Nutrition: *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity305.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nS. jambos (L.) Alston\n\nB.\\- Golap Jam; E.- Rose Apple.\n\nParts used: Bark & fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe bark is used as astringent and fruits are used in liver disorders.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity306.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTagetes (Asteraceae)\n\nT. erecta L.\n\nB.- Halud Ganda; E.- Marigold.\n\nParts used: Leaves & flowers.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nIt is used to treat stomachache, parasites, diar\u00adrhoea, vomiting, indigestion, hiccups, dropsy, cold and cough and toothache. Leaf paste used to stop bleeding from cuts and wounds.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity307.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nT. patula L.\n\nB.- Rakta Ganda; E.\\- French Marigold.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used to stop bleeding from cuts and wounds, piles, nose, during coughing and also in uterine infection.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nHigh activity308.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTamarindus (Leguminosae)\n\nT. indica L.\n\nB.- Tentul; E.- Tamarind.\n\nParts used: Leaves & fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nTender leaves are useful for cold and cough, chronic dysentery, sprain, mouth ulcers and rheumatic pain. Fruit is useful in gastric problems.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit; made into pickle, chutny. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity309.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTamilnadia (Rubiaceae)\n\nT. uliginosa (Retz.) Tirveng. & Sastre\n\nB.- Pandal; E.- Divine Jasmine.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits are eaten as vegetables.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity310.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTectona (Lamiaceae)\n\nT. grandis L.f.\n\nB.- Segun; E.- Teak Tree.\n\nParts used: Fruit, seed & bark.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits are useful in stangury; bark powder in acidity, headache and seed oil used in herpes. Antioxidant Potentiality: High activity311. Biodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTerminalia (Combretaceae)\n\nT. arjuna (Roxb.ex DC.) Wt. & Arn.\n\nB.- Arjun; E.\\- Arjuna.\n\nParts used: Bark & tender leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Arjunaristha, Trifalachurna and Dashamularistha. The powder of the bark is an effective sex stimulant and useful in blood pressure, high cholesterol and in asthma. It is useful in removing calculi or stones formed in the urinary system. It helps to promote blood formation and relieve from fever.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity312.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nT. bellirica (Gaertn.) Roxb.\n\nB.- Bahera; E.- Beleric\/Bastard Myrobalan.\n\nParts used: Fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some a.yurvedic preparations like Avayaristha and Trifalachurna, a tonic. The fruit powder is useful in chronic dysentery, piles and whooping cough. It expels stones in the digestive, urinary and respiratory tracts. It is a strong rejuvenator of the body, especially for the hoarseness of voice, vision and hair. It shows a strong action in preventing heart and liver fat congestion.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity313.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nT. chebula Retz.\n\nB.- Haritaki; E.- Black Myrobalan\/Chebulic Myrobalan.\n\nParts used: Fruits.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like aritakikhanda,Bhuvaneswarboti, Trifalachurna and Chatursa\u00admaboti. It is used to treat piles, wounds, ulcer, leprosy, inflammation, cough, asthma, skin disorders and also in chronic diarrhoea. The seed decoction is used as gargle in sore throat and ulceration of gums. It is a good appetizer, improves digestion, acts as a liver stimulant and a stomachic. It is useful in urethral discharge like spermatorrhoea, vaginal discharge like leucorrhoea. Infusion of fruits cures conjunctivitis.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit. Seed crushed and eaten. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity314.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nThunbergia (Acanthaceae)\n\nT. coccinea Wall.\n\nB.- Thunbergia; E.- Scarlet Thunbergia.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nJuice of plant is applied to cuts and wounds. Leaves and roots are used for bone fracture.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Not Reported.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTinospora (Menispermaceae)\n\nT. sinensis (Lour.) Merr. (Syn: T. cordifolia)\n\nB.- Gulancha; E.- Giloy.\n\nParts used: Stem & leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Amritaristha. The latex decoction produces a type of sugar called 'gulancha michchri' and another preparations like Kalamegh, Panchatiktoghritaguggul and Salsa. It is used to treat severe illness, skin ulcers, arthritis, gout, liver and eye diseases, urinary problems, anaemia, tumour, herpes, diarrhoea, dysentery, diabetes, gonorrhoea and even reduces blood cholesterol level.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed to induce lactation.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity315.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTragia (Euphorbiaceae)\n\nT. involucrata L.\n\nB.- Bichuti; E.- Nose Burns.\n\nParts used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe roots are crushed along with stem of harjora and ginger, then applied externally on broken leg and ankle pain.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity316.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTrapa (Trapaceae)\n\nT. bispinosa Roxb.\n\nB. Paniphal, E. Water chestnut\n\nParts used : Fruit, whole plant\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\naphrodisiac, astringent, ap\u00ad\u00adpe\u00adtizer, anti-pyretic, constipating, diuretic, coolant, nutritive, anti-diarrheal, and tonic. Having immunomodulatory and anti-diabetic properties316a.\n\nFolk dietetic: fruits are edible raw or cooked;dried ones are baked and eaten. They are also grated into flour and made into cakes. The nutritive value of the kernels is shown by analysis to be equal to that of rice.316a\n\nNutrition : *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High-activity316a.\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated all over India, Introduced from Europe.\n\nTrichosanthes (Cucurbitaceae)\n\nT. tricuspidata Lour. (Syn: T. bracteata)\n\nB.- Makal; E.- Redball Snakegourd.\n\nParts used: Roots.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe Roots are crushed and paste is applied as emollient in case of headache.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality:\n\nModerate activity317.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nT. cucumerina L.\n\nB.\u2013 Bon chichinga; E.-Common Fringed- Flower Vine.\n\nParts used: Leaves and fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaf decoction used in biliousness, skin diseases such as eczema. Fruits are used as anthelmintic, emetic and purgative.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed and fruit as vegetable by tribal.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity318.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nT. dioica Roxb.\n\nB.- Patal; E.- Pointed Gourd.\n\nParts used: Fruit, root & leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nRoasted fruit clears marks of chicken pox and relieves from infected and pus formed nails. Leaves are used as a laxative. Roots are highly laxative and used to control bile.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaf and young branches boiled, fried and eaten as side dish. Fruit is used as very popular wholesome vegetables Seeds anti-diabetic.\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity319.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent and cultivated Assam bengal thought to be centre for origin (De Sarker, 2012).\n\nTridax (Asteraceae)\n\nT. procumbens (L.) L.\n\nB.- Kesriya; E. - Tridax Daisy.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nWhole plant is crushed and the paste is applied to dry the pusses. It is also used in cuts and wounds.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity320. Biodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTylophora (Apocynaceae)\n\nT. indica (Burm.f.) Merr.\n\nB.- Antamul; E.- Indian Ipecac.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nDried root used in dysentery, bronchitis and asthma. The plant is used as substitute of Ipecac.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity321.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTyphonium (Araceae)\n\nT. trilobatum (L.) Schott.\n\nB.\u2013 Kharkon kachu\/Chet Kachu; E.\\- Bengal Arum.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as vegetable to treat physical weakness, pain, anorexia and enhances lactation.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nLeaves and petiole cut into pieces, cooked as vegetable.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity322.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nTriticum (Poaceae)\n\nT. estivum L.\n\nParts used: seed, leaf\n\nB.\u2013 Gam \/ Godhum E.\u2013 The bread wheat plant\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nAccording to Hartwell (1967\u20131971), the seeds are used in folk remedies for cancers, corns, tumors, warts, and whitlow. demulcent, diuretic, emollient, excipient, intoxicant, laxative, useful as a poultice, restorative, sedative. Wheat grass (extract concentrate) has been shown to posses anti-cancer activity, anti-ulcer activity, antioxidant activity, anti-arthritic activity, and blood building activity in Thalassemia Major(Singh,N., et.al.,2012)\n\nFolk dietetic : used as a shampoo and vulnerary, common wheat is a folk remedy for cancer, diarrhea, dysentery, ecchymosis, epistaxis, fertility, fever, gravel, hematuria, hemoptysis, hemorrhage, incontinence, leprosy, leucorrhea, menorrhagia, neurasthenia, nightsweat, perspiration, scald, tumor, warts, whitlow, and wounds (Duke and Wain, 1981, ref. 283a).\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality wheat \/ leaf: High283a\n\nNutrition : ***** (USDA)\n\nBiodiversity: widely cultivated.\n\nUraria (Leguminosae)\n\nU. picta (Jacq.) DC.\n\nB.- Prisniparni; E.\u2013 Lagopoides.\n\nParts used: Roots & leaf.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root has aphrodisiac properties and the decoction is used for cough and fevers. Leaves are crushed and juice is used as antiseptic externally.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity323.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare.\n\nUrena (Malvaceae)\n\nU. lobata L.\n\nB.- Hegra; E.- Caesar weed.\n\nParts used: Root.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe root paste is used in case of dog bite.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity324.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nUrtica (Urticaceae)\n\nU. dioica\n\nB.\u2013 Bichuti pata E.\u2013 Stinging Nettle\n\nParts used : Young leaf, root\n\nMedicinal uses\n\nHaving Immunomodulatory property,324a Antioxidant, antimicrobial, antiulcer and analgesic activities\n\nFolk dietetic: The young shoot and the inflorescences are made into curry alone or mixed with potato and eaten particularly in hilly areas. Nettle soup is a common use of the plant, particularly in Northern and Eastern Europe. Native Americans and used as a cooked plant in spring when other food plants were scarce.324b\n\nNutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant potentiality:High activity324c\n\nBiodiversity status : Common, at plains and hills\n\nVanda (Orchidaceae)\n\nV. tessellata (Roxb.) Hook ex Don.\n\nB.- Rasna; E.- Checkered Vanda.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Dashamularistha and Salsa, health tonic.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity325.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nVangueria (Rubiaceae)\n\nV. spinosa Roxb. (Syn. Meyna spinosa)\n\nB.- Mayna Kanta; E.- Muyna.\n\nParts used: Fruit.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nFruits used in biliousness and hepatic congestion.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Potent phytochemical present326.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nVernonia (Asteraceae)\n\nV. anthelminctica (L.) Willd. (Syn: Baccharoides anthelmintica)\n\nB.- Somraji; E.- Purple fleabane.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe seeds are used to treat leucoderma and other skin diseases. The seeds are also used as blood enhancer, blood purifier and treats piles, guinea worms, toothache, diabetes and dysentery.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity327.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nV. cinerea Less.\n\nB.- Sahadebi; E.- Common Vernonia.\n\nParts used: Whole Plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaves are eaten as a potherb. A decoction of the plant is used in diarrhoea, stomach-ache and for cough and colic. The juice of the plant is useful in urinary problem of children.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity328.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nVitex (Lamiaceae)\n\nV. negundo L.\n\nB.- Nishinda; E.- Vitex Plant.\n\nParts used: Leaves.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe leaf decoction treats boils, dandruff, gout, flatulence, leprosy, itches, gout, asthma, tonsilitis, pharyngitis and also reduces abdominal fats and guinea worms.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nTender leaves fried eaten along with rice; as cattle feed.\n\nNutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity329.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nVitis (Vitaceae)\n\nV. vinifera L.\n\nB.- Angur; E. Grape\n\nParts used : Fruits, Dried fruits, Seeds, Leaves\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nLeaves astringent, paste of young branches used to cure skin infection; Fruits laxative, fruit juice energy enhancer, recovers weakness. Dry fruit: Universally used as dry food for wellness of body both mental and physical, anti-cough, diuretic, appetizer. Principal Ingredient for Dhrakharista.\n\nFolk dietetic: Mature Fruit good source of minerals and vitamins Young branches eaten as vegetable,\n\nFruits used in preparation of liquor.\n\nNutrition: Fruits : dry or fresh source of one of the best nutrition. Fruit &Seeds contains ant-cancer nutraceuticals. *****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity329a.\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated , thought to have primary centre of origin at North-Western Himalayas.\n\nWedelia (Asteraceae)\n\nW. calendulacea (L.) Less.\n\n(Syn. Sphagneticola calendulacea)\n\nB.- Bhringaraj; E.- Trailing Eclipta.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA major constituent of an ayurvedic preparation, Mahavringaraj Tel. The decoction of the whole plant helps to calm the mind from excessive stress, headache and soothes noisy sleep. The leaves are used in dyeing grey hair and in promoting the growth of hair. It is also used as nervine tonic and in cough.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: High activity330.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nWithania (Solanaceae)\n\nW. somnifera (L.) Dunal\n\nB.- Aswagandha; E.- Indian Ginseng.\n\nParts used: Root and whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nA main constituent of some ayurvedic preparations like Aswagandharistha, a sperm enhancer tonic and Salsa. The roots are used to treat nervous disorders, intestinal infections, cold and cough, asthma, boils, chronic bronchitis, leucoderma and also acts as a sexual stimulant, and helps in erectile dysfunction.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity331.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nXanthium (Asteraceae)\n\nX. strumarium L.\n\nB.- Chulatka; E.- Clotbur.\n\nParts used: Whole plant.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nExtracts of the whole plant is used as laxative, digestive and also in rheumatism, pruritis, leucoderma and other skin diseases.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs cattle feed. Nutrition: ***\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity332.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\n\nZingiber (Zingiberaceae)\n\nZ. officinale Roxb.\n\nB.- Ada; E.- Ginger.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nUsed as appetizer; used in cold and fever, chicken pox, nephritis, hiccups, cuts and wounds.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nRaw chewed as mouth freshener and irritation in throat. Mixed with tea as zinger tea. dried flakes to prevent habit of smoking and chewing betel. Contains anti cancerous nutraceuticals.\n\nAs spices; Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity333.\n\nBiodiversity status: Cultivated\n\nZ. zerumbet (L.) Roscoe ex Sm.\n\nB.- Jabakusum; E.- Shampoo Ginger.\n\nParts used: Rhizome.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nThe decoction of rhizome is used to cool the mind as well as it relieves from headche.\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Low activity334.\n\nBiodiversity status: Rare in locality.\n\nZiziphus (Rhamnaceae)\n\nZ. jujuba Mill.\n\n(Syn. Rhamnus jujuba)\n\nB.- Kul; E.- Chinese Date.\n\nParts used: Seed.\n\nMedicinal uses:\n\nSeed powder used as laxative, blood purifier and also in leucorrhoea and digesion.\n\nFolk dietetic:\n\nAs fruit, delicious in green as well as ripe condition; ripen fruit processed into pickle, chutny. Nutrition: ****\n\nAntioxidant Potentiality: Moderate activity335.\n\nBiodiversity status: Frequent.\nBibliography\n\nBhattacharya, S., Chiranjib Banaushadhi, Vol. I-VIII (Ananda Publishers), 2008.\n\nChopra, R. N., Nayar, S. L. & Chopra, I. C., Glossary of Indian Medicinal Plants (National Institute of Science Communication), 1956.\n\nChopra, R. N., Nayar, S. L. & Chopra, I. C., Supplement to Glossary of Indian Medicinal Plants (Publications & Information Directorate), 1969.\n\nDe-Candolle, A. (1850-1886) Origin of cultivated plants. D. Appleton & Co., New York. 1885.\n\nHemadri, K. (1981) Rhumatism : Tribal medicine. Anciant Sci. life,1:117-120\n\nHooker, J. 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Being a student of famous scientist, Professor A.K.Sharma, Dr. De Sarker started research in plant cytogenetics and later on shifted his attention to medicinal plants. He has guided several Ph.D. students and has 75 research articles and two books to his credit. He has delivered many lectures in India and abroad. He was a British Council Research Fellow in 1995 and did collaborative research at Jodrel Laboratory, Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, U.K. (he can be reached at: dilipdesarker.rnj@gmail.com)\n\n**Manas Ranjan Saha** (b.1986) is currently a research associate at Bio-informatics Centre, North Bengal University. Mr. Saha has surveyed more than hundred plants with reference to antioxidant activity, anti-carcinogenic property, and anti-diabetic property. The results of the findings have been included in this publication. He is a devoted research worker who also works in bio-informatics and is pursuing his Ph.D. at North Bengal University.\n\n**Subrata Saha** (b.1969) is an assistant Professor at Raiganj University, West Bengal. He did his post-graduation at North Bengal University. A social worker by nature, he has contributed to various social programmes including health issues of the poor. He has several international and national research publications.\n\nIndex to English Names\n\nA\n\nAdder's tongue\n\nAfrican Basil\n\nAir Plant\n\nAir Yam\/ Air Potato\n\nAlligator weed\n\nAloe\n\nArabian Jasmine\n\nAreca Nut\n\nArjuna\n\nAromatic Ginger\n\nArrowleaf Sida\n\nAsoka tree\n\nAsparagus\n\nAsthma Weed\n\nB\n\nBalloon Vine\n\nBamboo\n\nBamia Moschata\n\nBanana\n\nBanTulsi\n\nBanyan tree\n\nBarbados Nut\n\nBarnyard grass\n\nBarnyard Millet\n\nBastard Myrobalan\n\nBastard Teak\n\nBayur Tree\n\nBeleric\n\nBellyache Bush\n\nBengal Arum\n\nBengal Quince\n\nBengal wild rice\n\nBermuda Grass\n\nBetel leaf\n\nBetel Nut\n\nBhumiamala\n\nBillygoat Weed\n\nBitter Cumin\n\nBitter Gourd\n\nBlack Myrobalan\n\nBlack Nightshade\n\nBlack Pepper.\n\nBlack Turmeric\n\nBlack-Honey Shrub\n\nBlue Water Lily\n\nBread wheat\n\nBroom Creeper\n\nBuddha Tree\n\nBullet Wood Tree\n\nButterfly Pea.\n\nC\n\nCaesar weed\n\nCandlebrush\n\nCape Gooseberry\n\nCarambola\n\nCarrot\n\nCassava\n\nCastor oil plant\n\nCeylon caper\n\nCeylon Cinnamon\n\nChaff-flower\n\nChameleon Plant\n\nChampac\n\nCheckered vanda\n\nChilly\n\nChina Rose\n\nChinese date\n\nChinese Knotwood\n\nChinese Senna\n\nChrist's Thorn\n\nClimbing hempvine\n\nClimbing Wool-plant\n\nClotbur\n\nCluster Fig Tree\n\nCoconut\n\nCoffee Senna\n\nCogon Grass\n\nCommon Curculigo\n\nCommon Leucas\n\nCommon Purslane\n\nCommon vernonia\n\nCommon wireweed\n\nCoral Tree\n\nCoriander\n\nCorn Mint\n\nCotton Rosemallow\n\nCowhage\n\nCrepe Ginger\n\nCrown Flower\n\nCurry Plant\n\nCustard Apple\n\nD\n\nDate Palm.\n\nDee Plee pepper\n\nDenseflower Knotweed\n\nDevil Tree of India\n\nDevil's Trumpet\n\nDevill's Claw\n\nDevils's cotton\n\nDivine Jasmine\n\nDuck potato\n\nE\n\nE.-Common Fringed- Flower Vine\n\nEared Cyphostemma\n\nEarleaf Acacia\n\nEast Indian Rosebay\n\nEgyptian Riverheme\n\nElephant Apple\n\nElephant Creeper\n\nElephant Foot Yam\n\nEpazote\n\nEucalyptus\n\nEuropian Waterclover\n\nF\n\nFalse Daisy\n\nFive Leaved Carpetweed\n\nFive-Leaf Yam\n\nFlame Tree\n\nForest Grapes\n\nFour 'O' Clock plant\n\nFox nut\n\nFoxtail millet\n\nFragrant Albizia\n\nFrangipani\n\nFrench Marigold\n\nFreshwater Mangrove\n\nFrog fruit\n\nG\n\nGandarusa\n\nGarlic\n\nGiant Dodder\n\nGiant Taro\n\nGiloy 103\n\nGinger\n\nGlory lily\n\nGolden dock\n\nGolden Shower Tree\n\nGoomar teak.\n\nGovernor's Plum\n\nGraceful Pouzolzsbush\n\nGrape\n\nGreen Amaranth\n\nGreen Taro\n\nGround Cherry\n\nGuava\n\nGum Arabic Tree\n\nGymnema\n\nH\n\nHairy Fig.\n\nHairy Hemigraphis\n\nHamilton Bamboo\n\nHeart Pea\n\nHelminthostachys\n\nHenna\n\nHill Canna\n\nHill Glory Bower\n\nHimalayan Onion.\n\nHoly Basil\n\nHoney suckle mistletoe\n\nHooked Bristle grass.\n\nHophead\n\nHummingbird Tree\n\nI\n\nIndian Abutilon\n\nIndian Acalypha\n\nIndian Ash Tree\n\nIndian Bay-Leaf\n\nIndian Beech\n\nIndian Birthwort\n\nIndian Calosanthes\n\nIndian Ephedra\n\nIndian Fir Tree\n\nIndian Ginseng\n\nIndian Goose Grass\n\nIndian Gooseberry\n\nIndian Heliotrope\n\nIndian Ipecac\n\nIndian joint vetch\n\nIndian laurel\n\nIndian Licoric\n\nIndian Lilac\n\nIndian Lilac\n\nIndian Nightshade\n\nIndian Olive\n\nIndian Pennywort\n\nIndian Persimmon\n\nIndian Rose Chestnut\n\nIndian Sarsaperilla\n\nIndian Screw tree\n\nIndrajao\n\nJ\n\nJack Fruit\n\nJambolana\n\nJava Olive\n\nJimson weed\n\nJob's Tear\n\nJungle Geranium\n\nJute plant\n\nK\n\nKadam\n\nKaempferia\n\nKapok Tree\n\nKarnikar Tree\n\nKing of Bitters\n\nKodo Millet\n\nKumarika\n\nL\n\nLagopoides\n\nLakoocha.\n\nLantana\n\nLasia\n\nLebbeck Tree\n\nLeea\n\nlemon\n\nLemon Grass\n\nLesser Yam\n\nLevant Cotton\n\nLipstick Tree\n\nLong Pepper\n\nLotus\n\nLove Grass\n\nM\n\nMadagascar Periwinkle\n\nMahu\u0101\n\nMalabar Nut\n\nMalabar Spinach\n\nMalay Blumea\n\nManasa Sij.\n\nMango\n\nMango Ginger\n\nMangosteen\n\nMargarifer arum\n\nMarigold\n\nMarijuana\n\nMarking nut\n\nMarsh Barbel\n\nMarsh Herb\n\nMelothria\n\nMexican Poppy\n\nMilky Yam\n\nMohintli\n\nMoringa\n\nMountain knot grass\n\nMugwort\n\nMuyna\n\nN\n\nNight Jasmine\n\nNodding swamp orchid\n\nNose Burns\n\nNut Grass\n\nO\n\nOld world diamond flower\n\nOleander\n\nOnion\n\norange\n\nOrange Jessamine\n\nOrangeberry\n\nOtaheite Gooseberry\n\nP\n\nPandan\n\nPapaya\n\nPencil Tree\n\nPergularia\n\nPigeon Pea.\n\nPineapple\n\nPithraj tree\n\nPlantain\n\nPlumed Cockscomb\n\nPlumeria\n\nPointed gourd\n\nPoison nut.\n\nPomelo\n\nPomme Granate\n\nPorcupine flower\n\nPremna\n\nPrickly-leaved elephant's foot\n\nPurple camel's foot\n\nPurple fleabane\n\nPurple yam\n\nPutranjiv.\n\nQ\n\nQueen Grape Myrtle\n\nQueen of the night\n\nR\n\nRangoon creeper\n\nRattan Palm\n\nRecurved-Leaved Curculigo\n\nRed Nongmangkha\n\nRed Sandalwood\n\nRed Water Lily.\n\nRedball Snakegourd\n\nRice plant\n\nRose\n\nRose Apple\n\nRottler's Chrozophora\n\nRottlera\n\nRoundleaf Bindweed\n\nS\n\nSacred Basil\n\nSacred Garlic Pear\n\nSapota\n\nScarlet Leadwort\n\nScarlet thunbergia\n\nSessile Joyweed\n\nShampoo ginger\n\nShell Ginger\n\nShikakai\n\nSiam Weed\n\nSiamese Rough Bush.\n\nSicklepod\n\nSilk Cotton Tree\n\nSilky Indigo\n\nSissoo\n\nSlender Oldenlandia\n\nSmall Knotweed\n\nSnake root\n\nSoapnut\n\nSophera Senna\n\nSpinach\n\nSpiny Amaranth\n\nSpiny Bittergourd\n\nSpiny Gourd\n\nStar Glory\n\nStar Jasmine\n\nStephania\n\nStinging nettle\n\nStinkvine\n\nStreptolirion\n\nSugar Palm\n\nSugarcane\n\nSweet Basil\n\nSweet broom weed\n\nSweet orange\n\nSweet Sledge\n\nSweet Wormwood\n\nSweetleaf\n\nT\n\nTamarind\n\nTar Vine\n\nTea plant\n\nTeak tree\n\nThe Ivy Gourd\n\nTi Plant\n\nTicktree\n\nToothache Plant\n\nTouch-Me-Not\n\nTrailing eclipta\n\nTridax Daisy\n\nTubeflower\n\nTufted Bamboo\n\nTurmeric\n\nV\n\nVegetable Fern\n\nVeldt Grape\n\nVelvet Apple\n\nVelvet Bean\n\nVitex plant\n\nW\n\nWater chestnut\n\nWater hyacinth\n\nWater hyssop\n\nWater Lettuce\n\nWater Spinach\n\nWeeping Fig\n\nWhiskered Commelina\n\nWhite Goosefoot\n\nWhite Kyllinga\n\nWhite Leadwort\n\nWhite Snakeroot\n\nWhite Turmeric\n\nwild croton\n\nWild Mango\n\nWild Mint\n\nWild Senna\n\nWild Snake root\n\nWild sugar cane\n\nWild sultan seed\n\nWood Apple\n\nY\n\nYam\n\nYapana\n\nYellow - Berried Nightshade.\n\nYellow foxtail\n\nYellow Nicker\n\nYellow Sorrel\nIndex to Vernacular Names\n\nA\n\n\u0100am\n\nAatmor\u0101\n\n\u0100d\u0100\n\nAgniswar\n\nAjashringi\n\nAkanda\n\n\u0100kashmani\n\n\u0100kh\n\n\u0100kn\u0100di\n\nAktir\n\n\u0100lkusi\n\n\u0100m\u0100d\u0100\n\n\u0100ml\u0100\n\n\u0100mloki\n\n\u0100mr\u0100\n\n\u0100mrul\n\nAnantamul\n\n\u0100n\u0100ras\n\n\u0100ngur\n\nAnstan\u0101g\n\nAntamul\n\n\u0100pang\n\nApar\u0101jit\u0101\n\nArhar\n\nArjun\n\nAshok\n\nAssam Lata\n\nAswagandh\u0101\n\nAswattha\n\n\u0100t\u0100\n\nAtiswar\n\nAyapan\n\nB\n\nBabl\u0101\n\nB\u0101bui Tulsi\n\nBach\n\nB\u0101ghnakhi\n\nB\u0101ghnokh\u0101\n\nBaher\u0101\n\nBainchi\n\nBakphul\n\nBakul\n\nBan note\n\nB\u0101ndarl\u0101thi\n\nB\u0101ns\n\nBanshmora\n\nBaro K\u0101krol\n\nBarun\n\nB\u0101sak\n\nBasikaran Kuttus\n\nBatabi lebu\n\nBatu\u0101\n\nBel\n\nBeli\n\nBerala\n\nBet\n\nBh\u0101mot\n\nBhtng\n\nBhringar\u0101j\n\nBhui \u0100ml\u0100\n\nBhui Ch\u0101pa\n\nBhui Kumra\n\nBhuiokhra\n\nBichuti\n\nBichuti p\u0101t\u0101\n\nBish K\u0101nt\u0101l\n\nBishalyakarani\n\nBon chiching\u0101\n\nBon-Elach\n\nBot\n\nBrahmi\n\nBramhajosthi\n\nBriddha Darak\n\nBrihati\n\nBur\u0101sham\u0101\n\nC\n\nCha G\u0101chh\n\nCh\u0101galbati\n\nChai\n\nCh\u0101kunda\n\nCh\u0101lt\u0101\n\nChandan Batu\u0101\n\nCh\u0101p\u0101\n\nCh\u0101tim\n\nChaya\n\nChayna Gab\n\nChayn\u0101 G\u0101b\n\nChemti Sag\n\nChet Kachu\n\nChikasunga\n\nChinimichri\n\nChokotara\n\nChor K\u0101nt\u0101\n\nChoto goaliarlota\n\nChotr\u0101\n\nChoya bans\n\nChul\u0101tk\u0101\n\nChurchuri\n\nCurry P\u0101t\u0101\n\nD\n\nD\u0101dm\u0101ri\n\nD\u0101lim\n\nDandakalash\n\nDanti\n\nD\u0101rodmoyd\u0101\n\nD\u0101ruchini\n\nDebd\u0101ru\n\nDehuy\u0101\n\nDh\u0101n\n\nDhaniya\n\nDh\u0101nya\n\nDharu\u0101\n\nDhekias\u0101k\n\nDhekip\u0101t\u0101\n\nDudhe Jhar\n\nDudhiya\n\nDudhiya\n\nDulfi\n\nDumur\n\nDurb\u0101\n\nE\n\nEk\u0101ngi\n\nEkbir\n\nEucalyptus\n\nG\n\nGab\n\nGabeduk\n\nGajer mul\n\nG\u0101jor\n\nGam\n\nG\u0101m\u0101ri\n\nGandha V\u0101d\u0101l\n\nGargare\n\nGerman Lat\u0101\n\nGhentu\n\nGhor\u0101 Neem\n\nGhritakumari\n\nGima S\u0101k\n\nGoaliar lata\n\nGodhum\n\nGolap\n\nGol\u0101p J\u0101m\n\nGolmorich\n\nGon\u0101l\n\nGop\u0101 s\u0101k\n\nGorur Ch\u0101p\u0101\n\nGulancha\n\nGurm\u0101r\n\nH\n\nHalud\n\nHalud G\u0101nd\u0101\n\nHaritaki\n\nH\u0101rjor\u0101\n\nHastikarnapal\u0101sh\n\nHastipada\n\nHatisur\n\nHegr\u0101\n\nHingsralata\n\nHizal\n\nHochi\n\nHy\u0101lench\u0101\n\nI\n\nIswarmul\n\nJ\n\nJab\u0101\n\nJab\u0101kusum\n\nJ\u0101br\u0101 ghas\n\nJagatmadan\n\nJaljomani\n\nJalp\u0101\n\nJ\u0101m\n\nJanglee Karpur\n\nJ\u0101rul\n\nJ\u0101t\u0101 Lanka\n\nJayanti\n\nJhinti\n\nJig\u0101\n\nJokh\u0101\n\nJui\n\nJungli palak\n\nK\n\nK\u0101ch Kal\u0101\n\nKachu\n\nKachuripan\u0101\n\nKadam\n\nK\u0101km\u0101chi\n\nK\u0101krol\n\nKal\u0101\n\nK\u0101l\u0101 Halud\n\nK\u0101lkasund\u0101\n\nK\u0101lmegh\n\nKalmi Sag\n\nKalo Dhutra\n\nKamala lebu\n\nKamal\u0101guri\n\nK\u0101mini\n\nK\u0101mr\u0101nga\n\nKanak Ch\u0101p\u0101\n\nKanchire\n\nK\u0101ng\n\nKanta \u0100lu\n\nK\u0101nt\u0101 Bishalyakarani\n\nK\u0101nt\u0101 Kachu\n\nKanta-khuria\n\nKanta-note\n\nKantikari\n\nK\u0101on\n\nKarabi\n\nKaramcha\n\nKaranja\n\nKaroi\n\nKarol\u0101\n\nK\u0101rp\u0101s\n\nK\u0101shphul\n\nK\u0101t Bel\n\nK\u0101th\u0101l\n\nK\u0101thb\u0101d\u0101m\n\nKathmalati\n\nKesriya\n\nKesut\n\nKham \u0100lu\n\nKham \u0100lu\n\nKharkon kachu\n\nKhejur\n\nKhet P\u0101apr\u0101\n\nKhetp\u0101pr\u0101\n\nKhoksha\n\nKodo Dh\u0101n\n\nKoukha\n\nKrishna Tulsi\n\nKrishnachur\u0101\n\nKuchil\u0101\n\nKukurmuth\u0101\n\nKukursung\u0101\n\nKul\n\nKulekh\u0101r\u0101\n\nKumarilat\u0101\n\nKunch\n\nKurchi\n\nL\n\nLabli\n\nLajjab\u0101ti\n\nL\u0101l B\u0101sak\n\nL\u0101l Rangan\n\nL\u0101l Sh\u0101luk\n\nL\u0101l Varend\u0101\n\nL\u0101lchita\n\nLanka\n\nLata \u0100lu\n\nLat\u0101 Kasturi\n\nLat\u0101fatki\n\nLebu\n\nLemon Ghas\n\nLuchipata\n\nM\n\nMadar\n\nMadhabilat\u0101\n\nMahu\u0101\n\nM\u0101k\u0101l\n\nM\u0101khn\u0101\n\nM\u0101nkachu\n\nMayn\u0101 K\u0101nt\u0101\n\nMehendi\n\nMith\u0101 p\u0101t\n\nMoicharan\n\nMorog Phul\n\nMuchkunda Ch\u0101p\u0101\n\nMudunirbish\n\nMuktojhuri\n\nMus\u0101karni\n\nMusambi\n\nMuth\u0101 Ghas\n\nN\n\nNagdona\n\nNageswar\n\nN\u0101gkesar\n\nNarikel\n\nN\u0101t\u0101\n\nNayant\u0101r\u0101\n\nNebar\n\nNeel\n\nNeel Sh\u0101luk\n\nNeem\n\nNight queen\n\nNirbish\n\nNishind\u0101\n\nNont\u0101 S\u0101k\n\nO\n\nO l9\n\nP\n\nPadma\n\nP\u0101kur\n\nPal\u0101sh\n\nPalong\n\nP\u0101n\n\nPand\u0101l\n\nPani\u0101i\u0101\n\nPanijuli\n\nP\u0101niphal\n\nP\u0101nishitki\n\nParavanga\n\nP\u0101t\u0101jh\u0101njhi\n\nPatal\n\nPatari\n\nPatharkuchi\n\nP\u0101ts\u0101ji\n\nP\u0101yesp\u0101t\u0101\n\nPeet Ber\u0101l\u0101\n\nPepe\n\nPeyar\u0101\n\nPhul Tarul\n\nPiaj\n\nPinginatchi\n\nPipul\n\nPipulti\n\nPrisniparni\n\nPrithviraj\n\nPudin\u0101\n\nPui\n\nPunarnab\u0101\n\nPutranjiva\n\nR\n\nR\u0101dh\u0101 Tulsi\n\nR\u0101kh\u0101l Sos\u0101\n\nRakta Chandan\n\nRakta G\u0101nd\u0101\n\nR\u0101kt\u0101 Kanhcan\n\nR\u0101m Tulsi\n\nR\u0101sn\u0101\n\nRasun Sag\n\nRayri\n\nRith\u0101\n\nRosun\n\nS\n\nSabed\u0101\n\nS\u0101d\u0101 Dhutra\n\nS\u0101d\u0101 Varend\u0101\n\nS\u0101d\u0101chit\u0101\n\nSahadebi\n\nSahodebi\n\nSajna\n\nSalincha\n\nS\u0101lp\u0101ni\n\nSanchi\n\nSandhy\u0101m\u0101lati\n\nSarpagandh\u0101\n\nSatamul\n\nSegun\n\nSeph\u0101li\n\nShewra\n\nShikakai\n\nShiuli\n\nShola\n\nShothi\n\nSilnaj\u0101\n\nSimul\n\nSindur\n\nSingha Puccha\n\nSiris\n\nSisu\n\nSiyal K\u0101nt\u0101\n\nSomr\u0101ji\n\nSona\n\nSondal\n\nStevia\n\nStreptolirion\n\nSthal Padma\n\nSup\u0101ri\n\nSusni\n\nSwarnalat\u0101\n\nSwet Ber\u0101l\u0101\n\nSwet Simul\n\nSwetdron\n\nT\n\nTagar\n\nT\u0101l\n\nT\u0101l\u0101lati\n\nT\u0101lmuli\n\nTapioca\n\nTarulat\u0101\n\nTejpat\u0101\n\nTel\u0101kuch\u0101\n\nTentul\n\nTepari\n\nTh\u0101nkuni\n\nThunbergia\n\nTitvat\n\nTop\u0101 Pan\u0101\n\nU\n\nUlatchandal\n\nUlatkambal\n\nUlu gh\u0101s\n\nUridh\u0101n\n\nV\n\nVel\u0101\n\nVui orchid\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":" \nMoney\n\nWorld Bank\n\n\u00a9 2010 by iMinds Pty Ltd.\n\nAll Rights Reserved.\n\n## Money: World Bank\n\nThe World Bank is an international financial institution of the UN whose purpose is the alleviation of poverty through providing leveraged loans and technical assistance to the world's poorest countries. The World Bank was created at the Bretton Woods Conference in 1944 with the primary role of financing the post-war reconstruction of European and Asian countries devastated in WWII. Today the World Bank consists of the International Bank of Reconstruction and Development (IBRD) and the International Development Association (IDA) which form part of the five institutions which make up the World Bank Group. The World Bank Group plays a leading coordination role in international economic affairs due to it being a multilateral institution with extensive experience and partnerships with countless UN agencies, aid agencies, NGOs and national, regional and local governments.\n\nThe IBRD, the original institution of the World Bank, is a triple A rated financial institution which provides loans, guarantees and analytical and advisory services to middle-income and creditworthy low-income countries. These countries represent 70% of the world's poor. The Bank uses its triple A credit rating to source funds from the world's financial markets and provides these at a small mark-up to qualifying countries for approved projects. While these medium-term, usually 10 year, loans are substantially lower than those in the private sector they are often attached with strict conditions and monitoring programs. Critics argue that these conditions impede on the borrowing country's freedom. The IBRD maintains that, unlike other banks, it is driven by development impact rather than profit maximization. Despite this it has been able to maintain a positive net-income since 1948.\n\nBy 1960 it became evident that the world's poorest countries could not afford to borrow capital for development or maintain the credit ratings required by the IBRD. This led to the formation of the IDA in 1960 as an institution of the World Bank that provides credit and grants to low income countries. As of 2005, this includes nations with a per capita income of less than US$1,025. There are 82 low income countries with a total of 2.6 billion people, accounting for half of the population of the developing world. These credits take the form of long-term, 20, 35 or 40 year, zero interest loans designed to assist the countries in meeting the IDS's development goals. The IDA is financed through government contributions from high income member countries every three years as well as from the net income of the IBRD. US$170 billion has been lent to 108 countries since 1960 increasing annually to over US$9 billion in the 2008-09 financial year. The US, UK, Japan, Germany, France, Italy and Canada have made the greatest contributions in the latest round.\n\nThe World Bank's current portfolio includes 1,617 operations with US$106 billion in IBRD loans outstanding and US$113 billion in outstanding IDA credits. Due to the World Financial Crisis its financing has increased significantly in the past three years. Loans, grants, equity investments, and guarantees increased 54% between the 2007-08 and 2008-09 financial years and a total of US$71.4 billion was lent between June 2008 and June 2010. This includes US$53.1 billion committed by the **IBRD and US** $18.3 billion by the IDA. The provision of capital is however not the only function of the World Bank. It also provides technical and advisory support to developing countries with a philosophy that money alone cannot achieve development goals. This is illustrated by the Bank's significant increase in expenditure and focus on knowledge and advisory activities with their proportion of total expenditure growing from 24 to 29% since 2007.\n\nThe World Bank is a cooperative that is owned and governed by its 185 member countries whose voting power, unlike the UN's, is determined by each countries share in the Bank's capital, giving wealthy countries greater power in the organization. The United States is the largest shareholder in the Bank by a significant margin followed by Japan, Germany, France and the United Kingdom. Due to their dominant share and a long standing informal agreement the President of the World Bank is always a US national. While the bank maintains that it seeks to act cooperatively and develop agreement between all country members when possible, its large size and financial power has led to ongoing and often widely held critiques. These include concerns about its undemocratic governance reflecting global imbalances in power, its narrow neoclassical economic ideology, its financing of a number of projects that have resulted in displaced populations and environmental damage and the integrity of the Bank's ethics. Despite these critiques the invaluable role the World Bank plays in financing development and poverty projects and providing advisory and knowledge services is widely regarded.\n\nIn pursuing its development goals the World Bank follows a number of core strategies which guide its work. The Millennium Development Goals, which identify and qualify eight specific targets to be met by 2015, are the Bank's fundamental objectives. These goals include the eradication of extreme poverty and hunger, achieving universal primary education, promoting gender equality and empowering women, reducing child mortality, improving maternal health, combating HIV\/Aids, malaria and other diseases, ensuring environmental sustainability and developing a global partnership for development. The World Bank directs its finance towards projects that will help build the foundations towards addressing these goals. Central to this strategy is the philosophy that countries must become the leaders and owners of their own development and poverty reduction policies. This philosophy was adopted in 1999 to address the historical shortcomings of many development projects which were narrowly focused and run from the top down with little local consultation or participation in the affected country. Examples of recent World Bank financed projects range from a US$200 million education project to ensure education for all in Vietnam to the far more controversial proposal to lend US$3.75 billion to the South African utility company Eskom to build a 4,800 MW coal plant, the world's fourth largest.\n\nThe success of the World Bank in facilitating development and eradicating poverty is a contentious question that is difficult to assess. Since its foundation 30 countries have graduated from IDA qualification indicating rising per capita incomes. The World Bank itself however acknowledges that as of 2008 40% of its projects in the world's most fragile states have produced unsatisfactory progress towards development outcomes. Conversely the Bank claims that 90% of IBRD projects in middle income countries have proved successful. Progress towards the Millennium Development Goals is uneven with China and India achieving strong poverty reduction while little progress has been seen in Sub-Saharan Africa. Despite its debatable progress the World Bank remains the world's premier development institution entrusted with the largest pool of world aid. It is deeply entrenched in every facet of world development and plays a vital role in the reduction of world poverty. \n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":" \n## Contents\n\nCover\n\nAbout the Book\n\nAbout the Author\n\nAlso by Michel Houellebecq\n\nTitle Page\n\nEpigraph\n\nPart One: Thai Tropic\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nPart Two: Competitive Advantage\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15\n\nChapter 16\n\nPart Three: Pattaya Beach\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nCopyright\n\n## About the Book\n\n* * *\n\nMichel is a civil-servant at the Ministry of Culture. When his father is murdered, Michel takes a leave of absence to go on a package tour to Thailand. Infuriated by the shallow hypocrisy and mediocrity of his fellow travellers, only the awkward Valerie attracts his attention. Too bashful to pursue her, Michel prefers the uncomplicated pleasures of Thai massage parlours and sex with local women.\n\nBack in Paris, he calls Valerie and they plunge into a passionate affair, which strays into S&M, partner-swapping and sex in public. Michel quits his job, and tries to help Valerie and her boss, Jean-Yves, in their ailing travel business, by offering travel packages based on sex tourism in the third world. When their project comes to fruition and the three return to Thailand, Michel discovers that sex is neither the most consuming nor the most dangerous of human passions...\n\n## About the Author\n\n* * *\n\nPoet and novelist Michel Houellebecq is the author of two previous novels, _Whatever_ ( _Extension du domaine de la lutte_ ) and the international bestseller _Atomised_ ( _Les Particules \u00e9l\u00e9mentaires_ ), winner of the Prix Novembre and the 2002 International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. He lives in Ireland.\n\n##### ALSO BY MICHEL HOUELLEBECQ\n\n_Whatever_\n\n_Atomised_\n\n## Michel Houellebecq\n\n## PLATFORM\n\n### TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY  \nFrank Wynne\n\n_Plus sa vie est inf\u00e2me, plus l'homme y tient; elle est alors une protestation, une vengeance de tous les instants_.\n\n###### Honor\u00e9 de Balzac\n\n_(The more contemptible his life, the more a man clings to it; it thus becomes a protest, a retribution for every moment.)_\n\n## Part One\n\n## _Thai Tropic_\n\n### 1\n\nFATHER DIED LAST year. I don't subscribe to the theory by which we only become _truly adult_ when our parents die; we never become truly adult.\n\nAs I stood before the old man's coffin, unpleasant thoughts came to me. He had made the most of life, the old bastard; he was a clever cunt. 'You had kids, you fucker...' I said spiritedly, 'you shoved your fat cock in my mother's cunt.' Well, I was a bit tense, I have to admit; it's not every day you have a death in the family. I'd refused to see the corpse. I'm forty, I've already had plenty of opportunity to see corpses; nowadays, I prefer to avoid them. It was this that had always dissuaded me from getting a pet.\n\nI'm not married, either. I've had the opportunity several times, but I never took it. That said, I really love women. It's always been a bit of a regret, for me, being single. It's particularly awkward on holiday. People are suspicious of single men on holiday, after they get to a certain age: they assume that they're selfish, and probably a bit pervy; I can't say they're wrong.\n\nAfter the funeral, I went back to the house where my father lived out his last years. The body had been discovered a week earlier. A little dust had already settled around the furniture and in the corners of the rooms; I noticed a cobweb on the window frame. So time, entropy, all that stuff, was slowly taking the place over. The freezer was empty. The kitchen cupboards mostly contained single-serving Weight Watchers meals-in-a-bag, tins of flavoured protein and energy bars. I wandered through the rooms nibbling a magnesium-enriched biscuit. In the boiler room, I rode the exercise bike for a while. My father was over seventy and in much better physical shape than I was. He did an hour of rigorous exercise every day, lengths of the pool twice a week. At weekends, he played tennis and went cycling with people his age; I'd met some of them at the funeral. 'He coached the lot of us!...' a gynaecologist exclaimed. 'He was ten years older than us, and on a two kilometre hill, he'd be a whole minute ahead.' Father, father, I said to myself, how great was your vanity! To the left of my field of vision I could make out a weightlifting bench, barbells. I quickly visualised a moron in shorts \u2013 his face wrinkled, but otherwise very like mine \u2013 building up his pectorals with hopeless vigour. Father, I said to myself, Father, you have built your house upon sand. I was still pedalling but I was starting to feel breathless, my thighs ached a little, though I was only on level one. Thinking back to the ceremony, I was aware that I had made an excellent general impression. I'm always clean-shaven, my shoulders are narrow and when I developed a bald spot at about the age of thirty, I decided to cut my hair very short. I usually wear a grey suit and sober ties, and I don't look particularly cheerful. With my short hair, my lightweight glasses and my sullen expression, my head bowed a little to listen to a Christian funeral-hymn medley, I felt perfectly at ease with the situation \u2013 much more at ease than I would have done at a wedding, for example. Funerals, clearly, were my thing. I stopped pedalling, coughed gently. Night was falling quickly over the surrounding meadows. Near the concrete structure which housed the boiler, you could make out a brownish stain which had been poorly cleaned. It was there that my father had been discovered, his skull shattered, wearing shorts and an 'I love New York' sweatshirt. He had been dead for three days, according to the coroner. There was the possibility, very remote, that what happened was an accident, he could have slipped in a puddle of oil or something. That said, the floor of the room was completely dry; and the skull had been broken in several places, some of the brain had even spilled on to the floor; in all probability, what we were dealing with was murder. Captain Chaumont of the Cherbourg police was supposed to come over to see me that evening.\n\nBack in the living room, I turned on the television, a 32-inch Sony widescreen with surround sound and an integrated DVD player. There was an episode of _Xena: Warrior Princess_ on TF1, one of my favourite series: two very muscular women wearing metallic bras and miniskirts made of animal hide were challenging each other with their sabres. 'Your reign has gone on too long, Tagrath\u00e2!' cried the brunette, 'I am Xena, warrior of the Western Plains!' There was a knock at the door; I turned the sound down.\n\nOutside, it was dark. The wind gently shook the branches dripping with rain. A girl of about twenty-five, she looked north-African, was standing in the doorway. 'I'm A\u00efcha,' she said, 'I cleaned for Monsieur Renault twice a week. I've just come to get my things.'\n\n'Well...' I said, '... well.' I made a vague gesture, something intended to be welcoming. She came in, glanced quickly at the television screen: the two warriors were now wrestling right next to a volcano; I suppose the spectacle had its stimulating side, for certain lesbians. 'I don't want to disturb you,' said A\u00efcha, 'I'll only be five minutes.'\n\n'You're not disturbing me,' I said, 'in fact, nothing disturbs me.' She nodded her head as though she understood, her eyes lingered on my face; she was probably gauging my physical resemblance to my father, possibly inferring a degree of _moral_ resemblance. After studying me for a few moments, she turned and climbed the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. 'Take your time,' I said, my voice barely audible. 'Take all the time you need...' She didn't answer, didn't pause in her ascent; she had probably not even heard me. I sat down on the sofa again, exhausted by the confrontation. I should have offered to take her coat; that's what you usually do, offer to take someone's coat. I realised that the room was terribly cold \u2013 a damp, penetrating cold, the cold of a cellar. I didn't know how to light the boiler, I had no wish to try, now my father was dead. I had intended to leave straight away. I turned over to FR3 just in time to catch the last part of _Questions pour un champion_. At the moment when Nad\u00e8ge from Val-Fourr\u00e9 told Julien Lepers that she was going to risk her title for the third time, A\u00efcha appeared on the stairs, a small travel bag on her shoulder. I turned off the television and walked quickly towards her. 'I've always admired Julien Lepers.' I told her, 'Even if he doesn't know the actual town or village the contestant is from, he always manages to say something about the d\u00e9partement or the region; he always knows a bit about the climate and the local beauty spots. Above all, he understands life: the contestants are human beings to him, he understands their problems and their joys. Nothing of what constitutes human reality for the contestants is entirely strange or intimidating to him. Whoever the contestant is, he manages to get them to talk about their work, their family, their hobbies \u2013 everything, in fact, that in their eyes goes to make up a life. The contestants are often members of a brass band or a choral society, they're involved in organising the local f\u00eate, or they devote themselves to some charitable cause. Their children are often there in the studio. You generally get the impression from the programme that these people are happy, and you feel better, happier yourself. Don't you think?'\n\nShe looked at me unsmilingly; her hair in a chignon, she wore little makeup, her clothes were pretty drab \u2013 a serious girl. She hesitated for a moment before saying in a low voice which was a little hoarse with shyness: 'I was very fond of your father.' I couldn't think of anything to say; it struck me as bizarre, but just about possible. The old man must have had stories to tell: he'd travelled in Colombia, Kenya or I don't know where; he'd had the opportunity to watch rhinoceros through binoculars. Every time we met, he limited himself to making ironic comments about the fact that I was a civil servant, about the job security that went with it. 'Got yourself a cushy little number, there...' he would say, making no attempt to hide his scorn; families are always a bit difficult. 'I'm studying nursing,' A\u00efcha went on, 'but since I stopped living with my parents I have to work as a cleaner.' I racked my brains to think of an appropriate response: should I enquire as to how expensive rents were in Cherbourg? I finally opted for a 'I see...', into which I tried to introduce a certain worldly wisdom. This seemed to satisfy her and she walked to the door. I pressed my face to the glass to watch her Volkswagen Polo do a U-turn in the muddy track. FR3 was showing some rustic made-for-TV movie set in the nineteenth century, starring Tch\u00e9ky Karyo as a farm labourer. Between piano lessons, the daughter of the landowner \u2013 he was played by Jean-Pierre Marielle \u2013 accorded the handsome peasant certain liberties. Their clinches took place in a stable; I dozed off just as Tch\u00e9ky Karyo was energetically ripping off her organza knickers. The last thing I remember was a close-up of a small group of pigs.\n\nI was woken by pain and by the cold; I had probably fallen asleep in an awkward position, my cervical vertebrae felt paralysed. I was coughing heavily as I stood up, my breath filling the glacial air of the room with vapour. Bizarrely, the television was showing _Tr\u00e8s P\u00eache_ , a fishing programme on TF1; I had obviously woken up, or at least reached a sufficient level of consciousness to work the remote control; I had no memory of doing so. Tonight's programme was devoted to silurids \u2013 huge fish with no scales which had become more common in French rivers as a result of global warming; they were particularly fond of the areas around nuclear power plants. The report was intended to shed light on the truth behind a number of myths: it was true that adult silurids could grow to as much as three or four metres; in the Dr\u00f4me, specimens larger than five metres had been reported; there was nothing particularly improbable about this. However there was no question of the animals ever behaving carnivorously, or attacking bathers. The public suspicion of silurids seemed, to some extent, to have rubbed off on the men who fished for them; the small group of silurid anglers was not well liked by the larger family of anglers. They felt they suffered as a result and wanted to take advantage of this programme to improve their negative image. It was true they could hardly suggest gastronomy as their motive: the flesh of the silurid was completely inedible. But it was an excellent catch, intelligent and at the same time requiring sportsmanship; it was not unlike pike fishing, and deserved a wider following. I paced around the room a little, unable to get warm; I couldn't bear the idea of sleeping in my father's bed. In the end I went upstairs and brought down pillows and blankets, settled myself as best I could on the sofa. I switched off just after the credits of 'The Silurid Demystified'. The night was opaque, the silence also.\n\n### 2\n\nALL THINGS COME to an end, including the night. I was dragged from my saurian lethargy by the clear, resonant voice of Captain Chaumont. He apologised, he hadn't had time to come by the previous evening. I offered him coffee. While the water was boiling, he set up his laptop on the kitchen table and hooked up a printer. This way he could have me re-read and sign my statement before he left; I made a murmur of approval. The police force was so completely snowed under with administrative work that it did not have enough time to dedicate to its real task: investigation. That at least was what I had concluded from various television documentaries. He agreed, warmly this time. This interview was getting off to a good start, in an atmosphere of mutual trust. 'Windows' started up with a cheerful little sound.\n\nThe death of my father occurred in the evening or the night of November 14th. I was working that day; I was working on the 15th, too. Obviously, I could have taken my car and killed my father, having driven there and back overnight. What was I doing on the evening or the night of November 14th? Nothing, as far as I knew, nothing significant. At least, I had no memory of anything, though it was less than a week before. I had neither a regular sexual partner nor any real close friends: in which case, how can you be expected to remember? The days go by, and that's it. I gave Chaumont an apologetic look; I would have liked to help him out, or at least point him in the right direction. 'I'll have a look in my diary...' I said. I wasn't expecting anything of this; but curiously, there was a mobile number written in the space for the 14th beneath a name \u2013 'Coralie'. Who was Coralie? The diary was completely useless.\n\n'My brain is a mess...' I said with a disappointed smile. 'But, I don't know, maybe I was at a private view.'\n\n'A private view?' He waited patiently, his fingers hovering some inches above the keyboard.\n\n'Yes, I work for the Ministry of Culture. I plan the financing for exhibitions, or sometimes shows.'\n\n'Shows?'\n\n'Shows... contemporary dance...' I felt completely desperate, overcome with shame.\n\n'Generally speaking, then, you work on cultural events?'\n\n'Yes, that's it... You could put it like that.' He looked at me with a compassion tinged with seriousness. He had an awareness of the existence of a cultural sector, a vague but definite awareness. He must have had to meet people from all walks of life in his profession; no area of society could be completely alien to him. Police work is a human science.\n\nThe rest of the interview proceeded more or less normally; I had watched a few made-for-TV movies, so I was prepared for this kind of conversation. Did I know any enemies my father might have? No, but no friends either, to be honest. In any case, my father wasn't _important_ enough to have enemies. Who stood to gain by his death? Well, me. When did I last visit him? August, probably. There's never much to do in the office in August, and my colleagues have to go on holiday because they have children. I stay in Paris, I play solitaire on the computer and around the 15th I take a long weekend off; that was the extent of my visits to my father. On that subject, did I have a good relationship with my father? Yes and no. Mostly no, but I came to see him once or twice a year; that in itself wasn't too bad.\n\nHe nodded. I could feel my statement was coming to an end; I would have liked to say more. I felt overcome by a feeling of irrational, abnormal pity for Chaumont. He was already loading paper into his printer. 'My father was very sporty!' I said brusquely. He looked up at me enquiringly. 'I don't know...' I said, spreading my hands in despair, 'I just wanted to say that he was very athletic.' He shrugged disappointedly and pressed 'Print'.\n\nAfter I'd signed my statement, I walked Captain Chaumont to the door. I was aware that I had been a disappointing witness, I told him. 'All witnesses are disappointing...' he said. I considered this aphorism for a while. Before us stretched the endless monotony of the fields. Chaumont climbed into his Peugeot 305; he would keep me informed of any developments in the investigation. In the public sector, the death of a parent or grandparent entitles one to three days' leave. As a result, I could very easily have taken my time going home, bought some local camembert; but I immediately took the motorway for Paris.\n\nI spent the last day of my compassionate leave in various travel agencies. I liked holiday brochures, their abstraction, their way of condensing the places of the world into a limited sequence of possible pleasures and fares; I was particularly fond of the star-ratings system, which indicated the intensity of the pleasure one was entitled to hope for. I wasn't happy, but I valued happiness and continued to aspire to it. According to the Marshall model, the buyer is a rational individual seeking to maximise his satisfaction while taking price into consideration; Veblen's model, on the other hand, analyses the effect of peer pressure on the buying process (depending on whether the buyer wishes to be identified with a defined group or to set himself apart from it). Copeland demonstrates that the buying process varies, depending on the category of product\/service (impulse purchase, considered purchase, specialised purchase); but the Baudrillard and Becker model posits that a purchase necessarily implies a series of signals. Overall, I felt myself closer to the Marshall model.\n\nBack at the office I told Marie-Jeanne that I needed a holiday. Marie-Jeanne is my colleague; together we work on exhibition proposals, together we work for the benefit of the contemporary arts. She is a woman of thirty-five, with lank blond hair, her eyes are a very light blue; I know nothing about her personal life. Within the office hierarchy, she has a position slightly senior to mine; but this is something which she ignores \u2013 she likes to emphasise teamwork within the office. Every time we receive a visit from a really important person \u2013 a delegate from the Department of Plastic Arts or someone from the Ministry \u2013 she insists on this notion of teamwork. 'And this is the most important man in the office!...' she exclaims, walking into my office; 'He's the one who juggles the figures and the financial statements... I would be completely lost without him.' And then she laughs; the important visitors laugh in turn, or at least smile good-naturedly. I smile too, insofar as I can. I try to imagine myself as a juggler; but in reality it's quite enough to master simple arithmetic. Although strictly speaking Marie-Jeanne does nothing, her work is, in fact, the most complicated job: she has to keep abreast of movements, networks, trends; having assumed a level of cultural responsibility, she constantly runs the risk of being thought reactionary, even obscurantist; it is an accusation from which she must defend herself and the institution. She is also in regular contact with artists, gallery owners and the editors of obscure reviews, obscure, at least, to me; these telephone calls keep her happy, because her passion for contemporary art is real. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not actively hostile to it: I am not an advocate of _craft_ , nor of a return to figurative painting; I maintain the disinterested attitude appropriate to an accounts manager. Questions of aesthetics and politics are not my thing; it's not up to me to invent or adopt new attitudes, new affinities with the world \u2013 I gave up all that at the same time I developed a stoop and my face started to tend towards melancholy. I've attended many exhibitions, private views, many performances that remain unforgettable. My conclusion, henceforth, is that art cannot change lives. At least not mine.\n\nI had informed Marie-Jeanne of my bereavement; she greeted me sympathetically, she even put her hand on my shoulder. My request to take some time off seemed completely natural to her. 'You need to take stock, Michel,' she reckoned, 'you need to turn inward.' I tried to visualise the movement she was suggesting and I concluded that she was probably right. 'C\u00e9cilia will put the provisional budget to bed,' she went on; 'I'll talk to her about it.' What precisely was she alluding to, and who was this C\u00e9cilia? Glancing around me, I noticed the design for a poster and I remembered. C\u00e9cilia was a fat, redhead who was always gorging herself on Cadburys and who'd been in the department for two months: a temp, work experience maybe, someone pretty insignificant at any rate. And it was true that before my father's death I had been working on a provisional budget for the exhibition, 'Hands Up, You Rascals!', due to open in Bourg-la-Reine in January. It consisted of photographs of police brutality taken with a telephoto lens in Yvelines; but we weren't talking documentary here, more a process of the theatricalisation of space, full of nods to various cop shows featuring the Los Angeles Police Department. The artist had favoured a 'fun' approach rather than the social critique you'd expect. An interesting project, all in all, not too expensive nor too complicated; even a moron like C\u00e9cilia was capable of finalising the provisional budget.\n\nUsually, when I left the office, I'd take in a peepshow. It set me back fifty francs, maybe seventy if I was slow to ejaculate. Watching pussy in motion cleared my head. The contradictory trends of contemporary video art, balancing the conservation of national heritage with support for living creativity... all of that quickly evaporated before the facile magic of a moving pussy. I gently emptied my testicles. At the same moment, C\u00e9cilia was stuffing herself with chocolate cake in a p\u00e2tisserie near the Ministry; our motives were much the same.\n\nVery occasionally, I would take a private room at five hundred francs; that was if my dick wasn't feeling too good, when it seemed to me to resemble a useless, demanding little appendage that smelled like cheese. Then I needed a girl to take it in her hands, to go into raptures, however faked, over its vigour, the richness of its semen. Be that as it may, I was always home before seven-thirty. I'd start with _Questions pour un champion_ which I had set my video to record; then I would continue with the national news. The mad cow disease crisis was of little interest to me, mostly I survived on Mousline instant mash with cheese. Then the evening would continue. I wasn't unhappy, I had 128 channels. At about two in the morning, I'd finish with Turkish musicals.\n\nA number of days went by like this, relatively peacefully, before I received another phone call from Chaumont. Things had progressed significantly, they had found the alleged killer; actually, it was more than a allegation, for in fact the man had confessed. They were going to stage a re-enactment in a couple of days. Did I want to be present? Oh yes, I said, yes.\n\nMarie-Jeanne congratulated me on this courageous decision. She talked about the grieving process, the mysteries of the father-son relationship. She used socially acceptable terms from a limited catalogue, what was more important, even surprising, was that I realized that she was fond of me, and it felt good. Women really do have a handle on affection, I thought as I boarded the Cherbourg train; even at work, they have a tendancy to establish emotional ties, finding it difficult to orient themselves, let alone thrive, in a universe completely stripped of such emotional ties, they find it difficult to thrive in such an atmosphere. This was a weakness of theirs, as the 'psychology' column _of Marie-Claire_ continually reminded them: it would be better if they could clearly separate the professional from the emotional, but they simply could not do it, and the 'true stories' column of _Marie-Claire_ confirmed with equal regularity. Somewhere near Rouen, I reviewed the essential facts of the case. Chaumont's breakthrough was the discovery that A\u00efcha had been having 'intimate relations' with my father. How often, and how intimate? He didn't know, and it had no significance to his continuing inquiry. One of A\u00efcha's brothers had quickly confessed that he had come 'to demand an explanation' of the old man, things had got out of hand, and he had left him for dead on the concrete floor of the boiler room.\n\nIn principle, the re-enactment was to be presided over by the examining magistrate, a brusque, austere little man, dressed in flannel trousers and a dark polo-neck, his face permanently clenched in a rictus of irritation; but Chaumont quickly established himself as the real master of ceremonies. Briskly and cheerfully he greeted the participants, gave each a little word of welcome, and led them to their places: he seemed remarkably happy. This was his first murder case and he'd solved it in less than a week; in this whole banal, sordid story, he was the only true hero. Clearly overcome, a black band covering her face, A\u00efcha sat on a chair trying to look small. She barely looked up when I arrived, pointedly looking away from where her brother was standing. Her brother, flanked by two policemen, stared at the floor with an obstinate air. He looked just like a common little thug; I didn't feel the slightest sympathy for him. Looking up, his eyes met mine; no doubt he knew who I was, He knew my role, he had undoubtedly been told: according to his brutal view of the world, I had a right to vengeance, I deserved an accounting for the blood of my father. Aware of the rapport establishing itself between us, I stared at him, not turning away; I allowed hatred to overwhelm me slowly, my breathing became easier, it was a powerful, pleasurable sensation. If I had had a gun, I would have shot him without a second thought. Killing that little shit not only seemed to me a morally neutral act, but something positive, beneficial. A policeman made some marks on the floor with a piece of chalk, and the re-enactment began. According to the accused, it was very simple: during the conversation, he had become angry and pushed my father roughly; the latter had fallen backwards, his skull had shattered on the floor; he panicked, he fled.\n\nOf course he was lying, and Chaumont had no trouble establishing this. An examination of the victim's skull clearly indicated a furious attack; there were multiple contusions, probably the result of a series of kicks. Furthermore, my father's face had been scraped along the ground, almost sufficient to force the eye from its socket. 'I don't remember...' said the accused man; 'I lost it.' Watching his nervous arms, his thin, horrible face, it wasn't difficult to believe him: he hadn't planned this, he was probably excited by the impact of the skull on the ground and the sight of first blood. His defence was lucid and credible, he would probably come across well in front of a jury: a two-or three-year suspended sentence, no more. Chaumont, pleased with the way the afternoon had gone, began to bring things to a conclusion. I got up from my chair and walked over to one of the picture windows. It was getting dark: a flock of sheep were bringing their day to a close. They too were stupid, possibly even more stupid than A\u00efcha's brother; but violence had not been programmed into their genes. On the last night of their lives they would bleat in terror, their hoofs would scrabble desperately; there would be a gunshot, their lives would seep away and their flesh would be transformed into meat. We parted with a round of handshakes; Chaumont thanked me for coming.\n\nI saw A\u00efcha the following day; on the advice of the estate agent, I had decided to have the house thoroughly cleaned before it was viewed. I gave her the keys, then she dropped me off at Cherbourg station. Winter was taking hold of the farmlands, clouds of mist hung over the hedges. We were uncomfortable being together. She had been familiar with my father's genitals, which tended to create a certain misplaced intimacy. It was all rather surprising: she seemed like a serious girl, and my father was hardly a ladies' man. He must have had certain traits, certain characteristics that I had failed to notice; in fact I was finding it difficult to remember his face. Men live alongside one another like cattle; it is a miracle if once in a while they manage to share a bottle of booze.\n\nA\u00efcha's Volkswagen stopped in front of the station; I was aware that it would be best to say a few words before we parted. 'Well...' I said. After a few seconds, she spoke to me in a subdued voice: 'I'm going to leave the area. I've got a friend who can get me a job as a waitress in Paris; I can continue my studies there. In any case, my family think I'm a whore.' I made a murmur of comprehension. 'There are a lot more people in Paris...' I finally ventured with difficulty; I'd racked my brains, but that was all I could think of to say about Paris. The acute poverty of my response did not seem to discourage her. 'There's no point expecting anything from my family,' she went on with suppressed fury. 'They're not only poor, they're bloody stupid. Two years ago, my father went on the pilgrimage to Mecca; since then, you can't get a word out of him. My brothers are worse: they encourage each other's stupidity. They get blind drunk on pastis and all the while they strut around like the guardians of the one true faith, and they treat me like a slut because I prefer to go out and work rather than marry some stupid bastard like them.'\n\n'It's true, Muslims on the whole aren't up to much...' I said with embarrassment. I picked up my travel bag, opened the door. 'I think you'll do alright...' I muttered without conviction. At that moment I had a vision of migratory flows crisscrossing Europe like blood vessels; Muslims appeared as clots that were only slowly reabsorbed. A\u00efcha eyed me sceptically. Cold air rushed into the car. Intellectually, I could manage to feel a certain attraction to Muslim vaginas. I managed a little forced smile. She smiled in turn, a little more sincerely than I had. I shook her hand for a long time. I could feel the warmth of her fingers. I carried on shaking her hand until I could feel the gentle pulse of her blood at the hollow of her wrist. A few feet from the car, I turned around to give a little wave. We had made a connection in spite of everything; in the end, in spite of everything, something had happened.\n\nSettling into my seat on board the intercity, it occurred to me that I should have given her money. Actually, it was better that I hadn't, it would probably have been misinterpreted. Strangely, it was at that moment that I realised for the first time that I was going to be a rich man; well, relatively rich. The money in my father's accounts had already been transferred. For the rest, I had left the sale of the car to a local garage and of the house to an estate agent; everything had been arranged as simply as possible. The value of these assets would be determined by the market. Of course there was some room for negotiation: ten per cent one way or the other, no more. The taxes that were due were no mystery either: a quick look through the carefully thought-out little brochures available from the Tax Office would be enough.\n\nMy father had probably thought of disinheriting me several times; in the end, he must have given up on the idea, considering it too complicated, too much paperwork for an uncertain result (it is not easy to disinherit your children, the law offers you very limited possibilities: not only do the little shits ruin your life, afterwards they get to profit from everything you've managed to save, despite your worst efforts). He probably thought that there was no point \u2013 after all, what the fuck did it matter to him what happened after he was dead? That's how he looked at it, in my opinion. In any case, the old bastard was dead, and I was about to sell the house in which he had spent his last years; I was also going to sell the Toyota Land Cruiser which he had used for hauling cases of Evian from the Casino G\u00e9ant in Cherbourg. I live near the Jardin des Plantes, what would I want with a Toyota Land Cruiser? I could have used it to ferry ricotta ravioli from the market at Mouffetard, that's about it.\n\nIn cases of direct inheritance, death duties are not very high \u2013 even if the emotional ties aren't very strong. After tax, I could probably expect about three million francs. To me, that represented about fifteen times my annual salary. It also represented what an unskilled worker in western Europe could expect for a lifetime of work; it wasn't so bad. You could make a start with that, you could try.\n\nIn a few weeks I would surely get a letter from my bank. The train approached Bayeux. I could already imagine the course of the conversation. The clerk at my branch would have noticed a substantial credit balance on my account, which he would very much like to discuss with me \u2013 who does not need a _financial adviser_ at one time or another in his life? A little wary, I would want to steer him towards safe options; he would greet this reaction \u2013 such a common one \u2013 with a slight smile. Most novice investors, as financial advisers well know, favour security over earnings; they often laugh about it among themselves. I should not misunderstand him: when it came to managing their capital, even some elderly and otherwsie worldly people behave like complete novices. For his part, he would try to steer me in the direction of a slightly different approach \u2013 while, of course, giving me time to consider my options. Why not, in effect, put two-thirds of my holdings into investments where there would be no surprises but a low return? And why not place the remaining third in investments that were a little more adventurous, but which had the potential for significant growth? After a few days' consideration, I knew, I would defer to his judgement. He would feel reassured by my support, would put together the papers with a flash of enthusiasm, and our handshake at the moment we parted company would be warm.\n\nI was living in a country distinguished by placid socialism, where ownership of material possessions was guaranteed by strict legislation, where the banking system was surrounded by powerful state guarantees. Unless I were to venture beyond what was lawful, I ran no risk of embezzlement or fraudulent bankruptcy. All in all, I needn't worry any more. In fact, I never really had: after serious but hardly distinguished studies, I had quickly found a career in the public sector. This was in the mid-eighties, at the beginning of the modernisation of socialism, at the time when the illustrious Jack Lang was distributing wealth and glory to the cultural institutions of the State; my starting salary was very reasonable. And then I had grown older, standing untroubled on the sidelines through successive policy changes. I was courteous, well-mannered, well-liked by colleagues and superiors; my temperament, however, was less than warm and I had failed to make any real friends. Night was falling quickly over Lisieux. Why, in my work, had I never shown a passion comparable to Marie-Jeanne's? Why had I never shown any real passion in my life in general?\n\nSeveral more weeks went by without bringing me an answer; then, on the morning of December 23rd, I took a taxi to Roissy airport.\n\n### 3\n\nAND NOW, THERE I was on my own like an idiot, a few feet from the Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res desk. It was a Saturday morning during the Christmas holidays; Roissy was heaving, as usual. The minute they have a couple of days of freedom, the inhabitants of western Europe dash off to the other side of the world, they go halfway round the world in a plane, they behave \u2013 literally \u2013 like escaped convicts. I don't blame them, I was preparing to do just the same.\n\nMy dreams are run-of-the-mill. Like all of the inhabitants of western Europe, I want to _travel_. There are problems with that, of course: the language barrier, poorly organised public transport, the risk of being robbed or conned. To put it more bluntly, what I really want, basically, is to be a _tourist_. We dream what dreams we can afford; and my dream is to go on an endless series of 'Romantic Getaways', 'Colourful Expeditions' and 'Pleasures \u00e0 la Carte' \u2013 to use the titles of the three Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res brochures.\n\nI immediately decided to go on a package tour, but I hesitated quite a bit between 'Rum and Salsa' (ref: CUB CO 033, 16 days\/14 nights, 11,250FF based on two sharing, single supplement 1,350FF) and 'Thai Tropic' (ref THA CA 006, 15 days\/13 nights, 9,950FF based on two sharing, single supplement 1,175FF). Actually, I was more attracted by Thailand; but the advantage of Cuba is that it's one of the last Communist countries, though probably not for much longer \u2013 it has a sort of 'endangered r\u00e9gime' appeal, a sort of political exoticism, to put it in a nutshell. In the end, I chose Thailand. I have to admit that the copy in the brochure was very well done, sure to tempt the average punter:\n\n_A package tour with a dash of adventure, which will take you from the bamboo forests of the River Kwai to the island of Ko Samui, winding up, after crossing the spectacular isthmus of Kra, at Ko Phi Phi, off the coast of Phuket. A cool trip to the tropics_.\n\nAt 8.30 a.m. on the dot, Jacques Maillot slams the door of his house on the Boulevard Blanqui in the 13th arrondissement, straddles his moped and begins a journey across the capital from east to west. Direction: the head office of Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res on the Boulevard de Grenelle. Every other day, he stops at four or five of the company's agencies: 'I bring them the latest brochures, I pick up the post and generally take the temperature,' explains the boss, full of beans, always sporting an extraordinary multicoloured tie. It's a crack of the whip for the agents: 'On the days after my visit, there's a tremendous boost in sales at those agencies...' he explains with a smile. Visibly under his spell, the journalist from _Capital_ goes on to marvel: who could have predicted in 1967 that a small business set up by a handful of student protestors would take off like this? Certainly not the thousands of demonstrators who, in May 1968, marched past the Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res office on the Place Denfert-Rochereau in Paris. 'We were in just the right place, right in front of the cameras...' remembers Jacques Maillot, a former boy scout and left-wing Catholic by way of the National Students Union. It was the first piece of publicity for the company, which took its name from John F. Kennedy's speech about America's 'new frontiers'.\n\nA passionate liberal, Jacques Maillot successfully fought the Air France monopoly, making air transport more accessible to all. His company's odyssey, which in thirty years had made it the number one travel agency in France, has fascinated the business press. Like FNAC, like Club Med, Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res \u2013 born at the dawn of the leisure society \u2013 might stand as a symbol of the new face of modern capitalism. In the year 2000, for the first time, the tourist industry became \u2013 in terms of turnover \u2013 the biggest economic activity in the world. Though it required only a moderate level of physical fitness, 'Thai Tropic' was listed under 'adventure tours': a range of accommodation options (simple, standard, deluxe); group numbers limited to twenty to ensure a better group dynamic. I saw two really cute black girls with rucksacks arriving, I dared to hope that they'd opted for the same tour: then I looked away and went to collect my travel documents. The flight was scheduled to last a little more than eleven hours.\n\nTaking a plane today, regardless of the airline, regardless of the destination, amounts to being treated like shit for the duration of the flight. Crammed into a ridiculously tiny space from which it's impossible to move without disturbing an entire row of fellow passengers, you are greeted from the outset with a series of embargos announced by stewardesses sporting fake smiles. Once on board, their first move is to get hold of your personal belongings so they can put them in overhead lockers \u2013 to which you will not have access under any circumstances until the plane lands. Then, for the duration of the flight, they do their utmost to find ways to bully you, all the while making it impossible for you to move about, or more generally to move at all, with the exception of a certain number of permitted activities: enjoying fizzy drinks, watching American videos, buying duty-free products. The unremitting sense of danger, fuelled by mental images of plane crashes, the enforced immobility in a cramped space, provokes a feeling of stress so powerful that a number of passengers have reportedly died of heart attacks while on long-haul flights. The crew do their level best to maximise this stress by preventing you from combating it by habitual means. Deprived of cigarettes, reading matter and, as happens more and more frequently, sometimes even deprived of alcohol. Thank God the bitches don't do _body searches_ yet; as an experienced passenger, I had been able to stock up on some necessities for survival: a few 21-mg Nicorette patches, sleeping pills, a flask of Southern Comfort. I fell into a thick sleep as we were flying over the former East Germany.\n\nI was awoken by a weight on my shoulder, and warm breath. I sat my neighbour upright in his seat without undue manhandling; he groaned softly, but didn't open his eyes. He was a big guy, about thirty, with light brown hair in a bowl cut; he didn't look too unpleasant, nor too clever. In fact, he was rather endearing, wrapped up in the soft blue blanket supplied by the airline, his big manual labourer's hands resting on his knees. I picked up the paperback which had fallen at his feet: a shitty Anglo-Saxon bestseller by one Frederick Forsyth. I had read something by this halfwit, full of heavy-handed eulogies to Margaret Thatcher and ludicrous depictions of the USSR as the _evil empire_. I'd wondered how he managed after the fall of the Berlin Wall. I leafed through his new opus: apparently, this time, the roles of the bad guys were played by Serb nationalists; here was a man who kept up to date with current affairs. As for his beloved hero, the tedious Jason Monk, he had gone back into service with the CIA, which had formed an alliance of convenience with the Chechen mafia. Well! I thought, replacing the book on my neighbour's knees, what a charming sense of morality bestselling British authors have. The page was marked with a piece of paper folded in three, which I recognised as the Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res itinerary: I had, apparently, just met my first tour companion. A fine fellow, I was sure, certainly a lot less egocentric and neurotic than I was. I glanced at the video screen, which was showing the flight path: we had probably passed Chechnya, whether or not we had flown over it; the exterior temperature was -53\u00b0C, altitude 10,143 metres, local time 00.27. Another screen replaced the first: we were flying directly over Afghanistan. Through the window, you could see nothing but pitch black of course. In any case the Taliban were probably all in bed stewing in their own filth. 'Goodnight, Talibans, good night... sweet dreams...' I whispered before swallowing a second sleeping pill.\n\n### 4\n\nTHE PLANE LANDED at Don Muang airport at about 5 a.m. I woke with some difficulty. The man on my left had already stood up and was waiting impatiently in the queue to disembark. I quickly lost sight of him in the corridor leading to the arrivals hall. My legs were like cotton wool, my mouth felt furry; my ears were filled with a violent drone.\n\nNo sooner had I stepped through the automatic doors than the heat enveloped me like a mouth. It must have been at least 35\u00b0C. The heat in Bangkok has something particular about it, in that it is somehow _greasy_ , probably on account of the pollution; after any long period outdoors, you're always surprised to find that you're not covered with a fine film of industrial residue. It took me about thirty seconds to adjust my breathing. I was trying not to fall too far behind the guide, a Thai woman whom I hadn't taken much notice of, except that she seemed reserved and well-educated \u2013 but a lot of Thai women give that impression. My backpack was cutting into my shoulders; it was a Lowe Pro Himalaya Trekking, the most expensive one I could find at Vieux Campeur; it was guaranteed for life. It was an impressive object, steel grey with snap clasps, special Velcro fastenings \u2013 the company had a patent pending \u2013 and zips that would work at temperatures of -65\u00b0C. Its contents were sadly pretty limited: some shorts and tee-shirts, swimming trunks, special shoes which allowed you to walk on coral (125FF at Vieux Campeur), a wash bag containing medicines considered essential by the _Guide du Routard_ , a JVC HRD-9600 MS video camera with batteries and spare tapes, and two American bestsellers that I'd bought pretty much at random at the airport.\n\nThe Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res coach was parked about a hundred metres further on. Inside the powerful vehicle \u2013 a 64-seat Mercedes M-800 \u2013 the air-conditioning was turned up full; it felt like stepping into a freezer. I settled myself in the middle of the coach, on the left by a window. I could vaguely make out a dozen other passengers, amongst them my neighbour from the plane. No one came to sit beside me. I had clearly missed my first opportunity to integrate into the group; I was also well on my way to catching a nasty cold.\n\nIt wasn't light yet, but on the six-lane motorway which led to downtown Bangkok, the traffic was already heavy. We drove past buildings alternately of glass and steel with, occasionally, a massive concrete structure reminiscent of Soviet architecture: the head offices of banks, chain hotels, electronics companies \u2013 for the most part Japanese. Past the junction at Chatuchak, the motorway rose above a series of ring roads circling the heart of the city. Between the floodlit buildings, we began to be able to distinguish groups of small, slate-roofed houses in the middle of wasteland. Neon-lit stalls offered soup and rice; you could see the tinplate pots steaming. The coach slowed slightly to take the New Phetchaburi Road exit. There was a moment when we saw an interchange of the most phantasmagoric shape, its asphalt spirals seemingly suspended in the heavens, lit by banks of airport floodlights; then, after following a long curve, the coach joined the motorway again.\n\nThe Bangkok Palace Hotel is part of a chain along the lines of Mercure, sharing similar values as to catering and quality of service; this much I discovered from a brochure I picked up in the lobby while waiting for the situation to unfold. It was just after six in the morning \u2013 midnight in Paris I thought, for no reason \u2013 but activities were already well under way, the breakfast room had just opened. I sat down on a bench; I was dazed, my ears were still buzzing violently and my stomach was beginning to hurt. From the way they were waiting, I was able to identify some of the group members. There were two girls of about twenty-five, pretty much bimbos \u2013 not bad-looking, all things considered \u2013 who cast a contemptuous eye over everyone. On the other hand, a couple of retirees \u2013 he could have been called _spirited_ , she looked a bit more miserable \u2013 were looking around in wonderment at the interior d\u00e9cor of the hotel, a lot of gilding, mirrors and chandeliers. In the first hours in the life of a group, one generally observes only phatic sociability, characterised by the use of standard phrases and by limited emotional connection. According to Edmunds and White1, the establishment of micro-groups can only be detected after the first excursion, sometimes after the first communal meal.\n\nI started, on the point of passing out, lit a cigarette to rally my forces. The sleeping pills really were too strong, they were making me ill, but the ones I used to take couldn't get me to sleep any more; there was no obvious solution. The OAPs were slowly circling round each other. I got the feeling that the man was a bit full of himself; as he was waiting for someone specific with whom to exchange a smile, he turned an incipient smile on the world. They had to have been a couple of small shopkeepers in a previous life, that was the only explanation. Gradually, the members of the group made their way to the guide as their names were called, took their keys and went up to their rooms \u2013 in a word, they dispersed. It was possible, the guide announced in a resonant voice, for us to take breakfast now if we wished; otherwise we could relax in our rooms; it was entirely up to us. Whatever we decided, we were to meet back in the lobby for the trip along the _khlongs_ at 2 p.m.\n\nThe window in my room looked directly out onto the motorway. It was six-thirty. The traffic was very heavy, but the double glazing let in only a faint rumble. The street lights were off, the sun hadn't yet begun to reflect on the steel and glass; at this time of the day, the city was grey. I ordered a double espresso from room service, which I knocked back with a couple of Efferalgan, a Doliprane and a double dose of Oscillococcinium; then I lay down and tried to close my eyes.\n\nShapes moved slowly in a confined space; they made a low buzzing sound \u2013 like machines on a building site, or giant insects. In the background, a man armed with a small scimitar carefully checked the sharpness of the blade; he was wearing a turban and baggy white trousers. Suddenly, the air became red and muggy, almost liquid; from the drops of condensation forming before my eyes I became conscious that a pane of glass separated me from the scene. The man was on the ground now, immobilised by some invisible force. The machines from the building site had surrounded him; there were a couple of JCBs and a small bulldozer with caterpillar tracks. The JCBs lifted their hydraulic arms and brought their buckets down together on the man, immediately slicing his body into seven or eight pieces; his head, however, still seemed animated by a demonic life-force, an evil smile continued to crease his bearded face. The bulldozer in its turn advanced on the man, his head exploded like an egg; a spurt of brain and ground bone was splashed against the glass, a few inches from my face.\n\n1 _Sightseeing Tours: A Sociological Approach_ , Annals of Tourism Research, vol. 23, pp. 213\u201327 (1998)\n\n### 5\n\n###### _Essentially, tourism, as a search for meaning, with the ludic sociability it favours, the images it generates, is a graduated encoded and untraumatising apprehension system of the external, of otherness_.\n\n###### Rachid Amirou\n\nI WOKE UP at about noon, the air-conditioning was making a low buzzing sound; my headache was a little better. Lying across the king-size bed, I was aware of the mechanics of the tour, the issues at stake. The group, as yet amorphous, would transform itself into a vibrant community; as of this afternoon I would have to start positioning myself, for now I had to choose a pair of shorts for the trip along the _khlongs_. I opted for a longish pair in blue denim, not too tight, which I complemented with a _Radiohead_ tee-shirt; then I stuffed some odds and ends into a knapsack. In the bathroom mirror, I contemplated myself disgustedly; my anxious bureaucratic face clashed horribly with what I was wearing; I looked exactly like what I was: a forty-something civil servant on holiday, trying to pretend he's young; it was pretty demoralising. I walked over to the window, opened the curtains wide. From the twenty-seventh floor, the view was extraordinary. The imposing mass of the Marriott Hotel rose up on the left like a chalk cliff, striated by horizontal black lines: rows of windows half-hidden behind balconies. The sun, at its zenith, harshly emphasised planes and ridges. Directly ahead, reflections multiplied themselves into infinity on a complex structure of cones and pyramids of bluish glass. On the horizon, the colossal concrete cubes of the Grand Plaza President were stacked on top of one another like the levels of a step pyramid. On the right, above the green, shimmering space of Lumphini Park, you could make out, like an ochre citadel, the angular towers of the Dusit Thani. The sky was a pure blue. Slowly I drank a Singha Gold while meditating on the notion of irreparability.\n\nDownstairs, the guide was doing a sort of roll-call, so she could hand out breakfast vouchers. That's how I discovered the two bimbos were called Babette and L\u00e9a. Babette had curly blond hair \u2013 well, not naturally curly, it had probably been _waved_ ; she had beautiful breasts, the slut, clearly visible under her see-through top \u2013 an ethnic print from Trois Suisses, most likely. Her trousers, in the same fabric, were just as see-through; you could easily make out the white lace of her panties. L\u00e9a, very dark, was skinnier; she made up for this with the pretty curve of her bum, nicely accentuated by her black cycling shorts, and with a thrusting bust, the tips of which were squeezed into a bright yellow bustier. A tiny diamond adorned her slender navel. I stared attentively at the two sluts so that I could forget them forever.\n\nThe distribution of the vouchers continued. The guide, S\u00f4n, called each of the group members by their first names; it made me sick. We were _adults_ , for fuck's sake. I felt a ray of hope when she referred to the OAPs as 'Monsieur et Madame Lobligeois'; but immediately she added with a delighted smile 'Josette and Ren\u00e9'. It seemed unbelievable, but true nevertheless. 'My name is Ren\u00e9,' confirmed the old man, addressing himself to no one in particular. 'Tough...' I muttered. His wife shot him a look as if to say: 'Shut up, Ren\u00e9, you're annoying everyone.' I suddenly realised that he reminded me of the character Monsieur Plus in the Bahlsen biscuit ads. It might have been him, too. I directed this question to his wife: had they, in the past, ever worked as extras? Absolutely not, she informed me, they had run a _charcuterie_. Yeah, that would probably fit too. So, this cheery jolly little fellow was a former pork-butcher (in Clamart, his wife explained); a modest establishment devoted to feeding the proletariat had been the previous theatre for his antics and quips.\n\nThen there were two other couples, less distinctive, who seemed to be connected in some obscure way. Had they already been on holiday together? Had they met each other over breakfast? At this point in the tour, anything was possible. The first couple was also the more unappealing. The man looked a bit like a young Antoine Waechter, if you can imagine such a thing, but his hair was darker and he had a neatly trimmed beard; actually, he didn't so much look like Antoine Waechter as like Robin Hood, though he looked Swiss, or to be more precise, he had something of the Jura about him. All in all, he didn't look much like anything, but he seemed a real jerk. Not to mention his wife, wearing dungarees, serious, a good milker. It was inconceivable that these people had not yet reproduced, I thought; they'd probably left the child with their parents in Lon-le-Saulnier. The second couple, a little older, seemed rather less serene. Skinny and nervous, with a moustache, the man introduced himself to me as a naturopath, and, faced with my ignorance, went on to explain that he practised healing using plants or other natural means wherever possible. His wife, thin and curt, worked in social services, reintegrating, I don't know, first offenders or something in Alsace; they looked like they hadn't fucked for thirty years. The man seemed inclined to tell me about the benefits of natural medicines; but still dazed from this first encounter, I went and sat on a bench nearby. From where I sat, I could barely make out the last three members of the group, who were half hidden by the pork-butcher couple. There was some fifty-year-old thug called Robert, with a particularly harsh expression; a woman, of the same age, with curly black hair framing a face that was nasty, world-weary and flabby, whose name was Josiane; and another woman, a bit younger, almost unnoticeable, of about twenty-seven who followed Josiane with a sort of canine docility and whose name was Val\u00e9rie. Anyway, I'll get back to them; I'll have far too much time to get back to them, I thought glumly as I walked towards the coach. I noticed that S\u00f4n was still staring at her list of passengers. Her face was tense, words formed on her lips involuntarily; it was clear she was anxious, almost distraught. Counting, it appeared there were thirteen people in the group; and Thais are frequently superstitious, even more so than the Chinese: the numbering of storeys in a building or houses in a street often goes straight from twelve to fourteen, simply to avoid mentioning the number thirteen. I took a seat on the left-hand side about halfway down the coach. People establish points of reference pretty quickly on this kind of group outing: in order to feel relaxed, they need to find a place and stick to it, maybe leave some personal odds and ends around, actively inhabiting the space in some way.\n\nTo my great surprise, I saw Val\u00e9rie take a seat beside me, even though the coach was about three-quarters empty. Two rows behind, Babette and L\u00e9a exchanged a couple of scornful words. They'd better calm down, those sluts. I discreetly fixed my attention on the young woman: she had long black hair, a nondescript face, a face that could be described as _unexceptional_ : not pretty, not ugly, strictly speaking. After brief but intense consideration, I managed awkwardly: 'Not too hot?' 'No, no, here in the coach is fine,' she replied quickly, without smiling, relieved simply that I had started a conversation. Though what I'd said was remarkably stupid: actually, it was freezing in the bus. 'Have you been to Thailand before?' she went on by way of conversation. 'Yes, once.' She froze in a waiting posture, ready to listen to an interesting anecdote. Was I about to recount my previous trip to her? Maybe not right away. 'It was good...' I said eventually, adopting a friendly tone to compensate for the banality of what I was saying. She nodded in satisfaction. It was then that I realised that this young woman was in no way submissive to Josiane: she was just submissive _in general_ , and maybe just ready to look for a new master; maybe she'd already had enough of Josiane \u2013 who, sitting two rows in front of us, was furiously leafing through the _Guide du Routard_ , throwing dirty looks in our direction. Romance, romance.\n\nJust past Payab Ferry Pier, the boat turned right into the Khlong Samsen and we entered a completely different world. Life had changed very little here since the nineteenth century. Rows of teak houses on stilts lined the canal; washing dried under awnings. Some of the women came to their windows to watch us pass, others stopped in the middle of their washing. Children splashed and bathed between the stilts; they waved at us excitedly. There was vegetation everywhere: our pirogue cut a path through masses of water-lilies and lotuses; teeming, intense life sprang up all around. Every free patch of earth, air or water seemed to be immediately filled with butterflies, lizards, carp. We were, S\u00f4n told us, in the middle of the dry season; even so the air was completely, unrelentingly humid.\n\nVal\u00e9rie was sitting beside me; she seemed to be enveloped by a great sense of peace. She exchanged little waves with the old men who sat smoking their pipes on the balconies, the children bathing, the women at their washing. The ecologists from the Jura seemed at peace too; even the naturopaths seemed reasonably calm. Around us, only faint sounds and smiles. Val\u00e9rie turned to me. I almost felt like taking her hand; for no particular reason, I didn't. The boat stopped moving entirely: we were rapt in the momentary eternity of a blissful afternoon; even Babette and L\u00e9a had shut up. They were a bit spaced out, to use the expression L\u00e9a later employed on the jetty.\n\nWhile we were visiting the Temple of Dawn, I made a mental note to buy some more Viagra when I found a chemist that was open. On the way back, I found out that Val\u00e9rie was Breton and that her parents had owned a farm in Tr\u00e9gorrois; I didn't really know what to say, myself. She seemed intelligent. I liked her soft voice, her meek Catholic fervour, the movement of her lips when she spoke; her mouth was obviously pretty hot, just ready to swallow the spunk of a true friend. 'It's been lovely, this afternoon...' I said finally in desperation. I had become too remote from people, I had lived alone too long, I didn't know how to go about it any more. 'Oh, yes, lovely...' she replied all the same; she wasn't demanding, she really was a nice girl. Even so, as soon as the coach arrived at the hotel, I ran straight to the bar.\n\nThree cocktails later, I was beginning to regret my behaviour. I went out and walked round the lobby. It was 7 p.m.; no one from the group was around. For about four hundred baht, those who wished could have dinner and a show of 'traditional Thai dance'; those interested were to assemble at 8 p.m. Val\u00e9rie would definitely be there. For my part, I had already had a vague experience of traditional Thai dance, on a trip with Kuoni three years previously: 'Classic Thailand, from the \"Rose of the North\" to the \"City of Angels\".' Not bad, really, but a bit expensive and terrifyingly cultural; everyone involved had at least a masters degree. The thirty-two positions of the Buddha in Ratanakosin statuary, Thai-Burmese style, Thai-Khmer, Thai-Thai, they didn't miss a thing. I had come back exhausted and I'd constantly felt ridiculous without a _Guide Bleu_. Right now, I was beginning to feel a serious need to fuck. I was wandering round the lobby, with a sense of mounting indecision, when I spotted a sign saying 'Health Club', indicating the floor below.\n\nThe entrance was lit by neon and a long rope of coloured lights. On the white background of an electric sign, three bikini-clad sirens, their breasts a little larger than life, proffered champagne flutes to prospective customers; there was a heavily stylised Eiffel Tower in the far distance \u2013 not quite the same concept as the fitness centres of Mercure hotels. I went in and ordered a bourbon at the bar. Behind a glass screen, a dozen girls turned towards me; some smiled alluringly, others didn't. I was the only customer. Despite the fact that the place was small, the girls wore numbered tags. I quickly chose number 7: firstly because she was cute, also because she wasn't engrossed in the programme on the television or deep in conversation with her neighbour. Indeed, when her name was called, she stood up with evident satisfaction. I offered her a coke at the bar, then we went to one of the rooms. Her name was O\u00f4n, at least that was what I heard, and she was from the north somewhere, a little village near Chiang Mai. She was nineteen.\n\nAfter we had taken a bath together, I lay down on the foam-covered mattress; I realised at once that I wasn't going to regret my choice. O\u00f4n moved very nicely, very lithely; she'd used just enough soap. At one point, she at length caressed my buttocks with her breasts; it was a personal initiative, not all the girls did that. Her well-soaped pussy grazed my calf like a small hard brush. I was somewhat surprised to find I got hard almost immediately; when she turned me over and started to stroke my penis with her feet, I thought for a minute that I wouldn't be able to hold back. But with a supreme effort, tensing the abductor muscles in my thighs, I managed.\n\nWhen she climbed on top of me on the bed, I thought I would be able to hold out for a long time yet; but I was quickly disillusioned. She might have been very young, but she knew what to do with her pussy. She started very gently with little contractions on the glans, then she slipped down an inch or so, squeezing a little harder. 'Oh no, O\u00f4n, no!...' I cried. She burst out laughing, pleased with her power, then continued to slide down gently, contracting the walls of her vagina with long, slow compressions; all the while looking me in the eyes in obvious amusement. I came well before she got to the base of my penis.\n\nAfterwards we chatted a bit, entwined on the bed; she didn't seem to be in any hurry to get back out on stage. She didn't have many clients, she told me; the hotel was aimed at groups of terminal cases, ordinary people, who were pretty much blas\u00e9. There were a lot of French people, but they didn't really seem to like body massage. Those who patronised the place were nice enough, but they were mostly Germans and Australians. A few Japanese too, but she didn't like them \u2013 they were weird, they always wanted to hit you or tie you up, or else they just sat there masturbating, staring at your shoes; it was pointless.\n\nAnd what did she think about me? Not bad, but she would have liked it if I'd been able to hold out a little longer. 'Much need...' she said in English, gently shaking my sated penis between her fingers. Otherwise, she thought I seemed like a nice man. 'You look quiet...' she said. There she was somewhat mistaken, but I suppose it was true that she'd done a good job of calming me. I gave her three thousand baht, which, as far as I remembered, was a good price. From her reaction I could tell that, yes, it was a good price. 'Kr\u00f4p khun kh\u00e2t!' she said with a big smile, bringing her hands together in front of her forehead. Then she took my hand and accompanied me to the exit; at the door we kissed each other on the cheeks several times.\n\nAs I climbed the stairs I ran into Josiane, who was apparently hesitating about whether to go downstairs. She had changed into an evening dress, a black shift dress with gold piping, but it didn't make her the least bit more appealing. Her plump, shrewd face was turned towards me, unblinkingly. I noticed that she'd washed her hair. She wasn't ugly, you might even say she was pretty \u2013 I had fancied Lebanese women like her \u2013 but her basic expression was unmistakably nasty. I could easily imagine her trotting out tired political positions; she hadn't a flicker of compassion that I could make out. I had nothing to say to her, either. I lowered my head. A little embarrassed, maybe, she spoke: 'Anything interesting downstairs?' I found her so infuriating that I nearly said: 'A bar full of hookers', but in the end I lied, it was easier. 'No, no, I don't know, some kind of beauty salon...'\n\n'You didn't go to the dinner and show...' the bitch remarked. 'Neither did you,' I snapped back. This time her response was slower in coming, she became snotty. 'Oh no, I don't really like that sort of thing...' she went on, curving her arm like an actress playing Racine. 'It's all a bit touristy...' What did she mean by that? Everything is touristy. Once again, I stopped myself from putting my fist through her fucking face. Standing in the middle of the stairway, she was in my way; I had to show patience. A passionate letter-writer on occasion, St Jerome also knew how to display the virtues of Christian patience when circumstances called for it; that is why he is considered to be a great saint and a Doctor of the Church.\n\nThis 'traditional Thai dance' show was, according to her, just about Josette and Ren\u00e9's level, people she thought of, in her heart of hearts, as white trash; I realised, rather uncomfortably, that she was looking for an ally. True, the tour would soon head deep inland, we would be divided into two tables at meals; it was time to take sides. 'Well...' I said, after a long silence. At that moment, like a miracle, Robert appeared above us. He was trying to get downstairs. I smoothly stepped aside, climbing a couple of steps. Just before rushing off to the restaurant, I turned back: Josiane, still motionless, was staring at Robert, who was walking briskly towards the massage parlour.\n\nBabette and L\u00e9a were standing next to the trays of vegetables. I nodded in minimal acknowledgement before serving myself some water spinach. Obviously they too had decided that the 'traditional Thai dance' was _tacky_. As I went back to my table, I noticed the tarts were sitting a couple of feet away. L\u00e9a was wearing a _Rage Against the Machine_ tee-shirt and a pair of tight denim shorts, Babette something unstructured in which different coloured stripes of silk alternated with transparent fabric. They were chattering enthusiastically, talking about different hotels in New York. Marrying one of those girls, I thought, that would be _radically_ hideous. Did I still have time to change tables? No, it would have been a bit obvious. I took a chair opposite so that at least I could sit with my back on them, I bolted my meal and went back up to my room.\n\nA cockroach appeared just as I was about to get into the bath. It was just the right time for a cockroach to make an appearance in my life; couldn't have been better. It scuttled quickly across the porcelain, the little bugger; I looked around for a slipper, but actually I knew my chances of squashing him were small. What was the point in trying? And what good was O\u00f4n, in spite of her marvellously elastic vagina? We were already doomed. Cockroaches copulate gracelessly, with no apparent pleasure; but they also do it repeatedly and their genetic mutations are rapid and efficient. There is absolutely nothing we can do about cockroaches.\n\nBefore getting undressed, I once more paid homage to O\u00f4n and to all Thai prostitutes. They didn't have an easy job, those girls; they probably didn't come across a good guy all that often, someone with an okay physique who was honestly looking for nothing more than mutual orgasm. Not to mention the Japanese \u2013 I shivered at the thought, and grabbed my _Guide du Routard_. Babette and L\u00e9a could never have been Thai prostitutes, I thought, they weren't worthy of it. Val\u00e9rie, maybe; that girl had something, she managed to be both maternal and a bit of a slut, potentially at least, I mean; for the moment she was just a nice friendly, serious girl. Intelligent, too. I definitely liked Val\u00e9rie. I masturbated gently so I could read in peace, producing just a couple of drips.\n\nIf it was intended in principle to prepare you for a trip to Thailand, in practice the _Guide du Routard_ had strong reservations about, and as early as the preface, felt duty-bound to denounce, sexual tourism, that 'repulsive slavery'. All in all, these backpacking _routards_ were bellyaching bastards whose goal was to spoil every little pleasure on offer to tourists, whom they despised. In fact, they seemed to like themselves more than anything else, if one was to go by the sarcastic little phrases scattered throughout the book, in the style of: 'Ah, my friends, if you had been there back in the hippy days!...' The most excruciating thing was probably their stern, dogmatic, peremptory tone, quivering with repressed indignation: 'We're far from prudish, but Pattaya we don't like. Enough is enough.' A bit further on, they laid into 'pot-bellied Westerners' who strolled around with little Thai girls; it made them 'literally puke'. Humanitarian Protestant cunts, that's what they were, they and the 'cool bunch of mates who had helped to make this book possible', their nasty little faces smugly plastered all over the back cover. I flung the book hard across the room, missing the Sony television by a whisker, and wearily picked up _The Firm_ , by John Grisham. It was an American bestseller, one of the best; meaning one of those that had sold the most copies. The hero was a young lawyer with a bright future, a talented, good-looking boy who worked eighty hours a week; not only was this shit so obviously a proto-screenplay it was obscene, but you had the feeling the author had already given some thought to the casting, the part had obviously been written for Tom Cruise. The hero's wife wasn't bad either, even if she didn't work eighty hours a week; but in this case, Nicole Kidman wouldn't fit, it wasn't a part for someone with curly hair; more like someone with a blow-dry. Thank God the lovebirds didn't have any children, which meant we were spared a number of gruelling scenes. It was a suspense thriller, well, there was a little suspense: as early as Chapter Two, it was obvious that the guys running the firm were bastards, and there was no way the hero was going to die at the end; nor his wife for that matter. But, in the meantime, to prove he wasn't joking, the author was going to sacrifice a couple of sympathetic minor characters; all that was left was to find out which ones. That might make it worth a read. Maybe it would be the hero's father: his business was going through a bad patch, he was having trouble adjusting to the new matrix management; I had a feeling that this would be his last Thanksgiving.\n\n### 6\n\nVAL\u00c9RIE HAD SPENT the early years of her life in Tr\u00e9m\u00e9ven, a hamlet a few kilometres north of Guingamp. In the '70s and early '80s, the government and local councils had nurtured an ambition to create a massive production centre for pork products in Brittany, capable of rivalling those of Britain or Denmark. Encouraged to adopt intensive farming methods, the young farmers \u2013 including Val\u00e9rie's father \u2013 became heavily indebted to the Cr\u00e9dit Agricole. In 1984, pork prices began to collapse; Val\u00e9rie was eleven years old. She was a well-behaved girl, a bit lonely, a good student; she was about to enter her _second year_ at the secondary school in Guingamp. Her older brother, also a good student, had just passed his _bac_ ; he had enrolled in preparatory classes in agronomy at the lyc\u00e9e in Rennes.\n\nVal\u00e9rie remembered Christmas 1984; her father had spent the day with the accountant from the National Farmers' Union. He was silent for much of Christmas dinner. During dessert, after two glasses of champagne, he spoke to his son. 'I can hardly recommend that you take over the farm,' he said. 'For twenty years now I've been getting up at dawn and finishing the day at eight or nine o'clock; your mother and I, we've barely had a holiday. I'd be as well off selling the place now, with all the machinery and the farm buildings, and investing the money in tourist property: I could spend the rest of my days working on my tan.'\n\nIn the years that followed, pork prices continued to plummet. There were farmers' protests, marked by a desperate violence; tons of slurry were dumped on the Esplanade des Invalides, a number of pigs were gutted in front of the Palais Bourbon. At the end of 1986, the government announced emergency relief followed by a recovery plan for pig-breeders. In April 1987, Val\u00e9rie's father sold his farm \u2013 for a little more than four million francs. With the money from the sale, he bought a large apartment in Saint-Quay-Portrieux, where he planned to live, and three studio flats in Torremolinos. He had a million francs left over which he invested in unit trusts and was even able \u2013 it was his childhood dream \u2013 to buy a small yacht. Sadly, and with some disgust, he signed the farm bill of sale. The new owner was a young guy, about twenty-three, single, from Lannion, just out of agricultural college; he still believed in the plans to revive the industry. Val\u00e9rie's father was forty-eight, his wife, forty-seven; they had dedicated the best years of their lives to a hopeless task. They lived in a country where, compared to speculative investment, investment in production brought little return; he understood that now. In their first year, the rents from the studio flats brought in more money than all his years of work. He took up crosswords, took the yacht out into the bay, sometimes fishing. His wife found it easier to adapt to their new life and was a great support to him; she started to want to read again, to go to the cinema, to go out.\n\nAt the time of the sale, Val\u00e9rie was fourteen, she was just starting to wear makeup; in the bathroom mirror she watched her breasts as they gradually swelled. The night before they moved out, she spent a long time walking around the farm buildings. There were still a dozen pigs in the main sty, which came up to her grunting softly. They were being picked up that night by a wholesaler and would be slaughtered in a few days time.\n\nThe summer that followed was a strange period. Compared to Tr\u00e9m\u00e9ven, Saint-Quay-Portrieux was almost a small town. When she walked out of her door, she couldn't He on the grass, letting her thoughts float with the clouds, flow with the river. Among the holidaymakers there were boys, who turned to look at her as she passed; she never really managed to relax. Towards the end of August, she met B\u00e9r\u00e9nice, a girl from the secondary school at Saint-Brieuc. B\u00e9r\u00e9nice was a year older than she, she already wore makeup and designer skirts; she had a pretty, angular face and very long hair which was an extraordinary strawberry blond. They got into the habit of going to the beach at Saint-Marguerite together; they would get changed in Val\u00e9rie's room before they set off. One afternoon, as she was taking off her bra, Val\u00e9rie noticed B\u00e9r\u00e9nice staring at her breasts. She knew that she had superb breasts, round and high, so swollen and firm that they looked artificial. B\u00e9r\u00e9nice stretched out her hand, traced the curve and the nipple. Val\u00e9rie opened her mouth and closed her eyes as B\u00e9r\u00e9nice's lips approached her own; she abandoned herself completely to the kiss. She was already wet when B\u00e9r\u00e9nice slipped a hand into her panties. Impatiently she took them off, fell back on the bed and parted her thighs. B\u00e9r\u00e9nice knelt in front of her, placed her mouth over her pussy. Her stomach quivered with warm spasms, she felt her mind floating in the endless space of the sky; she had never imagined pleasure like this could exist.\n\nEvery day until they went back to school, they did it again. Once in the afternoon, before they went to the beach; then they would lie side by side in the sunshine. Little by little, Val\u00e9rie would feel desire mounting in her skin, she would take off her top so that B\u00e9r\u00e9nice could see her breasts. They would practically run back to the bedroom and make love a second time.\n\nFrom their first week back at school, B\u00e9r\u00e9nice began to distance herself from Val\u00e9rie, avoided walking back from school with her; shortly afterwards she started going out with a boy. Val\u00e9rie accepted the separation without any real sorrow \u2013 that's the way things go. She had taken to masturbating every morning when she woke up. Each time, in a few short minutes, she would reach orgasm; it was something marvellous, something simple happening within her and which began her day with joy. About boys she had more reservations; having bought a couple of issues of _Hot Video_ at the station kiosk, she knew what to expect from their anatomy, their organs, various sexual practices; but she felt a slight repugnance for their body hair, their muscles; their skin looked thick and not at all soft. The brownish, wrinkled skin of their balls, the brutally anatomical look of the glans when the foreskin was retracted, red, shiny... none of these things was especially attractive. In the end, however, she slept with a boy in his final year, a tall blond guy, after spending the night in a club in Paimpol; she did not find it particularly pleasurable. She tried again several times with others while she was in her last couple of years at school. It was easy to seduce boys: all you had to do was wear a short skirt, cross your legs, wear a low-cut or a see-through blouse that showed off your breasts. None of these experiences proved especially conclusive. Intellectually, she could understand the triumphant yet gentle feeling some girls experienced when they felt a cock pushing deep into their pussies; but she herself felt nothing of the sort. It had to be said that condoms didn't help; the sound the latex made, flaccid and repetitive, constantly brought her down to earth, prevented her from drifting into the nebulous infinity of sensual pleasure. By the time she sat her _bac_ , she had more or less given up.\n\nTen years later, she still hadn't really started again, she thought sadly as she woke in the bedroom of the Bangkok Palace. It was not quite daylight. She turned on the overhead light and contemplated her body in the mirror. Her breasts were as firm as ever, they hadn't changed since she was seventeen. Her arse was amazingly round too, without a trace of fat; unquestionably she had a very beautiful body. Nonetheless, she slipped on a baggy sweatshirt and a shapeless pair of shorts before going downstairs to breakfast. Before she closed the door, she glanced at herself one last time in the mirror: her face was very average, a little rounded, nice but nothing more than that; the same was true of her limp, black hair which fell untidily on her shoulders; and her brown eyes weren't much of an asset either. No doubt she could have made more of herself, a bit of makeup, a different hairstyle, a trip to the beauty salon. Most women her age spent at least a couple of hours a week there; she didn't think it would make much difference in her case. What she was lacking, essentially, was the desire to seduce.\n\nWe left the hotel at seven; the traffic was already heavy. Val\u00e9rie gave me a little nod and took a seat in the same row on the other side of the aisle. No one in the bus was talking. Slowly, the grey megalopolis woke up; mopeds carrying couples, sometimes with a baby in the mother's arms, weaved between the crowded buses. A light haze still hung in some of the alleys by the river. Soon the sun would burst through the morning clouds, it would start to get hot. At Nonthaburi, the urban fabric began to fray and we could see the first rice fields. Buffalo standing motionless in the mud followed the bus with their eyes exactly as cows would do. The ecologists from the Jura seemed a bit restless; they'd probably wanted to take a couple of pictures of the buffalo.\n\nThe first stop was Kanchanaburi, which all the guide books agree is a lively, animated city. To the Michelin, it's a 'marvellous starting point from which to explore the surrounding region'; the _Guide du Routard_ , on the other hand, considers it a 'good base camp'. The tour programme indicated a journey of several miles along the 'railway of death' which snaked alongside the River Kwai. I'd never really got to the bottom of this River Kwai story, so I tried to pay attention to what the guide was saying. Luckily Ren\u00e9, Michelin Guide in hand, was following the story, always ready to correct this point or that. In short, after they entered the war in 1941, the Japanese decided to build a railway connecting Singapore and Burma, with the long-term objective of invading India. This railway had to cross Malaysia and Thailand. Come to think of it, what were the Thais doing during the Second World War? Well, now you come to mention it, not a lot. They were 'neutral', S\u00f4n informed me diplomatically. In reality, Ren\u00e9 explained, they'd signed a military pact with the Japanese without actually declaring war on the Allies. That was the way of wisdom. Demonstrating, once again, the celebrated 'subtlety of mind' which had made it possible for them to spend two centuries caught in a vice-like grip between the colonial powers of France and England without actually surrendering to either, and to remain the only country in South-East Asia never to have been colonised.\n\nBe that as it may, by 1942 work had begun on the section along the River Kwai, marshalling sixty thousand English, Australian, New Zealand and American prisoners of war, as well as 'countless' Asian forced labourers. In October 1943, the railway was completed, but sixteen thousand of POW's had died \u2013 from a variety of causes including lack of food, the hostile climate and the innate viciousness of the Japanese. Shortly afterwards, an allied bombing raid destroyed the bridge over the River Kwai, a crucial element of the infrastructure \u2013 thereby rendering the railway completely useless. In short, a lot of people copped it for very little. Things have changed little since then \u2013 it is still impossible to get a decent rail connection between Singapore and Delhi.\n\nIt was in a state of mild distress that I began the visit to the JEATH Museum, built to commemorate the appalling suffering of the allied POWs. Certainly, I thought, what had happened was thoroughly regrettable; but, let's face it, worse things happened during the Second World War. I couldn't help thinking that if the prisoners had been Polish or Russian there would have been a lot less fuss.\n\nA little later, we were required to endure a visit to the cemetery for the allied prisoners of war \u2013 those who had, in a manner of speaking, made the ultimate sacrifice. There were white crosses in neat rows, all identical; the place radiated a profound monotony. It reminded me of Omaha Beach, which hadn't really moved me either, had actually reminded me, in fact, of a contemporary art installation. 'In this place,' I said to myself, with a feeling of sadness which I felt was somewhat inadequate, 'In this place, a bunch of morons died for the sake of democracy.' That said, the cemetery at the River Kwai was much smaller, you could even imagine counting the graves; actually, I gave up pretty quickly. 'There can't be sixteen thousand graves...' I concluded aloud. 'You're quite right,' Ren\u00e9 informed me, still armed with his Michelin Guide. 'The number of dead is estimated at sixteen thousand; but the cemetery contains only five hundred and eighty-two graves. They are considered to be (he read, running his finger under the words) the _five hundred and eighty-two martyrs to democracy_.'\n\nWhen I got my third gold star at the age of ten, I went to a p\u00e2tisserie to stuff my face with _cr\u00eapes aux Grand Marnier_. It was a little private party; I had no friends with whom I could share my joy. I was staying with my father in Chamonix, as I did every year at that time. He was an alpine guide and a committed mountaineer. His friends were like him, men who were brave and manly; I never felt comfortable around them. I've never really felt comfortable around men. I was eleven the first time a girl ever showed me her pussy; I was immediately filled with wonder, I adored this small, strange, cleft organ. She didn't have much pubic hair, she was about the same age as me; her name was Martine. For a long time, she stood with her thighs apart, holding her knickers to one side so I could look; but when I tried to move my hand towards it, she got scared, she ran off. It all seemed very recent to me; I didn't feel that I had changed much. My enthusiasm for pussy had not waned, in fact I saw in it one of my few remaining recognisable, fully human qualities; as for the rest, I didn't really know anymore.\n\nA short while after we had boarded the coach again, S\u00f4n spoke. We were now heading towards our accommodation for the night, which, she was keen to emphasise, was of exceptional quality. No TV, no video. No electricity, candles. No bathroom, the river. No mattresses, mats. Absolutely back to nature. Back to nature, I mentally noted, seemed to consist principally of privations; the ecologists from the Jura \u2013 who, I had discovered on the train \u2013 against my will \u2013 were called \u00c9ric and Sylvie \u2013 were drooling with excitement. 'French cuisine tonight,' concluded S\u00f4n for no apparent reason. 'We now eat Thai. Small restaurant too, beside river.'\n\nThe place was charming. Trees shaded the tables. Near the entrance was a sunlit pool full of turtles and frogs. I watched the frogs for a long time; once again, I was struck by the extraordinary abundance of life in the tropics. White fish swam between two pools. On the surface were water-lilies and water-fleas. Insects continuously settled on the water-lilies. Turtles observed all this with a placidity characteristic of their species.\n\nS\u00f4n came to let me know that the meal had begun. I walked towards the dining room by the river. They had laid two tables for six; all the places were taken. I glanced around me, a little panicked, but Ren\u00e9 quickly came to my rescue. 'No problem! Come and join our table!' he called generously, 'We can add another place on the end.' So I sat at what was apparently the _established couples_ table: the ecologists from the Jura, the naturopaths \u2013 who, I now discovered, answered to the names of Albert and Suzanne \u2013 and the two senior citizens and former pork-butchers. This arrangement, I quickly came to believe, was not based on any real affinity but on the urgent situation which presented itself when they were shown to the tables; the couples had instinctively banded together; all in all, lunch was nothing more than an _observation round_.\n\nThe conversation first moved to the subject of massage, a subject which seemed dear to the naturopaths. The previous evening, Albert and Suzanne, forsaking traditional dance, had enjoyed an excellent back massage. Ren\u00e9 smiled a lewd smile; Albert's expression quickly let him know that his attitude was completely inappropriate. Traditional Thai massage, he thundered, had nothing whatever to do with who knows what kind of practices; it was the expression of a centuries-old, perhaps millennia-old, civilisation and, as it happened, was completely consistent with Chinese teachings on the points of acupuncture. They practised it themselves at their surgery in Montb\u00e9liard, without, naturally, attaining the dexterity of Thai practitioners; the night before, they had had, he concluded, an excellent lesson. \u00c9ric and Sylvie listened, fascinated. Ren\u00e9 coughed slightly in embarrassment; it was true that the Montb\u00e9liard couple did not, in fact, exude even the slightest impression of lewdness. Who could possibly have proposed the idea that France was the country of _debauchery_ and _libertinage_. France was a sinister country, utterly sinister and bureaucratic.\n\n'I had a back massage too, but the girl finished on my balls...' I interrupted without much conviction. Since I was chewing cashew nuts at the time, no one heard, with the exception of Sylvie who shot me a horrified look. I took a mouthful of beer and looked her straight in the eyes, not in the least embarrassed: was this girl even capable of _correctly_ handling a cock? That remained to be seen. In the meantime, I waited for my coffee.\n\n'It's true they're cute, the little girls...' commented Josette, taking a slice of papaya and adding to the general unease. The coffee was slow in coming. What do you do at the end of a meal if you're not allowed to smoke? I sat quietly as the boredom increased. We concluded the conversation, not without difficulty, with some remarks about the weather.\n\nI saw my father once again, confined to his bed, struck down by sudden depression \u2013 a terrifying thing in such an active man; his mountaineering friends stood around awkwardly, powerless in the face of the disease. The reason he played so much sport, he told me once, was to stupefy himself, to stop himself thinking. He had succeeded: I was convinced that he had managed to go through his whole life without ever really questioning the human condition.\n\n### 7\n\nON THE BUS, S\u00f4n continued her commentary. The border region which we were about to enter was partly populated by Burmese refugees of Karen origin, but this should present no problems. Karen tribe good, deemed S\u00f4n, brave, children good study in school, no problem. Nothing like some of the northern tribes, which we would not have the opportunity to meet on our tour; according to her, we weren't missing much. Particularly in the case of the Akha tribe, which she seemed to have something against. In spite of the government's best efforts, the Akhas seemed incapable of giving up growing opium poppies, their traditional activity. Akhas bad, S\u00f4n stressed forcefully: apart grow poppy and pick fruit, know how to do nothing; children not good study in school. Many money spend for them, no result. They are completely useless, she concluded, demonstrating her consummate ability to summarise.\n\nSo, as we arrived at the hotel, I watched these famous Karens curiously, as they busied themselves by the river's edge. Seen close up, I mean without machine-guns, they didn't seem particularly nasty; the most obvious thing about them was that they clearly adored their elephants. Bathing in the river, scrubbing the backs of their elephants seemed to be their greatest pleasure. It's true that these weren't Karen rebels but ordinary Karens \u2013 those who had fled the combat zone because they were sick of the whole thing and who were more or less indifferent to the cause of Karen independence.\n\nA brochure in my hotel room gave me some information about the history of the resort, which was the product of a wonderful human adventure: that of Bertrand Le Moal, backpacker _avant la lettre_ who, having fallen in love with this place, had 'laid down his pack' here at the end of the 60s. With furious energy, and the help of his Karen friends, little by little he had built this 'ecological paradise', which an international clientele could now enjoy.\n\nIt's true the place was superb. Small, beautifully sculpted chalets made of teak connected by a pathway decked with flowers, overhung the river, which you could feel pulse under your feet. The hotel was situated at the bottom of a steep valley, the sides of which were shrouded in dense jungle. When I stepped out on to the terrace there was a profound silence. It took me a moment or two to understand why: all at once every bird had stopped singing. It was the hour when the jungle readies itself for night. What sort of large predators would there be in a jungle like that? Not many, probably \u2013 two or three leopards \u2013 but there was probably no shortage of snakes and spiders. The light was fading fast. On the far bank, a lone monkey leaped from tree to tree; he gave a short call. You could feel he was fretful, anxious to rejoin his group.\n\nI went back into the room, lit the candles. The furniture was minimal: a teak table, two rustic wooden bedsteads, sleeping bags and mats. I spent a quarter of an hour methodically rubbing myself with Cinq sur Cinq insect repellent. Rivers are all very well, but you know what they're like: they attract mosquitoes. There was a bar of citronella too, which you could melt; it seemed to me a worthwhile precaution.\n\nWhen I came down to dinner, it was completely dark; garlands of multicoloured lights were strung between the houses. So there _was_ electricity in the village, I noted, they simply hadn't thought it necessary to install it in the rooms. I stopped for a moment and leaned on the guardrail to look down at the river; the moon was up and shimmered on the water. Opposite, you could vaguely make out the dark mass of the jungle; from time to time, the raucous cry of a nocturnal bird could be heard.\n\nHuman groups of more than three people have a tendency, apparently, to split into two hostile sub-groups. Dinner was served on a pontoon in the middle of the river; this time, the tables had been laid for eight. The ecologists and the naturopaths were already installed at one table; the former pork-butchers were currently all alone at the second. What could have brought about the rift? Maybe the massage discussion at lunch, which, let's face it, hadn't gone too well. In addition, that morning, Suzanne, soberly dressed in a white linen tunic and trousers \u2013 nicely cut to emphasise her angular features \u2013 had burst out laughing when she saw Josette's flower-print dress. Whatever the reason, the divisions had begun. In a rather cowardly move, I slowed my pace so as to let Lionel, my neighbour from the plane, who also had the neighbouring chalet, overtake me. He made his choice quickly, barely aware of doing so; I didn't even get the impression it was a choice based on elective affinity, more a sort of class solidarity (since he worked at Gaz de France and was therefore a civil servant, while the others had been small shopkeepers) a solidarity based on level of education. Ren\u00e9 welcomed us with evident relief. In any case, our decision was not critical at this stage of the game: had we joined the others we would have forcefully confirmed the isolation of the former pork-butchers; whereas this way, we were really only balancing out the table numbers.\n\nBabette and L\u00e9a arrived shortly after and without a second thought sat at the neighbouring table.\n\nQuite some time later \u2013 our first courses had already been served \u2013 Val\u00e9rie appeared on the edge of the pontoon; she looked around her uncertainly. At the other table, there were still two empty places beside Babette and L\u00e9a. She hesitated a little longer, made a little start and came and sat on my left.\n\nJosiane had taken even longer than usual getting ready; she must have had trouble putting on her makeup by candlelight. Her black velvet dress wasn't bad, a bit low cut, but not excessive. She also hesitated for a moment, then came and sat opposite Val\u00e9rie.\n\nRobert arrived last, a little unsteady. He'd probably been boozing before the meal; I'd seen him with a bottle of Mekong earlier. He dropped heavily on to the bench next to Val\u00e9rie. A short but fearful cry went up from somewhere close by in the jungle; perhaps some small mammal had just breathed its last.\n\nS\u00f4n moved between the tables to check that everything was okay, that we had all settled in nicely. She was having dinner elsewhere, with the driver \u2013 a less than democratic arrangement which had already earned Josiane's disapproval at lunchtime. But, basically, I think it suited her just fine, even if she had nothing against us: despite her best efforts, she seemed to find long discussions in French a bit tiring.\n\nAt the next table the conversation purred happily, discussing the beauty of the location, the joy of being at one with nature, far from civilisation, the essential values, etc. 'Yeah, it's top,' confirmed L\u00e9a. 'And y'know, we're really bang in the middle of jungle... I can't believe it.'\n\nOur table was having a little more difficulty finding common ground. Opposite me, Lionel was eating placidly, making no effort whatsoever. I glanced ner-vously from side to side. At one point I saw a big bearded guy coming out of the kitchens and shouting angrily at the waiters; it must be none other than the famous Bertrand Le Moal. To my mind, his greatest achievement so far was to have taught the Karens the recipe for _gratin dauphinois_. It was delicious, and the roast pork was perfectly done, crisp but tender. 'All we're missing is a drop of wine...' Ren\u00e9 said sadly. Josiane pursed her lips scornfully. One didn't need to ask what she thought about French tourists who couldn't leave the country without their drop of wine. A little awkwardly, Val\u00e9rie came to Ren\u00e9's defence. With Thai food, she said, you never felt the need; but right now, a little wine would be rather appropriate. In any case, she herself only drank water.\n\n'If you go abroad,' Josiane barked, 'It is in order to eat the _local_ food and to observe _local_ customs!... If not, you might as well stay at home.'\n\n'I agree!' shouted Robert. She paused, cut off in midflow, and looked at him hatefully.\n\n'Sometimes I find it a bit too spicy...' confessed Josette timidly. 'It doesn't seem to bother you...' she said, addressing me, probably to ease the tension.\n\n'No, no, I love it. The spicier it is, the better I like it. Even in Paris I eat Chinese all the time,' I hastily responded. And so the conversation was able to move on to the Chinese restaurants that had so multiplied in Paris just recently. Val\u00e9rie liked to have lunch in them, they were very reasonable, much better than eating fast food, and probably much healthier too. Josiane had nothing to say on the subject, she had a staff cafeteria; as for Robert, he probably thought the subject was beneath him. In short, everything proceeded more or less peacefully until dessert.\n\nIt all came to a head over the sticky rice. It was a light golden colour, flavoured with cinnamon \u2013 I think the recipe was original. Taking the bull by the horns, Josiane decided to tackle the question of sex tourism head on. For her, it was absolutely disgusting, there was no other word for it. It was a scandal that the Thai government tolerated such things. The international community had to do something. Robert listened to her with a half-smile which I didn't think boded well. It was scandalous, but it was hardly surprising; it was obvious that most of these places (brothels, that was the only word for them) were owned by generals; that told you what kind of protection they had.\n\n'I'm a general...' interrupted Robert. She was speechless, her lower jaw dropped miserably. 'No, no, I'm only joking...' he said with a slight grimace. 'I've never even been in the army.'\n\nShe did not find this funny in the least. She took a moment to pull herself together, then launched back into the fray with renewed energy.\n\n'It's absolutely shameful that fat yobs can just come over here and take advantage of these girls' poverty with impunity. Of course you know they all come from the north and the northeast, the poorest regions of the whole country.'\n\n'Not all of them...' he objected. 'Some of them are from Bangkok.'\n\n'It's sexual slavery!' screamed Josiane, who hadn't heard. 'There's no other way to describe it!...'\n\nI yawned a little. She shot me a black look, but went on, calling on the others to give their verdict: 'Don't you think it's disgraceful that any fat old yob can come over here and have it off with these kids for next to nothing?'\n\n'It's hardly next to nothing...' I protested modestly. 'I paid three thousand baht, which is about what you'd pay in France.' Val\u00e9rie turned and looked at me, surprised. 'You paid a bit over the odds...' observed Robert. 'Still, if the girl was worth it...'\n\nJosiane's whole body was trembling, she was starting to unsettle me a little. 'Well!' she shrieked in a very shrill voice, 'It makes me sick, that any fat pig can pay to shove his cock into a kid!'\n\n'Nobody's forcing you to come with me, madam...' Robert replied calmly.\n\nShe got up, 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 in the end I think it was only fear that stopped her. Robert looked at her with the most serious expression, the muscles under his polo-neck 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 towards the chalets.\n\n'Tsk...' he said softly.\n\nVal\u00e9rie was stuck between him and me; he stood up gracefully, walked around the table and sat where Josiane had been sitting, in case Val\u00e9rie, too, wished to leave the table. She, however, did nothing; at that moment, the waiter brought the coffees. After she had taken two sips, Val\u00e9rie turned to me again. 'So is it true you've paid for girls?...' she asked gently. Her tone was intrigued, but without any real reproach.\n\n'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.\n\nAt the next table, after a few whispered comments, everyone quickly left \u2013 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 Ren\u00e9 dreamily.\n\n'Ah, monsieur!' exclaimed Robert, deliberately grandiloquent, but, it seemed to me, basically sincere, 'they are marvellous, positively marvellous! 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; 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 for all tastes: homosexuals, heterosexuals, transvestites... It's Sodom and Gomorrah combined. Actually, it's better, because they've got lesbians, too.'\n\n'Aaah, aaah...' the former pork-butcher seemed thoughtful. His wife yawned placidly, excused herself and turned to her husband; she clearly wanted to go to bed.\n\n'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.'\n\nSitting opposite, Val\u00e9rie listened to him earnestly. She disappeared shortly after, followed by Josette and Ren\u00e9. 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.\n\nI 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.\n\n### 8\n\nCARRIED 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.\n\nAfter the disaster of the previous evening, a certain benevolence floated around the breakfast tables. Josette and Ren\u00e9 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. \u00c9ric and Sylvie clearly hadn't got a wink all night; in addition, Sylvie was completely covered in red blisters.\n\n'Yes, the mosquitoes really got me,' she confirmed bitterly.\n\n'I've got some soothing lotion if you want. It's very good; I can go and get it.'\n\n'That would be nice, thanks; but let's have coffee first.'\n\nThe coffee was revolting, weak, almost undrinkable; from that point of view at least, we were working to American standards. The young couple looked completely bloody stupid, it almost pained me to see their 'ecological paradise' crumbling before their eyes; but I had a feeling that everything was going to cause me pain today. I looked to the south again. 'I'm told Burma is very beautiful,' I said in a low voice, mostly to myself. Sylvie solemnly agreed: it was indeed, very beautiful, she'd also heard as much; that said, she _forbade_ herself from going to Burma. It was impossible to think that one's money would go to supporting a dictatorship like that. Yes, yes, I thought, money. 'Human rights are extremely important,' she exclaimed almost despairingly. When people talk about 'human rights', I usually get the impression that they're being ironic; but that wasn't true in this case, at least I don't think so.\n\n'Personally, I stopped going to Spain _after_ the death of Franco,' interrupted Robert, taking a seat at our table. I hadn't seen him arrive. He seemed to be in excellent form, his formidable ability to infuriate well-rested. He informed us that he'd gone to bed dead drunk and consequently had slept like a log. He had almost chucked himself in the river a couple of times on his way back to the chalet; but in the end it hadn't happened. ' _Insh'allah_.' he concluded in a booming voice.\n\nAfter this parody of a breakfast, Sylvie walked back with me to my room. On the way, we met Josiane. She was serious, withdrawn and did not even look at us; she seemed to be far from the road to forgiveness. I discovered that she taught literature in civvy street, as Ren\u00e9 amusingly put it; I wasn't a bit surprised. She was exactly the kind of bitch who'd made me give up studying literature many years before.\n\nI gave Sylvie the tube of soothing lotion. 'I'll bring it straight back,' she said. 'You can keep it, I don't think we'll come across any more mosquitoes; as far as I know they hate the seaside.' She thanked me, walked to the door, hesitated, turned round: 'Surely you don't approve of the sexual exploitation of children!...' she exclaimed anguishedly. I was expecting something of the kind. I shook my head and answered wearily: 'There's not that much child prostitution in Thailand. No more than in Europe, in my opinion.' She nodded, not really convinced, and walked out. In fact, I had access to rather more detailed information, courtesy of a strange publication called _The White Book_ , which I'd bought for my previous trip. It was apparently published \u2013 no author's or publisher's name was given \u2013 by an association called Inquisition 2000. Under the pretence of denouncing sexual tourism, it gave all the addresses, country by country \u2013 each revealing chapter was preceded by a short and vehement paragraph calling for respect for the Divine plan and the reintroduction of the death penalty for sex offenders. On the question of paedophilia, _The White Book_ was unequivocal: it formally advised against Thailand, which no longer had anything to recommend it. It was much better to go to the Philippines or, better still, to Cambodia \u2013 the journey might be dangerous, but it was worth the effort.\n\nThe Khmer Kingdom was at its apogee in the twelfth century, the era in which Angkor W\u00e2t was built. After that, it pretty much fell apart; since then Thailand's principal enemy had been the Burmese. In 1351, King Ramathibodi I founded the village of Ayutthaya. In 1402, his son Ramathibodi II invaded the declining Angkor empire. Thirty-two successive sovereigns of Ayutthaya marked their reigns by building Buddhist temples and palaces. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, according to the accounts of French and Portuguese travellers, it was the most magnificent city in all Asia. The wars with the Burmese continued and Ayutthaya fell in 1767, after a siege lasting fifteen months. The Burmese looted the city, melted down the gold statues and left nothing but ruins in their wake.\n\nNow, it was very peaceful; a light breeze stirred up dust between the temples. Not much remained of King Ramathibodi, apart from a couple of lines in the Michelin Guide. The image of the Buddha, on the other hand, was very much in evidence and had retained all of its significance. The Burmese had shipped in Thai craftsmen so that they could construct identical temples several hundred kilometres away. The will to power exists, and it manifests itself in the form of history; it is, in itself, radically unproductive. The smile of the Buddha continued to float above the ruins. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. According to the Michelin Guide, you needed to set aside three days for a complete visit, one day for a quick tour. We had three hours; it was time to get out the camcorders. I imagined Chateaubriand with a Panasonic camcorder at the Coliseum, smoking cigarettes \u2013 B&H probably, rather than Gauloises Lights. Faced with a religion this radical, I expect his views would have been slightly different; he would have had a lot less respect for Napoleon. I was sure that he would have been capable of writing an excellent _G\u00e9nie du bouddhisme_.\n\nJosette and Ren\u00e9 were a bit bored during the visit; I got the impression that pretty quickly they were just going round in circles. Babette and L\u00e9a were the same. The ecologists from the Jura, on the other hand, seemed to be in their element, as did the naturopaths; they deployed an impressive array of photographic equipment. Val\u00e9rie was lost in thought, walking down the alleys, across the flagstones, through the grass. That's culture for you, I thought: it's a bit of a pain in the arse, but that's good; everyone is returned to his own nothingness. That said, how did the sculptors of the Ayutthaya period _do it_? How did they manage to give their statues of the Buddha such a luminous expression of understanding?\n\nAfter the fall of Ayutthaya, the Thai kingdom entered a period of great stability. Bangkok became the capital and the R\u00e2ma dynasty began. For two centuries (actually, up to the present day) the kingdom knew no serious foreign wars, nor any civil or religious wars for that matter; it also succeeded in avoiding any form of colonisation. There had been no famines, either, nor great epidemics. In such circumstances, when lands are fertile and bring forth abundant harvests, when sickness seems to relax its grip, when a peaceable religion extends its laws over hearts and minds, human beings grow and multiply; in general, they live happily. Now, things were different. Thailand had become part of the free world, meaning the market economy; for five years it had been suffering a terrible economic crisis which had reduced the currency to less than half its previous value and brought the most successful businesses to the brink of ruin. This was the first real tragedy to strike the country for more than two centuries.\n\nOne after another, in a silence that was pretty striking, we went back to the coach. We left at sunset. We were due to take the night train from Bangkok, destination Surat Thani.\n\n### 9\n\nSURAT THANI \u2013 POPULATION 42,000 \u2013 is distinguished, according to the guidebooks, by the fact that it is of no interest whatever. It is, and this is the only thing you can say about it, an obligatory stop on the way to the Koh Samui ferry. Nonetheless, people live here, and the Michelin Guide informed us that for a long time the city has been an important centre of metallurgical industries \u2013 and that, more recently, it has played a significant role in machine assembly.\n\nAnd where would we be without machine construction? Iron ore is mined in obscure regions of the country and transported here by freighter. Machine tools are then produced, mostly under the supervision of Japanese companies. Their assembly takes place in cities like Surat Thani: resulting in coaches, train carriages, ferries; all produced under licence from NEC, General Motors or Fujimori. The products serve in part to transport western tourists, such as Babette and L\u00e9a.\n\nI was entitled to speak to them, I was a member of the same tour; I could hardly presume to be a potential lover, which limited possible conversation from the off; I had, nevertheless, purchased the same outbound ticket; I was therefore at liberty, to some extent, to make contact. Babette and L\u00e9a, it turned out, worked for the same PR agency; for the most part, they organised events. Events? Yes. For institutions or private companies keen to develop their corporate sponsorship programmes. There was certainly money to be made there, I thought. Yes and no. Nowadays, companies were more 'human rights' focused, so there had been a slowdown in investment. But it was still pretty okay. I enquired about their salaries: pretty good. They could have been better, but still pretty good. About twenty-five times the salary of a metalworker in Surat Thani. Economics is a mystery.\n\nAfter we arrived at the hotel, the group broke up, at least I suppose it did; I didn't feel much like eating with the others; I was a bit fed up with the others. I drew the curtains and lay down. Curiously, I fell asleep immediately and dreamed of an Arab girl dancing in a metro carriage. She didn't look anything like A\u00efcha, at least I don't think so. She was standing against the central pole, like the girls in go-go bars. Her breasts were covered by a miniscule strip of cotton which she was slowly lifting. With a smile, she freed her breasts completely; they were swollen, round, copper-coloured, magnificent. She licked her fingers and stroked her nipples. Then she put her hand on my trousers, eased down my flies and took out my penis, and began to jerk me off. People crowded past us, got off at their stations. She got on all fours on the floor, lifted up her mini-skirt; she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her vulva was welcoming, surrounded by black hair, like a gift; I started to penetrate her. The carriage was half full, but no one paid any attention to us. Such things could never happen under any normal circumstances. It was the dream of a starving man, the ludicrous dream of man already grown old.\n\nI woke up at about five o'clock, noticed the sheets were completely covered in semen. A nocturnal emission... very touching. I noticed too, to my great surprise, that I still had a hard on; I put it down to the weather. A cockroach lay on its back in the middle of the bedside table; you could easily make out the detail of its legs. This one didn't have to worry any more, as my father would have said. My father, for his part, had died in late 2000; good thing too. Consequently, his existence was entirely contained within the twentieth century, of which he was a hideously representative element. I myself had survived in middling condition. I was in my forties, well, in my early forties, after all, I was only forty; I was about half way there. My father's death gave me a certain freedom; I hadn't had my last word yet.\n\nSituated on the east coast of Ko Samui, the hotel perfectly evoked the sort of tropical paradise you see in travel agents' brochures. The hills surrounding it were covered by thick jungle. The low-rise buildings, bordered by greenery, sloped down to an immense oval swimming pool with a jacuzzi at each end. You could swim up to the bar, which was on an island in the middle of the pool. A few yards further on was a beach of white sand and the sea. I looked around warily at my surroundings; from here, I recognised Lionel in the distance splashing in the waves like a handicapped dolphin. Then I turned back and headed for the bar along a narrow bridge overlooking the pool. With studied casualness, I familiarised myself with the cocktail menu; happy hour had just begun.\n\nI had just ordered a Singapore Sling when Babette made her appearance. 'Well, well...' I said. She was wearing a generously cut two-piece bathing suit, figure-hugging shorts and a wide wraparound top in a symphony of light and dark blue. The fabric seemed to be exceptionally sheer; it was a swimsuit which clearly only came into its own when wet. 'Are you not going to swim?' she asked. 'Euh...' I said. L\u00e9a appeared in turn, more classically sexy in a bright red vinyl one-piece, with black zips open to reveal her skin (one of them ran across her left breast, giving a glimpse of nipple), and cut very high on the thighs. She nodded to me before joining Babette at the water's edge; when she turned round, I was in a position to observe that she had perfect buttocks. The girls had been suspicious of me at the beginning; but since I had spoken to them on the ferry they had come to the conclusion that I was a harmless human being and moderately amusing. They were right: that was about it.\n\nThey dived in together. I turned round to ogle a bit. The guy at the next table was the spitting image of Robert Hue. When wet, Babette's swimsuit really was spectacular: you could easily make out her nipples and the crack of her bum; you could even see the slight swelling of her pubic hair, even though she had opted to cut it quite short. Meanwhile, people were working, making useful commodities; or sometimes useless commodities. They were productive. What had I produced in the forty years of my existence? To tell the truth, not very much. I had managed information, facilitated access to it and disseminated it; sometimes, too, I had carried out bank transfers (on a modest scale; I was generally happy to pay the smaller invoices). In a word, I had worked in the service sector. It would be easy to get by without people like me. Still, my ineffectuality was less flamboyant than that of Babette and L\u00e9a; a moderate parasite I had never been a high-flyer in _my job_ , and had never felt the need to pretend to be.\n\nAfter dark, I went back to the hotel lobby, where I ran into Lionel; he was sunburned from head to toe and delighted with his day. He had done a lot of swimming; he'd never dared dream of somewhere like this. 'I had to save pretty hard to pay for the trip,' he said, 'but I don't regret it.' He sat on the edge of a sofa; he was thinking about his daily life. He worked for Gaz de France in the southeastern suburbs of Paris; he lived in Juvisy. He often had to call on people who were very poor, old people whose systems weren't up to standard. If they didn't have money the to pay for the necessary modifications, he was forced to cut off their gas. 'There are people who live in conditions...' he said, 'you can't imagine.'\n\n'You get to see strange things sometimes...' he went on, shaking his head. As for himself, things were okay. The area he lived in wasn't great, actually it was downright dangerous. 'There are places that are best avoided,' he said. But in general, things weren't too bad. 'We're on holiday,' he concluded before heading off to the dining room. I picked up a couple of brochures and went off to my room to read them. I still didn't feel like eating with the others. It is in our relations with other people that we gain a sense of ourselves; it's that, pretty much, that makes relations with other people unbearable.\n\nI'd found out from L\u00e9a that Ko Samui wasn't just a tropical paradise, it was also pretty phat. Every night at the full moon there was a massive rave on the tiny neighbouring island of Ko Lanta; people came from Australia or from Germany to attend. 'A bit like Goa...' I said. 'Much better than Goa,' she interrupted. Goa was completely _past it_ ; if you were looking for a decent rave now, you had to go to Ko Samui or to Lombok.\n\nI didn't ask as much. All I wanted right now was a decent body massage, followed by a blowjob and a good fuck. Nothing too complicated on the face of it; but looking through the brochures I realised with a feeling of profound melancholy that it didn't at all seem to be the speciality of the place. There was a lot of stuff like acupuncture, massage with essential oils, vegetarian food or tai-chi; but body massage or go-go bars, _nada_. On top of everything, the place had a painfully American, even Californian, feel about it, focused on 'healthy living' and 'meditation activities'. I glanced through a letter to _What's On: Samui_ from a reader, Guy Hopkins; he was a self-confessed 'health addict' and had been coming to the island regularly for twenty years, ' _The aura that backpackers spread on the island is unlikely to be erased quickly by upmarket tourists_ ,' he concluded; it was depressing. I couldn't even set off in search of adventure as the hotel was miles from anywhere; in fact everything was miles from anywhere, since there was nothing here. The map of the island indicated no identifiable centre: several chalet resorts like ours, set on tranquil beaches. It was then that I remembered with horror that the island had had a very good write-up in the _Guide du Routard_. Here was a place where they had managed to avoid a certain moral slide: I was caught like a rat in a trap. Even so, I felt a vague satisfaction, however theoretical, at the notion that I felt up to fucking. Half-heartedly, I picked up _The Firm_ again, skipped forward two hundred pages, skipped back fifty; by chance I happened on a sex scene. The plot had developed a fair bit: Tom Cruise was now in the Cayman Islands, in the process of setting up some kind of money-laundering scheme, or in the process of unmasking it, it wasn't too clear. Whatever the deal was, he was getting to know a stunning mixed-race girl, and the girl wasn't exactly backward in coming forward. 'She unsnapped something and removed her skirt, leaving nothing but a string around her waist and a string running between her legs'. I unzipped my trousers. This was followed by a weird passage that was difficult to grasp psychologically: 'Something said run. Throw the beer bottle into the ocean. Throw the skirt on to the sand. And run like hell. Run to the condo. Lock the door. Lock the windows. Run. Run. Run.' Thankfully, Eilene didn't see things quite that way: 'In slow motion, she reached behind her neck. She unhooked her bikini top, and it fell off, very slowly. Her breasts, much larger now, lay on his left forearm. She handed the top to him. \"Hold this for me.\" It was soft and white and weighed less than a millionth of an ounce.' I was jerking off in earnest now, trying to visualise mixed-race girls wearing tiny swimsuits in the dark. I ejaculated between two pages with a groan of satisfaction. They were going to stick together; didn't matter, it wasn't the kind of book you read twice.\n\nIn the morning, the beach was deserted. I went for a swim just after breakfast; the air was warm. The sun would soon begin its ascent across the sky, increasing the risk of skin cancer in individuals of Caucasian descent. I intended to stay long enough for the maids to make up my room, then I would head back, he beneath the sheets and put the air-conditioning on full; with the greatest serenity I contemplated this free day.\n\nTom Cruise, on the other hand, was still plagued with worries about his affair with the mixed-race girl; he even considered telling his wife (who, and this was the problem, was not content simply to be loved; she wanted to be the sexiest, the most desirable woman in the world). The idiot behaved as though the future of his marriage was at stake. 'If she was cool and showed a trace of compassion, he would tell her he was sorry, so very sorry, and that it would never happen again. If she fell all to pieces, he would beg, literally beg for forgiveness and swear on the Bible that it was a mistake and would never happen again.' Obviously, it came to much the same thing; but in the end the hero's unremitting remorse, though it was of no interest whatever, began to interfere with the story \u2013 which was pretty serious: we had a bunch of extremely nasty Mafiosi, the FBI, maybe even the Russians. It was enough to make you angry, and in the end it made you sick.\n\nI had a go with another American bestseller, _Total Control_ , by David G Baldacci; but that was even worse. This time, the hero wasn't a lawyer but a young computer genius who worked a hundred and ten hours a week. His wife, on the other hand, was a lawyer and worked ninety hours a week: they had a kid. This time the bad guys were a 'European' company which had resorted to fraudulent practices in order to corner a market. Said market should have been the territory of the American company for which our hero was working. During a conversation with the bad guys from the European company, the bad guys \u2013 without the least compunction \u2013 smoked several cigarettes; the atmosphere literally stank of them, but the hero managed to survive. I made a small hole in the sand to bury the two books; the problem now was that I had to find something to read. Life without anything to read is dangerous: you have to content yourself with life and that can lead you to take risks. At the age of fourteen, one afternoon when the fog was particularly dense, I had got lost while skiing; I had had to make my way across avalanche corridors. What I remember most were the low, leaden clouds, the utter silence on the mountain. I knew the drifts of snow could shear away at any moment if I made a sudden movement, or even for no apparent reason, some slight rise in temperature, a breath of wind. If they did I would be carried with them, dragged hundreds of metres on to the rocky ridges below; I would die, probably on impact. Despite this, I wasn't in the least afraid. I was annoyed that things had turned out this way, annoyed for myself and for everyone else. I would have preferred a more conventional death, more official in a way, with an illness, a funeral, tears. Most of all, I regretted never having known my wife's body. During the winter months, my father rented out the first floor of his house; this year the tenants were a couple of architects. Their daughter, Sylvie, was also fourteen; she seemed to be attracted to me, at least she did her best to have me around. She was slender, graceful, her hair was black and curly. Was her pubic hair black and curly too? These were the thoughts that flitted through my mind as I plodded across the mountainside. I've often wondered about that, since: faced with danger, even death, I don't feel anything in particular, no rush of adrenalin. I had searched for the sensations which attract 'extreme sports' fanatics in vain. I am not remotely brave, I run away from danger if at all possible; but if push comes to shove, I greet it with the placidity of a cow. There's probably no point in searching for meaning in this, it's just a technical matter, a question of hormone levels; other human beings apparently similar to me, seem to feel nothing in the presence of a woman's body, something which plunged me, at the time and still, plunges me into a state of agitation I can't control. In most circumstances in my life, I have had about as much freedom as a vacuum cleaner.\n\nThe sun was beginning to get hot. I noticed that Babette and L\u00e9a had arrived on the beach; they had settled themselves about ten metres away from me. Today, they were topless and dressed simply, identically, in white thongs. Apparently they'd met some boys, but I didn't think they were going to sleep with them: the guys weren't bad, reasonably muscular, but not that great either; all in all, pretty average.\n\nI got up and gathered my things. Babette had put her copy of _Elle_ next to her towel. I glanced towards the sea; they were swimming and laughing with the boys. I stooped quickly and stuffed the magazine into my bag; then I walked on along the beach.\n\nThe sea was calm; the view stretched out to the east. Cambodia was probably on the other side, or maybe Vietnam. There was a yacht, midway to the horizon; perhaps there are millionaires who spend their time sailing back and forth across the oceans of the world; a life at once monotonous and romantic.\n\nVal\u00e9rie approached, walking along the water's edge, amusing herself by taking a sidestep now and then to avoid a stronger wave. I quickly propped myself up on my elbows, becoming painfully conscious that she had a magnificent body and was very attractive in her rather sensible two-piece swimsuit; her breasts filled out the bikini top perfectly. I gave a little wave, thinking that she hadn't seen me, but in fact she was already looking in my direction; it's not easy to catch women out.\n\n'You're reading _Elle_?' she asked, a little surprised, quietly ironic.\n\n'Euh...' I said.\n\n'May I?' she sat down beside me. Easily, with the familiarity of a regular reader, she skimmed through the magazine: a quick look at the fashion pages, another at the front pages. ' _Elle_ reads', ' _Elle_ goes out'...\n\n'Did you go to another massage parlour last night?' she asked, with a sidelong glance.\n\n'Um... no, I couldn't find one.'\n\nShe nodded briefly and went back to reading the cover story: 'Are you programmed to love him forever?'\n\n'Is it any good?' I asked after a silence\n\n'I haven't got a lover,' she replied seriously. This girl completely unsettled me.\n\n'I don't really understand this magazine,' she continued without a pause; 'All it talks about is fashion and new trends: what you should see, what you should read, the causes you should campaign for, new topics of conversation... The readers couldn't possibly wear the same clothes as the models, and why on earth would they be interested in new trends? They're mostly older women.'\n\n'You think so?'\n\n'I'm sure. My mother reads it.'\n\n'Maybe the writers simply write about the things they're interested in, not what interests their readers.'\n\n'Economically, that shouldn't be viable; normally things are done to satisfy the customer's tastes.'\n\n'Maybe it does satisfy the customers tastes.'\n\nShe pondered, 'Maybe...' she replied hesitantly.\n\n'You think when you're sixty you won't be interested in new trends any more,' I insisted\n\n'I certainly hope not...' she said sincerely.\n\nI lit a cigarette. 'If I'm going to stay, I'll have to put on sunscreen,' I said in a melancholy voice.\n\n'We're going for a swim! You can put on sunscreen after.' In a flash she was on her feet and pulling me towards the shore.\n\nShe was a good swimmer. Personally, I can't say that I know how to swim, I can float on my back for a bit but I get tired quickly. 'You get tired quickly,' she said. 'It's because you smoke too much. You should do some sport. I'm going to sort you out...' She twisted my bicep. Oh no, I thought, no. In the end, she calmed down and went back to sunning herself after she'd vigorously dried her hair. She was pretty like that, with her long black hair all tousled. She didn't take off her top, it was a pity; I would have really liked her to take off her top. I would have liked to see her breasts, here, now.\n\nShe surprised me looking at her breasts and smiled quickly. 'Michel...' she said after a moment's silence. I jumped at the use of my first name. 'Why do you feel so old?' she asked, looking me straight in the eyes.\n\nIt was a good question; I choked a little.\n\n'You don't have to answer straight away...' she said gently, 'I've got a book for you,' she went on, taking it from her bag. I was surprised to recognise the yellow cover of the 'Masque' series, and a title by Agatha Christie, _The Hollow_.\n\n'Agatha Christie?' I said, bewildered.\n\n'Read it anyway. I think you'll find it interesting.'\n\nI nodded like an idiot. 'Are you not coming to lunch?' she asked after a moment, 'It's one o'clock already.'\n\n'No... No, I don't think so.'\n\n'You don't much like being in a group?'\n\nThere was no point in answering; I smiled. We picked up our things, we left together. On the way, we met Lionel, who was wandering around like a lost soul; he gave us a friendly wave, but already it seemed as if he wasn't having so much fun. It isn't for nothing that single men are so rare at holiday camps. You can see them, nervously, on the periphery of the recreational activities. Most often, they turn and leave; sometimes they launch into them, and participate. I left Val\u00e9rie by the restaurant tables.\n\nIn every Sherlock Holmes story you immediately recognise the characteristics of the character; but, as well as that, the author never fails to introduce some new peculiarity (the cocaine, the violin, the existence of his older brother, Mycroft, the taste for Italian opera... certain services rendered long ago to the crowned heads of Europe... the first case Sherlock Holmes ever solved when he was still an adolescent). Each new detail that is revealed casts new areas of shadow, and in the end developed a character who was truly fascinating: Conan Doyle succeeded in creating a perfect mixture of the pleasure of discovery and the pleasure of recognition. I always felt that Agatha Christie, on the other hand, put too much emphasis on the pleasure of recognition. In her initial descriptions of Poirot, she had a tendency to limit herself to a couple of stock phrases, restricted her character's most obvious traits (his mania for symmetry, his patent-leather boots, the care he lavishes on his mustachios); in the more mediocre other books, you even get the impression that the phrases had been copied directly from one novel to another.\n\nThat said, _The Hollow_ was interesting for other reasons. Not simply for the ambitious character of Henrietta, the sculptor, in whom Agatha Christie tried to portray not only the agony of creation (the scene where she destroys a statue just after labouring to finish it because she senses that it is lacking something), but that suffering which is particular to being an artist; that inability to be _truly_ happy or unhappy, to _truly_ feel hatred, despair, ecstasy or love; the sort of aesthetic filter which separates, without the possibility of remission, the artist from the world. The author had put much of herself into her character, and her sincerity was obvious. Unfortunately, the artist, separated in a way from the world, sensing things only in a vague, ambiguous, and consequently less intense manner, became as a result a less interesting character.\n\nFundamentally conservative, and hostile to any idea of the social redistribution of wealth, Agatha Christie adopted very clear-cut ideological positions throughout her career as a writer. In practise, this radical theoretical engagement nonetheless made it possible for her to be frequently cruel in her descriptions of the English aristocracy, whose privileges she so staunchly defended. Lady Angkatell is a burlesque character, only barely credible and often almost terrifying. The author is clearly fascinated with her creation, who has clearly forgotten even those rules which apply to ordinary human beings; she must have enjoyed writing sentences like: 'But then one doesn't exactly _introduce_ people \u2013 not when somebody had just been killed' \u2013 but her sympathies did not lie with Lady Angkatell. On the other hand, she paints a warm portrait of Midge, forced to work as a salesgirl during the week, and who spends her weekends among people who haven't the faintest idea of what work really is. Spirited, lively, Midge loves Edward hopelessly. Edward, for his part, thinks himself a failure: he hasn't succeeded at anything in his life, _not even at becoming a writer_ ; he writes short stories of disenchanted irony for obscure journals read only by bibliophiles. Three times he proposes marriage to Henrietta, without success. Henrietta is John's mistress, she admires his strength, his radiant personality; but John is married. His murder shatters the delicate balance of unfulfilled desire between the characters: Edward finally realises that Henrietta will never want him, that he can never measure up to John; but nor can he bring himself closer to Midge, and his life seems to be completely ruined. It is at this point that _The Hollow_ becomes a strange, poignant book; these are deep waters, with powerful undercurrents. In the scene in which Midge saves Edward from committing suicide, and in which he proposes to her, Agatha Christie achieves something beautiful, a sort of Dickensian sense of wonder.\n\nHer arms closed round him firmly. He smiled at her, murmuring:\n\n'You're so warm, Midge \u2013 you're so warm.'\n\nYes, she thought, that was what despair was. A cold thing, a thing of infinite coldness and loneliness. She'd never understood until now that despair was a cold thing. She had always thought of it as something hot and passionate, something violent, a hot-blooded desperation. But that was not so. This was despair \u2013 this utter outer darkness of coldness and loneliness. And the sin of despair, that priests talked of, was a cold sin, the sin of cutting oneself off from all warm and living human contacts.\n\nI finished reading at about nine o'clock; I got up and walked to the window. The sea was calm, myriads of luminous specks danced on the surface; a delicate halo surrounded the circular face of the moon. I knew there was a full-moon rave party tonight at Ko Lanta; Babette and L\u00e9a would probably go, with a good many other guests. Giving up on life is the easiest thing to do, putting one's own life to one side. As preparations for the evening continued, as taxis pulled up at the hotel, as everyone began to bustle in the corridors, I felt nothing more than a sad sense of relief.\n\n### 10\n\nA NARROW STRIP of mountainous land separating the gulf of Thailand from the Andaman sea, the isthmus of Kra, is divided to the north by the border between Thailand and Burma. At Ranong, in the far south of Burma, it measures barely twenty-two kilometres across; after that it progressively widens to become the Malay peninsula.\n\nOf the hundreds of islands which speckle the Andaman sea, only a few are inhabited, and not one of the islands on the Burmese side is open to tourists. On the Thai side, on the other hand, the islands of Phang Nga bay bring in 43 per cent of the country's annual tourist revenue. The largest of these is Phuket, where resorts were developed in the middle of the 80s, mostly with Chinese and French capital (South-East Asia quickly became one of the key areas of expansion for the Aurore group). It is probably in the chapter on Phuket that the _Guide du Routard_ reaches the pinnacle of its loathing, its vulgar \u00e9litism and aggressive masochism. 'For some,' they announce first off, 'Phuket is an island on the way up; for us, it is already on the way down.'\n\n'It was inevitable that we'd get here in the end,' they go on, 'to this \"pearl of the Indian Ocean\"... Only a few years ago we were still singing the praises of Phuket: the sun, the unspoiled beaches, the relaxed rhythms of life. At the risk of putting a spanner in the works, we'll come clean: we don't like Phuket any more! _Patong_ , the most famous of the beaches, has been covered in concrete. Everywhere the clientele has become predominantly male, hostess bars are springing up everywhere and the only smiles are the ones you can buy. As for the backpacker chalets, they've had a JCB face lift to make way for hotels destined for lonely pot-bellied Europeans.'\n\nWe were due to spend two nights at Patong Beach; I settled myself confidently on the coach, perfectly prepared to adopt my role as a lonely pot-bellied European. The end of the trip was the highlight of the tour: three days at our leisure in Ko Phi Phi, a destination usually thought of as paradise itself. 'What to say about Ko Phi Phi?' lamented the travel guide, 'It's as if you asked us about a lost love... We want to say something wonderful about it, but there's a lump in our throat.' For the manipulative masochist, it is not enough that he is unhappy; others must be unhappy too; I chucked my _Guide du Routard_ into the bin at the service station. Western masochism, I thought. A mile or so later, I realised that I now didn't have anything to read; I was going to have to tackle the last part of the tour without a scrap of printed matter to hide behind. I glanced around me, my heartbeat had accelerated, the outside world suddenly seemed a whole lot closer. On the other side of the aisle, Val\u00e9rie had reclined her seat; she seemed to be daydreaming or sleeping, her face was turned toward the window. I tried to follow her example. Outside the landscape unfolded, made up of diverse vegetation. In desperation, I borrowed Ren\u00e9's Michelin Guide; I thus learned that rubber plantations and latex played a key role in the economy of the region: Thailand is the third largest rubber producer in the world. That muddle of vegetation, then, served to make condoms and tyres; human ingenuity was truly remarkable. Mankind can be criticised from a variety of standpoints, but that's one thing you can't take away from him: we're unquestionably dealing with an ingenious mammal.\n\nSince the evening at the River Kwai, the seating at table had become definitive. Val\u00e9rie had joined what she called the 'yob camp'. Josiane had thrown her lot in with the naturopaths, with whom she shared certain values \u2013 such as techniques for promoting calm. At breakfast, I was able to observe from a distance a veritable calm competition between Albert and Josiane, under the watchful eyes of the ecologists \u2013 who, living in their godforsaken hole in Franche-Comt\u00e9, obviously had access to fewer techniques. Babette and L\u00e9a, though they were from the \u00cele-de-France, didn't have much to say for themselves other than an occasional: 'That's cool...' calm was still a medium-term goal for them. All in all, they had a well balanced table, equipped with a _natural leader_ of each sex, capable of fostering team spirit. On our side, things had a bit more trouble gelling. Josette and Ren\u00e9 regularly provided a commentary on the menu; they had become very familiar with the local food, Josette even intended to take home some recipes. From time to time they carped about the people at the other table, whom they considered to be pretentious, and poseurs; that wasn't going to get us very far, and I was usually impatient for the dessert to arrive.\n\nI gave Ren\u00e9 his Michelin Guide back; Phuket was still a four-hour drive away. At the restaurant bar, I bought a bottle of Mekong. I spent the next four hours fighting back the feeling of shame that was stopping me from taking it out of my bag and quietly getting rat-arsed; shame won out in the end. The entrance to the Beach Resortel was decorated with a banner which read: WELCOME TO THE FIREMEN OF CHAZAY. 'Now that's funny,' said Josette, 'Chazay \u2013 that's where your sister lives...' Ren\u00e9 couldn't remember. 'It is, it is...' she insisted. Before I got my room-key, I just had time to hear her say: 'So, that crossing the isthmus of Kra thing was just a day wasted'; and the worst thing was, she was right. I threw myself on to the king-size bed and took a long swig of alcohol; and then another.\n\nI woke up with an appalling headache and spent quite a while throwing up into the toilet bowl. It was five in the morning: too late for the hostess bars, too early for breakfast. In the drawer of the bedside table there was a Bible and a copy of the teachings of the Buddha, both in English. 'Because of their ignorance,' I read, 'people are always thinking wrong thoughts and always losing the right viewpoint and, clinging to their egos, they take wrong actions. As a result, they become attached to a delusive existence.' I wasn't really sure that I understood, but the last sentence perfectly described my current state; I was sufficiently relieved that I was able to wait until breakfast time. At the next table there was a group of gigantic black Americans that could easily have been mistaken for a basketball team. Further along there was a table of Hong Kong Chinese \u2013 recognisable by their filthy manners, which are difficult for Westerners to stomach, and which threw the Thai waiters into a state of panic, barely eased by the fact that they were used to it. Unlike the Thais, who behave in all circumstances with a finicky, even pernickety propriety, the Chinese eat rapaciously, laughing loudly, their mouths open, spraying bits of food everywhere, spitting on the ground and blowing their noses between their fingers \u2013 they behave quite literally like pigs. To make matters worse, that's an awful lot of pigs.\n\nAfter a few minutes' walking the streets of Patong Beach I realised that everything the civilised world had produced in the way of tourists was gathered here on the two-kilometre stretch of the seafront. Before I had walked thirty metres, I'd encountered Japanese, Italians, Germans, Americans, not to mention a couple of Scandinavians and some rich South Americans. 'We're all the same, we all head for the sun,' as the girl in the travel agency had told me. I behaved like a typical, average tourist: I rented a sun-lounger with a fitted mattress, a parasol; I consumed a number of bottles of Sprite; I went for a dip, in moderation. The waves were gentle. I went back to the hotel at about five o'clock, averagely satisfied with my free day but intent nonetheless on carrying on. _I was attached to a delusive existence_. I still had the hostess bars to come, but before heading to the relevant district, I idled outside the restaurants. In front of Royal Savoy Seafood, I noticed a couple of Americans gazing at a lobster, with exaggerated concentration. 'Two mammals in search of a crustacean', I thought. A waiter came to join them, all smiles, probably praising the freshness of the produce. 'That makes three,' I continued mechnically. The crowd flowed incessantly, single men, families, couples; it all conveyed an impression of innocence.\n\nSometimes, when they've had a bit to drink, the German senior citizens get together in groups and intone slow, infinitely sad songs, much to the amusement of the Thai waiters, who gather round them making appreciative little cries.\n\nFalling in step behind three chaps in their fifties, vigorously trading shouts of 'Ach' and 'Ja', I found myself, all of a sudden, in the street of hostess bars. Young girls in short skirts billed and cooed, competing with each other to try to convince me to go the Blue Nights, the Naughty Girl, the Classroom, the Marilyn, the Venus... In the end I opted for the Naughty Girl. The place was still pretty empty: about ten or so Westerners, each sitting alone at their tables \u2013 young, twenty-five to thirty-year-olds, mostly English and American. On the dance floor, a dozen girls swayed gently to some sort of retro disco beat. Some of them wore white bikinis, others had taken their tops off and were wearing only G-strings. They were all about twenty, they all had golden brown skin, supple, exciting bodies. An elderly German was sitting in front of a Carlsberg at the table on my left: big belly, white beard, glasses, he looked a lot like a retired university professor. He stared at the bodies moving before his eyes, completely hypnotised; he was so still that for a moment I thought he was dead.\n\nSeveral smoke machines started up, the music changed, replaced by something slow and Polynesian. The girls left the stage, to be replaced by a dozen others wearing garlands of flowers around their hips and busts. Slowly, they turned round, the garlands occasionally revealing a breast or the top of the buttocks. The old German still stared at the stage; at one point he took off his glasses to wipe them, his eyes were moist. He was in paradise.\n\nStrictly speaking, the girls didn't solicit; but you could invite one of them to have a drink with you, talk a little and in due course pay the establishment a bar fee of five hundred baht to take the girl to your hotel, after negotiating a price. For a whole night, I think the price was about four or five thousand baht \u2013 about a month's salary for an unskilled Thai worker; but Phuket is an expensive resort. The elderly German signalled discreetly to one of the girls who was waiting, still wearing a white G-string, to go back on stage. She came over immediately, settled herself casually between his thighs. Her curved, youthful breasts were at the same level as the old man's face; he was roaring with pleasure. I heard her call him 'Papa'. I paid for my Tequila sour and left, a little embarrassed; I had the feeling I'd witnessed one of the old man's last pleasures. It was too moving, too intimate.\n\nJust next to the bar, I found an open-air restaurant where I sat and had a plate of crabmeat and rice. At almost every table sat a couple, always a western man and a Thai woman. Most of the guys looked Californian, the way you imagine Californians to look, at any rate they were all wearing flip-flops. Actually, they could have been Australian \u2013 it's easy to get the two mixed up; whatever they were, they looked healthy, sporty, well-fed. They were the future. It was at that point, seeing all these young, immaculate Anglo-Saxons with their brilliant futures, that I realised just how important sex tourism would be to the future of the world. At the next table, two Thai women of about thirty, shapely, generously proportioned, were chatting excitedly. Two shaven-headed English men, who looked like post-modern convicts, sat opposite; they barely sipped their beers and said nothing. A little further along, a couple of German dykes in dungarees, rather chubby, with short red hair, had treated themselves to the company of a delightful adolescent girl with long black hair and an innocent face, wearing a colourful sarong. There were also a couple of lone Arabs of indeterminate nationality, their heads wrapped in the sort of tea-towel you see Yasser Arafat wearing when he's on television. In short, all the rich or moderately wealthy world was here, all answering 'present!' to the gentle and constant roll-call of Asian pussy. The strangest thing was that you had the impression, the minute you set eyes on each couple, of knowing whether things would work out or not. More often than not, the girls were bored, wore sulky or resigned expressions, glancing around at the other tables. But some of them, their eyes turned to their companions in an attitude of loving expectancy, hung on their partners' words, responded eagerly; in such cases you could imagine things would go further, that a friendship might develop, or perhaps a more lasting relationship: I knew that marriages were not rare, especially with Germans.\n\nMyself, I didn't much feel like striking up a conversation with some girl in a bar; in general these conversations, overly focused on the character and price of sexual services to come, were a disappointment. I preferred massage parlours, where you begin with sex, sometimes an intimacy develops, sometimes not. In certain cases you think about extending your stay at the hotel and that's when you find out that the girl isn't always keen: sometimes she's divorced, she has children who need to be looked after; it's sad, but it's good. As I finished my rice, I sketched out the plot of a pornographic adventure film called _The Massage Room_. Sirien, a young girl from northern Thailand, falls hopelessly in love with Bob, an American student who winds up in the massage parlour by accident, dragged there by his mates after a boozy evening. Bob doesn't touch her, he's happy just to look at her with his lovely, pale-blue eyes and tell her about his country \u2013 North Carolina, or somewhere like that. They continue to see each other regularly, whenever Sirien isn't working, but, sadly, Bob must return to finish his final year at Yale. Ellipsis. Sirien waits expectantly while continuing to satisfy the needs of her numerous clients. Though pure at heart, she avidly wanks and sucks paunchy, moustached Frenchmen (supporting role for Gerard Jugnot), fat, bald Germans (supporting role for some German actor). Finally, Bob returns and tries to free her from her hell; but the Chinese mafia don't see things in quite the same light. Bob persuades the American ambassador and the president of some humanitarian organisation opposed to the exploitation of young girls to intervene (supporting role for Jane Fonda). What with the Chinese mafia (mention the Triads) and the collusion of Thai generals (political angle, appeal to democratic values), there would be a lot of fight scenes and chase sequences through the streets of Bangkok. At the end of the day, Bob carries her off. In the penultimate scene, Sirien gives an honest account of the extent of her sexual experience. All the cocks she has sucked as a humble massage parlour employee, she has sucked in the anticipation, in the hope of sucking Bob's cock, into which all the others were subsumed \u2013 well, I'd have to work on the dialogue. Cross-fade between the two rivers (the Chao Phraya, the Delaware). Closing credits. For the European market, I already had a trailer in mind, sort of: 'If you liked _The Music Room_ , you'll love _The Massage Room_ '. It was all a bit vague, but first I would need backers. After I paid, I got up and walked a hundred and fifty metres, dodging a variety of propositions, and found myself in front of the Pussy Paradise. I pushed the door and went in. Three metres in front of me I spotted Robert and Lionel, sitting with a couple of Irish coffees. At the back, behind a glass screen, about fifty girls sat on terraced benches, each wearing a numbered tag. A waiter quickly approached me. Turning his head, Lionel saw me and looked shamefaced. Robert also turned and with a slow wave motioned to me to join them. Lionel was biting his lip, he didn't know what to do with himself. The waiter took my order. 'I'm right wing...' Robert said, for no apparent reason; 'but watch your step...' He wagged his index finger as though warning me. Since the start of the trip, I'd noticed, he had assumed I was a leftie, and had been waiting for a favourable opportunity to have a conversation with me; I had no intention of playing that little game. I lit a cigarette; he looked me up and down gravely. 'Happiness is a delicate thing,' he announced in a sen-tentious voice, 'It is difficult to find within ourselves, and impossible to find elsewhere.' After a few seconds, he added confidently, 'Chamfort'. Lionel looked at him admiringly; he seemed to be completely under his spell. I thought his quotation was debatable: if you reversed the words 'difficult' and 'impossible' we'd probably have been a little closer to the truth; but I had no desire to pursue the conversation, it seemed to me imperative for us to get back to a normal tourist situation. On top of everything, I was starting to feel a surge of desire for number 47, a slim little Thai girl, a bit skinny maybe, but with full lips and a gentle appearance; she was wearing a red miniskirt and black stockings. Aware that my attention had wandered, Robert turned to Lionel. 'I believe in truth,' he said in a low voice, 'I believe in truth and in the importance of proof.' Listening distractedly, I was surprised to discover that he had a degree in maths and that in his youth he had written a number of promising papers on Lie groups. I reacted excitedly to this news: there were, in other words, certain areas of human intelligence in which he had been the first clearly to see the truth, to discover absolute, demonstrable certainties. 'Yes...' he agreed almost apologetically, 'Of course, it was all proved again in more general terms.' After that he had been a teacher, mostly teaching candidates for the Grandes \u00c9coles; he had derived little pleasure from spending his mature years coaching a bunch of young arseholes obsessed with getting into the \u00c9cole Polytechnique, or the \u00c9cole Centrale \u2013 and even then, only the most talented of them. 'In any case,' he added, 'I didn't have the makings of a creative mathematician. It is a gift given to very few.' Towards the end of the seventies, he sat on a government committee on the reform of maths teaching \u2013 a load of bullshit, by his own admission. Now, at fifty-three, having taken retirement three years earlier, he devoted himself to sex tourism. He had been married three times. 'I'm racist...' he said cheerfully. 'I've become racist... One of the first effects of travel,' he added, 'is to reinforce or create racial prejudice; because how do you imagine other people before you meet them? You imagine they are just like you, it goes without saying; it's only little by little that you realise that the reality is somewhat different. When he can, a Westerner _works_ ; he often finds his work frustrating or boring, but he pretends to find it interesting: this much is obvious. At the age of fifty, weary of teaching, of maths, of everything, I decided to see the world. I had just been divorced for the third time; as far as sex was concerned, I wasn't expecting much. My first trip was to Thailand; immediately after that I left for Madagascar. Since then, I haven't fucked a white woman, I've never even felt the desire to do so. Believe me,' he added placing a firm hand on Lionel's forearm, 'you won't find a white woman with a soft, submissive, supple, muscular pussy any more; that's all gone now.' Number 47 noticed that I was staring at her; she smiled at me and crossed her legs high up, revealing a pair of red suspenders. Robert continued to expound his theory. 'At the time when the white man thought himself superior, racism wasn't dangerous. For colonials, missionaries and lay teachers in the nineteenth century, the Negro was a big animal, none too clever, a sort of slightly more evolved monkey. At worst, they considered him a useful beast of burden, capable of performing complex tasks; at best a frustrated soul, coarse, but, through education, capable of elevating himself to God \u2013 or at least western reason. In both cases, they saw in him a 'lesser brother', and one does not feel hatred for an inferior \u2013 at most a sort of cordial contempt. This benevolent, almost humanist racism has completely vanished. The moment the white man began to consider blacks as _equals_ , it was obvious that sooner or later they would come to consider them to be _superior_. The notion of equality has no basis in human society,' he went on, lifting his index finger again. For a moment, I thought he was going to cite sources \u2013 La Rochefoucauld or I don't know whom \u2013 but in the end, he didn't. Lionel furrowed his brow. 'Once white men believed themselves to be inferior,' Robert went on, anxious that he be clearly understood, 'the stage was set for a different type of racism, based on masochism: historically, it is in circumstances like these that violence, inter-racial wars and massacres break out. For example, all anti-Semites agree that the Jews have _a certain_ superiority: if you read anti-Semitic literature, you're stuck by the fact that the Jew is considered to be more intelligent, more cunning, that he is credited with having singular financial talents \u2013 and, moreover, greater communal solidarity. Result: six million dead.'\n\nI glanced at number 47 again: anticipation is exciting, something you'd like to prolong; but there's always the risk that the girl will go off with another customer. I signalled discreetly to the waiter. 'I am not a Jew!' exclaimed Robert, thinking I was about to object. I could, in fact, have made several objections: we were in Thailand, after all, and the yellow races have never been considered by the White man to be 'lesser brothers', but to be civilised peoples, members of different, complex, possibly dangerous civilisations; I could also have pointed out that we were here to fuck and that these discussions were wasting time; in fact, that was my primary objection. The waiter came over to our table; with a swift gesture, Robert motioned to him to bring another round of drinks. 'I need a girl,' I said in English, my voice shrill, 'girl forty-seven'. He leaned towards me, his face anxious, quizzical; a Chinese group had just sat down at the next table, they were making an appalling racket. 'The girl number four seven!' I shouted, enunciating each syllable. This time he understood, smiled broadly and went to the microphone where he uttered a few words. The girl got up, stepped down and walked towards a side door smoothing her hair. 'Racism,' Robert went on, giving me a quick glance, 'seems to be characterised firstly by an accumulation of hostility, a more aggressive sense of competition between males of different races; but the corollary is an increased desire for the females of the other race. What is really at stake in racial struggles,' Robert said simply, 'is neither economic nor cultural, it is brutal and biological: it is competition for the cunts of young women.' I sensed that it wouldn't be long before he moved on to Darwinism; at that moment, the waiter came back to our table accompanied by number 47. Robert looked up at her, considered for a moment. 'Good choice...' he concluded soberly, 'she has something of the slut about her.' The girl smiled shyly. I slipped a hand under her skirt and stroked her arse as though to protect her. She snuggled against me.\n\n'It's true that round my way, it's not the whites that make the law any more...' Lionel said, for no apparent reason.\n\n'Exactly,' agreed Robert forcefully. 'You're scared, and you're right to be scared. I predict an increase in racial violence in Europe in years to come; it will all end in civil war,' he said, frothing at the mouth a little; 'It will all be settled with Kalashnikovs.' He gulped back his cocktail; Lionel began to look at him a little nervously. 'I don't give a fuck about any of it anymore!' Robert added, slamming his glass down on the table. 'I'm a Westerner, but I can live wherever I want, and for the time being, I'm still the one with the money. I've been in Senegal, Kenya, Tanzania, the Ivory Coast. It's true the girls are less expert than Thai girls, they're less gentle, but they're nicely curved and they have a sweet-smelling snatch.' He was obviously lost in his memories for a moment as he suddenly fell silent. 'What is your name?' I took the opportunity to ask number 47. 'I am Sin,' she said. The Chinese at the next table had made their choices, they headed upstairs, chuckling and laughing; relative silence was restored. 'They get on all fours, the little nigger girls, show you their pussies and their arses,' Robert continued thoughtfully; 'and inside, their pussies are completely pink...' he murmured. I also got to my feet. Lionel shot me a grateful look; he was visibly happy that I was the first to leave with a girl, it made things less embarrassing for him. I nodded to Robert to take my leave. His dour face, fixed in a bitter rictus, scanned the room \u2013 and beyond, the human race \u2013 without a hint of affability. He had made his point, at least he had had the opportunity; I sensed that I was going to forget him pretty quickly. All of a sudden he seemed to me to be finished, a broken man; I had the impression that he didn't even want to make love to these girls any more. Life can be seen as a process of gradually coming to a standstill, a process evident in the French bulldog \u2013 so frisky in its youth, so listless in middle age. In Robert, the process was already well advanced: he possibly still got erections, but even that wasn't certain. It's easy to play the smart aleck, to give the impression that you've understood something about life; the fact remains that life comes to an end. My fate was similar to his, we had shared the same defeat; but still I felt no active sense of solidarity. In the absence of love, nothing can be sanctified. On the inside of the eyelids patches of light merge; there are visions, there are dreams. None of this now concerns man, who waits for night; night comes. I paid the waiter two thousand baht and he escorted me to the double doors leading upstairs. Sin held my hand; she would, for an hour or two, try to make me happy.\n\nObviously, it's rare to come across a girl in a massage parlour who wants to make love. As soon as we were in the room, Sin went down on her knees in front of me, took down my trousers and my underpants and took my penis between her lips. I immediately started to get hard. She brought her lips closer, slowly pushed back the foreskin with short thrusts of her tongue. I closed my eyes, I felt a dizzying rush, I thought I was going to come in her mouth. She stopped suddenly, undressed, smiling as she did so, folded her clothes and placed them on a chair. 'Massage later...' she said, lying on the bed; then she parted her thighs. I was already inside her, and I was thrusting forcefully in and out when I realised I'd forgotten to put on a condom. According to reports by _M\u00e9decins du monde_ , one third of all prostitutes in Thailand are HIV positive. Even so, I can't say that I felt a shudder of fear; I felt slightly annoyed, no more. Clearly those ad campaigns warning us about AIDS had been a complete failure. I went a bit limp, even so. 'Something wrong?' she was worried, she propped herself up on her elbows. 'Maybe... a condom,' I said, embarrassed. 'No problem, no condom... I'm OK!' she told me cheerfully. She took my balls in the palm of one hand, slipping the other palm on to my prick. I lay down on my back, surrendering myself to the caress. The movement of her palm quickened, I felt the blood rush back to my penis. Anyway, they probably had medical check-ups or something. As soon as I was hard, she climbed on top and went straight down on me. I laced my hands behind her back; I felt invulnerable. She started to move her pelvis slowly, her pleasure mounted, I parted my thighs to penetrate her more deeply. The pleasure was intense, almost intoxicating, I breathed very slowly to hold myself back, I felt reconciled. She lay down on top of me, rubbing her pubis hard against mine; I moved my hands to stroke the nape of her neck. At the moment of orgasm, she became still, gave a long moan and then collapsed on my chest. I was still inside her, I could feel her pussy contracting. She had a second orgasm, a very powerful contraction from deep inside her. Involuntarily, I hugged her to me and ejaculated with a roar. She stayed motionless, her head on my chest, for about ten minutes; then she got up and suggested I take a shower. She dried me very delicately, patting me with the towel as you would a baby. I sat down on the sofa and offered her a cigarette. 'We have time...' she said 'we have a little time...'. I learned that she was thirty-two. She didn't enjoy her work, but her husband had abandoned her, leaving her with two children. 'Bad man,' she said, 'Thai men, bad men.' I asked her if she had any friends among the other girls. Not really, she told me; most of the girls were young and brainless, they spent everything they earned on clothes and perfume. She was not like that, she was serious, she put her money in the bank. In a couple of years she would be able to give this up and go back to live in her village; her parents were old now, they needed help.\n\nAs I was leaving, I gave her a two thousand baht tip; it was ridiculous, it was far too much. She took the money incredulously, and bowed to me several times, her hands together over her chest. 'You good man,' she said. She slipped on her mini skirt and her stockings; she had two hours left before they closed. She accompanied me to the door, bowed again, her hands together. 'Take care,' she said again; 'be happy.' I walked back out into the street, a little pensive. The following morning we were due to leave at eight o'clock for the last leg of the trip. I wondered how Val\u00e9rie had spent her free day.\n\n### 11\n\n'I BOUGHT SOME presents for my family,' she said. 'I found some beautiful shells.' The boat sped through the turquoise waters, between chalk crags covered with thick jungle; it was exactly how I imagined the scenery of _Treasure Island_. 'When all's said and done, nature is, well...' I said. Val\u00e9rie turned an attentive face towards me; she had tied her hair up in a chignon, but a couple of stray curls fluttered in the wind on either side of her face. 'In the end, nature sometimes...' I went on, discouraged. There should be lessons in _conversation_ , the way there are ballroom dancing lessons; I'd probably spent too much time doing accounting, I had lost the knack. 'You realise that it's December 31st...' she observed, unruffled. I looked around on all sides at the endless azure, the turquoise ocean; no, I really hadn't realised. Human beings must have had a lot of courage to colonise cold regions.\n\nS\u00f4n stood up to address the group: 'We now approaching Ko Phi Phi. I tell you before, here cannot go. You put swimsuit on, go now? Walk, not deep, walk. Walk in water. Not take luggage, luggage later.' The pilot rounded a headland and cut the engine, the boat continued to drift into a small cove which carved a curve into the middle of cliffs shrouded in jungle. The clear green water broke on a beach of white sand so perfect it seemed unreal. In the middle of the jungle, before the first slopes, you could make out wooden huts built on stilts, their roofs thatched with palm leaves. The group fell silent for a moment. 'Earthly paradise...' said Sylvie softly, choked with genuine emotion. It was hardly an exaggeration. That said, she was no Eve. I was no Adam either.\n\nOne by one the group members got up, stepped over the edge of the boat. I helped Josette down to her waiting husband. She had hitched her skirt up to her waist and was having trouble getting over the side, but she was thrilled, she was virtually wetting herself with excitement. I turned round; the Thai boatman waited, leaning on his oar, for all the passengers to disembark. Val\u00e9rie sat with her hands crossed in her lap; she shot me a sidelong glance and smiled in embarrassment. 'I forgot to put on my swimsuit...' she said at last. I lifted my hands slowly in a gesture of helplessness. 'I can go...' I said stupidly. She bit her lips in irritation, got up, took off her trousers in a single movement. She was wearing lace panties, very sheer, not at all in the spirit of the trip. Her pubic hair peeked out at the sides, it was quite thick, very black. I didn't turn away, that would have been stupid, but nor was my gaze insistent. I got out of the boat on the left-hand side, offered her my arm to help her down; she jumped down from the boat. We were in up to our waists in the water.\n\nBefore going to the beach, Val\u00e9rie looked again at the shell necklaces she was taking back for her nieces. Immediately after graduation, her brother had got a job as a research engineer with Elf. After a few months of on-site training, he had left for Venezuela \u2013 his first assignment. A year later, he married a local girl. Val\u00e9rie had the impression he hadn't had much previous sexual experience; at least he had never brought girls home. That's often the way with boys who study engineering; they haven't got time to go out, to have girlfriends. They spend their free time on trivial hobbies, complex role-playing games or chess on the internet. They get their degrees, find themselves their first jobs and discover everything at once: money, professional responsibility, sex; if they are posted to a tropical country, it's rare for them to resist. Bertrand had married a very dark mixed-race girl with a superb body; several times when they were on holiday at her parents, on the beach at Saint-Quay-Portrieux, Val\u00e9rie had felt a violent surge of desire for her sister-in-law. She found it difficult to imagine her brother making love. Still, they had two children now and seemed to be a happy couple. It wasn't difficult to buy presents for Juana, she adored jewellery, and pale stones stood out beautifully against her dark skin. On the other hand, she hadn't found anything for Bertrand. When men have no vices, she thought, it's very difficult to guess what might make them happy.\n\nI was leafing through a copy of _Phuket Weekly_ I'd found in the hotel lobby when I saw Val\u00e9rie walking along the beach. Further along, a group of Germans were swimming in the nude. She hesitated for a moment, then walked towards me. The sun was dazzling; it was about midday. One way or another, I would have to learn to play the game. Babette and L\u00e9a walked past wearing shoulder-bags but otherwise they too were completely naked. I registered this information without reacting. By contrast, Val\u00e9rie's eyes followed them for a while with shameless curiosity. They settled themselves not far from the Germans. 'I think I'll go for a swim...' I said. 'I'll go in later,' she replied. I entered the water effortlessly. It was warm, translucent, deliciously calm; tiny silver fish swam close to the surface. The slope was very gentle, I could still touch bottom a hundred metres from shore. I slipped my cock out of my trunks, closed my eyes and visualised Val\u00e9rie's vagina as I had seen it that morning, half exposed through her lace panties. I was hard, that in itself was something; it could be considered motive enough in itself. Besides, you have to live, you have to relate to other people; I was generally too uptight, and had been so for far too long. Perhaps I should have taken up some hobby in the evenings \u2013 badminton, choral singing or something. Even so, the only women I was still able to remember were the ones I'd fucked. That's not nothing either; we build up memories so that we will feel less alone at the moment of death. I shouldn't think like that. 'Think positive', I murmured in English to myself, panicked, 'think different'. I made my way back to the beach, stopping every ten strokes, breathing deeply to try and calm myself. The first thing I noticed as I stepped on to the sand was that Val\u00e9rie had taken off her bikini top. At that moment, she was lying on her stomach, but she would turn over, it was as inexorable as the movement of the planets. Where was I exactly? I sat down on my towel, hunched over slightly. 'Think different', I reminded myself. I had seen breasts before, I had stroked them, licked them; nonetheless, I found myself in a state of shock. I was sure that she had magnificent breasts; but it was worse than I had imagined. I couldn't tear my eyes from the nipples, the areolas; it was impossible for her not to notice me staring \u2013 even so, she said nothing for what seemed to me several long seconds. What exactly does go on in women's heads? They adapt to the rules of the game so easily. Sometimes, when they look at themselves naked in a full-length mirror, you can see a sort of realism in their eyes, a dispassionate assessment of their personal powers of seduction which no man could ever achieve. I was the first to lower my eyes.\n\nAfter that, an indeterminate period of time elapsed; the sun was still directly overhead, the light extremely bright. I was staring at the white, powdery sand. 'Michel...' she said softly. I looked up quickly as though I'd been struck. Her exceptionally brown eyes stared deeply into mine. 'What have Thai girls got that Western women don't?' she asked plainly. Yet again I was unable to hold her gaze. Her chest rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing; I thought I saw her nipples harden. Right there, right then, I wanted to reply: 'Nothing'. Then I had an idea; not a very good idea.\n\n'There's an article in English about it in here, sort of an advertorial'; I handed her the copy of _Phuket Weekly_. 'Find your longlife companion... Well-educated Thai ladies, that one?' 'Yes, a bit further on there's an interview.' Cham Sawanasee, smiling, black suit and dark tie, answered the 'Ten questions you could ask' on the working of the Heart to Heart agency which he managed.\n\n'There seems to be,' noted Mr Sawanasee, 'a near-perfect match between the Western men, who are unappreciated and get no respect in their own countries, and the Thai women, who would be happy to find someone who simply does his job and hopes to come home to a pleasant family life after work. Most Western women do not want such a boring husband.\n\n'One easy way to see this,' he went on, 'is to look at any publication containing \"personal\" ads. The Western woman wants someone who looks a certain way, and who has certain \"social skills\", such as dancing and clever conversation, someone who is interesting and exciting and seductive. Now go to my catalogue, and look at what the girls say they want. It's all pretty simple, really. Over and over they state that they are happy to settle down FOREVER with a man who is willing to hold down a steady job and be a loving and understanding HUSBAND and FATHER. That will get you exactly nowhere with an American girl!\n\n'As Western women do not appreciate men,' he concluded, not without a certain cheek, 'as they do not value traditional family life, marriage is not the right thing for them. I'm helping modern Western women to avoid what they despise.'\n\n'What he's saying makes sense...' Val\u00e9rie remarked sadly, 'There's a market there, all right...' She put down the magazine, still thoughtful. At that moment Robert passed in front of us; he was walking along the beach, hands clasped behind his back, looking serious. Val\u00e9rie abruptly turned to look the other way.\n\n'I don't like that guy...' she whispered angrily.\n\n'He's not stupid...' I made a rather noncommittal gesture.\n\n'He's not stupid, but I don't like him. He goes out of his way to shock people, to make himself unpleasant; I don't like that. At least you try to fit in.'\n\n'Really?' I shot her a surprised look.\n\n'Yes. It's obvious you don't find it easy, you're not cut out for this kind of holiday; but at least you make an effort. Deep down, I think you're rather a nice boy.'\n\nAt that moment I could have, I should have, taken her in my arms, stroked her breasts, kissed her lips; stupidly, I didn't. The afternoon dragged on, the sun moved over the palms; we said nothing of any significance.\n\nFor dinner on New Year's Eve, Val\u00e9rie wore a long dress of sinuous, slightly transparent green material, the top of which was a bustier which showed off her breasts. After dessert, there was a band out on the terrace. A weird old singer did slow-rock cover versions of Bob Dylan songs in a nasal whine. Babette and L\u00e9a had apparently joined the German group; I heard shouts coming from their end. Josette and Ren\u00e9 danced together in a tender embrace like the nice little proles they were. The night was hot; emerald moths clustered around the multi-coloured paper lanterns which hung from the balustrade. I felt suffocated; I drank whisky after whisky.\n\n'What that guy was saying, the interview in the magazine...'\n\n'Yes?...' Val\u00e9rie looked up at me; we were sitting side by side on a rattan bench. Under her bustier, her breasts were more rounded, as though they were being offered in their own little shells. She had put on makeup; her long hair was free and floated about her shoulders.\n\n'It's mostly true of American women, I think. For Europeans, it's less clear cut.'\n\nShe pulled a face, clearly unconvinced, and said nothing. Obviously, I should have just asked her to dance. I drank another whisky, leaned back on the bench and took a deep breath.\n\nWhen I woke, the room was almost empty. The singer was still humming in Thai, half-heartedly accompanied by the drummer; no one was listening any more. The Germans had disappeared, but Babette and L\u00e9a were deep in conversation with two Italians who had appeared from who knows where. Val\u00e9rie had left. It was three in the morning local time; 2001 had just begun. In Paris, it would officially begin in three hours' time; it was exactly midnight in Teheran, five in the morning in Tokyo. Humanity in all its different forms was entering the third millennium; for my part, I had pretty much blown my entrance.\n\n### 12\n\nI WENT BACK to my cabin, mortally ashamed; laughter was coming from the garden. I came across a small grey toad, sitting stock still in the middle of the sandy path. It did not hop away, it had no defensive reflex. Sooner or later someone would accidentally step on it; its spinal column would snap, its pulped flesh would seep into the sand. The walker would feel something soft beneath his foot, utter a blunt curse, wipe off his shoes, rubbing them on the ground. I pushed the toad forward with my foot: unhurried, he made his way to the edge of the path. I pushed him again: he regained the relative safety of the lawn; I had probably prolonged his survival by a few hours. I felt I was barely better off than he was: I hadn't grown up sheltered by the cocoon of a family, nor by anything that might have concerned itself with my fate, supported me in times of misery, enthused about my adventures and my successes. Nor had I established a unit of that sort: I was single, childless; no one would have thought to come and seek support on my shoulder. Like an animal, I had lived and I would die alone. For several minutes I wallowed in gratuitous self-pity.\n\nFrom another point of view, I was a compact, resilient object, of a larger size than the average animal; my life expectancy was comparable to that of an elephant, or of a crow; I was much more difficult to destroy than a small batrachian.\n\nFor the two days that followed, I remained holed up in my cabin. From time to time I went out, hugging the walls, as far as the mini-market to buy pistachios and some bottles of Mekong. I couldn't face running into Val\u00e9rie again at the breakfast buffet or on the beach. There are some things that one can do, others that seem too difficult. Gradually, everything becomes too difficult: that's what life comes down to.\n\nOn the afternoon of January 2nd, I found a Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res customer satisfaction questionnaire slipped under my door. I filled it out scrupulously, generally ticking the boxes marked 'Good'. It was true, in some sense, that everything had been good. My holiday had 'gone smoothly'. The tour had been 'cool' but with a hint of adventure; it lived up to the description in the brochure. In the 'personal comments' section, I wrote the following quatrain:\n\n_Shortly after waking, I feel myself transported_\n\n_To a different universe, its contours ruled and picked_\n\n_I know about this life, its details are all sorted_\n\n_It's very like a questionnaire, with boxes to be ticked_\n\nOn the morning of January 3rd, I packed my suitcase. When she saw me on the boat, Val\u00e9rie suppressed an exclamation; I looked away. S\u00f4n said her goodbyes at Phuket airport; we were early, the plane would not leave for three hours. After the check-in formalities, I wandered around the shopping arcade. Even though the departures hall was completely roofed-over, the shops were built in the form of huts, with teak uprights and roofs thatched with palm leaves. The choice of products ranged from international standards (scarves by Herm\u00e8s, perfumes by Yves Saint-Laurent, bags by Vuitton) to local products (shells, ornaments, Thai silk ties); every item had a barcode. All in all, airport shops still form part of the national culture; but a part which is safe, attenuated, one which fully complies with international standards of commerce. For the traveller at the end of his journey it is a halfway house, less interesting and less frightening than the rest of the country. I had an inkling that, more and more, the whole world would come to resemble an airport.\n\nPassing the Coral Emporium, I suddenly had the urge to buy a present for Marie-Jeanne; after all, she was all I had in the world. A necklace, a brooch? I was rummaging in a tray when I noticed Val\u00e9rie a couple of metres away from me.\n\n'I'm trying to choose a necklace...' I said hesitantly.\n\n'For a brunette or a blonde?' There was a trace of bitterness in her voice.\n\n'Blonde, blue eyes.'\n\n'In that case, you'd be better off with a pale coral.'\n\nI handed my boarding card to the girl at the counter. As I was paying, I said to Val\u00e9rie in a rather pitiful tone of voice: 'It's for a colleague at work...' She gave me a strange look as though she were in two minds whether to slap me or burst out laughing; but she walked a little way with me to the shop entrance. Most of the group were sitting on benches in the hall; apparently they had done their shopping. I stopped, took a long breath, turned to Val\u00e9rie.\n\n'We could see each other in Paris...' I said finally.\n\n'You think so?' she said scathingly.\n\nI didn't reply, I simply looked at her again. At one point I intended to say, 'It would be a pity...' but I'm not sure whether I actually uttered the words.\n\nVal\u00e9rie looked around, saw Babette and L\u00e9a on the nearest bench and turned away in irritation. Then she took a notepad out of her bag, tore off a page and quickly wrote something on it. As she gave me the piece of paper, she started to say something, gave up, and turned and rejoined the group. I glanced at the piece of paper before pocketing it: it was a mobile phone number.\n\n## Part Two\n\n## _Competitive Advantage_\n\n### 1\n\nTHE PLANE LANDED at Roissy at eleven o'clock; I was one of the first to collect my luggage. By half-past twelve I was home. It was Saturday; I could go out and do some shopping, buy some ornaments for the house, etc. An icy wind swept down the Rue Mouffetard and nothing really seemed worth the effort. Animal rights militants were selling yellow stickers. After Christmas, there's always a slight fall-off in domestic food consumption. I bought a roast chicken, two bottles of Graves and the latest copy of _Hot Video_. It was hardly an ambitious selection for my weekend, but it was all I deserved. I devoured half the chicken, the skin was charred and greasy, slightly revolting. Shortly after three o'clock I phoned Val\u00e9rie. She answered on the second ring. Yes, she was free this evening; for dinner, yes. I could collect her at eight; she lived on the Avenue Reille, near the Parc Montsouris.\n\nShe answered the door wearing a pair of white tracksuit bottoms and a short tee-shirt. 'I'm not ready...' she said, pulling her hair back. The movement raised her breasts; she wasn't wearing a bra. I put my hands on her waist, leaned my face closer to hers. She parted her lips, immediately slid her tongue into my mouth. A wave of violent excitement shuddered through me; I almost fainted, immediately got a hard on. Without moving her pubis from mine, she pushed the front door, which closed with a dull thud.\n\nThe room, lit by a single lamp, seemed huge. Val\u00e9rie took me by the waist and, feeling her way, led me to her bedroom. By the bed, she kissed me again. I lifted her tee-shirt to stroke her breasts; she whispered something I didn't catch. I knelt in front of her, slipping down her tracksuit bottoms and her panties, then pressed my face to her sex. The slit was damp, the labia parted, she smelled good. She let out a moan and fell back on the bed. I undressed quickly and entered her. My penis was on fire, spasms of intense pleasure coursed though it. 'Val\u00e9rie,' I said, 'I'm not going to be able to hold out for long, I'm too excited.' She pulled me to her and whispered in my ear: 'Come...' At that moment, I felt the walls of her pussy close on my penis. I felt as though I was disappearing into space, only my penis was alive, a wave of extraordinarily intense pleasure coursing through it. I ejaculated lengthily several times; right at the end, I realised I was screaming. I could have died for such a moment.\n\nBlue and yellow fish were swimming around me. I was standing in the water, balancing a few metres beneath the sunlit surface. Val\u00e9rie was a little way off; she too was standing, a coral reef in front of her, she had her back to me. We were both naked. I knew that this weightlessness was due to a change in the density of the ocean, but I was surprised to discover that I could breathe. In a few short strokes I was beside her. The reef was stippled with star-shaped organisms of phosphorescent silver. I placed a hand on her breasts, the other on her lower abdomen. She arched herself, her buttocks brushed against my penis.\n\nI awoke precisely in that position; it was still dark. Gently, I parted Val\u00e9rie's thighs so I could penetrate her. At the same time, I wet my fingers so I could rub her clitoris. I realised she was awake when she began to moan. She pushed herself on to her knees on the bed. I started to push into her harder and harder \u2013 I could tell she was about to come, her breaths came faster and faster. At the moment of orgasm she jerked and let out a heart-rending cry; then she was still, as though exhausted. I withdrew and lay beside her. She relaxed and wrapped herself around me; we were bathed in sweat. 'It's nice to be woken by pleasure...' she said, putting a hand on my chest.\n\nWhen I woke again, it was daylight; I was alone in the bed. I got up and crossed the room. The other room was as vast as I had imagined, with a high ceiling. Above the sofa, bookshelves ran along a mezzanine. Val\u00e9rie had gone out; on the kitchen table she had left some bread, cheese, butter and jam. I poured myself a coffee and went back to lie down. She returned ten minutes later with croissants and _pains au chocolat_ and carried a tray into the bedroom. 'It's really cold out...' she said, getting undressed. I thought about Thailand.\n\n'Val\u00e9rie,' I said hesitantly, 'what do you see in me? I'm not particularly handsome, I'm not funny; I find it difficult to understand why anyone would find me attractive.' She looked at me and said nothing; she was almost naked, she had kept only her panties on. 'It's a serious question,' I insisted. 'Here I am, some washed-up guy, not very sociable, more or less resigned to his boring life. And you come to me, you're friendly, you're affectionate and you give me so much pleasure. I don't understand. It seems to me you're looking for something in me that isn't there. You're bound to be disappointed.' She smiled, I got the impression she was about to say something; then she put her hand on my balls, brought her face towards me. Immediately I was hard again. She wound a lock of hair around the base of my penis, then started to jerk me off with her fingertips. 'I don't know...' she said, without stopping what she was doing. 'It's nice that you're unsure of yourself. I wanted you so badly when we were on the trip. It was awful, I thought about it every day.' She pressed harder against my balls, enveloping them in the palm of her hand. With her other hand she took some raspberry jam and spread it on my penis; then she began conscientiously to lick it off with wide sweeps of her tongue. The pleasure was becoming more and more intense, I parted my legs in a desperate effort to hold myself back. As though it was a game, she started to jerk me off more quickly, pressing my cock to her mouth. When her tongue touched the tip of the glans, I ejaculated violently into her half-open mouth. She swallowed with a little moan, then wrapped her lips around the head of my penis to get the last drops. I was flooded with unbelievable serenity, like a wave coursing through each of my veins. She took her mouth away and lay down beside me, coiling herself around me.\n\n'I almost knocked on your bedroom door that night, New Year's Eve, but in the end I didn't have the nerve. By then, I was convinced that nothing would happen between us; the worst thing was that I couldn't even bring myself to hate you for it. On package tours people talk to each other a lot, but it's a forced camaraderie; they know perfectly well they'll never see each other again. It's very rare for them to have a sexual relationship.'\n\n'You think so?'\n\n'I know so; there have been studies on the subject. It's even true of 18\u201330 holiday clubs. It's a big problem for them, because that's their whole selling point. Numbers have been falling consistently for ten years now, even though prices are dropping. The only possible explanation is that it's become more or less impossible to have a sexual relationship on holiday. The only destinations making any money are the ones with a large homosexual clientele like Corfu or Ibiza.'\n\n'You're very up on all this...' I said, surprised.\n\n'Of course, I work in the tourist industry.' She smiled. 'That's another thing about package tours, people don't talk about their professional lives much. It's a sort of recreational parenthesis, completely focused on what the organisers call the \"pleasure of discovery\". Tacitly, everyone agrees not to talk about serious subjects like work and sex.'\n\n'Where do you work?'\n\n'Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res.'\n\n'So you were there in a professional capacity? To do a report or something like that?'\n\n'No, I really was on holiday. I got a big discount, obviously, but I took it as holiday time. I've been working there for five years and this was the first time I've been away with them.'\n\nAs she made a tomato and mozzarella salad, Val\u00e9rie talked to me about her work. In March 1990, three months before her _bac_ , she started to wonder what she was going to do with her education \u2013 and, more generally, with her life. After much effort, her brother had managed to get a place on a geology course at Nancy; he had just got his degree. His career as a geological engineer would probably take him into the mining sector or the oil rigs; either way, he'd be a long way from France. He was keen on travelling. She too was keen on travelling, well, more or less; eventually she decided to take a BTS diploma in tourism. She didn't really think the intellectual commitment necessary for university was in her nature.\n\nIt was a mistake and one that she quickly realised. The level of her BTS class seemed extremely low to her, she passed her continuous assessment without the slightest effort and could reasonably have expected to get her diploma without even thinking about it. At the same time, she enrolled in a course which would give her the equivalent of a DEUG university diploma in literature and human sciences. Once she had passed her BTS, she began a masters' in sociology. Here too she was quickly disappointed. It was an interesting field, there must have been discoveries to be made; but the methodologies suggested to them and the theories advanced seemed to her to be ridiculously simplistic: the whole thing smacked of ideology, imprecision and amateurism. She quit her course halfway through the academic year without a qualification and found a job as a travel agent at a branch of Kuoni in Rennes. After a couple of weeks, just as she was about to rent a studio flat, she realised: the trap was sprung; from now on she was in the world of work.\n\nShe stayed a year at the Rennes branch of Kuoni, where she proved to be a very good saleswoman. 'It wasn't difficult,' she said, 'All you had to do was get the customers to talk a bit, take an interest in them. It's pretty rare, in fact, people who take an interest in others.' Then the management had offered her a position as assistant tour planner at their head office in Paris. It involved working on concepts for the tours, preparing the itineraries, the excursions, negotiating rates with hoteliers and local contractors. She had proved to be pretty good at this too. Six months later she replied to a Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res ad offering a similar sort of position. It was at that point that her career really took off. They had put her in a team with Jean-Yves Frochot, a young business graduate who basically knew nothing at all about tourism. He took to her immediately, trusted her and although in theory he was her boss, he gave her a lot of room for initiative.\n\n'The good thing about Jean-Yves is that he was ambitious on my behalf? Every time I've needed to negotiate a pay rise or a promotion, he's negotiated it for me. Now, he's Head of Products worldwide \u2013 he's responsible for supervising the entire range of Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res tours and I'm still his assistant.'\n\n'You must be pretty well paid.'\n\n'Forty thousand francs a month. Well, it's calculated in euros now. A bit more than six thousand euros.'\n\nI looked at Val\u00e9rie, surprised, 'I wasn't expecting that...' I said.\n\n'That's because you've never seen me in a suit.'\n\n'You have a suit?'\n\n'There's not much point, I do almost all my work by phone. But, if I need to, yes, I can wear a suit. I even have a pair of suspenders. We can try them out some time, if you like.'\n\nIt was then, somewhat incredulously, that I realised that I was going to see Val\u00e9rie again, and that we would probably be happy together. It was so unexpected, this joy, that I wanted to cry; I had to change the subject.\n\n'What's he like, Jean-Yves?'\n\n'Normal. Married, two kids. He works a lot, he takes work home at weekends. I suppose he's a typical young executive, pretty intelligent, pretty ambitious; but he's nice, not at all fucked up. I get along well with him.'\n\n'I don't know why, but I'm glad you're rich. It's not important, really, but it makes me happy.'\n\n'It's true I'm successful, I have a good salary; but I pay 40 per cent tax and my rent is ten thousand francs a month. I'm not so sure I've done all that well: if my results fall off, they wouldn't think twice about firing me; it's happened before. If I had shares, then yes, I really would be rich. In the beginning, Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res was just a discount flight agency. If they've become the biggest tour operator in France, it's thanks to the concepts and the value-for-money of the tours; to a large extent to our work, Jean-Yves's and mine. In ten years, the value of the company has increased twenty-fold; since Jacques Maillot still holds a 30 per cent share, I can honestly say that he's grown rich because of me.'\n\n'Have you ever met him?'\n\n'Several times; I don't like him. On the face of it, he's a stupid trendy Catholic populist, with his multi-coloured ties and his mopeds; but deep down he's a ruthless, hypocritical bastard. Jean-Yves had a call from a head-hunter before Christmas; he's probably met up with him by now to find out more. I promised I'd call him when I got back.'\n\n'Well call him then, it's important.'\n\n'Yes...' she seemed a bit doubtful, the mention of Jacques Maillot had depressed her. 'My life is important too. Actually, I feel like making love again.'\n\n'I don't know if I'll be able to get it up straight away.'\n\n'Then go down on me. It'll do me good.'\n\nShe got up, took off her panties and settled herself on the sofa. I knelt in front of her, parted her lips and started to lick her clitoris gently. 'Harder...' she murmured. I slipped a finger into her arse, pressed my face to her and kissed the nub, massaging it with my lips. 'Oh, yes...' she said. I increased the force of my kisses. Suddenly, without my expecting it, she came, her whole body shuddering violently.\n\n'Come here to me...' I sat on the sofa. She snuggled against me, laying her head on my thighs. 'When I asked you what Thai women have that we don't, you didn't really answer; you just showed me that interview with the director of the marriage bureau.'\n\n'What he said was true: a lot of men are afraid of modern women, because all they want is a nice little wife to look after the house and take care of the kids. That sort of thing hasn't disappeared really, it's just that in the West it's become impossible to express such a desire; that's why they marry Asian girls.'\n\n'Okay...' She thought for a moment. 'But you're not like that; I can tell that it doesn't bother you at all that I have a high-powered job, a large salary; I don't get the impression that that scares you at all. But still you went off to the massage parlours and you didn't even try to pick me up. That's what I don't understand. What have the girls over there got? Do they really make love better than we do?'\n\nHer voice had changed slightly on these last words; I was rather touched and it took me a minute before I could answer. 'Val\u00e9rie,' I said at last, 'I have never met anyone who makes love as well as you; what I've felt since last night is almost unbelievable.' I said nothing for a moment before adding: 'You can't possibly understand, but you're an exception. It's very rare now to find a woman who feels pleasure and who wants to give pleasure. On the whole, seducing a woman you don't know, fucking her, has become a source of irritations and problems. When you think of all the tedious conversations you have to put up with to get a girl into bed, only to find out that she's a second-rate lover who bores you to fuck with her problems, goes on at you about her exes \u2013 incidentally giving you the impression that you're not exactly up to scratch \u2013 and with whom you absolutely must spend the rest of the night at the very least, it's easy to see why men might prefer to save themselves the trouble by paying a small fee. As soon as they're a bit older or a bit more experienced, men prefer to steer clear of love; they find it easier just to go and find a whore. Actually, not a Western whore, they're not worth the effort, they're real human debris, and in any case, most of the year the men haven't got time, they've got too much work. So, most of them do nothing; and some of them, from time to time, treat themselves to a little sex tourism. And that's the best possible scenario: at least there's still a little human contact in going to visit a whore. There're also all those guys who find it easier just to jerk off on the internet or watching porn films. As soon as your cock has shot its little load, you're perfectly happy.'\n\n'I see...' she said after a long silence. 'I see what you're saying. And you don't think that men or women are capable of changing?'\n\n'I don't think we can go back to the way things were, no. What will probably happen is that women will become much more like men. For the moment, they're still very hung up on romance; whereas at heart, men don't give a shit about romance, they just want to fuck. Seduction only appeals to a few guys who haven't got particularly exciting jobs and nothing else of interest in their lives. As women attach more importance to their professional lives and personal projects, they'll find it easier to pay for sex too; and they'll turn to sex tourism. It's possible for women to adapt to male values; they sometimes find it difficult, but they can do it; history has proved it.'\n\n'So, all in all, things are in a bad way.'\n\n'A very bad way...' I agreed solemnly.\n\n'So, we were lucky.'\n\n'I was lucky to meet you, yes.'\n\n'Me too...' she said, looking me in the eyes. 'I was lucky too. The men I know are a disaster, not one of them believes in love; so they give you this big spiel about friendship, affection, a whole load of stuff that doesn't commit them to anything. I've got to the point where I can't stand the word 'friendship' any more, it makes me physically sick. Or there's the other lot, the ones who get married, who get hitched as early as possible and think about nothing but their careers afterwards. You obviously weren't one of those; but I also immediately sensed that you would never talk to me about friendship, that you would never be that vulgar. From the very beginning I hoped we would sleep together, that something important would happen; but it was possible that nothing would happen, in fact it was more than likely.' She stopped and sighed in irritation. 'Okay...' she said wearily 'I'd probably better go and call Jean-Yves.'\n\nI went into the bedroom to get dressed while she was on the phone. 'Yeah, the holiday was great...' I heard her say. A little later she yelled: 'How much?...' When I came back into the room she was holding the receiver looking thoughtful; she had not yet dressed.\n\n'Jean-Yves met the guy from the recruitment agency,' she said. 'They've offered him a hundred and twenty thousand francs a month. They're prepared to take me as well; according to him, they're prepared to go as high as eighty thousand. He has a meeting tomorrow to discuss the job.'\n\n'Where would you be working?'\n\n'It's with the leisure division of the Aurore group.'\n\n'Is it a big company?'\n\n'Too right it is; it's the biggest hotel chain in the world.'\n\n### 2\n\n###### _Being able to understand a customer's behaviour in order to categorise him more effectively, offering him the right product at the right time, but above all persuading him that the product he is offered is adapted to his needs: that is what all companies dream of_.\n\n###### Jean-Louis Barma, _What Companies Dream Of_\n\nJEAN-YVES WOKE AT five in the morning, looked over at his wife who was still sleeping. They had spent a terrible weekend with his parents \u2013 his wife couldn't stand the countryside. Nicolas, his ten-year-old son, loathed the Loiret too, as he couldn't bring his computer there; and he didn't like his grandparents, he thought they smelled. It was true that his father was slipping, increasingly, it seemed he was unable to look after himself, scarcely interested in anything apart from his rabbits. The only tolerable aspect of these weekends was his daughter, Ang\u00e9lique: at three, she was still capable of going into raptures over cows or chickens; but she was teething at the moment and had spent the greater part of the nights crying and whimpering. Once they got back, after three hours stuck in traffic jams, Audrey had decided to go out with some friends. He had heated up something from the freezer while he watched some mediocre American film about an autistic serial killer \u2013 it was apparently based on a true story. The man had been the first mentally ill person to be executed in the state of Nebraska for more than sixty years. His son hadn't wanted any dinner, he had immediately launched himself into a game of _Total Annihilation_ \u2013 or maybe it was _Mortal Kombat II_ , he got them mixed up. From time to time, he went into his daughter's room to try and quieten her howls. She fell asleep around one o'clock; Audrey still wasn't home.\n\nShe had come home in the end, he thought, making himself a coffee at the espresso machine; this time, at least. The law firm she worked for numbered _Lib\u00e9ration_ and _Le Monde_ among its clients; one way or another she had started hanging out with a group of journalists, television presenters and politicians. They went out quite a lot, sometimes to strange places \u2013 once when he was leafing through one of her books he came across a card for a fetish bar. Jean-Yves suspected that she slept with some guy once in awhile; in any case she and Jean-Yves didn't sleep together any more. Curiously, for his part, he didn't have affairs. Although he was aware he was handsome in a blond, blue-eyed way more common in Americans, he never really felt like taking advantage of the opportunities which might have presented themselves \u2013 in any case they were pretty rare: he worked twelve to fourteen hours a day and at his level of seniority you didn't really meet many women. Of course there was Val\u00e9rie; he had never thought of her other than as a colleague before. It was odd to think of her in this new light; but he knew it was an unimportant daydream: they had been working together for five years now and in situations like that things happened straight away, or they didn't happen at all. He admired Val\u00e9rie a lot, her astonishing organisational abilities, her infallible memory; without her, he realised, he would never have got to where he was \u2013 or at least not as quickly as he had. And today, he might well be about to take a decisive step. He brushed his teeth, shaved carefully, before picking out a rather sober suit. Then he pushed open the door to his daughter's room; she was asleep, blonde like he was, in a pair of pyjamas decorated with chicks.\n\nHe walked to the R\u00e9publique Fitness Club, which opened at seven. He and Audrey lived on the Rue du Faubourg-du-Temple, a rather trendy area which he hated. His meeting at the head office of the Aurore group was not until ten o'clock. Audrey could take care of getting the children dressed and driving them to school for once. He knew that when he got home tonight he would have a half-hour of nagging coming to him; as he walked along the wet pavement among the empty boxes and the vegetable peelings, he realised that he couldn't care less. He realised, also, for the first time with absolute clarity, that his marriage had been a mistake. This kind of realisation, he knew, usually precedes divorce by about two or three years \u2013 it's never an easy decision to take.\n\nThe big black guy at reception gave him a not very convincing 'How's things, boss?'. He handed him his membership card, nodded and took a towel. When he had met Audrey, he was only twenty-three. Two years later they got married, partly \u2013 but only partly \u2013 because she was pregnant. She was pretty, stylish, she dressed well \u2013 and she could be very sexy when she wanted to. Besides, she had ideas. The emergence of American-style judicial proceedings in France did not seem to her to be a regression, on the contrary, she thought it was progress, towards better protection for citizens and civil liberties. She was capable of expounding fairly lengthily on the subject, she was just back from doing work experience in the United States. In a nutshell, she had conned him. It was strange, he thought, how he had always felt the need to be impressed by women intellectually.\n\nHe started off with half-an-hour working through different levels on the Stairmaster, then twenty lengths of the pool. In the sauna, which was deserted at this time of day, he started to relax \u2013 and took the opportunity to run through in his mind what he knew about the Aurore group. Novotel-SIEH had been founded in 1966 by G\u00e9rard P\u00e9lisson and Paul Dubrule \u2013 one a graduate of the \u00c9cole Centrale, the other completely self-taught \u2013 using capital borrowed entirely from family and friends. In August 1967, the first Novotel opened its doors in Lille. It already included many of the characteristics which were to emerge as the hallmarks of the group: the rooms highly standardised, locations on the outskirts of cities \u2013 to be more precise, off the motorway, at the last exit before the city itself, above average standards of comfort for the time \u2013 Novotel was one of the first chains routinely to offer en-suite bathrooms. It was an immediate success with business travellers: in 1972, the chain already numbered thirty-five hotels. This was followed in '73 by the creation of Ibis, the takeover of Mercure in '75 and of Sofitel in '81. At the same time, the group prudently diversified into catering, acquiring the Courtepaille chain and the Jacques Borel International group, already well established in the group-catering and self-service restaurant sectors. In 1983, the company changed its name to become the Aurore group. Then, in '85, they created the Formules 1 \u2013 the first hotels with absolutely no personnel and one of the greatest successes in the history of the hotel business. Already well established in Africa and the Middle East, the company got a foothold in Asia and set up its own training centre \u2013 the Aurore academy. In 1990, the acquisition of Motel 6, comprising 650 locations throughout the United States, made the group the largest in the world; it was followed in '91 by a successful takeover bid for the Wagons Lits group. These acquisitions were costly and in '93, Aurore faced a crisis: the shareholders considered the company's debts to be too high, and the buyout of the M\u00e9ridien chain fell through. Thanks to the transfer of a number of assets and a recovery plan for Europcar, Len\u00f4tre and the Societ\u00e9 des Casinos Lucien Barri\u00e8re, the situation was turned around by the 1995 financial year. In January '97, Paul Dubrule and G\u00e9rard P\u00e9lisson resigned the presidency of the group which they ceded to Jean-Luc Espitalier, a graduate of the _\u00c9cole Normale d'Administration_ , whose career was described by the financial magazines as 'atypical'. However they remained members of the supervisory board. The transition went well and, by the end of 2000, the group had reinforced its position as world leader, consolidating its lead over Marriott and Hyatt, numbers two and three respectively. Of the ten largest hotel chains in the world, nine were American and one French \u2013 the Aurore group.\n\nAt nine-thirty, Jean-Yves parked his car in the car park of the group head office at \u00c9vry. He walked for a while in the frosty air, to unwind while waiting for the appointed time. At ten o'clock precisely, he was shown into the office of \u00c9ric Leguen, executive vice-president for hotels and member of the board of directors. He was forty-five, a graduate of the \u00c9cole C\u00e9ntrale, with a degree from Stanford.\n\nTall and sturdy, with blond hair and blue eyes, he looked a little like Jean-Yves \u2013 though ten years older and with something more confident in his attitude.\n\n'M Espitalier, our president, will meet with you in fifteen minutes,' he began. 'In the meantime, I'll explain why you're here. Two months ago, we bought the Eldorador chain from Jet Tours. It's a little chain of about a dozen beach hotel\/holiday clubs spread over the Maghreb, black Africa and the West Indies.'\n\n'It's showing a loss, I believe.'\n\n'No more than the sector as a whole.' He smiled briefly. 'Well, yes, actually, a bit more than the sector as a whole. To be quite frank, the purchase price was reasonable, but it wasn't peanuts; there were a number of other groups in the running: there are still a lot of people in the industry who believe that the sector will pick up again. It's true that, at the moment, Club Med is the only one managing to hold its own; strictly confidentially, we had actually thought of making a takeover bid for Club Med. But the prey was a little too large, the shareholders would never have gone with it. In any case, it wouldn't have been a very friendly thing to do to Philippe Bourguignon, who is a former employee...' He gave a rather phony smile, as though he was trying to suggest that this was perhaps \u2013 but not definitely \u2013 a joke. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'what we are proposing is that you take over the management of all of the Eldorador resorts. Your objective, obviously, being to bring them back quickly to breakeven and then to make them profitable.'\n\n'That's not an easy task.'\n\n'We're very aware of that; we feel that the level of remuneration offered is sufficiently attractive. Not to mention the career prospects within the group, which are huge: we have offices in 142 countries, we employ more than a hundred and thirty thousand people. On top of that, most of our senior executives quickly become shareholders in the group: it's a system we firmly believe in. I've written up some details for you with some sample calculations.'\n\n'I would also need more detailed information on the circumstances of the hotels in the group.'\n\n'Of course; I'll give you a detailed dossier a little later. This is not simply a tactical acquisition; we believe in the potential of the organisation: geographically the resorts are well sited, the general condition excellent \u2013 there's very little in the way of improvements to be made. At least, that's my opinion, but I don't have any experience of the leisure sector. We'll be working together, obviously; but you will make the decisions on these matters. If you want to get rid of a hotel or acquire another, the final decision in the matter is yours. That's how we work at Aurore.'\n\nHe thought for a moment before going on: 'Of course, it's no accident that you're here. The industry has carefully followed your career at Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res; you might even say you have something of a following. You haven't systematically sought to offer the lowest prices, nor the highest level of service; in each case you've matched a price that is acceptable to customers very closely with a certain level of service; that's exactly the philosophy we follow within every chain in the group. And something equally important, you've had a hand in creating a brand with a very strong image; that's something we haven't always been able to do at Aurore.'\n\nThe telephone on Leguen's desk rang. The conversation was very brief. He got up and led Jean-Yves along the beige-tiled corridor. Jean-Luc Espitalier's office was vast, it must have been at least twenty metres wide; the left-hand side was taken up by a large conference table with some fifteen chairs. As they approached, Espitalier stood and welcomed them with a smile. He was a small man, quite young \u2013 certainly no older than forty-five \u2013 his hair receding at the front, he looked oddly unobtrusive, almost retiring, as though he was trying to soften the importance of his role with irony. You probably shouldn't count on it, thought Jean-Yves; ENA graduates are often like that, they develop a veneer of humour which turns out to be deceptive. They settled themselves in armchairs around a low table in front of his desk. Espitalier looked at him for a long time with his curious, shy smile before beginning to speak.\n\n'I have a lot of respect for Jacques Maillot,' he said eventually; 'He's built up a first-rate company, very original and with a real ethos. It doesn't happen often. That said \u2013 and I don't want to play the prophet of doom here \u2013 I think French tour operators need to prepare themselves for a rough ride. Very soon \u2013 it's inevitable at this stage, and in my opinion it's only a matter of months \u2013 British and German tour operators are going to make inroads into the market. They have two to three times the level of financial backing, and their tours are 20 to 30 per cent cheaper, for a comparable or a better standard of service. Competition will be tough, very tough. To be blunt, there will be casualties. I'm not saying Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res will be one of them; it's a group with a strong identity and level-headed shareholders, it can weather this. Nevertheless, the years ahead are going to be tough for everyone.\n\n'At Aurore, we don't have that problem at all,' he went on with a little sigh, 'we are the uncontested world leader in the business hotel sector, which fluctuates very little; but we are still poorly established in the leisure hotel sector, which is more volatile, more sensitive to economic and political fluctuations.'\n\n'As a matter of fact,' interrupted Jean-Yves, 'I was rather surprised by your acquisition. I thought your main development priority was still business hotels, particularly in Asia.'\n\n'That is still our main priority,' replied Espitalier calmly. 'In China alone, for example, there is extraordinary potential in the business hotel sector. We have the experience, we have the know-how: imagine concepts like Ibis and Formule 1 rolled out across the country? That said... how should I put this?' He thought for a moment, looked at the ceiling, at the conference table to his right before looking back at Jean-Yves. 'Aurore is a discreet group,' he said at length; 'Paul Dubrule used to say that the sole secret of success in the market was to be timely. Timely means not too early: it's very rare for true innovators to reap the full profits of their innovation \u2013 that's the story of Apple and Microsoft. But obviously, it also means not too late. That's where our discretion has served us well. If you do your development work in the shadows, without making waves, by the time your competitors wake up and decide to move on to your patch, it's too late: you have your territory sewn up, you have acquired a crucial competitive advantage. Our reputation has not kept pace with our actual significance; for the most part, this has been done deliberately.\n\n'That time is gone,' he went on with another sigh; 'Everyone now knows that we are number one in the world. At that point it becomes useless \u2013 even dangerous \u2013 to count on our discretion. It's essential for a group of Aurore's size to have a public image. The business hotel sector is a dependable market, which generates guaranteed regular, substantial, revenues. But it's not, how shall I put it, it's not really _fun_. People rarely talk about their business trips, there's no pleasure in telling people about them. To build a positive image with the general public there are two possibilities open to us: tour operating or 18\u201330-style holiday clubs. Becoming a tour operator is further from our core business, but there are a number of very healthy businesses likely to change hands in the near future \u2013 we very nearly went down that road. And when Eldorador presented itself, we decided to seize the opportunity.'\n\n'I'm just trying to understand your objectives,' said Jean-Yves. 'Are you more focused on profit or public image?'\n\n'That's a complex issue...' Espitalier hesitated, shifting slightly in his chair. 'Aurore's problem is that it has a very weak shareholder base. That, in fact, is what started the rumours of a takeover bid in 1994 \u2013 I can tell you now,' he went on with a confident gesture, 'that they were completely unfounded. That would be even more true now: we have no debt whatever, and no international company, even outside the hotel business, is large enough to mount a bid. What remains true is that, unlike Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res for example, we do not have a coherent shareholder base. At heart, Paul Dubrule and G\u00e9rard P\u00e9lisson were less capitalists than they were entrepreneurs \u2013 and great entrepreneurs in my opinion, among the greatest the century has produced. But they did not seek to keep a controlling share in their business; it is this which puts us in a delicate position today. You know as well as I do that it is occasionally necessary to sanction prestige spending, something which will improve the strategic position of the group without making a positive impact on revenues in the short term. We also know that it is sometimes necessary to temporarily shore up a loss-making sector because the market hasn't matured or because it is going through a short-term crisis. This is something that the new generation of shareholders finds difficult to accept: the focus on rapid returns on investment has been deeply unconstructive and damaging.'\n\nHe raised his hand discreetly, seeing that Jean-Yves was about to interrupt. 'Mind you,' he went on, 'our shareholders are not imbeciles. They are perfectly aware that in the current climate it would not be possible to bring a chain like Eldorador back to breakeven in the first year \u2013 probably not even in two years. But come the third year they'll want to look very hard at the figures \u2013 and they won't be long in coming to their conclusions. At that point, even if you have a magnificent plan, even if the potential is vast, I won't be able to do anything.'\n\nThere was a long silence. Leguen sat motionless, he had lowered his head. Espitalier stroked his chin sceptically. 'I see...' Jean-Yves said at last. After a couple of seconds he added calmly: 'I'll give you my answer in three days.'\n\n### 3\n\nI SAW A lot of Val\u00e9rie over the two months that followed. In fact, with the exception of a weekend she spent at her parents, I think I probably saw her every day. Jean-Yves had decided to accept the Aurore group's offer; she had decided to follow him. The first thing she said to me, I remember, was: 'I'm about to move into the 60 per cent tax bracket.' She was right: her salary was going from forty thousand francs a month to seventy-five thousand; after tax, the increase was less spectacular. She knew that she would have to put a lot of work in from the moment she took up her job at the group early in March. For the time being, at Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res, everything was fine: they had both tendered their resignations, they were gradually handing over the reins to their successors. I advised Val\u00e9rie to save, to open a savings account or something; in fact, we didn't think about it much. Spring was late, but that was of no importance. Later, thinking about this happy time with Val\u00e9rie, a time of which, paradoxically, I have so few memories, I would say that man is clearly not intended to be happy. To truly arrive at the practical possibility of happiness, man would have to transform himself \u2013 transform himself _physically_. What can one compare with God? In the first place, obviously, a woman's pussy; but also perhaps the steam in a hammam. Something, at any rate, in which spirit becomes possible, because the body is sated with contentment, with pleasure, and all anxiety is abolished. I now know for certain that the spirit is not born, that it needs to be brought forth, and it will be a difficult birth, something of which we now have only a vague and harmful idea. When I brought Val\u00e9rie to orgasm, when I felt her body quiver under mine, I sometimes had the impression \u2013 fleeting but irresistible \u2013 of attaining a new level of consciousness, where every evil had been abolished. In those moments of suspension, almost of motionlessness, when the pleasure in her body mounted, I felt like a god on whom depended tranquillity and storms. It was the first joy \u2013 indisputable, perfect.\n\nThe second joy which Val\u00e9rie brought me was the extraordinary gentleness, the natural goodness of her nature. Sometimes, when she had been working long hours \u2013 and over the months they would become longer and longer \u2013 I felt that she was tense, emotionally drained. Never once did she turn on me, never once did she get angry, never once did she lapse into the unpredictable hysterics which sometimes make the company of women so oppressive, so pathetic. 'I'm not ambitious, Michel...' she would tell me sometimes. 'I feel happy with you, I think you're the love of my life, and I don't ask for anything more than that. But that's not possible: I have to ask for more. I'm trapped in a system from which I get so little, which I know is futile; but I don't know how to get out. Just once, we should take time to think; but I don't know when we'll be able to take time to think.'\n\nFor my part, I was doing less and less work, at least I was doing my work only in the strictest possible sense. I was home in plenty of time to watch _Questions pour un champion_ and shop for dinner; I spent every night at Val\u00e9rie's place. Curiously, Marie-Jeanne didn't seem to hold my flagging professional attention against me. True, she enjoyed her work and was more than happy to take on her share of overtime. What she wanted more than anything, I think, was for me to be nice to her \u2013 and I was nice through all those weeks, I was gentle and peaceful. She had liked the coral necklace I had brought her from Thailand, she wore it every day now. As she worked on the files for the exhibitions she would sometimes look at me in a way that was strange and difficult to decipher. One morning in February \u2013 I remember it very well, it was my birthday \u2013 she said to me straight out: 'You've changed, Michel... I don't know, you seem happy.'\n\nShe was right; I was happy, I remember that. Of course there are lots of things, a whole series of inevitable troubles, decline and death, of course. But remembering those months, I can bear witness: I know that happiness exists.\n\nJean-Yves, on the other hand, was not happy, that was obvious. I remember the three of us having dinner together in an Italian, or rather a Venetian, restaurant, something pretty trendy anyway. He knew that we would go home later and fuck, and we could fuck with love. I didn't really know what to say to him \u2013 everything there was to be said was too obvious, too blunt. His wife obviously didn't love him, she had probably never loved anyone; and she would never love anyone, that too was patently clear. He hadn't had much luck, that was all. Human relationships aren't nearly as complicated as people make out: they're often insoluble but only rarely _complicated_. Now, of course, he would have to get a divorce; it wouldn't be easy but it had to be done. What else could I possibly say? The subject was dealt with long before we finished the _antipasti_.\n\nAfterwards they talked about their careers within the Aurore group: they already had some ideas, a number of possible objectives for the Eldorador takeover. They were intelligent, competent, much-admired in their industry; but they could not afford to make a mistake. To fail in this new position would not be the end of their careers: Jean-Yves was thirty-five, Val\u00e9rie, twenty-eight; they would be given a second chance. But the industry would not forget that first blunder, they would have to start again at a significantly lower level. In the society we lived in, the most important consideration in any position was represented by the _salary_ , and more generally the financial benefits; the prestige and distinction of the post tended nowadays to occupy a much less significant position. There existed, however, a highly developed system of fiscal redistribution which allowed the useless, the incompetent and the dangerous \u2013 a group of which, in some sense, I was a part \u2013 to survive. In short, we were living in a mixed economy which was slowly evolving towards a more pronounced liberalism, slowly overcoming the prejudice against usury \u2013 and in more general terms, against money \u2013 which persists in traditionally Catholic countries. They could expect no real benefits from such a change. A number of young Hautes \u00c9tudes Commerciales business graduates, much younger than Jean-Yves \u2013 some of them still students \u2013 had thrown themselves headlong into market speculation without ever considering looking for paid employment. They had computers connected to the internet, sophisticated market-tracking software. Quite frequently, they formed groups or clubs in order to be able to make more substantial investments. They lived with their computers, worked in shifts twenty-four hours a day, never took holidays. The goal of each and every one was extraordinarily simple: to become billionaires before they turned thirty.\n\nJean-Yves and Val\u00e9rie were part of an intermediary generation for whom it still seemed difficult to imagine a career outside business, or possibly the public sector; a little older than they were, I was in more or less the same position. The three of us were caught up in a social system like insects in a block of amber; there wasn't the slightest possibility that we could turn back.\n\nOn the morning of March 1, Val\u00e9rie and Jean-Yves officially took up their positions at the Aurore group. A meeting had already been scheduled for March 4 with the principal executives who would be working on the Eldorador project. Senior management had requested a long-term study of the future of holiday clubs from Profiles, a well-known consultancy working in the field of behavioural sociology.\n\nDespite himself, as he walked into the 23rd floor conference room for the first time, Jean-Yves was quite impressed. There were about twenty people there, every one of whom had several years' experience with Aurore behind them; and it was now up to him to lead the group. Val\u00e9rie sat immediately to his left. He had spent the weekend studying the files; he knew the names, precise responsibilities and professional history of every person sitting at the table; yet he could not help feeling a little anxious. A grey day settled over the graceful suburbs of Essonne. When Paul Dubrule and G\u00e9rard P\u00e9lisson had decided to set up their head office in \u00c9vry, they had been influenced by cheap land and the proximity of the motorway to Orly Airport and the south; at the time, it was a quiet suburb. Now, the local communities had the highest crime rate in all France. Every week, there were attacks on buses, police cars, fire engines; there was not even an exact figure for assaults or robberies; some people estimated that to get the true figure, you had to multiply the number of reported crimes by five. The company premises were watched over twenty-four hours a day by a team of armed guards. An internal memo advised that public transport was best avoided after a certain time. For employees who had to work late and who did not have their own cars, Aurore had negotiated a discount with a local taxi firm.\n\nWhen Lindsay Lagarrigue, the behavioural sociologist, arrived, Jean-Yves felt he was on familiar territory. The guy was about thirty, with a receding hairline, his hair tied back in a ponytail; he wore an Adidas tracksuit, a Prada tee-shirt and a pair of battered Nikes: in short, he looked like a behavioural sociologist. He began by handing out copies of a very slim file, mostly made up of diagrams with arrows and circles; his briefcase contained nothing else. The front page was a photocopy of an article from the _Nouvel Observateur_ , more precisely, it was an editorial from the travel section, entitled 'Another Way to Travel'.\n\n'In the year 2000,' Lagarrigue began, reading the article aloud, 'mass tourism has had its day. We dream of travel as of individual fulfilment, but we have ethical concerns.' This opening paragraph seemed to him symptomatic of the changes that were occurring. He talked about this for a few minutes, then asked those present to concentrate on the following sentences: 'In the year 2000, we worry about whether tourism is respectful of others. Being affluent, we want our travels to be more than simply selfish pleasures, we want them to bear witness to a certain sense of solidarity.'\n\n'How much did we pay this guy for the study?' Jean-Yves asked Val\u00e9rie discreetly.\n\n'A hundred and fifty thousand francs.'\n\n'I don't believe it... Is this asshole just going to read out a photocopy of an article from the _Nouvel Obs_?'\n\nLinsday Lagarrigue went on, loosely paraphrasing the article, then he read a third passage, in an absurdly emphatic voice: 'In the year 2000,' he declared, 'we want to be nomads. We travel by train or by ship, over rivers and oceans; in an age of speed, we are rediscovering the pleasures of slothfulness. We lose ourselves in the silent infinities of the desert, and then, without a break, plunge into the tumult of great cities. But always with the same passion...' Ethical, individual fulfilment, solidarity, passion: these, according to him, were the key words. In this new mood, it was hardly surprising that the holiday club, based on selfish isolation, on the standardisation of needs and desires, was beset by chronic problems. The days of the _sun worshippers_ were over: what travellers today were looking for was authenticity, discovery, a sense of sharing. More generally, the Fordist production-line model of leisure travel \u2013 typified by the famous '4 S': Sea, Sand, Sun... and Sex \u2013 was doomed. As the work of Michky and Braun had shown so spectacularly, the industry as a whole would have to begin to consider its activities from a post-Fordist perspective.\n\nThe behavioural sociologist clearly knew his job; he could have gone on for hours. 'Excuse me...' Jean-Yves interrupted him in a tone of barely suppressed irritation.\n\n'Yes...' the behavioural sociologist gave him a winning smile.\n\n'I think that every person at this table, without exception, is aware that the holiday-club model is undergoing some problems at the moment. What we want from you isn't so much an endless description of the nature of those problems, but rather an attempt, however slight, to indicate the beginnings of a solution.'\n\nLindsay Lagarrigue was open-mouthed; he had not anticipated an objection of this kind. 'I think...' he mumbled eventually, 'I think that in order to solve the problem it is important to define it and to have some sense of what has caused it.' Another empty phrase, thought Jean-Yves furiously; not only empty, but, as it happened, untrue. The causes were clearly part of general shifts in society which were beyond their powers to change. They had to adapt to this new business climate, that was all. How could they adapt to it? This moron clearly hadn't the faintest idea.\n\n'What you're telling us, broadly speaking,' went on Jean-Yves, 'is that the holiday-club model is obsolete.'\n\n'No, no, not at all...' The behavioural sociologist was beginning to lose his footing. 'I think... I simply think that it requires thought.' 'And what the hell are we paying you for, asshole?' retorted Jean-Yves under his breath before addressing all those present:\n\n'All right, we'll try to give it some thought. I'd like to thank Monsieur Lagarrigue for his contribution; I don't think we'll be needing you again today. I suggest we break for ten minutes for coffee.'\n\nPiqued, the behavioural sociologist packed away his diagrams. When the meeting resumed, Jean-Yves picked up his notes and began:\n\n'Between 1993 and 1997, as you know, Club Med went through the worst crisis in its history. Competitors and imitators had multiplied, they had ripped off the Club formula wholesale while undercutting the Club considerably: numbers were in freefall. How did they manage to turn the situation around? Chiefly, by dropping their prices. But they didn't drop them to the same level as their rivals: they knew that they had the advantage of being the original, they had a reputation, an image; they knew their customers would accept a certain price differential \u2013 which they set, according to destination, and after meticulous research, at between 20 and 30 per cent \u2013 for the real Club Med experience, the 'original' if you like. This is the first idea I propose that we explore in the coming weeks: is there room in the holiday-club sector for something different from the Club Med formula? And, if so, can we begin to visualise what that something might be, what its target market might look like? The question is far from simple.\n\n'I've come,' he went on, 'as you probably know, I've come here from Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res. And, although it's not what the group is best known for, we also had a stab at the holiday-club sector: the Paladiens. We began to experience problems with the clubs at about the same time as Club Med; we resolved those problems very quickly. How? Because we were the largest tour operator in France. At the end of their discovery tour of the country, our customers, for the most part, wanted to spend some time at the beach. Our tours often have the reputation, justifiably, of being tough, of requiring a high level of physical fitness. Having won their stripes as 'travellers' the hard way, our customers were generally delighted to be back in the shoes of ordinary tourists for a while. In fact, the formula was so successful that we decided to include a beach supplement as standard in most of the tours \u2013 which allowed us to bump up the length of the tours; as you all know, a day at the beach is much less expensive than a travel day. Given this, it was easy for us to favour our own hotels. This is the second thing I propose we consider: it's possible that the future of holiday clubs depends on closer links with tour operators. You'll have to use your imaginations here, too, and don't limit yourselves to the players currently operating in the French market. I'm asking you to explore a new field; we may have a lot to gain from alliances with the major Northern European tour-operators.'\n\nAt the end of the meeting, a woman of about thirty, blonde, pretty face, approached Jean-Yves. Her name was Marylise Le Fran\u00e7ois, she was the marketing manager. 'I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your intervention...' she said. 'It had to be done. I think you've managed to remotivate people. Now everyone knows that there is somebody at the controls, we'll really be able to get back down to work.'\n\n### 4\n\nIT QUICKLY BECAME apparent that it would not be quite so simple. Most of the British and particularly the German tour operators already had their own chains of holiday clubs and they weren't interested in allying themselves to another group. All attempts in that direction proved futile. On the other hand, the Club Med seemed to have hit on the definitive formula for a holiday club; since their inception, none of their rivals had proved able to offer anything really new.\n\nTwo weeks later, Val\u00e9rie finally had an idea. It was almost 10 p.m.; she had collapsed into an armchair in the middle of Jean-Yves's office and was sipping a hot chocolate before heading home. They were both exhausted, they had spent the whole day working on the financial report on the clubs.\n\n'You know,' she sighed, 'I think we might be making a mistake in trying to separate the tours from the relaxation.'\n\n'What do you mean?'\n\n'Remember at Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res: even before we added the beach supplements to the end of the holiday, whenever there was a day at the beach in the middle of a tour, the customers always enjoyed it. And the thing people complained about most often was having to change hotels all the time. What we really want, in fact, is to alternate the excursions with time at the beach \u2013 a day touring, a day relaxing and so on. Coming back to the hotel every night, or the following night if the excursion is long, but not having to pack or check out of your room.'\n\n'Resorts already offer additional excursions; and I'm not sure they have much take-up for them.'\n\n'Yes, but there's a supplement, and the French hate paying supplements. On top of that, you have to make the reservation after you get there: people hesitate, they dither, they can't decide, and in the end they do nothing. Actually, they like the excursions as long as you do all the work for them; and above all they love things that are _all-inclusive_.'\n\nJean-Yves thought for a moment. 'You know, what you're suggesting is not a bad idea. On top of that, we should be able to get it under way pretty quickly: this summer, I think. We could offer the new formula as a complement to the ordinary packages. We could call it Eldorador Discovery, something like that.'\n\nJean-Yves consulted Leguen before implementing the idea; he quickly realised that the other man had no desire to express an opinion one way or the other. 'It's your responsibility,' Leguen said solemnly. Listening to Val\u00e9rie tell me how she spent her days, I realised I didn't know very much about the world of the senior executive. Her double act with Jean-Yves was in itself remarkable. 'Under normal circumstances,' she told me, 'his assistant would be some girl who dreamed of getting his job. That complicates office politics: it means that sometimes its better to fail, as long as you can pass the blame on to somebody else.' In this case, they were in a healthier position; no one in the group wanted their jobs; most of the executives thought the takeover of Eldorador had been a mistake.\n\nFor the rest of the month, she spent a lot of time working with Marylise Le Fran\u00e7ois. The catalogues for the summer holidays had to be ready by the end of April at the very latest, in fact even that was cutting it fine. She rapidly realised that the Jet Tours marketing for the resorts had been absolutely appalling. 'An Eldorador holiday is like that magical moment in Africa, when the heat begins to fade and the whole village gathers around the talking-tree to listen to the elders...' she read aloud to Jean-Yves. 'Honestly, can you believe this stuff? With photos of the holiday reps leaping about in their ridiculous yellow uniforms. It's complete rubbish.'\n\n'What do you think of the slogan, \"Eldorador, live life more intensely\"?'\n\n'I don't know; I don't know what to think anymore.'\n\n'It's too late for the standard packages, the catalogues have already gone out. One thing's for sure though, we'll have to start from scratch with the \"Discovery\" catalogue.'\n\n'What I think we need to do,' interrupted Marylise, 'is to play up the contrast between physical effort and luxury. Mint tea in the middle of the desert, but on priceless carpets...'\n\n'Yeah, the magical moments...' said Jean-Yves jadedly. He got up from his chair with effort. 'Don't forget to put \"magical moments\" in there somewhere; oddly enough it works every time. Okay, I'll leave you to it; I have to get back to my fixed costs...'\n\nVal\u00e9rie was well aware that there was no question but that Jean-Yves had the most thankless aspects of the work. She herself knew very little about hotel management \u2013 it simply brought back vague memories of studying for her BTS. 'Edward Yang owns a three-star hotel and restaurant and believes that it is his responsibility to satisfy his customers to the best of his ability; he is constantly seeking to innovate and to respond to customer needs. From experience, he knows that breakfast is very important, the most important meal of the day, and plays a decisive role in establishing the image of the hotel.' This had been part of a written test in her first year. Edward Yang arranges for a statistical analysis of his customers, focusing particularly on the number of guests per room (single people, couples, families). You had to break down the analysis, calculate chi squared; the section concluded with the following question: 'To sum up, do family circumstances correlate with the consumption of fresh fruit at breakfast?'\n\nRummaging through her files, she managed to find a BTS question which corresponded pretty closely to their present situation.\n\n'You have just been appointed marketing manager of the international arm of the South America group. The company has recently purchased a hotel-restaurant in the West Indies, a four-star establishment with 110 rooms on the sea-front in Guadeloupe. Opened in 1988 and renovated in 1996, it is currently experiencing serious problems. The occupancy rate is only 45%, far below the anticipated breakeven point.'\n\nHer answer was marked 18\/20, which seemed to be a good sign. At the time, she remembered, it all seemed like a fairytale to her, and not a very plausible one. She couldn't imagine herself as marketing director of _South America_ , or of anything else for that matter. It was a game, an intellectual game that was neither very interesting nor very difficult. Now, it was no longer a game; or perhaps it was, but their careers were the stakes.\n\nShe would come back from work so exhausted that she hadn't the energy to make love, barely enough energy to suck me off; she would be half asleep with my penis still in her mouth. When I penetrated her, it was usually in the morning when we woke. Her orgasms were more muted, more restrained, as though muffled by a curtain of fatigue; I think I loved her more and more.\n\nAt the end of April the catalogues were printed and distributed to five thousand travel agents \u2013 almost the entirety of the French network. Now, they needed to deal with the infrastructure for the tours so that everything would be ready for July 1. Word of mouth was very important in launching a new product of this kind: a tour cancelled or poorly organised could mean a lot of lost customers. They had decided not to invest in a major advertising campaign. Curiously, although Jean-Yves had specialised in marketing, he hadn't much faith in advertising. 'It can be useful for refining your image,' he said, 'but we're not at that point just yet. For the moment, the most important thing is for us to get good distribution and ensure the product has a reputation for reliability.' On the other hand, they invested hugely in information for the travel agents; it was crucial that they offer the product quickly and spontaneously. Val\u00e9rie took most of the responsibility for this; it was familiar territory for her. She remembered the sales-pitch mnemonic SURE \u2013 Strategic Planning, Understanding, Response management, Execution excellence; she remembered too the reality, which was infinitely more simple. But most of the salesgirls were very young; most of them had barely passed their BTS diploma; it was easier to speak to them in their own language. Talking to some of the girls, she realised that Jean-Louis Barma's typology was still being taught in colleges. ( _The technician consumer_ : product centred, sensitive to quantitative aspects, attaches great importance to technical aspects of the product. _The devout consumer_ : trusts the salesperson blindly because he does not understand the product. _The complicit consumer_ : happy to focus on points he has in common with the salesperson if the latter knows how to establish a good interpersonal relationship. _The manipulative consumer_ : a manipulator whose strategy is to deal directly with the supplier and so get the best deal. _The developing consumer_ : attentive to the salesperson, whom he respects, to the product offered, aware of his needs, he communicates easily.) Val\u00e9rie was five or six years older than these girls; she had long risen above their current level and she had achieved a degree of professional success which most of them hardly dared dream of. They looked at her with a sort of childlike admiration.\n\nI had the key to her apartment now; in general, while I was waiting for her in the evenings, I read August Comte's _Course in Positive Philosophy_. I liked this tedious, dense book; often I would reread a page three or four times. It took me almost three weeks to finish Lesson Fifty: 'Preliminary Considerations on Social Statics, or the General Theory of the Spontaneous Order of Human Society'. I certainly needed some sort of theory to help me take stock of my social status.\n\n'You work far too much, Val\u00e9rie...' I told her one evening in May as she was lying, huddled up with exhaustion, on the living-room sofa. 'You have to get something out of it. You should put some money aside, otherwise one way or the other you'll just end up spending it.' She agreed that I was right. The following morning, she took two hours off and we went to Porte d'Orl\u00e9ans branch of the Cr\u00e9dit Agricole to open a joint account. She gave me power of attorney and the following day I went back to talk to a financial adviser. I decided to put aside twenty thousand francs a month from her salary, half of it in a life assurance policy, the other half into a savings account. I was at her place pretty much all the time now; it made no sense to hang on to my apartment.\n\nIt was she who made the suggestion at the beginning of June. We had made love most of the morning, taking long breaks curled up together between the sheets. Then she would wank me or suck me off and I would penetrate her again; neither of us had come. Each time she touched me I quickly got a hard on, her pussy was constantly wet. She was feeling good, I could see calm flooding her face. At about nine o'clock, she suggested we have dinner in an Italian restaurant near the Parc Montsouris. It wasn't quite dark yet; it was a warm evening. I had to go to my place afterwards, if I intended to go to work in a shirt and tie as I usually did. The waiter brought us two house cocktails.\n\n'You know, Michel...' she said as soon as he had gone, 'You could just move into my place. I don't really think we need to go on playing at being independent. Or, if you prefer, we can get a flat together.'\n\nIn point of fact, yes, I did prefer; let's say it gave me a greater sense of this as a new beginning. A first beginning in my case, truth be told; and in her case too, I suppose. It becomes habit, being alone, being independent; it's not always a good habit. If I wanted to live something that resembled the conjugal experience, now, evidently, was the time. Of course I knew the drawbacks of the set-up; I know that desire becomes dulled more quickly when couples live together. But it becomes dulled anyhow, that's one of the laws of life; only then does it become possible for the union to move on to a different level \u2013 so many people have believed. But that evening my desire for Val\u00e9rie was far from dulled. Before leaving her, I kissed her on the mouth; she opened her lips wide, abandoning herself completely to the kiss. I slipped my hand into her tracksuit bottoms, into her panties, put my hand on her buttocks. She leaned her head back, looked left and right, the street was completely quiet. She knelt down on the pavement, opened my flies, took my penis into her mouth. I leaned against the park railings. Just before I came, she moved her mouth away and continued to masturbate me with two fingers, slipping her other hand into my trousers to stroke my balls. She closed her eyes; I ejaculated over her face. At that moment I thought she was going to burst into tears; but she didn't, she simply licked at the semen trickling down her cheeks.\n\nThe very next morning, I started going through the small ads; somewhere in the southern _arrondissements_ would be best for Val\u00e9rie's work. A week later, I had found it: it was a large two-bedroom on the thirtieth floor of the Opale tower near the Porte de Choisy. I had never had a beautiful view of Paris before; I had never really looked for one, to be honest. When we were about to move in, I realised that I didn't feel the least attachment to anything in my apartment. I could have felt a certain joy, something like intoxication, at this freedom; on the contrary, I felt slightly scared. I had managed, it seemed, to live for forty years without forming the most tenuous of attachments to a single object. All told, I had two suits which I wore alternately. Books, sure, I had books; but I could easily have bought them again, not one of them was in any way precious or rare. Several women had crossed my path; I didn't have a photograph or a letter from any of them. Nor did I have any photos of myself: I had no memory of what I might have been like when I was fifteen, or twenty or thirty. I didn't really have any personal papers: my identity could be contained in a couple of files which would easily fit into a standard-size cardboard folder. It is wrong to pretend that human beings are unique, that they carry within them an irreplaceable individuality; as far as I was concerned, at any rate, I could not distinguish any trace of such an individuality. As often as not it is futile to wear yourself out trying to distinguish individual destinies and personalities. When all's said and done, the idea of the uniqueness of the individual is nothing more than pompous absurdity. We remember our own lives, Schopenhauer wrote somewhere, a little better than a novel we once read. That's about right: a little, no more.\n\n### 5\n\nVAL\u00c9RIE WAS AGAIN overwhelmed with work in the last two weeks of June; the problem with working with a number of countries is that with the time differences you could almost be working twenty-four hours a day. The weather became increasingly warmer, heralding a magnificent summer; until now, we had had little opportunity to take advantage of it. After work, I liked to go and wander round Tang Fr\u00e8res, I even made an attempt to take up Eastern cooking. But it was too complicated for me, there was a completely new balance to understand between ingredients, a special way of chopping vegetables, it was almost a different mind-set. In the end I settled for Italian, something which was much more my level. I would never have believed that some day I would take pleasure in cooking. Love sanctifies.\n\nIn his fiftieth sociology lesson, Auguste Comte tackles that 'strange metaphysical aberration' which conceives the family as the template for society. 'Founded chiefly upon attachment and gratitude, the domestic union satisfies, by its mere existence, all our sympathetic instincts quite apart from all idea of active and continuous cooperation towards any end unless it be that of its own institution. When, unhappily, the coordination of employments remains the only principle of connection, the domestic union degenerates into mere association, and in most cases will soon dissolve altogether.' At the office I continued to do the bare minimum; all the same, I had two or three important exhibitions to organise; I got through them without any difficulty. Office work isn't very difficult \u2013 you simply have to be reasonably meticulous and be decisive. I had rapidly realised that you did not necessarily have to make _the right decision_ , it was sufficient, in most cases, to make _any old decision_ , as long as you made it quickly \u2013 if you work in the public sector, at least. I binned some projects and green lighted others: I did this based on insufficient information. In ten years, not once had I asked for additional information and, in general, I didn't feel the slightest remorse. Deep down, I had pretty little respect for the contemporary art scene. Most of the artists I knew behaved exactly like entrepreneurs: they carefully reconnoitred emerging markets, then tried to get in fast. Just like entrepreneurs, they had been at the same few colleges, they were cast from the same mould. There were some differences, however: in the art market, innovation was at a greater premium than in most other professional sectors; moreover, artists often worked in packs or networks, in contrast to entrepreneurs who were solitary beings surrounded by enemies \u2013 shareholders ready to drop them at a moment's notice, executives always ready to betray them. But in the artists' proposals I dealt with, it was rare for me to come across a sense of genuine inner desire. At the end of June, however, there was the Bertrand Bredane exhibition, which I had passionately supported from the outset \u2013 to the great surprise of Marie-Jeanne, who had become accustomed to my meek indifference and was herself repelled by works of that nature. He was not exactly a young artist, he was already forty-three and, physically, he was knackered \u2013 he looked a little like the alcoholic poet in _Le Gendarme de Saint-Tropez_. He was chiefly famous for leaving rotting meat in young girls' panties, or breeding flies in his own excrement and then releasing them into the galleries. He had never been really successful, he didn't have the right connections, and he stubbornly persisted in a rather dated 'trash' aesthetic. I sensed in him a certain authenticity, but maybe it was simply the authenticity of failure. He seemed a little unbalanced. His most recent project was even worse \u2013 or better, depending on one's point of view \u2013 than his earlier work. He had made a video following the fate of the bodies people donate to medical science after their death \u2013 being used for dissection practice in medical schools, for example. A number of genuine medical students were to mingle with the audience and from time to time, flash a severed hand or an eyeball that had been gouged out \u2013 to play, in fact, the kind of practical jokes of which medical students are apparently so fond. I made the mistake of taking Val\u00e9rie to the opening even though she'd had an exhausting day. To my surprise, it was pretty well attended and the crowd included a number of major celebrities: could it be that Bertrand Bredane's moment had arrived? After about half an hour, Val\u00e9rie had had enough and asked me if we could leave. A medical student rushed up to her holding a severed dick in his hand, the testicles still fringed with hair. She turned her head away, sickened, and led me to the exit. We sought refuge in the Caf\u00e9 Beaubourg.\n\nHalf an hour later, Bertrand Bredane made his entrance, accompanied by two or three girls and some other people, among whom I recognised the director of sponsorship at a major venture capital firm. They took the table next to us; I couldn't not go and say hello to them. Bredane was visibly pleased to see me, it was true that that evening I'd given him a particularly warm handshake. The conversation dragged on, Val\u00e9rie came and sat with us. I don't know who suggested we go for a drink at Bar-Bar; probably Bredane himself. I made the mistake of accepting. Most of the partner-swapping clubs which had tried to introduce an S&M night had failed. Bar-Bar, on the other hand, had specialised in sadomasochistic practices since it opened, and, though it didn't have a particularly strict dress code \u2013 except on certain nights \u2013 had been packed from the start. As far as I was aware, the S&M scene was a pretty particular milieu, made up of people who were no longer really interested in ordinary sexual practices, and consequently disliked going to regular orgy clubs.\n\nNear the entrance, a chubby-faced woman of fifty-something, gagged and handcuffed, swung in a cage. Looking more closely, I discovered she was shackled, her heels attached to the bars of the cage with metal chains; she was wearing nothing but a leatherette corset on to which spilled her large sagging breasts. She was, as was the custom of the place, a slave whose master was going to auction her off for the evening. She didn't seem to find it terribly amusing. I noticed that she turned this way and that, trying to hide her arse, which was completely riddled with cellulite; but it was impossible \u2013 the cage was open on all four sides. Maybe she did this for a living; I knew it was possible to make between one to two thousand francs a night by renting yourself out as a slave. My impression was that she was a junior white-collar worker, maybe a switchboard operator for the Social Security, who was doing this to make ends meet.\n\nThere was only one table free, near the entrance to the first torture chamber. Immediately we sat down, a bald, pot-bellied middle-manager in a three-piece suit came by on a leash, led by a black, bare-arsed dominatrix. She stopped at our table and ordered him to strip to the waist. He obeyed. She took a pair of metal clamps from her bag; for a man, his breasts were pretty fat and flabby. She closed the clamps on his nipples, which were red and distended. He winced in pain. She tugged on his leash; he got back on all fours and followed her as best he could; the pasty folds of his belly wobbled in the dim light. I ordered a whisky, Val\u00e9rie an orange juice. She stared stubbornly at the table, not watching what was going on around her, nor taking part in the conversation. In contrast, Marjorie and G\u00e9raldine, the two girls I knew from the Plastic Arts Delegation, seemed to be very excited. 'It's tame tonight, very tame...' muttered Bredane, disappointed. He went on to explain to us that, some nights, customers had needles pushed through their balls or the heads of their cocks; once he'd even see a guy whose dominatrix had torn out a fingernail with a pair of pliers. Val\u00e9rie flinched in revulsion.\n\n'I find the whole thing completely disgusting...' she said, unable to contain herself any longer.\n\n'Why _disgusting_?' G\u00e9raldine protested. 'As long as the participants are freely consenting, I don't see the problem. It's a contract, that's all.'\n\n'I don't believe you can _freely consent_ to humiliation and suffering. And even if you can, I don't think it's reason enough.'\n\nVal\u00e9rie was really angry. For a moment I thought about moving the conversation on to the Arab\u2013Israeli war, then I realised that I didn't give a shit what these girls thought; if they never phoned me again, it would simply reduce my workload. 'Yeah, I find these people a little disgusting...' I upped the ante, 'And I find you disgusting too...' I said more quietly.\n\nG\u00e9raldine didn't hear, or she pretended not to hear. 'If I'm a consenting adult,' she went on, 'and my fantasy is to suffer, to explore the masochistic part of my sexuality, I don't see any reason why anyone should try and stop me. We are living in a democracy...' She was getting angry too, I could sense that it wouldn't be long before she mentioned human rights. At the word 'democracy', Bredane shot her a slightly contemptuous look; he turned to Val\u00e9rie. 'You're quite right...' he said gravely, 'it's completely disgusting. When I see a man agreeing to have his nails torn out with a pair of pliers, then have someone shit on him, and eat his torturer's shit, I find that disgusting. But, it's precisely what is disgusting in the human animal that interests me.'\n\nAfter a few seconds, Val\u00e9rie asked in an agonised voice: 'Why?...'\n\n'I don't know,' Bredane answered simply. 'I don't believe we have a dark side, because I don't believe in any form of damnation, nor in benediction for that matter. But I have a feeling that as we get closer to suffering and cruelty, to domination and servility, we hit on the essential, the intimate nature of sexuality. Don't you think so?...' He was talking to me now. No, actually, I didn't think so. Cruelty is a primordial part of the human, it is found in the most primitive peoples: in the earliest tribal wars, the victors were careful to spare the lives of some of their prisoners to let them die later, suffering hideous tortures. This tendency persisted, it is constant throughout history, it remains true today: as soon as a foreign or civil war begins to erase ordinary moral constraints, you find human beings \u2013 regardless of race, people, culture \u2013 eager to launch themselves into the joys of barbarism and massacre. This is attested, unchanging, indisputable, but it has nothing whatever to do with the quest for sexual pleasure \u2013 equally primordial, equally strong. So, all in all, I didn't agree; but I was aware, as always, that the discussion was pointless.\n\n'Let's take a look round...' said Bredane after he'd finished his beer. I followed him, along with the others, into the first torture chamber. It was a vaulted cellar, the brickwork exposed. The atmospheric music consisted of a series of very deep chords on an organ, overlaid with the shrieks of the damned. I noticed that the bass speakers were huge; there were red spotlights all over the place, masks and torture implements hung from iron racks; the conversion must have cost them a fortune. In an alcove, a bald, almost fleshless guy was chained by all four limbs, his feet trapped in a wooden contraption which kept him about a foot off the ground, his arms were raised by a pair of handcuffs attached to the ceiling. A booted, gloved dominatrix, dressed completely in black latex, circled him armed with a whip of fine lashes encrusted with precious stones. First, and for a long time, she thrashed his buttocks with heavy strokes; the guy was facing us, completely naked; he screamed in pain. A small crowd gathered around the couple. 'She must be at level two...' Bredane whispered to me. 'Level one is where you stop when you see first blood.' The guy's cock and balls hung down, stretched and almost contorted. The dominatrix circled round him, rummaged in a bag on her belt and took out a number of hooks which she stuck into his scrotum; a little blood beaded on the surface. Then, more gently, she began to whip his genitals. It was a very close thing: if one of the lashes caught on a hook, the skin of the scrotum could rip. Val\u00e9rie turned her head and pressed herself against me. 'Let's go...' she said, her voice pleading; 'let's go, I'll explain later.' We went back to the bar; the others were so fascinated by the spectacle that they didn't notice us leave. 'The girl who was whipping that guy...' she told me quietly, 'I recognised her. I've only ever seen her once before, but I'm sure it's her... It's Audrey, Jean-Yves's wife.'\n\nWe left immediately. In the taxi Val\u00e9rie was silent, devastated. She remained silent in the lift and until we reached the apartment. It was only when the door closed behind us that she turned to me:\n\n'Michel... you don't think I'm too conventional?'\n\n'No, I hate that stuff too.'\n\n'I can understand that torturers exist: I find it disgusting, but I know there are people who take pleasure in torturing others; what I don't understand is that victims exist. It's beyond me that a human being could come to prefer pain to pleasure. I don't know \u2013 they need to be re-educated, to be loved, to be taught what pleasure is.'\n\nI shrugged my shoulders as if to suggest that the subject was beyond me \u2013 something which now happened in almost every aspect of my life. The things people do, the things they are prepared to endure... there was nothing to be made of all this, no overall conclusion, no meaning.\n\nI undressed in silence. Val\u00e9rie sat on the bed beside me. I sensed that she was still tense, preoccupied by the subject.\n\n'What scares me about it all,' she said, 'is that there's no physical contact. Everyone wears gloves, uses equipment. Skin never touches skin, there's never a kiss, a touch or a caress. For me, it's the very antithesis of sexuality.'\n\nShe was right, but I suppose that S&M enthusiasts would have seen their practices as the apotheosis of sexuality, its ultimate form. Each person remains trapped in his skin, completely given over to his feelings of individuality; it was one way of looking at things. What was certain, in any case, was that that kind of place was increasingly fashionable. I could easily imagine girls like Marjorie and G\u00e9raldine going to them, for example; although I had trouble imagining them being able to abandon themselves sufficiently for penetration, or indeed any kind of sexual scenario.\n\n'It's more straightforward than you might think...' I said at length. 'There's the sexuality of those who love each other, and the sexuality of those who don't love each other. When there's no longer any possibility of identifying with the other, the only thing left is suffering \u2013 and cruelty.'\n\nVal\u00e9rie pressed against me. 'We live in a strange world...' she said. In a sense, she was still innocent, protected from human reality by her insane working hours, which left her barely enough time to do the shopping, sleep, start again. She added: 'I don't like the world we live in.'\n\n### 6\n\n###### _It became apparent from our research that consumers have three major expectations: the desire to be safe, the desire for affection and the desire for beauty_.\n\n###### Bernard Guilbaud\n\nON JUNE 30, THE reservation figures from the travel agencies arrived. They were excellent. Eldorador Discovery was a success, it had immediately achieved better results than Eldorador Standard \u2013 which continued to slide. Val\u00e9rie decided to take a week's holiday: we went to her parents at Saint-Quay-Portrieux. I felt rather old to be playing the role of the fianc\u00e9 brought to meet the parents; after all, I was thirteen years older than she was, and this was the first time I had ever been in such a situation. The train stopped at Saint-Brieuc, her father was waiting for us at the station. He kissed his daughter warmly and hugged her to him for a long time; you could see that he missed her. 'You've lost a bit of weight...' he told her. Then he turned to me and offered me his hand, without really looking at me. I think he was intimidated too: he knew I worked for the Ministry of Culture, while he was just a farmer. Her mother was much more talkative; she grilled me at length about my life, my work, my hobbies. In the event, it wasn't so difficult. Val\u00e9rie was at my side; from time to time she answered for me and we would exchange looks. I couldn't imagine how I might behave in a situation like this if one day I had children; I couldn't really imagine much about the future.\n\nThe evening meal was a real feast: lobster, saddle of lamb, several cheeses, a strawberry tart and coffee. For my part, I was tempted to see this as evidence of acceptance, although obviously I knew that the menu had been planned in advance. Val\u00e9rie took the brunt of the conversation, mostly talking about her new job \u2013 about which I knew just about everything. I let my gaze wander over the curtain material, the ornaments, the family photos in their frames; it was touching and a little frightening.\n\nVal\u00e9rie insisted on sleeping in the room she had had as a teenager. 'You'd be better off in the guest room,' her mother insisted; 'two of you will be pushed for space.' It was true the bed was a little narrow, but I was very moved, as I pushed Val\u00e9rie's panties down and stroked her pussy, to think that this was where she slept when she was only thirteen or fourteen. Wasted years, I thought. I knelt at the foot of the bed, took off her pants completely and turned her towards me. Her vagina closed over the tip of my penis. I pretended to penetrate her, going in a couple of inches and pulling back in quick, short thrusts, squeezing her breasts between my hands. She came with a muffled cry, then burst out laughing. 'My parents...' she whispered, 'they're not asleep yet.' I penetrated her again, harder this time so that I could come. She watched me, her eyes shining, and placed a hand over my mouth just as I came inside her with a hoarse moan.\n\nLater, I studied the furniture in the room curiously. On a shelf, just above the _Biblioth\u00e8que Rose_ series, there were several little exercise books, carefully bound. 'Oh, those,' she said; 'I used to do them when I was about ten, twelve. Have a look if you like. They're Famous Five stories.'\n\n'How do you mean?'\n\n'Unpublished Famous Five stories, I used to write them myself, using the same characters.'\n\nI took them down: there was _Five in Outer Space, Five on a Canadian Adventure_. I suddenly had an image of a little girl full of imagination, a rather lonely girl, whom I would never know.\n\nIn the days that followed, we didn't do much beyond going to the beach. The weather was beautiful, but the water was too cold to swim in for long. Val\u00e9rie lay in the sun for hours at a time; she was recovering gradually: the last three months had been the hardest of her working life. One evening, three days after our arrival, I talked to her about it. It was at the Oceanic Bar; we'd just ordered cocktails.\n\n'You won't have so much work now, I suppose, now that you've launched the package?'\n\n'In the short term, no,' she smiled cynically. 'But we'll have to come up with something else pretty quickly.'\n\n'Why? Why not just stop at that?'\n\n'Because that's how the game goes. If Jean-Yves were here he'd tell you that that's the capitalist principle: if you don't move forward, you're dead. Unless you have a decisive competitive advantage which you can bank on for a couple of years; but we're not there yet. The principle of Eldorador Discovery is good \u2013 it's clever, canny if you like, but it's not really innovative, it's just a good mix of other concepts. The competition will see that it works and before you know it, they'll be doing the same thing. It's not that difficult to do; the hard part was setting it up in so little time. But I'm sure that Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res, for example, would be able to offer a similar package by next summer. If we want to keep our advantage, we have to innovate again.'\n\n'And it never ends?'\n\n'I don't think so, Michel. I'm well paid, I work in an industry I understand; I accept the rules of the game.'\n\nI must have looked serious; she put her hand on my neck. 'Let's go and eat...' she said. 'My parents will be waiting for us.'\n\nWe went back to Paris on Sunday evening. Val\u00e9rie and Jean-Yves had a meeting with \u00c9ric Leguen on Monday morning. He made a point of personally expressing the group's satisfaction with the first results of their recovery plan. As a bonus, the board of directors had unanimously decided to allocate shares to each of them, exceptional for executives who had been with the company less than a year.\n\nThat evening, the three of us had dinner in a Moroccan restaurant on the Rue des \u00c9coles. Jean-Yves was unshaven, his head was nodding and he looked a little puffy. 'I think he's started drinking,' Val\u00e9rie said to me in the taxi. 'He had a dreadful holiday with his wife and kids on the \u00cele de R\u00e9. They were supposed to be there for two weeks, but he left after a week. He told me he couldn't bear his wife's friends any more.'\n\nIt was true he didn't look at all well: he didn't touch his tagine, he constantly poured himself more wine. 'Here we go!' he said sarcastically, 'Here we go! We're getting into serious money now!' He shook his head, drained his wineglass, 'Sorry...' he said pitifully, 'sorry, I shouldn't talk like that.' He placed his hands, trembling slightly, on the table, waited; slowly he stopped trembling. Then he looked Val\u00e9rie straight in the eye.\n\n'You know what happened to Marylise?'\n\n'Marylise Le Fran\u00e7ois? No, I haven't seen her. Is she sick?'\n\n'Not sick, no. She spent three days in hospital on tranquillisers, but she's not sick. Actually, she was attacked, raped on the train to Paris, on her way home from work last Wednesday.'\n\nMarylise returned to work the following Monday. It was obvious she had been badly shaken; her movements were slow, almost mechanical. She told her story easily, too easily, it didn't seem natural: her voice was neutral, her face expressionless, rigid, it was as if she was unthinkingly repeating her police statement. Leaving work at 10.15 p.m., she had decided to take the 10.21 p.m. train, thinking it would be quicker than waiting for a taxi. The carriage was three-quarters empty. Four guys came up to her and immediately started insulting her. As far as she could tell, they were West Indian. She tried to talk to them, make a joke; for her trouble she got a couple of slaps which knocked her half-unconscious. At that point, they jumped her, two of them holding her down on the floor. Violently, brutally, they penetrated her every orifice. Every time she tried to make a sound, she was punched or slapped. It had gone on for a long time, the train had stopped at several stations; passengers got off, warily changed carriages. As the guys took turns raping her, they continued to taunt and insult her, calling her a slut and a douche-bag. By the end there was no one in the compartment. They ended up in a circle around her, spitting and pissing on her, then they shoved her with their feet, until she was half-hidden under one of the seats, then they calmly got off the train at the Gare de Lyon. Two minutes later, the first passengers to board called the police, who arrived almost immediately. The superintendent wasn't really surprised; according to him she'd been relatively lucky. Quite often when they had used the girl, these guys would end up shoving a piece of wood studded with nails into her vagina or her anus. The line was classed as dangerous.\n\nAn internal memo reminded employees of the usual safety measures, repeated that taxis were at their disposal should they need to work late and that fares would be entirely covered by the company. The number of security guards patrolling the grounds and the car park was increased.\n\nThat evening, as her car was being repaired, Jean-Yves drove Val\u00e9rie home. As he was stepping out of his office, he looked out over the chaotic landscape of houses, shopping centres, tower-blocks and motorway interchanges. Far away, on the horizon, a layer of pollution lent the sunset strange tints of mauve and green. 'It's strange,' he said to her, 'here we are inside the company like well-fed beasts of burden. And outside are the predators, the savage world. I was in S\u00e3o Paulo once, that's where evolution has really been pushed to its limits. It's not even a city any more, it's a sort of urban territory which extends as far as the eye can see, with its favelas, its huge office blocks, its luxury housing surrounded by guards armed to the teeth. It has a population of more than twenty million, many of whom are born, live and die without ever stepping outside the limits of its terrain. The streets are dangerous there: even in a car someone might pull a gun on you at a traffic light, or you might wind up being tailed by a gang; the really well-equipped gangs have machine-guns and rocket launchers. Businessmen and rich people use helicopters to get around almost all the time; there are helipads pretty much everywhere, on the roofs of banks and apartment blocks. At ground level the street is left to the poor \u2013 and the gangs.'\n\nAs he turned on to the motorway heading south, he added in a low voice: 'I've been having doubts lately. More and more now I have doubts about the sort of world we're creating.'\n\nA couple of days later, they returned to the subject. After he had parked on the avenue de Choisy, Jean-Yves lit a cigarette; he was silent for a moment, then he turned to Val\u00e9rie: 'I feel really terrible about Marylise... the doctors said she could go back to work, and it's true that in a sense, she's back to normal, she's not having panic attacks. But she never takes the initiative, it's as if she's paralysed. Every time there's a decision to be made, she comes and asks me; and if I'm not there, she's capable of waiting for hours without lifting a finger. For a marketing manager, it's not good enough; it can't go on like this.'\n\n'You're not going to fire her?'\n\nJean-Yves stubbed out his cigarette, stared out of the car for a long time; he gripped the steering wheel. He seemed to be more and more tense, unsettled; Val\u00e9rie noticed that even his suit was sometimes stained nowadays.\n\n'I don't know,' he whispered at last, with difficulty. 'I've never had to do anything like this. I couldn't fire her, that would be really shitty; but I'll have to find her another job where she has fewer decisions to make, fewer dealings with people. To make matters worse, ever since it happened, she's become more and more racist in her reactions. It's understandable, it's not hard to understand, but in the tourist industry it's just not acceptable. In our advertising, our catalogues, all our marketing material, we portray the locals as warm, welcoming, friendly people. That's the way it is: it really is a professional obligation.'\n\nThe following day, Jean-Yves broached the subject with Leguen, who had fewer qualms, and, a week later, Marylise was transferred to the accounts department to replace an employee who had just retired. Another marketing manager needed to be found for Eldorador. Jean-Yves and Val\u00e9rie handled the job interviews together. After they had seen about ten candidates, they had lunch in the company cafeteria to discuss the appointment.\n\n'I'd be quite tempted to go with Noureddine,' said Val\u00e9rie. 'He's incredibly talented, and he's already worked on quite a variety of projects.'\n\n'Yes, he is the best of the bunch; but I wonder if he might be a bit overqualified for the job. I can't really see him doing marketing for a travel company, I see him in something more prestigious, more _arty_. He'll get bored here, he won't stay. Our target market really is middle-of-the-road. And his parents being _beurs_ , that could cause problems. To appeal to people, we have to use a lot of clich\u00e9s about Arab countries: the hospitality, the mint tea, the festivals, the Bedouins... I've found that kind of thing doesn't really go down too well with Arabs here; in fact a lot of them don't really like Arab countries.\n\n'That's racial discrimination...' Val\u00e9rie said sardonically.\n\n'Don't be stupid!' Jean-Yves was getting angry; since he had come back from holiday, he was clearly overstressed, he was beginning to lose his sense of humour. 'Everyone does it. A person's origins are part of their personality, you have to take them into consideration, it's obvious. For example, I'd happily take a Moroccan or Tunisian immigrant \u2013 even one much more recent than Noureddine \u2013 to handle the negotiations with local suppliers. They have a foot in both camps which is a real advantage \u2013 the people they deal with are always wrong-footed. On top of that, they come across as someone who's made it in France, so the guys respect them immediately, they don't think they're going to be ripped off. The best negotiators I've ever had have always been people like that. But here, for this job, I'd be more tempted to take Birgit.'\n\n'The Danish girl?'\n\n'Yes. Purely as a designer; she's also very talented. She's really anti-racist \u2013 I think she lives with a Jamaican guy \u2013 she's a bit stupidly enthusiastic about anything exotic, on principle. She has no intention of having children just yet. All in all, I think she's the right fit.'\n\nThere was perhaps another reason, too, Val\u00e9rie realised some days later when she surprised Birgit putting her hand on Jean-Yves's shoulder. 'Yeah, you're right...' he admitted as they had coffee by the vending machine, 'my rap-sheet is getting worse, now I'm getting into sexual harassment... Look, it's only happened once or twice and it won't go any further than that \u2013 in any case, she's got a boyfriend.' Val\u00e9rie looked at him quickly. He needed a haircut. 'I wasn't having a go at you...' she said. Intellectually, he hadn't slipped at all: he was still capable of flawless assessments of situations and people, had an excellent eye for a financial set-up; but he seemed increasingly like a man who was unhappy, adrift.\n\nThey began to assess the customer-satisfaction surveys; a large number had been filled in, thanks to a prize draw in which the first fifty won a week's holiday. At first glance, the reasons for their dissatisfaction with Eldorador Standard were difficult to establish. The customers were satisfied with the accommodation and the location, satisfied with the food, satisfied with the activities and the sports offered; but that said, fewer and fewer of them were returning customers.\n\nBy chance, Val\u00e9rie happened on an article in _Tourisme Hebdo_ analysing consumers' new values. The author claimed to use the Holbrook and Hirschman model, which focuses on the emotion the consumer feels when faced with a product or service; but the conclusions were nothing new. The 'new consumers' were described as being less predictable, more eclectic, more sophisticated, more concerned with humanitarian issues. They no longer consumed to 'seem', but to 'be': _more serenity_. They had balanced diets, were careful about their health; they were slightly fearful of others and of the future. They demanded the right to be unfaithful out of curiosity, out of eclecticism; they favoured things which were solid, durable, authentic. They had ethical leanings: _more solidarity_ , etc. She had read all these things a hundred times: behavioural psychologists and sociologists transplanted the same words from one article to another, one magazine to another. In any case, they had already taken all these factors into account. The Eldorador villages were built of traditional materials, following the architectural traditions of the host country. The self-service menus were balanced, with ample room given over to selections of fresh vegetables, fruit, the Cretan diet. Among the activities on offer were yoga, relaxation therapy and Tai Chi. Aurore had signed the ethical tourism charter, gave regularly to the WWF. None of these things seemed sufficient to halt the decline.\n\n'I think people are just lying,' said Jean-Yves, having reread the summary of the customer surveys a second time. 'They say they're satisfied, they tick the box marked \"Good\" every time, but in reality they've been bored stiff for the whole holiday and they feel too guilty to admit it. I'm going to end up selling off all the resorts we can't convert to the Discovery formula and really go for it on the activity holidays: add four-by-fours, hot air balloon trips, traditional feasts in the desert, trips in dug-out canoes, scuba diving, white-water rafting, the works...'\n\n'We're not the only ones in the market.'\n\n'No...' he agreed, disheartened.\n\n'We should try spending a week at one of the clubs, incognito, not for any particular reason, just to see what the atmosphere is like.'\n\n'Yeah...' Jean-Yves sat up in his armchair, took a sheaf of listings. He flicked quickly through the pages. 'Djerba and Monastir are a disaster, but I think we're going to drop Tunisia altogether anyway. It's already too built-up, the competition are prepared to drop their prices to ludicrous levels; given our positioning, we could never follow them.'\n\n'Have you got any offers to buy?'\n\n'Oddly enough, yes. Neckermann are interested. They want to get into the Eastern European market: Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland... very bottom of the market, but the Costa Brava is already saturated. They're interested in our Agadir resort as well; it's a reasonable offer. I'm quite tempted to sell to them; even with southern Morocco, Agadir isn't taking off \u2013 I think people will always prefer Marrakech.'\n\n'But Marrakech is awful.'\n\n'I know... The strange thing is that Sharm-el-Sheikh isn't doing all that well. It's got a lot going for it: the most beautiful coral reefs in the world, trips to the Sinai desert...'\n\n'Yeah, but it's in Egypt.'\n\n'And...?'\n\n'I don't think people have forgotten the terrorist attack in Luxor in 1997. After all, there were fifty-eight dead. The only way you're going to sell Sharm-el-Sheikh is to take out the word \"Egypt\".'\n\n'What do you want to put in its place?'\n\n'I don't know, \"The Red Sea\" maybe?'\n\n'OK, \"The Red Sea\" it is.' He made a note and went back to leafing through the figures. 'Africa is doing well... that's strange. Cuba comes rather low. But Cuban music, that whole Latin vibe is hip isn't it? The Dominican Republic is always full for example.' He read the description of the Cuban resort: 'The Guardalavaca hotel is almost new, it's competitively priced. Not too sporty, not too family-oriented. \"Live the magic of Cuban nights to the wild rhythms of salsa...\" Numbers are down 15 per cent. Maybe we could go and have a look at the place: either there or Egypt.'\n\n'Wherever you want, Jean-Yves...' she answered wearily. 'In any case, it will do you good to get away without your wife.'\n\nAugust had settled over Paris; the days were hot, almost stifling, but the good weather didn't last: after a day or two a storm would come, the air would suddenly become cool. Then the sun would come out, the mercury in the thermometer, and the pollution index, would begin to rise again. To tell the truth, it was of limited interest to me. I had given up on peep-shows since I had met Val\u00e9rie; I had also given up, many years ago, on the urban adventure. Paris had never been a moveable feast for me, and I could think of no reason why it should become one. Still, ten or twelve years ago, when I was starting out in the Ministry of Culture, I used to go out to clubs and bars that were 'unmissable'; all I remember was a slight but persistent feeling of unease. I had nothing to say, I felt completely incapable of starting a conversation with anyone at all, I didn't know how to dance either. It was in such circumstances that I started to become an alcoholic. Alcohol didn't let me down, never once in my life: it has been a constant support to me. After about ten gin-and-tonics, I occasionally \u2013 pretty rarely, all in all it must have happened four or five times \u2013 managed to find the requisite energy to ask a girl to share my bed. The results, in general, were pretty disappointing: I couldn't get it up, and I usually fell asleep after a couple of minutes. Later, I discovered the existence of Viagra; elevated blood-alcohol levels limited its effectiveness a lot, but if you boosted the dosage, you could still get somewhere. The game, in any case, wasn't really worth the candle. In fact, before Val\u00e9rie, I had never met a single girl who could come close to a Thai prostitute; or maybe when I was very young, I managed to feel something when I was with girls of sixteen or seventeen. But in the world I moved in it was a complete disaster. The girls weren't remotely interested in sex, only in seduction \u2013 and even then it was a kind of \u00e9litist, trashy, bizarre seduction that was not the least bit erotic. In bed, they were simply incapable of the least thing. Either that, or they needed fantasies, a whole lot of fastidious, kitschy scenarios, the mere mention of which was enough to make me sick. They liked to talk about sex, that much was true, in fact it was their only real topic of conversation; but they didn't have the slightest sensual innocence. Actually, the men weren't much better. In any case, the French have a penchant for talking about sex at every possible opportunity without ever doing anything; but it was seriously starting to depress me.\n\nAnything can happen in life, especially nothing. But this time at least something had happened in my life: I had found a lover and she made me happy. Our August was very quiet. Espitalier, Leguen and most of the other senior executives at Aurore had gone away on holiday. Val\u00e9rie and Jean-Yves had decided not to make any important decisions before the Cuba trip at the beginning of September; it was a break, a period of calm. Jean-Yves was a bit better. 'He finally decided to go see a whore,' I learned from Val\u00e9rie; 'He should have done it long ago. He's drinking less now, he's calmer.'\n\n'All the same, from what I remember, hookers aren't up to much.'\n\n'Yeah, but this is different, these girls work via the internet. They're pretty young, some of them are still students. They don't take many clients, they pick and choose, they don't do it just for the money. At least, he told me it's pretty good. If you want we can try it sometime. A bisexual girl for the two of us: I know men are turned on by all that and, actually, I like girls too.'\n\nWe didn't do it that summer; but the simple fact that she had suggested it was tremendously exciting. I was lucky. She knew the different things that kept male desire alive \u2013 well, not completely, that was impossible, but let's say enough to make love from time to time, while waiting for everything to come to an end. In fact, being aware of such things is nothing, it's so easy, so pathetic and easy; but she enjoyed doing these things, she took pleasure in them, she enjoyed seeing the desire rising in my eyes. Often, in a restaurant, when she came back from the toilet, she would place the panties she had just taken off on the table. Then she liked to slip a hand between my legs to make the most of my erection. Sometimes she would open my flies and jerk me off right there, hidden by the tablecloth. In the mornings, too, when she woke me with fellatio and handed me a cup of coffee before taking me into her mouth again, I would feel a dizzying rush of gratitude and gentleness. She knew how to stop just before I came, she could have kept me on the brink for hours. I lived inside a game, a game which was tender and exciting, the only game left to adults; I moved through a universe of gentle desires and limitless moments of pleasure.\n\n### 7\n\nAT THE END of August, the estate agent in Cherbourg phoned to tell me he had found a buyer for my father's house. The guy wanted me to drop the price a little, but he was prepared to pay cash. I accepted immediately. Very shortly, I would, therefore, receive a little more than two million francs. At the time, I was working on a proposal for a touring exhibition in which frogs were to be released onto playing cards spread out in a mosaic-tiled enclosure \u2013 some of the tiles had been engraved with the names of great men of history, such as D\u00fcrer, Einstein or Michelangelo. The lion's share of the budget was allocated to buying the decks of cards: they needed to be changed fairly frequently; the frogs had to be changed too, from time to time. The artist wanted, at least for the inaugural exhibition in Paris, to use Tarot cards; in the provinces, he was prepared to make do with ordinary playing cards. I decided to go to Cuba for a week with Val\u00e9rie and Jean-Yves in early September. I had intended to pay my way, but she told me she would sort things out with the group.\n\n'I won't get in the way of your work...' I promised.\n\n'We're not really going to work, you know, we'll just behave like ordinary tourists. We're not going to do anything much, but that in itself is very important: we're going to try and work out what's going wrong, why there's no atmosphere at the resort, why people don't come back thrilled from their holidays. You won't be in the way at all; on the contrary, you could be very useful.'\n\nWe took the mid-afternoon flight to Santiago de Cuba on Friday September 5. Jean-Yves hadn't been able to stop himself bringing along his laptop, but he seemed relaxed in his pale-blue polo neck, ready for a holiday. Shortly after take-off, Val\u00e9rie put her hand on my thigh; she relaxed, her eyes closed. 'I'm not worried, we'll work out what's wrong...' she'd said to me as we were leaving.\n\nThe transfer from the airport took two and a half hours. 'Negative number one...' noted Val\u00e9rie; 'we must check and see if there's a flight into Holguin.' In front of us in the coach, two little old ladies of about sixty, with blue-grey perms, twittered constantly, pointing out items of interest as we passed: men cutting sugar cane, a vulture wheeling over the fields, two cows returning to their byre... They had the air of ladies determined to be interested in everything, they seemed dry and difficult; I got the impression they wouldn't be easy customers. Sure enough, when the rooms were being allocated, twitterer A doggedly insisted on having a room next door to twitterer B. This sort of demand had clearly not been anticipated, the receptionist couldn't understand at all, the resort manager had to be sent for. He was about thirty, with a head like a ram and a stubborn air, his narrow brow furrowed with worry lines, in fact he looked a lot like the actor Nagui. 'No problem, okay...' he said when the issue had been explained to him; 'No problem, okay, my dear lady. This evening is not possible, but tomorrow we have some people leaving and we will change your room.'\n\nA porter took us to our ocean-view chalet, turned on the air conditioning and left with a dollar tip. 'There we go...' said Val\u00e9rie sitting down on the bed. 'The meals are served buffet style. It's an all-in package including snacks and cocktails. The disco opens at eleven. There's a supplement for massages and for lighting the tennis-courts at night.' The aim of tourist companies is to make people happy, for a specified price, for a specified period. The task can be an easy one, or it can prove impossible \u2013 depending on the nature of the people, the services offered and other factors. Val\u00e9rie took off her trousers and her blouse. I lay down on the other twin bed. A source of permanent, accessible pleasure, our genitals exist. The god who created our misfortune, who made us short-lived, vain and cruel, has also provided this form of meagre compensation. If we couldn't have sex from time to time, what would life be? A futile struggle against joints that stiffen, caries that form. All of which, moreover, is as uninteresting as humanly possible \u2013 the collagen which makes muscles stiffen, the appearance of microbic cavities in the gums. Val\u00e9rie parted her thighs above my mouth. She was wearing a pair of sheer tanga briefs in purple lace. I pushed the fabric aside and wet my fingers in order to stroke her labia. For her part, she undid my trousers and took my penis in the palm of her hand. She began to massage my balls gently, unhurriedly. I grabbed a pillow so my mouth would be at the same level as her pussy. At that moment, I saw a maid sweeping the sand from the terrace. The curtains and the window were wide open. As her eyes met mine, the girl burst out laughing. Val\u00e9rie sat up and motioned to her to come in. She stayed where she was, hesitant, leaning on her broom. Val\u00e9rie got up, walked towards her and held out her hands. As soon as the girl was inside, she started to open the buttons of her blouse: she was wearing nothing underneath but a pair of white cotton panties; she must have been about twenty, her body was very brown, almost black, she had a firm little bust and finely curved buttocks. Val\u00e9rie drew the curtains; I got up in turn. The girl's name was Margarita. Val\u00e9rie took her hand and placed it on my penis. She burst out laughing again, but started to jerk me off. Val\u00e9rie quickly took off her bra and panties, lay down on the bed and started to stroke herself. Again, Margarita hesitated for a moment, then she took off her panties and knelt between Val\u00e9rie's thighs. First she looked at her pussy, stroking it with her hand, then she brought her mouth closer and began to lick it. Val\u00e9rie put her hand on Margarita's head to guide her as she continued to jerk me off with her other hand. I felt that I was going to come; I backed off and went to look for a condom in my wash bag. I was so excited that I had trouble finding one. As I put it on, my vision seemed almost blurred. The little black girl's arse rose and fell as she bobbed over Val\u00e9rie's pubis. I penetrated her in one thrust, her pussy was open like a fruit. She moaned quietly, pushed her buttocks towards me. I started to thrust in and out of her any old how, my head was spinning, shudders of pleasure coursed through my body. It was getting dark, you could hardly see anything in the room now. From far, far away, as though from another world, I heard Val\u00e9rie's rising cries. I pressed my hands hard against Margarita's arse, thrusting into her harder and harder. At the moment Val\u00e9rie screamed, I came in turn. For a second or two I had the impression of weightlessness, of floating in space. Then the feeling of gravity returned, I suddenly felt exhausted. I collapsed on the bed into their arms.\n\nLater, I vaguely saw Margarita getting dressed. Val\u00e9rie rummaged in her bag to give her something. They kissed on the doorstep; outside, it was dark. 'I gave her forty dollars...' said Val\u00e9rie lying down again beside me; 'That's the price Western men pay. To her, it's a month's salary.' She turned on the bedside lamp. Silhouettes passed by, formed shadow puppets against the curtains; we could hear the murmur of conversation. I placed a hand on her shoulder.\n\n'It was great...' I said in a tone of incredulous wonder. 'It was really great.'\n\n'Yes, she's very sensual, that girl. She was really good when she went down on me too.'\n\n'It's strange, what sex costs...' I went on. 'I get the impression that it doesn't really depend on a country's standard of living. Obviously, depending on the country, what's on offer is completely different; but the basic price is always pretty much the same: the amount Westerners are prepared to pay.'\n\n'Do you think that's what they call _supply-side economics_?'\n\n'I've no idea...' I shook my head. 'I've never really understood anything about economics; it's like I have a mental block.'\n\nI was very hungry, but the restaurant didn't open until eight o'clock; I drank three pi\u00f1a coladas at the bar while watching the pre-dinner entertainment. The effects of orgasm dissipated only slowly, I was a bit tipsy and from a distance all the reps looked like Nagui. Actually, they didn't, some of them were younger, but they all had something odd about them, a shaven head, a goatee or dreadlocks. They gave terrifying cries and from time to time grabbed members of the audience to force them onstage. Thankfully, I was too far away to be in any serious danger.\n\nThe bar manager was pretty tiresome; he was, for want of a better word, useless: every time I needed something, he simply waved contemptuously in the direction of the waiters. He looked a bit like an elderly bullfighter, with his scars and his small, contained pot belly. His yellow swimsuit hugged his penis very precisely; he was well hung, and he was determined to let it be known. As I was heading back to my table, having obtained, with extreme difficulty, my fourth cocktail, I saw the man approach one of the neighbouring tables, occupied by a compact group of fifty-something _qu\u00e9b\u00e9coises_. I had already noticed them when they arrived: they were thickset and tough, all teeth and blubber, talking incredibly loudly; it wasn't difficult to understand how they had managed to bury their husbands so quickly. I had a feeling that it wouldn't be wise to let them go in front of you in the queue at the self-service, or to grab a bowl of cereal that one of them had her eyes on. As the ageing hunk approached the table, they shot him amorous glances, almost becoming women again in the process. He strutted extravagantly in front of them, accentuating his coarseness at regular intervals by gestures through his swimsuit, as though to confirm the physical existence of his meat and two veg. The fifty-something _qu\u00e9b\u00e9coises_ seemed thrilled by his suggestive company; their aged, worn-out bodies still craved sunshine. He played his part well, whispered softly into the ears of these old creatures, referring to them, Cuban fashion, as ' _mi corazon_ ' or ' _mi amor_ '. Nothing more would come of this, that was clear: he was content to arouse some last quivers in their ageing pussies; but perhaps that was sufficient for them to go home with the impression that they had had a wonderful holiday. For them to recommend the holiday club to their girlfriends. I sketched out the plot of a socially aware pornographic film entitled _Senior Citizens on the Rampage_. It portrayed two gangs operating in a holiday club, one a group of elderly Italian men, the other of pensionettes from Quebec. Armed with nunchakus and ice picks, both gangs submit naked, bronzed teenagers to the most vile indecencies. Eventually, of course, they come face to face in the middle of a Club Med yacht; one after another the crew members, quickly rendered help-less, are raped before being thrown overboard by the bloodthirsty pensionettes. The film ends with a mammoth orgy of pensioners, while the boat, having slipped its moorings, sails straight for the South Pole.\n\nEventually, Val\u00e9rie joined me: she was wearing make-up and a short, white, see-through dress; I still wanted her. We found Jean-Yves at the buffet. He seemed relaxed, almost languid, and desultorily informed us of his first impressions. His room was acceptable, the entertainment seemed a little intrusive; he had just been up by the sound system and it was almost unbearable. The food wasn't up to much, he added, staring bitterly at his piece of boiled chicken. All the same, everyone seemed to be helping themselves generously, coming back to the buffet again and again; the OAPs in particular were astonishingly rapacious \u2013 you'd almost have thought they had spent the afternoon exhausting themselves at water sports and beach volleyball. 'They eat, they eat...' Jean-Yves observed wearily; 'What else do you expect them to do?'\n\nAfter dinner, there was a show where audience participation was once again called for. A woman of about fifty launched into a karaoke version of 'Bang-Bang' by Sheila. It was pretty brave of her; there was a smattering of applause. For the most part, however, the show was run by the reps. Jean-Yves looked as though he was ready to fall asleep; Val\u00e9rie calmly sipped on her cocktail. I looked at the next table: the people gave the impression that they were a little bored but they applauded politely at the end of each song. Customer dissatisfaction with holiday clubs didn't seem to me too difficult to understand; it appeared to be staring us in the face. The clientele was made up of OAPs or people 'of a certain age' and the reps seemed to be trying to doing their utmost to take them to heights of pleasure they could no longer attain, at least not that way. Val\u00e9rie and Jean-Yves, even I myself, in some sense, still had professional responsibilities in the real world; we were sober, respectable employees, each exhausted by routine worries, and suchlike. Most of the people sitting at these tables were in the same position: they were managers, teachers, doctors, engineers, accountants; or retired people who had once been employed in those professions. I couldn't understand how the reps could possibly expect us to launch ourselves enthusiastically into get-to-know-you evenings or song contests. I couldn't work out how at our age, in our position, we were supposed to have kept alive our sense of fun. At best, the entertainment had been designed to amuse the under-fourteens.\n\nI tried to let Val\u00e9rie know my thoughts, but the holiday rep had started speaking again; he was holding the microphone too close and it made a terrible row. Now they were performing an improvisation inspired by Lagaf, or maybe by Laurent Baffie; whichever it was, they were sauntering around carrying palm fronds while a girl dressed as a penguin followed them, laughing at everything they said. The show ended with the club anthem and some silly dances; a few people in the front row moved about half-heartedly. Standing beside me, Jean-Yves stifled a yawn. 'Shall we go check out the disco?' he suggested.\n\nThere were about fifty people, but the reps were pretty much the only ones dancing. The DJ played a mix of techno and salsa. Eventually, a number of middle-aged couples tried a salsa. The organiser with the palm fronds wandered between the couples on the dance floor, clapping his hands and shouting: ' _Caliente! Caliente!_ '; I got the impression they found him more embarrassing than anything else. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a pi\u00f1a colada. Two cocktails later, Val\u00e9rie nudged me with her elbow, pointing to Jean-Yves. 'I think maybe we can leave him to it,' she whispered into my ear. He was talking to a very pretty girl of about thirty, probably Italian. They were very close, shoulder to shoulder; their faces inches from one other.\n\nThe night was hot, muggy. Val\u00e9rie took me by the arm. The rhythm of the disco died away; we could hear the drone of walkie-talkies, guards patrolled the inside of the compound. Past the pool, we turned left towards the ocean. The beach was deserted. Waves gently licked the sand a few feet from us; we could no longer hear a sound. Arriving at the chalet, I undressed and lay down on the bed to wait for Val\u00e9rie. She brushed her teeth, undressed in turn and came to join me. I pressed myself against her naked body. I placed one hand on her breasts, the other in the hollow of the belly. It was sweet.\n\n### 8\n\nWHEN I WOKE up I was alone and I had a slight headache. I staggered out of bed, lit a cigarette; after a couple of drags, I felt a bit better. I slipped on a pair of trousers, went out on to the terrace, which was covered in sand \u2013 it must have been windy during the night. Day had only just broken; the sky seemed cloudy. I walked a few metres towards the sea, and spotted Val\u00e9rie. She was diving straight into the waves, swimming a few strokes, getting up and diving again.\n\nI stopped, pulling on my cigarette; the wind was a little chilly, I hesitated to join her. She turned, saw me and shouted: 'Come on!' waving to me. At that moment, the sun burst from between two clouds, lighting her from the front. Light gleamed on her breasts and her hips, made the foam in her hair and her pubic hair sparkle. I stood rooted to the spot for a second or two, conscious that this was an image that I would never forget, that it would become one of those images which apparently flash before you in the few seconds which precede death.\n\nThe cigarette butt burned my fingers, I threw it on to the sand, undressed and walked towards the sea. The water was cool, very salty; it was a rejuvenating experience. A band of sunshine glimmered on the surface of the water, running straight to the horizon; I held my breath and dived into the sunlight.\n\nLater, we huddled together in a towel, watching day break over the ocean. Little by little, the clouds dispersed and the patches of light grew. Sometimes, in the morning, everything seems simple. Val\u00e9rie threw down the towel, offering her body to the sun. 'I don't feel like getting dressed...' she said. 'A bit...' I ventured. A bird glided low, scanning the surface of the water. 'I really like swimming, I really like making love...' she told me again. 'But I don't like dancing, I don't know how to enjoy myself, and I've always hated parties. Do you think that's normal?'\n\nI hesitated for a long time before replying. 'I don't know...' I said at last. 'All I know is that I'm the same.'\n\nThere weren't many people at the breakfast tables, but Jean-Yves was already there, sitting with a coffee in front of him, cigarette in hand. He hadn't shaved, and it looked as if he hadn't had much sleep; he gave us a little wave. We sat down opposite him.\n\n'So, everything go well with the Italian girl?' asked Val\u00e9rie, making a start on her scrambled eggs.\n\n'Not really, no. She started telling me all about her job in marketing, her problems with her boyfriend, how that was why she'd come on holiday. She got on my nerves, I went to bed.'\n\n'You should give the chambermaids a go...'\n\nHe smiled vaguely, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.\n\n'So, what are we up to today?' I asked. 'I mean... well, this is supposed to be a discovery holiday.'\n\n'Oh, yes...' Jean-Yves wearily pulled a face. 'Well, kind of. I mean, we didn't have time to get much set up. This is the first time I've worked with a socialist country; it seems it's a bit difficult getting things arranged at the last minute in socialist countries. Anyway, this afternoon, there's something involving dolphins...' He stopped himself, tried to be a little more precise. 'Well, if I've got it right, it's a dolphin show, and afterwards you can go swimming with them. I suppose you climb on their backs or something like that.'\n\n'Oh yeah, I know,' said Val\u00e9rie. 'It's crap. Everyone thinks that dolphins are these sweet, friendly mammals and stuff. Actually, it's not true, they live in highly structured hierarchical groups with a dominant male and they're really aggressive: they often fight to the death. The only time I ever tried swimming with dolphins, I was bitten by a female.'\n\n'Okay, okay...' Jean-Yves spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. 'Whatever the deal is, this afternoon there's dolphins for those who are interested. Tomorrow and the day after we're on a two-day trip to Baracoa; that should be pretty good, at least, I hope so. And then...' he thought for a moment; 'And then that's it. Actually, no, on the last day, before we head off to the airport, there's a lobster lunch and a visit to the cemetery in Santiago.'\n\nA few seconds' silence followed this pronouncement. 'Yeah...' Jean-Yves continued, 'I think we fucked up choosing this as our destination.'\n\n'In fact...' he went on after a moment's thought, 'I get the impression things aren't going too well at this resort. Well, I mean, not just from my point of view. Last night, at the disco, I didn't get the impression there were many couples getting together, even among the young people.' He was silent again for a few seconds ' _Ecco_...' he concluded, with a gesture of resignation.\n\n'The sociologist was right...' said Val\u00e9rie, thoughtfully.\n\n'What sociologist?'\n\n'Lagarrigue. The behavioural sociologist. He was right when he said we're a far cry from the days of the sun worshippers.'\n\nJean-Yves finished his coffee, shook his head bitterly. 'Really...' he said disgustedly, 'I really never thought that one day I'd feel nostalgic about the days of the sun worshippers.'\n\nTo get to the beach, we had to suffer an ambush of people hawking shitty handicrafts; but it was okay, there weren't too many, and they weren't too persistent \u2013 you could get rid of them with smiles and apologetic waves of the hand. During the day, Cubans had access to the hotel beach. They haven't got much to offer or to sell, Val\u00e9rie explained to me; but they try, they do their best. Apparently, no-one in this country could get by on just their wages. Nothing really worked: there was no petrol for the engines or spare parts for machines. Hence the sense of a rustic utopia which you noticed crossing the countryside: farmers working with oxen, getting about in horses and carts... But this was no utopia, nor some environmentalist re-creation: it was the reality of a country which could no longer sustain itself in the industrial age. Cuba still manages to export some agricultural produce like coffee, cocoa and sugar cane; but industrial output has fallen almost to zero. It's difficult to find even the most basic consumer products: soap, paper, biros. The only well-stocked shops sell imported products and you have to pay in dollars. So, everyone in Cuba gets by thanks to some secondary, tourist-related work. The privileged work directly for the tourist industry; the others try to get their hands on dollars, one way or another, in other services or through smuggling.\n\nI lay down on the sand to think. The bronzed men and women weaving between the tourists thought of us purely as wallets on legs, there was no point in deluding oneself; but it was just the same in every third-world country. What was particular about Cuba was this glaring problem with industrial production. I myself was completely incompetent in matters of industrial production. I was perfectly adapted to the information age, that is to say good for nothing. Like me, Val\u00e9rie and Jean-Yves knew only how to manage information and capital; they used their knowledge intelligently, competitively, while I used mine in more mundane, bureaucratic ways. But if, for example, a foreign power were to impose a blockade, not one of the three of us, nor anyone I knew, would have been capable of getting industrial production up and running again. We had not the least idea about casting metal, manufacturing parts, thermoforming plastics. Not to mention more complex objects like fibre optics or microprocessors. We lived in a world made up of objects whose manufacture, possible uses and functions were completely alien to us. I glanced around me, panic-stricken by this realisation: there was a towel, a pair of sunglasses, sun screen, a paperback by Milan Kundera. Paper, cotton, glass; complex machines, sophisticated manufacturing processes. Val\u00e9rie's swimsuit, for example, I was incapable of grasping the manufacturing process which had gone into making it: it was made of 80 per cent latex, 20 per cent polyurethane. I slipped two fingers under her bikini; under the artificial fibre construction I could feel the living flesh. I slipped my fingers in a little further, felt the nipple harden. This was something I could do, that I knew how to do. Little by little the heat became sweltering. Once in the water, Val\u00e9rie took off her bikini. She wrapped her legs around my waist and lay, floating on her back. Her pussy was already open, I smoothly penetrated her, thrusting inside her to the rhythm of the waves. There was no alternative. I stopped just before I came. We came back to dry ourselves in the sun.\n\nA couple passed us, a big black guy and a girl with very white skin, a nervous face and close-cropped hair, who looked at him as she talked, laughing too loudly. She was obviously American, maybe a journalist with the _New York Times_ or something like that. In fact, looking more closely, there were quite a lot of mixed couples on the beach. Further off, two big blond, slightly overweight guys with nasal accents laughed and joked with two superb girls with coppery skin.\n\n'They're not allowed to bring them back to the hotel...' said Val\u00e9rie, following my gaze. 'There are rooms you can rent in a village nearby.'\n\n'I thought Americans weren't allowed to come to Cuba.'\n\n'They're not, in theory, but they travel via Canada or Mexico. In fact, they're furious that they've lost Cuba. You can see why...' she said pensively. 'If ever there was a country in need of sex tourism, it's theirs. But for the moment, American companies are subject to the blockade, they're simply not allowed to invest. In any case, the country will end up becoming capitalist again, it's just a matter of years; but until then, the field is open for Europeans. That's why Aurore doesn't want to give up on it, even though the holiday club is having problems: now's the time to get an edge on the competition. Cuba represents a unique opportunity in the Caribbean\u2013West Indies zone.\n\n'Yep...' she went on cheerfully after a moment's silence. 'That's how we talk in my line of work... in the world of the global economy.'\n\n### 9\n\nTHE MINIBUS TO Baracoa left at eight in the morning; there were about fifteen people on board. They had already had an opportunity to get to know each other and were full of enthusiasm for the dolphins. The retirees (the majority), the two speech therapists who took their holidays together and the student couple, naturally, expressed their enthusiasm in slightly different lexical registers; but all would have felt able to agree on the following: a unique experience.\n\nAfterwards, the conversation turned to the features of the resort. I shot a glance at Jean-Yves sitting alone in the middle of the minibus. He had placed a notepad and a pen on the seat next to him. Leaning forward a little, his eyes half-closed, he was concentrating on getting down everything that was said. It was at this stage, obviously, that he hoped to glean a generous harvest of useful observations and impressions.\n\nOn the subject of the resort, too, there seemed to be a consensus of opinion among the members. The reps were unanimously considered 'nice', but the activities themselves were not very interesting. The rooms were good, except those close to the sound system, which were too noisy. As for the food, it really wasn't up to much.\n\nNone of those present took part in the early morning aerobics, or the salsa or Spanish lessons. In the end, what they liked best was the beach; all the more so as it was quiet. 'Activities and sound levels considered irritating', noted Jean-Yves on his pad.\n\nThe chalets received general approval, especially as they were far from the disco. 'Next time, we'll insist on a chalet!' a heavy-set retired man said emphatically; he was in the prime of life and evidently used to giving orders, in fact he had spent his entire career marketing the wines of Bordeaux. The two students were of the same opinion. 'Disco unnecessary', noted Jean-Yves, thinking despondently of all the useless investment.\n\nAfter the Cayo Saetia junction, the road got steadily worse. There were potholes and cracks which sometimes covered half the road surface. The driver was forced to zigzag continuously; we rattled around in our seats, pitched from left to right. The passengers reacted with shouts and laughter. 'It's okay, they're good-natured...' Val\u00e9rie said to me quietly. 'That's the great thing about Discovery Tours: you can subject them to horrible conditions; to them it's all part of the adventure. In this case, it's our fault: for this kind of trip you need a four-wheel drive.'\n\nJust before Moa, the driver swerved to the right to avoid an enormous rut. The vehicle skidded slowly and came to a halt in a pot-hole. The driver restarted the engine and revved hard: the wheels spun in the brownish mud, the minibus did not move. Desperately he tried several times, to no effect. 'Well...' said the wine merchant, folding his arms in a jovial manner, 'we'll have to get out and push.'\n\nWe got out of the vehicle. Before us stretched a vast plain encrusted with cracked brown mud, which looked unsanitary. Pools of stagnant water, which appeared almost black, were surrounded by tall grasses, withered and bleached. In the background, a huge factory of dark brick dominated the landscape, its twin chimney-stacks spewing out thick smoke. Rusted pipes ran from the factory and appeared to zigzag aimlessly through the middle of the plain. On the hard shoulder, a metal sign depicting Che Guevara exhorting the workers to the revolutionary development of the forces of production was itself beginning to rust. The air was pervaded by an appalling stench which seemed to rise from the mud itself rather than the pools of water.\n\nThe rut was not too deep and thanks to our concerted efforts we easily got the minibus back on the road. Everyone boarded the bus again, congratulated themselves. A little later we had lunch in a seafood restaurant. Jean-Yves consulted his notebook with a worried air; he hadn't touched his meal.\n\n'With the discovery holidays,' he concluded after considerable reflection, 'I think we're off to a good start; but with the standard resort, I really don't see what we can do.'\n\nVal\u00e9rie observed him calmly, sipping her iced coffee; she looked as though she didn't give a fuck.\n\n'Obviously,' he continued, 'we could just fire the team of reps; it would reduce our total wage bill.'\n\n'That would be a good start, yes.'\n\n'You don't think it's a bit radical as an idea?' he asked anxiously.\n\n'Don't worry about that. Being a rep at a holiday club village is no education for young people. It makes them stupid and lazy, and anyway it leads nowhere. The only thing they're fit for afterwards is to be a holiday club manager \u2013 or a TV presenter.'\n\n'Okay, then, I reduce the overall wage bill; but then again, they're not all that well paid. I'd be surprised if it saved us enough to be competitive with the German clubs. Anyway, I'll run up a spreadsheet simulation this evening, but I'm not convinced.'\n\nShe nodded in indifferent assent, something like: 'Go ahead and simulate, it can't do any harm.' She was really surprising me at this point, I thought she was cool. It's true we were fucking quite a lot, and there's no doubt that fucking is calming: it puts things in perspective. For his part, Jean-Yves looked ready to rush to his spreadsheet; I even wondered whether he was going to ask the driver to get his laptop out of the boot. 'Don't worry, we'll find a solution...' Val\u00e9rie said to him, shaking him affectionately by the shoulder. That seemed to calm him for a while; he quietly went back and took his seat on the minibus.\n\nOn the last leg of the journey, the passengers talked mostly about Baracoa, our final destination; they already seemed to know pretty much everything about the city. On 28 October 1492, Christopher Columbus dropped anchor in the bay, impressed by its flawlessly circular form. 'This is the most beautiful land human eyes have ever seen,' he had noted in his logbook. At the time, the region was solely inhabited by the Tainos Indians. In 1511, Diego Velazquez founded the city of Baracoa; it was the first Spanish city in the Americas. For more than four centuries, being accessible only by boat, it remained isolated from the rest of the island. In 1963, the construction of the Farola viaduct made it possible to establish a road link with Guantanamo.\n\nWe arrived at about three o'clock; the city stretched along the bay which did indeed form an almost perfect circle. The satisfaction of the group was universal and was expressed in appreciative exclamations. In the end, what all lovers of journeys of discovery seek is confirmation of what they've already read in their guidebooks. All in all, they were a dream audience: Baracoa, with its modest one star in the _Michelin Guide_ , was unlikely to disappoint them.\n\nThe El Castillo Hotel, situated in a former Spanish fortress, dominated the city. Viewed from above, it seemed magnificent; but to be honest, no more so than other cities. In truth it was actually quite nondescript, with its seedy tower blocks of blackened grey, so squalid that they looked uninhabited. I decided to stay by the pool, as did Val\u00e9rie. There were about thirty rooms, all occupied by tourists from Northern Europe, who all seemed to have come for much the same reasons. I first noticed two rather plump English women in their forties; one of them wore glasses. They were accompanied by two easy-going mixed-race guys, who were twenty-five, tops. They seemed comfortable with the situation, talked and joked with the fatties, held their hands, slipped their arms around their waists. For my part, I would have been completely incapable of doing this kind of work; I wondered if they had some kind of trick, something they could think about when they needed to get an erection. At some point, the English women went up to their rooms while the two guys stayed and chatted by the pool; if I was truly interested in human nature, I would have struck up a conversation, tried to find out a bit more. Still, maybe you just had to jerk off properly, an erection could probably be a purely mechanical reflex; biographies of male prostitutes would undoubtedly have enlightened me on this point, but the only thing I had at my disposal was _Discourse_ on the Positive Spirit. As I was leafing through the subsection entitled 'Popular politics, ever social, must above all become moral', I noticed a young German girl coming out of her room, accompanied by a big black guy. She looked exactly the way we imagine German girls, long blonde hair, blue eyes, a firm, pleasing body, big breasts. As a physical type, it's very attractive; the problem is it doesn't last: by the age of thirty there's work to be done, liposuction, silicone. Anyway, for the time being, things were fine, in fact she looked positively sexy \u2013 her suitor had been very lucky. I wondered whether she paid as much as the English women did, if there was a going rate for men as there was for women; here again research needed to be done, enquiries made. It was too exhausting for me, I decided to go up to my room. I ordered a cocktail which I sipped slowly on the balcony. Val\u00e9rie was sunning herself, taking a dip in the pool from time to time, I noticed she'd struck up a conversation with the German girl.\n\nShe came up to see me at about six; I'd fallen asleep with my book. She took off her swimsuit, showered and came to me, a towel wrapped around her waist; her hair was slightly damp.\n\n'You're going to think I'm obsessed with this, but I asked the German girl what black guys have that white guys don't. It's true, though: white women clearly prefer to sleep with Africans and white men with Asians. It's pretty obvious after a while. I need to know why, it's very important for my work.'\n\n'There are white men who like black women...' I observed.\n\n'It's not as common; sexual tourism is much rarer in Africa than it is in Asia. Of course, tourism in general is rarer, to be honest.'\n\n'What was her answer?'\n\n'Standard stuff: black guys are laid-back, virile, they have a sense of fun; they know how to enjoy themselves, they're not hung up, you never have any trouble with them.'\n\nThe German girl's reply was banal, true, but it provided the basis for a workable theory: all things considered, white men were repressed Negroes searching for some lost sexual innocence. Obviously it in no way explained the mysterious attraction which Asian women seemed to wield; nor the sexual prestige which, by all accounts, white men enjoyed in black Africa. I sketched out the basis of a more complex, more questionable theory: generally speaking, white people want to be tanned and to dance like Negroes; Negroes want to lighten their skin and straighten their hair. All humanity instinctively tends towards miscegenation, a generalised undifferentiated state, and it does so first and foremost through the elementary means of sexuality. The only person, however, to have pushed the process to its logical conclusion is Michael Jackson: he's neither black nor white any more, neither young nor old and, in a sense, neither man nor woman. Nobody could really imagine his private life; having grasped the categories of everyday humanity, he had done his utmost to go beyond them. This was why he could be considered a star, possibly the greatest \u2013 and, in fact, the first \u2013 in the history of the world. All the others - Rudolph Valentino, Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Humphrey Bogart \u2013 could at best be considered talented artists; they had done no more than imitate the human condition, had aesthetically transposed it. Michael Jackson was the first to have tried to go a little further.\n\nIt was an appealing theory, and Val\u00e9rie listened attentively as I explained it; I, on the other hand, was not entirely convinced. Did this mean that the first cyborg, the first individual to accept having elements of artificial, extra-human intelligence implanted into his brain, would immediately become a star? Probably, yes: but that actually had very little bearing on the subject. Michael Jackson might well be a star, but he was certainly not a sex symbol; if you wanted to encourage the sort of mass tourism that would warrant heavy investment, you had to turn to more basic forces of attraction.\n\nA little later, Jean-Yves and the others returned from their tour of the city. The local history museum was chiefly devoted to the customs of the Tainos, the first inhabitants of the region. It appeared that they had led a peaceable existence, dedicated to agriculture and fishing; conflicts between neighbouring tribes were practically nonexistent; the Spanish had had no difficulty in exterminating these creatures, who were ill-prepared for combat. Today, nothing of them remains apart from some minimal genetic traces in the physiognomy of a handful of individuals; their culture has completely disappeared, it might just as well have never existed. In a number of drawings made by the missionaries, who had attempted \u2013 more often than not in vain \u2013 to sensitise them to the message of the Gospel, they can be seen ploughing, or busying themselves cooking at the fire; bare-breasted women suckle their children. All of this gave the impression, if not of Eden, then at least of a slow pace of history; the arrival of the Spanish had speeded things up significantly. After the classic conflicts between the colonial powers who led the field at the time, Cuba gained its independence in 1898, only to fall immediately under American control. Early in 1959, after a civil war lasting many years, the revolutionary forces led by Fidel Castro overthrew the regular army, forcing Batista to flee. Considering that the whole world was forcibly divided into two camps at the time, Cuba had been quickly compelled to make overtures to the Soviet block and establish a Marxist-style regime. Deprived of logistical support after the collapse of the Soviet Union, now that regime was drawing to a close. Val\u00e9rie slipped on a short skirt slit up one side and a little black lace top; we had time for a cocktail before dinner.\n\nEveryone was gathered around the swimming pool, watching as the sun set over the bay. Near the shore, the wreck of a freighter slowly rusted. Other, smaller, boats floated, almost motionless, on the waters; it all exuded a powerful sense of decline. Not a sound drifted up from the streets of the city down below; a few streetlights flickered hesitantly into life. At Jean-Yves's table sat a man of about sixty, his face gaunt and exhausted, his expression gloomy; and another much younger man \u2013 no more than thirty \u2013 whom I recognised as the hotel manager. I had seen him several times during that afternoon moving nervously between the tables to make sure that everyone was happy; his face seemed to be ravaged by constant, needless worry. Seeing us approach, he got up quickly, brought two chairs over, called a waiter, ensured that the latter arrived without delay; then hurried to the kitchens. The old man at his side shot a cynical look at the swimming pool, the couples sitting at tables and, apparently, at the world at large. 'The poor people of Cuba...' he said after a long silence. 'They've nothing left to sell except their bodies.' Jean-Yves explained that this man lived nearby; he was the hotel manager's father. More than forty years before, he had fought in the revolution, he had been a member of one of the first companies to rally to the Castro uprising. After the war, he had worked in the nickel works at Moa, at first as a worker, then as a foreman, eventually \u2013 after he had gone back to university \u2013 as an engineer. His status as a revolutionary hero had made it possible for his son to obtain an important position in the tourist industry.\n\n'We have failed...' he said in a dull voice; 'and we deserved to fail. We had great leaders \u2013 exceptional, idealistic men who put the good of the country before their own personal gain. I remember _comandante_ Che Guevara, the day he came to open the cocoa-processing plant in our village; I can still remember his noble, honest face. No one could ever say that the _comandante_ had lined his pockets, that he tried to get favours for himself or his family. Nor could it be said of Camilo Cienfuegos, or any of the revolutionary leaders, not even of Fidel. It's true Fidel likes power, he wants to keep an eye on everything; but he is disinterested, he has no magnificent properties, no Swiss bank accounts. So, Che was there, he inaugurated the factory, he made a speech in which he urged the people of Cuba to win the peace through production, after the war for independence; it was just before he went to the Congo. We could easily win such a battle. The land here is fertile, the earth is rich and well irrigated, everything grows in abundance: coffee, cocoa, sugar cane, tropical fruit of every kind. The subsoil is rich in nickel ore. We had an ultra-modern factory, built with help from the Russians. In less than six months, production had fallen to half its normal level: all the factory workers stole chocolate, raw or in bars, gave it to their families, sold it to strangers. It was the same in all the factories, all over the country. If the workers couldn't find anything to steal, they worked badly, they were lazy, they were always sick, they were absent for the slightest reason. I spent years trying to talk to them, to persuade them to try a little harder for the sake of their country: I met with nothing but disappointment and failure.'\n\nHe fell silent; the last of the day floated above the Yunque, a mountain peak mysteriously truncated in the form of a table, which towered over the hills and which long ago had made a considerable impression on Christopher Columbus. What could possibly incite human beings to undertake tedious, tiresome tasks? This seemed to me the only political question worth posing. The old factory worker's evidence was damning: in his opinion, only the need for money; in any case, the revolution had obviously failed to create the _new man_ , driven by more altruistic motives. And so, like all societies, Cuba was nothing more than a system painstakingly rigged so as to allow some people to avoid tedious and tiresome tasks. Except that the system had failed, no one was fooled any longer, no one was sustained any more by the hope of one day rejoicing in communal labour. The result was that nothing functioned, no one worked or produced the slightest thing any longer, and Cuban society had become incapable of ensuring the survival of its own members.\n\nThe other members of the tour got up and headed towards the tables. I racked my brain desperately for something optimistic to say to the old man, some vague message of hope; but no, there was nothing. As he so bitterly foresaw, Cuba would soon become a capitalist country again, and nothing would remain of the revolutionary hopes he had nurtured \u2013 only a sense of failure, futility and shame. No one would respect or follow his example, his life would in fact become an object of revulsion to future generations. He would have fought, and afterwards worked his whole life, completely in vain.\n\nDuring the meal, I drank quite a bit and, by the end, I found I was completely smashed; Val\u00e9rie looked at me a little anxiously. The salsa dancers were getting ready for their show; they were wearing pleated skirts and multicoloured sheathes. We took our seats on the terrace. I knew more or less what I wanted to say to Jean-Yves; had I chosen an opportune moment? I felt that he was a little distraught, but relaxed. I ordered one last cocktail, lit a cigar before turning to him.\n\n'You really want to find a new formula that would save your holiday clubs?'\n\n'Of course I do, that's why I'm here.'\n\n'Offer a club where the people get to fuck. That's what they're missing more than anything. If they haven't had their little holiday romance, they go home unsatisfied. They wouldn't dare admit it, they might not even realise it, but the next time they go on holiday, they go with a different company.'\n\n'They can fuck all they like, everything has been set up to encourage them to; that's the basic principle of holiday clubs; why they don't actually fuck, I haven't the faintest idea.'\n\nI swept the objection aside with a wave of my hand. 'I don't know either, but that's not the problem; there's no point trying to find out the causes of this phenomenon, always supposing the phrase actually means something. Something must be happening to make Westerners stop sleeping with each other; maybe it's something to do with narcissism, or individualism, the cult of success, it doesn't matter. The fact is that from about the age of twenty-five or thirty, people find it very difficult to meet new sexual partners; although they still feel the need to do so, it's a need which fades very slowly. So they end up spending thirty years of their lives, almost the entirety of their adult lives, suffering permanent withdrawal.'\n\nHalfway along the path to inebriation, just before mindlessness ensues, one sometimes experiences moments of heightened lucidity. The decline of western sexuality was undoubtedly a major sociological phenomenon which it would be futile to attempt to explain by such and such a specific psychological factor; glancing at Jean-Yves, I realised however that he perfectly illustrated my thesis, so much so that it was almost embarrassing. Not only did he not fuck any more and didn't have the time to go looking, but he no longer really wanted to, and, worse still, he felt this decay written on his flesh \u2013 he was beginning to smell of the stench of death. 'But...' he objected after a long moment of hesitation, 'I've heard wife-swapping clubs are quite successful.'\n\n'No, actually, they're doing less and less well. There are a lot of clubs opening up, but they close almost immediately because they haven't got the customers. As a matter of fact, there are only two clubs making a go of it in Paris, Chris et Manu and 2 + 2, and even they are only full on Saturday night: for a city of ten million people, it's not much, it's a lot less than at the beginning of the 1990s. Wife-swapping clubs are a nice formula, but they're seen as more and more pass\u00e9, because people don't want to swap anything any more, it doesn't suit modern sensibilities. In my opinion, wife-swapping has as much chance of surviving today as hitch-hiking did in the 1970s. The only thing that is doing any business at the moment is S&M...' At that point, Val\u00e9rie shot me a panicked look, she even gave me a kick in the shins. I looked at her, surprised. It took me a few seconds to work it out: no, of course I wasn't going to mention Audrey; I gave her a little reassuring nod. Jean-Yves hadn't noticed the interruption.\n\n'Therefore,' I went on, 'you have several hundred million Westerners who have everything they could want but no longer manage to obtain sexual satisfaction: they spend their lives looking, but they don't find it and they are completely miserable. On the other hand, you have several billion people who have nothing, who are starving, who die young, who live in conditions unfit for human habitation and who have nothing left to sell except their bodies and their unspoiled sexuality. It's simple, really simple to understand: it's an ideal trading opportunity. The money you could make is almost unimaginable: vastly more than from computing or biotechnology, more than the media industry; there isn't a single economic sector that is comparable.'\n\nJean-Yves didn't say anything; at that moment, the band began the first number. The dancers were pretty and smiling, their pleated skirts whirled, amply revealing their tanned thighs; they illustrated my point perfectly. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't say anything, that he would simply digest the idea. However, after about five minutes, he said:\n\n'It doesn't really work for Muslim countries, your idea...'\n\n'No problem, you just leave them with their Eldorador Discovery. You could even steer them towards something much tougher, with trekking and environmental activities, a survivor kind of thing maybe, which you could call Eldorador Adventure: it would sell really well in France and in Anglo-Saxon countries. On the other hand, the sex-oriented clubs could do well in Germany and the Mediterranean countries.'\n\nThis time, he smiled broadly. 'You should have been in business...' he said half-seriously. 'You're an ideas man...'\n\n'Ideas, yeah...' My head was spinning a little, I could no longer make out the dancers, I finished my cocktail in one gulp. 'I might have ideas, but I wouldn't be able to throw myself into balance sheet or budget forecasts. So, yeah, I'm an ideas man...'\n\nI don't remember much about the rest of the evening, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, I was lying on my bed; Val\u00e9rie lay naked beside me, breathing gently. I woke her as I moved to reach for a pack of cigarettes.\n\n'You were pretty drunk back there...'\n\n'Yes, but I was serious about what I was saying to Jean-Yves.'\n\n'I think he took it seriously...' She stroked my belly with her fingertips. 'And actually, I think you're right. Sexual liberation in the West is over.'\n\n'You know why?'\n\n'No...' she hesitated, then went on: 'No, actually, not really.'\n\nI lit a cigarette, propped myself up on the pillows and said: 'Suck me.' She looked at me, surprised, but placed her hand on my balls and brought her mouth towards me. 'There!' I exclaimed triumphantly. She stopped what she was doing and looked at me in surprise. 'You see, I say \"Suck me\" and you suck me. When actually, you didn't feel the desire to do so.'\n\n'No, I hadn't thought of it; but I enjoy doing it.'\n\n'That's precisely what's so extraordinary about you, you enjoy giving pleasure. Offering your body as an object of pleasure, giving pleasure unselfishly: that's what Westerners don't know how to do any more. They've completely lost the sense of giving. Try as they might, they no longer feel sex as something _natural_. Not only are they ashamed of their own bodies, which aren't up to porn standards, but for the same reasons they no longer feel truly attracted to the body of the other. It's impossible to make love without a certain abandon, without accepting, at least temporarily, the state of being in a state of dependency, of weakness. Sentimental adulation and sexual obsession have the same roots, both proceed from some degree of selflessness; it's not a domain in which you can find fulfilment without losing yourself. We have become cold, rational, acutely conscious of our individual existence and our rights; more than anything, we want to avoid alienation and dependence; on top of that we're obsessed with health and hygiene: these are hardly ideal conditions in which to make love. The way things stand, the commercialisation of sexuality in the East has become inevitable. Obviously, there's S&M too. It's a purely cerebral world with clear-cut rules and a prior contract. Masochists are just interested in their own sensations, they try to see how far they can plunge into pain, a bit like people who do extreme sports. Sadists are something else, they will take things as far as they possibly can regardless \u2013 it's a very ancient human propensity: if they can mutilate or kill, they will do so.'\n\n'I really don't want to think about it again,' she said shivering; 'It really disgusts me.'\n\n'That's because you've remained sexual, animal. You're normal, in fact, you're not much like Westerners. Organised S&M with its rules could only exist among cultured, cerebral people for whom sex has lost all attraction. For everyone else, there's only one possible solution: pornography featuring professionals; and if you want to have real sex, third-world countries.'\n\n'Okay...' She smiled. 'Is it okay if I go back to sucking you off?'\n\nI leaned back on the pillows and let it happen. I was vaguely conscious at that moment of being at the beginning of something: from an economic point of view, I knew I was right; I estimated that potential clients might run to 80 per cent of Western adults. But I knew that people sometimes find it difficult, strangely, to accept simple ideas.\n\n### 10\n\nWE HAD BREAKFAST on the terrace, by the swimming pool. As I was finishing my coffee, I saw Jean-Yves emerge from his room accompanied by a girl I recognised as one of the dancers from the previous evening. She was black and slender, with long, graceful legs, she couldn't have been more than twenty. For a fleeting moment, he looked embarrassed, then came over to our table and introduced Angelina.\n\n'I've thought about your idea,' he announced straight off. 'What I'm worried about is how feminists will react.'\n\n'Some of the clients will be women,' said Val\u00e9rie.\n\n'You think so?'\n\n'Oh, yes, I'm sure of it...' she said a little bitterly. 'Look around you.'\n\nHe glanced at the tables around the pool: there were indeed a number of single women accompanied by Cuban men; almost as many as there were single men in the same situation. He asked Angelina something and translated her reply:\n\n'She's been a _jinetera_ for three years; most of her clients are Italian or Spanish. She thinks it's because she's black: Germans and Anglo-Saxons are happy with Latino girls, to them that's exotic enough. She has a lot of friends who are _jineteros_ : their customers are mostly English and American women, and some Germans too.\n\nHe took a sip of coffee, thought for a moment:\n\n'What are we going to call these clubs? We need to think of something evocative, something very different from Eldorador Adventure, but all the same, not too explicit.'\n\n'I thought maybe Eldorador Aphrodite,' said Val\u00e9rie.\n\n'\"Aphrodite\"...' he repeated the word thoughtfully. 'It's not bad; it doesn't sound as vulgar as \"Venus\". Erotic, sophisticated, a little exotic: yes, I like it.'\n\nAn hour later, we headed back towards Guardalavaca. A couple of metres from the minibus, Jean-Yves said his goodbyes to the _jinetera_ ; he seemed a little sad. When he got back on to the bus, I noticed the student couple giving him black looks; the wine merchant, on the other hand, clearly looked as though he didn't give a damn.\n\nThe return trip was pretty gloomy. Of course there was still the diving, the karaoke evenings and the archery; the muscles tire, then relax; sleep comes quickly. I remember nothing of the last days of the trip, nor of the last excursion, except that the lobster was rubbery and the cemetery disappointing: this despite the fact that it housed the tomb of Jos\u00e9 Marti, father of the nation, poet, politician, polemicist, thinker. He was depicted in a bas-relief sporting a moustache. His coffin, bedecked with flowers, lay at the foot of a circular pit on the walls of which were engraved his most notable _pens\u00e9es_ \u2013 on national independence, resistance to tyranny, justice. Nonetheless, you didn't get the sense that his spirit still animated the place; the poor man seemed quite simply dead. That said, he was not an unpleasant stiff; you felt you would have liked to meet him, if only to be ironic about his rather narrow and earnest humanist; but it hardly seemed likely, he seemed to be well and truly stuck in the past. Could he rise up once more and galvanise his homeland to greater heights of the human spirit? One didn't really imagine so. All in all, it was a disappointment letdown, as indeed all republican cemeteries are. It was irritating, all the same, to realise that Catholics are the only people who have succeeded in creating a functional funeral system. It's true that the means they use to make death magnificent and affecting consists quite simply in denying it. Difficult to fail with arguments like that. But here, in the absence of the risen Christ, you needed nymphs, shepherds, tits and arse, basically. As it was, you couldn't imagine Jos\u00e9 Marti romping about in the great meadows of the hereafter; he looked more like he had been buried in the ashes of everlasting _ennui_.\n\nThe day after we got back, we found ourselves in Jean-Yves's office. We hadn't slept much on the plane; my memory of that day is of an atmosphere of blissful enchantment, rather strange, in the deserted building. Three thousand people worked there during the week, but on that Saturday there were just the three of us, apart from the security guards. Close by, on the forecourt of the \u00c9vry shopping centre, a pair of rival gangs faced each other with Stanley knives, baseball bats and containers of sulphuric acid; that evening the number of dead would stand at seven, among them two onlookers and a member of the riot squad. The incident would be the subject of considerable debate on national radio and television; but at that moment we knew nothing about it. In a state of excitement which seemed slightly unreal, we set down our manifesto, our platform for dividing up the world. The suggestions that I was about to make might possibly result in millions of francs worth of investment or hundreds of jobs; for me it was very new and very unsettling. I felt a bit crazy all afternoon, but Jean-Yves listened to me attentively. He was convinced, he told Val\u00e9rie later, that if I was given free rein I was likely to have a brainwave. In short, I brought a note of creativity while he remained the decision-maker; that was his way of looking at things.\n\nThe Arab countries were the quickest to deal with. In view of their absurd religion, all possible sexual activity seemed to be ruled out. Tourists who opted for these countries would have to content themselves with the dubious delights of adventure. In any case, Jean-Yves had decided to sell off Agadir, Monastir and Djerba, which were making too much of a loss. That left two destinations which could reasonably be classified under the category 'adventure'. The tourists in Marrakech would do a bit of camel trekking. Those at Sharm-el-Sheikh could observe the goldfish or take an excursion into the Sinai to the site of the Burning Bush where Moses had 'flipped his lid', to use the colourful expression of an Egyptian I had met three years earlier on a felucca trip to the Valley of the Kings. 'Admittedly,' he'd said emphatically, 'it's a very impressive rock formation... but to go from that to affirming the existence of the one God!...' This intelligent and often funny man seemed to have a fondness for me \u2013 probably because I was the only Frenchman in the group \u2013 as for some obscure cultural or sentimental reasons he nurtured a lifelong, and, by then, it has to be said, a highly notional, passion for France. In speaking to me, he had literally saved my holiday. He was about fifty, always impeccably dressed, very dark skinned, with a little moustache. A biochemist by training, he had emigrated to England as soon as he had completed his studies and had been brilliantly successful working in genetic engineering there. He was revisiting his native land, for which, he said, he still had great affection; on the other hand he could not find words harsh enough to revile Islam. Above all, he wanted to convince me, Egyptians were not Arabs. 'When I think that this country invented everything!...' he exclaimed gesturing broadly towards the Nile valley. 'Architecture, astronomy, mathematics, agriculture, medicine' (he was exaggerating a little, but he was an Oriental and needed to persuade me quickly). 'Since the appearance of Islam, nothing. An intellectual vacuum, an absolute void. We've become a country of flea-ridden beggars. Beggars covered in fleas, that's what we are. Scum, scum!...' (with a wave, he shooed away some boys who had come to beg for small change). 'You must remember, _cher monsieur_ ,' (he spoke five foreign languages fluently: French, German, English, Spanish and Russian), 'that Islam was born deep in the desert amid scorpions, camels and wild beasts of every order. Do you know what I call Muslims? The losers of the Sahara. That's what they deserve to be called. Do you think Islam could have been born in such a magnificent place?' (with genuine feeling, he motioned again to the Nile valley). 'No, _monsieur_. Islam could only have been born in a stupid desert, among filthy Bedouins who had nothing better to do \u2013 pardon me \u2013 than bugger their camels. The closer a religion comes to monotheism \u2013 consider this carefully, _cher monsieur_ \u2013 the more cruel and inhuman it becomes; and of all religions, Islam imposes the most radical monotheism. From its beginnings, it has been characterised by an uninterrupted series of wars of invasion and massacres; never, for as long as it exists, will peace reign in the world. Neither, in Muslim countries, will intellect and talent find a home; if there were Arab mathematicians, poets and scientists, it is simply because they lost the faith. Simply reading the Koran, one cannot help but be struck by the regrettable mood of tautology which typifies the work: \"There is no other God but God alone\", etc. You won't get very far with nonsense like that, you have to admit. Far from being an attempt at abstraction, as it is sometimes portrayed, the move towards monotheism is nothing more than a shift towards mindlessness. Note that Catholicism, a subtle religion, and one which I respect, which well knew what suited human nature, quickly moved away from the monotheism imposed by its initial doctrine. Through the dogma of the Trinity and the cult of the Virgin and the Saints, the recognition of the role played by the powers of darkness, little by little it reconstituted an authentic polytheism; it was only by doing so that it succeeded in covering the earth with numberless artistic splendours. One God! What an absurdity! What an inhuman, murderous absurdity!... A god of stone, _cher monsieur_ , a jealous, bloody god who should never have crossed over from Sinai. How much more profound, when you think about it, was our Egyptian religion, how much wiser and more humane... and our women! How beautiful our women were! Remember Cleopatra, who bewitched great Caesar. See what remains of them today...' (randomly he indicated two veiled women walking with difficulty carrying bundles of merchandise). 'Lumps. Big shapeless lumps of fat who hide themselves beneath rags. As soon as they're married, they think of nothing but eating. They eat and eat and eat!...' (his face became bloated as he pulled a face like de Fun\u00e8s). 'No, believe me, _cher monsieur_ , the desert has produced nothing but lunatics and morons. In your noble Western culture, for which, by the way, I have great admiration and respect, can you name anyone who was drawn to the desert? Only pederasts, adventurers and crooks, like that ludicrous colonel Lawrence, a decadent homosexual and a pathetic poseur. Like your despicable Henry de Monfreid, an unscrupulous trafficker, always ready to compromise his principles. Nothing great or noble, nothing generous or wholesome; nothing which has contributed to the progress of humanity or raised it above itself.'\n\n'Okay, Egypt gets adventure...' Jean-Yves concluded simply. He apologised for interrupting my story, but we had to move on to Kenya. A difficult case. 'I'd be quite tempted to put it in with \"Adventure\"...' he suggested, having consulted his files.\n\n'Pity...' sighed Val\u00e9rie. 'Kenyan woman are very pretty.'\n\n'How do you know that?'\n\n'Well, not just Kenyan women, African women in general.'\n\n'Yeah, but there are women everywhere. In Kenya, you've got rhinoceros, zebras, gnus, elephants, buffalo. What I suggest is that we put Senegal and the Ivory Coast into \"Aphrodite\", and leave Kenya in \"Adventure\". In any case, it's a former English colony, which is terrible for its erotic image, but okay for adventure.'\n\n'They smell good, the women of the Ivory Coast...' I observed dreamily.\n\n'What do you mean by that?'\n\n'They smell of sex.'\n\n'Yes...' he chewed unconsciously on his pen. 'That could be good for an ad. 'Something like \"The Ivory Coast, the realm of the scents\" \u2013 with a girl in a grass skirt sweating, her hair tousled. I'll make a note of it.'\n\n'\"And the nude slaves imbued with fragrance...\" Baudelaire, it's public domain.'\n\n'We'd never get away with it.'\n\n'I know.'\n\nThe rest of the African countries posed fewer problems. 'In fact, in general you never have any problems with Africans. They'll fuck for free, even the fat ones. You just have to put condoms in the clubs, that's all; from that point of view they can be a bit stubborn.' He underlined PROVIDE CONDOMS twice in his notebook.\n\nTenerife took us even less time. The club's takings were average, but, according to Jean-Yves, it was crucial to the Anglo-Saxon market. You could easily throw together an adventure circuit with a climb to the summit of Mount Tiede and a trip on a hydroplane to Lanzarote. The hotel set-up was reasonable, it could be made viable.\n\nWe came to the two clubs which would be the chain's chief assets: Boca Chica in the Dominican Republic and Guardalavaca in Cuba. 'We could provide king-size beds...' suggested Val\u00e9rie. 'Done,' said Jean-Yves immediately. 'Private jacuzzis in the suites...' I suggested. 'No,' he cut me off, 'We're strictly mid-market.' One thing led effortlessly to another, with no hesitations, no doubts; we would have to liaise with the resort managers to standardise the local prostitution rates.\n\nWe paused briefly to go for lunch. At that very moment, two teenagers from the Courtili\u00e8res housing estate were smashing in a sixty-year-old woman's head with a baseball bat. I ordered _maquereau au vin blanc_ to start.\n\n'Have you got anything planned for Thailand?' I asked.\n\n'We've got a hotel in construction in Krabi. It's the new, hot destination after Phuket. We could easily speed up the building work, it could be ready by January 1st. It would be good to have a high-profile opening.'\n\nWe devoted the afternoon to developing the various innovative aspects of the Aphrodite clubs. The central point, obviously, was authorised access for local prostitutes, male and female. Clearly, there was no question of offering to accommodate children; the best thing would be to restrict admission to the clubs to the over-sixteens. An ingenious idea, suggested by Val\u00e9rie, was to list the single-room tariff as the basic catalogue price and to offer a discount of 10 per cent for double occupancy; to reverse, in short, the standard system. I think I was the one who suggested that we put forward a gay-friendly policy, and to circulate rumours that homosexuals accounted for 20 per cent of visitors to the clubs: that kind of information was enough to get them to come; and if you wanted a place to have an atmosphere _of sex_ , they had it down to a fine art. The issue of the overall slogan for the advertising campaign kept us busy for some time. Jean-Yves hit on a solution that was basic and effective: 'Going on holiday: time to go wild'; but in the end, I got a unanimous vote for 'Eldorador Aphrodite: Because pleasure is a right'. Since the NATO intervention in Kosovo, the notion of rights had become very persuasive, Jean-Yves explained to me in a half-joking tone; but he was quite serious: he had just read an article on the subject in _Strat\u00e9gies_. Every recent campaign based on the idea of rights had been a success: the right to innovation, the right to excellence... The right to pleasure, he concluded sadly, was a new one. In fact, we were beginning to feel a little tired. He dropped us off at 2 + 2 before heading home. It was Saturday night, the place was quite full. We met a really nice black couple; she was a nurse, he was a jazz drummer \u2013 he was doing well, he recorded regularly. He admitted that he spent a lot of his time working on his technique, all his time in fact. 'There's no secret to it...' I said a bit foolishly, but, strangely, he agreed; without intending to, I had hit upon a profound truth. 'The secret is there is no secret,' he said to me with conviction. We finished our drinks and headed up to the rooms. He suggested a double penetration to Val\u00e9rie. She agreed, as long as I was the one to sodomise her \u2013 you had to take it very gently with her, I was used to it. J\u00e9r\u00f4me agreed and lay down on the bed. Nicole stroked his cock to keep him hard, then slipped on a condom. I pushed Val\u00e9rie's skirt up to her waist. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. In a single movement, she impaled herself on J\u00e9r\u00f4me's prick, then lay down on top of him. I spread her cheeks, lubricated her a little, and then started to fuck her up the arse with short, careful strokes. At the point when the head of my cock was completely inside her, I felt her rectal muscles contract. I stiffened immediately, breathed deeply, I had almost come. After a few seconds, I pushed in deeper. When I was halfway in, she started to move back and forth, rubbing her pubis against J\u00e9r\u00f4me's. There was nothing more for me to do; she started a long, modulated groan, her arse opened and I pushed into her up to the hilt. It was like sliding down an inclined plane \u2013 she came surprisingly quickly. Then she became still, panting, happy. It was not that it was particularly more intense, she explained to me later; but when everything went well, there was a point when the two sensations fused, it became something gentle and irresistible, like being warm all over.\n\nNicola had been watching us, fingering herself all the time; she was starting to get really excited and immediately took Val\u00e9rie's place. I didn't have time to change my condom. 'With me, you can just go for it,' she whispered in my ear; 'I really liked to be fucked hard up the arse.' Which is what I did, closing my eyes to lessen the excitement, trying to concentrate on pure sensation. Everything went smoothly, I was agreeably surprised by my own stamina. She, too, came very quickly with loud, hoarse cries.\n\nThen Val\u00e9rie and Nicole knelt down to suck us off while we talked. J\u00e9r\u00f4me was still touring, he told me, but he didn't like it so much any more. As he got older, he felt the need to stay home more, to look after his family \u2013 they had two children \u2013 and to work on his drumming by himself. Then he talked to me about new time-signatures, 4\/3 and 7\/9; to be honest I didn't really understand very much. Right in the middle of a sentence he gave a cry of surprise, his eyes rolled back: he came all at once, ejaculating violently into Val\u00e9rie's mouth. 'Ha, she got me there...' he said, half-laughing, 'she got me good.' I felt I was not going to hold out much longer either: Nicole had a most particular tongue, large and soft, eager; she licked slowly, the ascent was insidious, but almost irresistible. I motioned to Val\u00e9rie to come nearer and explained to Nicole what I wanted: she was to close her lips round my glans, rest her tongue and remain motionless while Val\u00e9rie jerked me off and licked my balls. She agreed, closed her eyes, waiting for the ejaculation. Val\u00e9rie started immediately, her fingers quick and vigorous: already she seemed to be back on top form. I spread my arms and legs as far as I could, closed my eyes. The feeling mounted with sudden jolts, like bolts of lightning, then exploded just before I ejaculated into Nicole's mouth. For a brief moment I felt almost concussed, points of lights flashed beneath my eyelids; a little later I realised that I had been on the brink of passing out. I opened my eyes with difficulty. Nicole still had the tip of my cock in her mouth, she sucked up the last drops of semen. Val\u00e9rie had slipped her arm around my neck, she was looking at me tenderly, mysteriously; she told me I had screamed very loudly.\n\nA little later, they drove us home. In the car, Nicole had another surge of desire. She slipped her breasts out of her basque, lifted her skirt and lay down on the back seat, laying her head on my thighs. I masturbated her thoughtfully, confidently, expertly controlling her sensations, I felt her hard nipples and her wet pussy. The scent of her sex filled the car. J\u00e9r\u00f4me drove carefully, stopped at the red lights; through the windows, I could make out the lights of the Place de la Concorde, the obelisk, then the Pont Alexandre III, Les Invalides. I felt good, at peace, but still a little energetic. She came as we neared the Place d'ltalie. We went our separate ways after exchanging phone numbers.\n\nJean-Yves, meanwhile, feeling a little depressed after he had left us, had parked on the Avenue de la R\u00e9publique. The excitement of the day had subsided; he knew that Audrey would not be home, but he was actually rather glad of that. He would run into her briefly tomorrow morning, before she went out rollerblading; since coming back from holiday, they slept in separate rooms.\n\nWhy go home? He pushed back in his seat, thought about trying to turn on the radio but didn't. Gangs of young people, boys and girls, went past on the street; they looked like they were having fun, at least they were yelling. Some of them were carrying cans of beer. He could have got out, mingled with them, maybe started a fight; there were many things he could have done. In the end, he would go home. In some sense he loved his daughter, at least he supposed he did; he felt for her something organic and potentially blood-stained for her which corresponded to the definition of the word. He felt nothing of the kind for his son. In fact, the boy might not even be his; his reasons for marrying Audrey had been rather minimal. For her, at any rate, he felt nothing more than contempt and disgust; too much disgust, he would have preferred to feel indifferent; at the moment he still keenly felt that she should be made to _pay_. I'm more likely to be the one to pay, he thought suddenly, bitterly. She would get custody of the children and he would be landed with huge alimony payments. Unless he tried to get custody of the children, unless he fought her on that; but no, he decided, it wasn't worth it. It was too bad for Ang\u00e9lique. He would be better off on his own, he could try to start a new life, which meant, more or less, find some other girl. Saddled with two kids, it would be tougher for Audrey, the bitch. He consoled himself with the thought that it would be hard for him to do worse, and that, at the end of the day, she would be the one to suffer as a result of the divorce. She was already no longer as beautiful as when he had met her; she had style, she dressed fashionably, but knowing her body as he did, he knew she was already over the hill. On top of that, her career as a lawyer was far from being as brilliant as she made out; and he had a feeling that having custody of the children would not help matters. People drag their progeny around with them like a millstone, like some terrible weight which hinders their every move \u2013 and which, as often as not, effectively winds up killing them. He would have his revenge later: at the point, he thought, when it had become a matter of complete indifference to him. For some minutes more, parked near the bottom of the now deserted avenue, he practised feeling indifferent.\n\nHis worries came crashing down on him all at once as soon as he had walked through the door of the apartment. Johanna, the babysitter, was sprawled on the sofa watching MTV. He hated this listless, absurdly trendy pre-adolescent; every time he saw her he wanted to smack her round the face, to wipe the expression off her nasty, sulky, careless face. She was the daughter of one of Audrey's friends.\n\n'Everything OK?' he shouted. She nodded casually. 'Could you turn it down?' She looked around for the remote control. Exasperated, he turned the television off; she shot him a hurt look.\n\n'What about the children, everything go alright?' He was still shouting though there was no longer a sound in the apartment.\n\n'Yeah, I think they're asleep.' She curled up, a little scared.\n\nHe went up to the first floor and pushed open the door to his son's bedroom. Nicolas looked round at him abstractedly, and then went back to his game of _Tomb Raider_. Ang\u00e9lique, on the other hand, was sleeping like a log. He went downstairs, a little calmer.\n\n'Did you bathe them?'\n\n'Yeah... no, I forgot.'\n\nHe wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. His hands were shaking. On the worktop, he saw a hammer. A couple of slaps wouldn't have been enough for Johanna; smashing her skull in with hammer blows would be much better. He toyed with this idea for a while; thoughts crisscrossed his brain rapidly, barely controlled. In the hallway, he noticed in terror that he was holding the hammer. He placed it on a low table, looked in his wallet for the taxi fare for the babysitter. She took it, mumbling thanks. He slammed the door behind her in a gesture of uncontrolled violence; the sound reverberated through the entire apartment. Something was clearly not right in his life. In the living room the drinks cabinet was empty; Audrey wasn't even capable of looking after that. Thinking of her, a wave of hatred coursed through him and he was surprised at its intensity. In the kitchen he found an open bottle of rum; that would probably do. In his bedroom he dialled in turn the numbers of three girls he had met on the internet: each time, he got an answering machine. They had probably gone out, fucking on their own account. It's true they were sexy, cool, fashionable, but they were costing him two thousand francs a night; it became humiliating after a while. How had he come to this? He should go out, make friends, spend less time on his work. He thought about the Aphrodite clubs again, realising for the first time that it might be difficult to get the idea past his superiors; there was a fairly negative attitude to sex tourism in France at the moment. Obviously, he could try getting a toned down version past Leguen, but Espitalier wouldn't be fooled; he sensed a treacherous shrewdness in the man. Anyway, what choice did they have? Their mid-market positioning made no sense up against Club Med \u2013 he would have no problem in proving that. Rummaging through his desk drawers he found the Aurore mission statement, drafted ten years earlier by the founder, and displayed in every hotel in the group:\n\nThe spirit of Aurore is the art of marrying know-how, tradition and innovation with rigour, imagination and humanism, to attain a certain form of excellence. The men and women of Aurore are the repositories of a unique cultural heritage: the art of welcoming. They know the rituals and the customs which transform life into the art of living, and the simplest of services into a privileged moment. It is a profession, it is an art: it is their gift. Creating the best in order to share it, getting in touch with the essential through hospitality, devising spaces of pleasure: these are what make Aurore a taste of France throughout the world.\n\nHe suddenly realised that this nauseating spiel could just as easily apply to a chain of well-run brothels; maybe there was a card here he could play with the German tour operators. Defying all reason, Germans still thought of France as the country of romance, of the art of love. If a major German tour operator agreed to include the Aphrodite clubs in their catalogue, it would mark a turning-point; no one in the industry had yet succeeded in achieving such a thing. He was already in contact with Neckermann over the sale of the North African clubs. But there was also TUI, who had turned down their initial approaches because they were already well established in the bottom end of the market; they might be interested in a more targeted product.\n\n### 11\n\nFIRST THING MONDAY morning, he set about making some initial approaches. From the start, he was lucky: Gottfried Rembke, president of the board of TUI, was coming to spend a few days in France at the beginning of the month; Rembke would pencil them in for lunch. In the meantime, if they could put their proposal in writing he would be delighted to give it his careful consideration. Jean-Yves went into Val\u00e9rie's office to tell her the news; she froze. The annual turnover of TUI was six billion francs, three times that of Neckermann, six times that of Nouvelles Fronti\u00e8res; they were the largest tour operator in the world.\n\nThey devoted the rest of the week to writing up a sales pitch that was as detailed as possible. Financially, the project didn't require substantial investment: there were some small changes in furnishings, the hotels would definitely have to be redecorated to give them a more 'erotic' feel \u2013 they had quickly settled on the term 'friendly tourism', which would be used in all of the business documentation. The most important point was that they could expect a significant reduction in their fixed costs: no more sporting activities, no more children's clubs. No more salaries to be paid to registered paediatric nurses or windsurfing instructors; nor to specialists in ikebana, ceramics or painting on silk. After running a first financial simulation, Jean-Yves realised to his surprise that, allowing for depreciation, the annual costs of the clubs would drop by 25 per cent. He redid the calculations three times and each time got the same result. It was all the more striking because the catalogue rates he intended proposing were 25 per cent above the category norm \u2013 essentially pegging the rates with those of the mid-range Club Med. Profits leapt by 50 per cent. 'Your boyfriend's a genius...' he told Val\u00e9rie, who had just come into his office.\n\nThe atmosphere in the office at this time was a little odd. The clashes which had taken place on the streets of \u00c9vry the previous weekend were not uncommon; but the death-toll \u2013 seven \u2013 was particularly high. Many of the employees, especially those who had worked there longest, lived in the vicinity of the offices. At first they had lived in the apartment blocks that had been built at much the same time as the offices; later, as often as not, they had borrowed in order to build. 'I feel sorry for them,' Val\u00e9rie told me; 'I really do. They all dreamed of setting themselves up out of town, somewhere peaceful; but they can't just leave now, they'd end up losing a chunk of their pensions. I was talking to the switchboard operator: she has three years before she retires. Her dream is to buy a house in the Dordogne; she's from there originally. But a lot of English people have moved there and the prices there now are outrageous, even for some miserable dump. And on the other hand, the price of her house here has collapsed, everyone knows that it's a dangerous suburb nowadays, she'd have to sell it for a third of its value.\n\n'Another thing that surprised me is the second-floor secretarial pool. I went up there at half-past five to get a memo typed up: they were all on the internet. They told me that they all do their shopping that way now, it's safer; they go home, lock themselves in and wait for the delivery man.'\n\nIn the weeks that followed, this obsessive fear did not fade, if anything it increased slightly. In the papers now it was teachers being stabbed, nursery school teachers being raped, fire engines attacked with Molotov cocktails, handicapped people thrown through the windows of trains because they had 'looked the wrong way' at some gang leader. _Le Figaro_ was having a field day: reading it every day, you got the impression of an unstoppable escalation to civil war. True, this was the run-up to an election and law and order was the only issue likely to bother Lionel Jospin. In any case, it seemed very unlikely that the French would vote for Jacques Chirac again: he seemed to be such an idiot it was affecting the country's image. Whenever you saw this lanky half-wit, hands clasped behind his back, visiting some country fair, or taking part in a heads of state summit, you felt sort of ashamed, you felt embarrassed for him. The Left, obviously incapable of curbing the rising tide of violence, behaved well: they kept a low profile, agreed that the figures were bad, very bad even, called on others not to make political capital of it, reminded people that when they'd been in power the Right hadn't done any better. There was just one little slip, a ridiculous editorial by Jacques Attali. According to him, the violence of young people on housing estates was a 'cry for help'. The shop windows of the Champs-Elys\u00e9es, he wrote, constituted so many 'obscene displays flaunted at their misery'. Neither should it be forgotten that the suburbs were a 'mosaic of peoples and ethnicities, who had come with their traditions and their beliefs to forge new cultures and to reinvent the art of living together'. Val\u00e9rie stared at me in surprise: this was the first time I had burst out laughing while reading _L'Express_.\n\n'If he wants to get elected,' Jean-Yves said, handing her the article, 'Jospin would be well advised to shut him up until the second round.'\n\n'You're clearly getting a taste for strategy...'\n\nDespite everything, I too was beginning to feel anxiety gnawing at me. Val\u00e9rie was working late again, it was rare for her to get home before nine o'clock. It might be wise to buy a gun. I had a contact, the brother of an artist whose exhibition I had organised two years before. He wasn't really part of the scene, he'd just been involved in a couple of scams. He was more of an inventor, a sort of jack-of-all-trades. He had recently told his brother that he'd discovered a way of forcing the new identity cards which were supposed to be impossible to fake.\n\n'Out of the question,' Val\u00e9rie said immediately. 'I'm not in any danger: I never leave the office during the day and at night I always take a cab home, regardless of what time I leave.'\n\n'There's still the traffic lights.'\n\n'There's only one set of traffic lights between the office and the motorway. After that, I take the exit at Porte d'Italie and I'm almost home. Our area isn't dangerous.'\n\nIt was true: in Chinatown, strictly speaking, there were very few assaults or rapes. I didn't understand how they managed it, did they have their own neighbourhood watch? In any case, they had noticed us as soon as we moved in; there were at least twenty people who regularly greeted us. It was rare for Europeans to move in here, we were in a very small minority in the building. Sometimes, posters written in Chinese characters seemed to extend invitations to meetings or parties; but what meetings? what parties? It's possible to live among the Chinese for years without understanding anything about the way they live.\n\nNevertheless, I phoned my contact who promised to ask around. He called me back two days later. I could have a serious piece, in very good nick, for ten thousand francs \u2013 the price included a healthy quantity of ammunition. All I would have to do was clean it regularly to make sure it didn't jam if ever I needed to use it. I talked to Val\u00e9rie again, who refused again. 'I couldn't,' she said, 'I wouldn't have the courage to pull the trigger.' 'Even if your life was in danger?' She shook her head, 'No...' she repeated, 'It's not possible.' I didn't insist. 'When I was little,' she told me later, 'I couldn't even kill a chicken.' To be honest, neither could I; but a man, now that seemed significantly easier.\n\nCuriously, I was not afraid for my own sake. It's true I had very little contact with the barbarian hordes, except perhaps occasionally at lunchtime when I went for a walk around the Forum des Halles, where the subtle infiltration of the security forces (the riot squad, uniformed police officers, security guards employed by local shopkeepers) eliminated all danger, in theory. So I wandered casually through the reassuring topography of uniforms; I felt as though I was in Thoiry safari park. In the absence of the forces of law and order, I knew, I would be easy prey, though of little interest; very conventional, my middle-management uniform had very little to tempt them. For my part, I felt no attraction for this youthful product of the _dangerous classes_ ; I didn't understand them, and made no attempt to do so. I didn't sympathise with their passions nor with their values. For myself, I wouldn't have lifted a finger to own a Rolex, a pair of Nikes or a BMW Z3; in fact, I had never succeeded in identifying the slightest difference between designer goods and non-designer goods. In the eyes of the world, I was clearly wrong. I was aware of this: I was in a minority, and consequently in the wrong. There _had_ to be a difference between Yves Saint-Laurent shirts and other shirts, between Gucci moccasins and Andr\u00e9 moccasins. I was alone in not perceiving this difference; it was an infirmity which I could not cite as grounds for condemning the world. Does one ask a blind man to set himself up as an expert on post-impressionist painting? Through my blindness, however involuntary, I set myself apart from a living human reality powerful enough to incite both devotion and crime. These youths, through their half-savage instincts, undoubtedly discerned the presence of beauty; their desire was laudable, and perfectly in keeping with social norms; it was merely a question of rectifying the inappropriate way in which it was expressed.\n\nThinking about it carefully, however, I had to admit that Val\u00e9rie and Marie-Jeanne, the only two long-term female presences in my life, manifested a complete indifference to Kenzo blouses and Prada handbags; in fact, as far as I could make out, they bought any old brand at random. Jean-Yves, the highest paid individual I knew, exhibited a preference for Lacoste polo-necks, but he did it somewhat mechanically, out of habit, without even checking to see whether the reputation of his favourite brand had not been surpassed by some new challenger. Some of the women at the Ministry of Culture whom I knew by sight (though I regularly forgot their names, their job titles, even their faces, between each encounter) bought designer clothes; but they were invariably by some young, obscure designer who had only one outlet in Paris, and I knew perfectly well that they would not hesitate to abandon them if by chance they ever found a wider public.\n\nThe power of Nike, Adidas, Armani, Vuitton was, nonetheless, indisputable; I could find proof of this whenever I needed simply by glancing through the business section of _Le Figaro_. But who, exactly \u2013 aside from youths on housing estates \u2013 assured the success of these brands? Clearly there had to be whole sectors of society who were still alien to me; unless, more prosaically, they were bought by rich people in the third world. I had travelled little, lived little and it was becoming increasing clear that I understood little about the modern world.\n\nOn September 27, there was a meeting of the eleven Eldorador holiday club managers, who had come to \u00c9vry for the occasion. It was a routine meeting which took place every year on the same date, to assess the figures for the summer and consider improvements which might be made. However, this time, it had particular significance. Firstly, three of the resorts were about to change hands \u2013 the contract with Neckermann had just been signed. Secondly, the managers of four of the remaining villages \u2013 those which fell into the 'Aphrodite' category \u2013 had to prepare themselves to fire half of their staff.\n\nVal\u00e9rie was not present for the meeting; she had a meeting with an Italtrav representative to present the scheme to him. The Italian market was much more fragmented than those of Northern Europe. Italtrav might well be the largest tour operator in Italy, but its turnover was less than a tenth of TUI's; an agreement with them would, nonetheless, bring in valuable customers.\n\nShe came back from her appointment at about 7 p.m., Jean-Yves was alone in his office, the meeting had just ended.\n\n'How did they take it?'\n\n'Badly. I know how they feel, too; they must think they're next for the chop.'\n\n'Are you intending to replace the resort managers?'\n\n'It's a new project; we'd be better off starting out with new teams.'\n\nHis voice was very calm. Val\u00e9rie looked at him in surprise: lately he had become more assured \u2013 and tougher.\n\n'I'm convinced that we're going to be a success, now. When we broke for lunch, I was talking to the manager at Boca Chica, in the Dominican Republic. I wanted to be clear in my mind about something: I wanted to know how he managed to have 90 per cent occupancy regardless of season. He dithered, he seemed embarrassed, talked about team work. In the end, I asked him straight out if he was allowing girls to go up to the guest rooms; I had a hard time getting him to admit it, he was afraid I was going to put him on a disciplinary. I had to tell him that it didn't bother me at all, that in fact I thought it was an interesting initiative. At that point he confessed. He thought it was stupid that guests were renting rooms a mile away, often with no running water, and with the risk of being ripped off, when they had every comfort right there. I congratulated him and I promised him he'd keep his job as resort manager, even if he's the only one who does.'\n\nIt was getting dark; he turned on a lamp on his desk, was silent for a moment.\n\n'For the others,' he went on, 'I don't feel the slightest remorse. They're all pretty much the same. They're all former reps, they joined at the right time, they got to have it off with anyone they wanted without doing a fucking stroke of work and they thought that becoming manager of the resort meant they could bum around in the sun until they retired. Their days are over \u2013 tough. Now, I need real professionals.'\n\nVal\u00e9rie crossed her legs and looked at him in silence.\n\n'By the way, the meeting with Italtrav?'\n\n'Good. No problems. He knew at once what I meant by 'friendly tourism', he even tried to make a pass at me... That's the good thing about Italians, at least they're predictable... Anyway, he promised he'd include the clubs in his catalogue, but he said we shouldn't get our hopes up: Italtrav has a strong presence because it's a conglomerate of a lot of specialised tour companies; in its own right it hasn't got a very strong image. In fact, it operates as a distributor: we can get on their list, but it will be up to us to make a name for ourselves in the market.'\n\n'What about Spain? How far have we got?'\n\n'We've got a good relationship with Marsans. They're much the same, except they're more ambitious: for a while now they've been trying to get a foothold in France. I was a bit worried that we'd be competing with their products, but apparently not, they think what we're doing is complementary.'\n\nShe thought for a moment and then continued:\n\n'What are we going to do about France?'\n\n'I'm still not sure... Maybe I'm being stupid, but I'm really worried about stirring up a moralistic press campaign. Obviously, we could do some focus groups, test the market...'\n\n'You've never believed in that stuff.'\n\n'No, that's true...' he hesitated for a moment. 'Actually, I'm tempted to do a minimal launch in France, just through the Auroretour network. Put ads in a couple of carefully targeted magazines like _FHM_ or _L'\u00c9cho des Savanes_. But really, for the first stage, I want to focus on Northern Europe.'\n\nThe meeting with Gottfried Rembke took place the following Friday. The night before, Val\u00e9rie made herself a cleansing mask and went to bed early. When I woke up at eight o'clock, she was already ready. I was impressed by the results. She was wearing a black suit with a short, tight skirt which hugged her arse magnificently; under the jacket, she was wearing a lilac blouse in lace, close fitting and, in places, transparent, and a scarlet push-up bra which showed off her breasts. When she sat opposite the bed, I discovered she was wearing black stockings, faded towards the top, held in place by suspenders. Her lips were emphasised in a dark, almost purplish, red and she had tied her hair up in a chignon.\n\n'Does this do the trick?' she asked mockingly\n\n'That does it _in spades_. Well, well, women...' I added, 'when you show yourselves to your best advantage...'\n\n'This is my corporate seductress outfit. I put it on for you, in a way, too; I knew you'd like it.'\n\n'Re-eroticising the workplace...' I muttered. She handed me a cup of coffee.\n\nUntil she left, I did nothing but watch her come and go, stand and sit. It wasn't much, I suppose, actually it was quite simple, but it did the trick, no doubt about it. She crossed her legs, a dark band appeared high up on her thighs, accentuating the contrasting sheerness of the nylon. She crossed them a little more, a band of lace was revealed a little higher up, then the fastener of the suspenders, the bare, white flesh, the curve of the buttocks. She uncrossed them, everything disappeared again. She leaned over the table: I could feel the palpitation of her breasts through the fabric. I could have spent hours watching her. It was a simple joy, innocent and eternally blessed; a pure promise of pleasure.\n\nThey were supposed to meet at 1 p.m. at Le Divellec, a restaurant on the Rue de l'Universit\u00e9; Jean-Yves and Val\u00e9rie arrived five minutes early.\n\n'How are we going to raise the subject?' Val\u00e9rie asked anxiously as she stepped out of the taxi.\n\n'I dunno... just tell him we want to open up a chain of brothels for Huns... Jean-Yves gave a weary grin. 'Don't worry about it, don't worry about it, he'll ask all the questions.'\n\nGottfried Rembke arrived at 1 p.m. precisely. The moment he walked into the restaurant, handed his coat to the waiter, they knew it was him. The solid, stocky body, the gleaming scalp, the open expression, the vigorous handshake: everything about him radiated ease and enthusiasm; he was precisely what one imagined a head honcho, more especially a German head honcho, looked like. You could imagine him eagerly throwing himself into each new day, leaping out of bed, doing half an hour on an exercise bike before driving to the office in his spanking new Mercedes, listening to the financial news. 'This guy seems perfect...' muttered Jean-Yves as he got to his feet, all smiles, to greet him.\n\nFor the next ten minutes, in fact, Herr Rembke spoke of nothing but food. It turned out that he knew France very well, the culture, the cuisine; he even owned a house in Provence. 'Perfect, the guy's perfect...' thought Jean-Yves as he studied his _consomm\u00e9 de langoustines au cura\u00e7ao_. 'Rock and roll, Gotty,' he added to himself, dipping his spoon into the soup. Val\u00e9rie was wonderful: she listened attentively, her eyes sparkling as though charmed by him. She wanted to know where, exactly, in Provence, whether he had time to visit often, etc. She had chosen the _salmis d'\u00e9trilles aux fruits rouges_.\n\n'So,' she went on without changing her tone, 'you'd be interested in the proposal.'\n\n'The way I see it,' he said thoughtfully, 'we know that \"friendly tourism\"' \u2013 he stumbled a little on the expression \u2013 'is one of the primary motivating factors of our compatriots when they holiday abroad \u2013 and, moreover, one can understand why, after all, what more delightful way to travel? However, and this is somewhat curious, up until now, no major group has actively taken an interest in the sector \u2013 apart from a number of attempts, all hopelessly inadequate, marketed to a homosexual clientele. Essentially, surprising as it may seem, we are dealing with a virgin market.'\n\n'It's much discussed. I think that attitudes still have a long way to go...' interrupted Jean-Yves, realising as he did so that what he was saying was ridiculous. 'On both sides of the Rhine...' he concluded miserably. Rembke gave him a frosty look, as though he thought Jean-Yves was taking the piss; Jean-Yves hunched over his food again, determined not to say another word until the meal was over. In any case, Val\u00e9rie was getting along brilliantly. 'Let's not project French problems on to the Germans...' she said, ingenuously crossing her legs. Rembke fixed his attention on her once more.\n\n'Our compatriots,' he went on, 'forced to fend for themselves, often find themselves at the mercy of intermediaries of dubious honesty. More generally, the sector remains marked by rank amateurism \u2013 which represents a considerable loss of earnings for the industry as a whole.' Val\u00e9rie agreed eagerly. The waiter arrived with a _saint-pierre r\u00f4ti aux figues nouvelles_.\n\n'Equally,' he went on having glanced at his dish, 'your proposal interests us because it represents a compete reversal of the traditional view of the holiday club. A formula which was conceived in the 1970s does not correspond to the expectations of contemporary consumers. Relationships between individuals in the West have become more difficult \u2013 a fact which, needless to say, we all deplore...' he continued, glancing again at Val\u00e9rie, who uncrossed her legs with a smile.\n\nWhen I got back from the office at a quarter-past six, she was already home. I felt a twinge of surprise: I think this was the first time since we lived together. She was sitting on the sofa, still wearing her suit, her legs slightly apart. Staring into space, she seemed to be thinking of happy, gentle things. Though I did not know it at the time, I was witnessing the professional equivalent of an orgasm.\n\n'Did it go well?' I asked.\n\n'Better than well. I came straight home after lunch, I didn't even bother dropping into the office; I really couldn't see what else we could do this week. Not only is he interested in the project, but he intends to make it one of his key products as of next winter. He's prepared to finance printing the catalogue and an advertising campaign targeted specifically at the German market. He believes that, on his own, he can guarantee to fill all the existing clubs; he even asked whether we had any other projects in the works. The only thing he wants in return, is exclusivity in his own market \u2013 Germany, Austria, Switzerland and the Benelux countries; he knows that we've been in touch with Neckermann too.'\n\n'I've booked a weekend,' she added, 'in a thalassotherapy centre in Dinard. I think I need it. We could drop in on my parents as well.'\n\nThe train pulled out of the Gare Montparnasse an hour later. Quite quickly, as the kilometres passed, the accumulated tension faded and she was back to normal, that is rather sexual and playful. The last buildings of the outer suburbs disappeared behind us; the TGV approached maximum speed just as we came to the Plain of Hurepoix. A sliver of daylight, an almost imperceptible reddish tinge, hung in the air to the west over the dark mass of grain silos. We were in a first-class carriage arranged in small compartments; on the tables which separated our seats, small yellow lamps already glowed. Across the corridor, a woman of about forty, very upper-middle class but pretty stylish with her blonde hair tied up in a chignon, was leafing through _Madame Figaro_. I had bought the same paper and was trying without much success to interest myself in the financial supplement. For some years I had nurtured the theory that it was possible to decode the world, to understand its evolution, by setting aside everything dealing with current affairs, politics, the society pages and the arts; that it was possible to form an accurate image of the thrust of history purely by reading the financial news and the stock prices. I therefore forced myself to read the _Figaro_ financial section daily, supplemented by even more forbidding publications like _Les \u00c9chos_ or _La Tribune Desfoss\u00e9s_. Up to this point, my theory had remained impossible to judge. It was possible, in other words, that historic news was concealed within these editorials. With their measured tones, their columns of figures; but the reverse might just as easily be true. The only definite conclusion I had categorically come to: economics was unspeakably boring. Looking up from a short article which attempted to analyse the fall of the Nikkei, I noticed that Val\u00e9rie had begun crossing and uncrossing her legs; a half-smile flitted across her face. 'Descent into hell for Milan stock exchange,' I managed to read before putting down the paper. I suddenly got an erection when I discovered she had found a way to take off her panties. She came and sat beside me, pressed herself against me. Taking off her suit jacket, she draped it across my lap. I glanced quickly to my right: our neighbour still appeared to be engrossed in her magazine, specifically in an article on the garden in winter. She too was wearing a suit with a tight skirt and black tights; she looked like a posh tart, as they say. Sliding her hand under her jacket, Val\u00e9rie placed it on my penis; I was wearing only a pair of thin cotton trousers, the sensation was terribly precise. It was, by now, completely dark. I sat back in my seat, slipped a hand under her blouse. Pushing her bra aside, I encircled her right breast with the palm of my hand and began to stimulate her nipple with my thumb and forefinger. Just as we reached Le Mans, she undid my flies. Her movements were now absolutely brazen, I was convinced that our neighbour was missing nothing of our little game. As far as I'm concerned, it is impossible to resist masturbation by a truly expert hand. Just before Rennes I ejaculated, unable to suppress a muffled cry. 'I'll have to get this suit cleaned,' Val\u00e9rie said calmly. Our neighbour glanced across, making no attempt to conceal her amusement.\n\nEven so, at the station at Saint-Malo I was a little embarrassed when I noticed that she was boarding the same shuttle bus for the thalassotherapy centre; but not so Val\u00e9rie: she even struck up a conversation with her about the various treatments. For myself, I've never really worked out the respective merits of mud baths, high-pressure showers and seaweed wraps; the following day, I was happy just to mess around in the pool. I was floating on my back, vaguely aware of the underwater currents supposedly massaging my a back, when Val\u00e9rie joined me. 'Our neighbour from the train...' she said, all excited, 'she came on to me in the jacuzzi.' I registered the information without reacting. 'Right now she's alone in the hammam,' she added. I followed her at once, wrapping myself in a bathrobe. Near the entrance to the hammam, I took off my swimming trunks; my erection was visible beneath the towelling robe. I followed Val\u00e9rie in, letting her make her way through steam so dense you couldn't see a couple of metres ahead of you. The air was saturated with a strong, almost intoxicating scent of eucalyptus. I stopped and stood still in the hot, whitish emptiness, then I heard a moan coming from the far end of the room. I untied the belt of my robe and walked towards the sound. Beads of perspiration formed on the surface of my skin. Kneeling in front of the woman, hands placed on her buttocks, Val\u00e9rie was slowly licking her pussy. She really was a very beautiful woman, with perfectly rounded silicone-enhanced breasts, a harmonious face, a wide, sensual mouth. Unsurprised, she turned to look at me and closed her hand around my penis. I came a little closer, went behind her and stroked her breasts, rubbing my penis against her buttocks. She opened her thighs and bent forward, leaning on the wall for support. Val\u00e9rie rummaged in the pocket of her robe and handed me a condom; with her other hand, she continued to masturbate the woman's clitoris. I penetrated the woman in one swift thrust, she was already wide open; she bent forward a little further. I was thrusting in and out of her when I felt Val\u00e9rie's hand slip between my thighs, then close over my balls. Then she leaned forward and began licking the woman's pussy, with each thrust, I could feel my cock rubbing against her tongue. I desperately tensed my pelvic muscles at the point when the women came in a series of long, contented moans, then slowly I pulled out. My whole body was sweating, I was panting involuntarily, I felt a little faint and had to sit down on a bench. The clouds of steam continued to undulate through the air. I heard the sound of a kiss and I looked up: they were entwined, breast to breast.\n\nWe made love a little later, in the late afternoon, again that evening and once more the following morning. Such frenzy was a little unusual; we were both conscious of the fact that we were about to enter a difficult time, when Val\u00e9rie would once more be stupefied with work, problems and calculations. The sky was an immaculate blue, the weather almost warm; it was probably one of the last fine weekends before the autumn. After making love on Sunday morning, we took a long stroll on the beach. I looked in surprise at the neoclassical, slightly kitsch hotel buildings. When we arrived at the far end of the beach, we sat down on the rocks.\n\n'I suppose it was important, that meeting with the German,' I said; 'I suppose it's the beginning of a new challenge.'\n\n'This will be the last time, Michel. If this is a success, we'll be set up for a long time.'\n\nI shot her a doubtful and slightly sad look. I didn't believe in that line of reasoning: it reminded me of history books in which politicians declared that this would be the war to end all wars, the sort that was supposed to lead to a permanent peace.\n\n'It was you who told me,' I said gently, 'that capitalism, by its very nature, is a permanent state of war, a constant struggle which can never end.'\n\n'That's true,' she agreed without hesitation, 'But it's not always the same people doing the fighting.'\n\nA gull took off, gained altitude and headed out to the ocean. We were almost alone at this end of the beach. Dinard was clearly a very quiet resort, at least at this time of year. A labrador came up and sniffed us, then turned tail; I couldn't see its owners.\n\n'I promise you,' she insisted, 'if this works as well as we hope, we can roll out the concept in lots of countries. In Latin America alone there's Brazil, Venezuela, Costa Rica. Apart from that we can open clubs in Cameroon, Mozambique, Madagascar, the Seychelles. In Asia too there are obvious possibilities: China, Vietnam, Cambodia. In two or three years, we can become an uncontested market leader; and no one will dare invest in the same market: this time we'll get it, our competitive advantage.'\n\nI didn't reply, I couldn't think of anything to say; after all, it had originally been my idea. The tide was coming in; waves crashed on to the beach and died at our feet.\n\n'On top of that,' she went on, 'this time we're going to insist on a decent share package. If it's a success, they can't possibly refuse. And when you're a shareholder, you don't have to fight any more: other people do the fighting for you.'\n\nShe stopped, looked at me, hesitant. It made sense, what she was saying, it had a certain logic. The wind was getting up a bit; I was starting to feel hungry. The restaurant at the hotel was excellent: they had impeccably fresh shellfish, and delicious, delicate fish dishes. We headed back, walking across the wet sand.\n\n'I've got money...' I said suddenly. 'Don't forget that I've got money.' She stopped and looked at me in surprise; I hadn't expected to say these words.\n\n'I know it's not the done thing to be a kept woman,' I went on, a little embarrassed, 'but there's nothing forcing us to do things the way everybody else does.'\n\nShe stared calmly into my eyes. 'When you've got the money from the house, at best it'll come out to three million francs, maximum...' she said.\n\n'Yes. That's right, something like that.'\n\n'It's not enough, at least not quite. We need just a little more.' She began walking again and said nothing for a long moment. 'Trust me...' she said, as we stepped under the glass roof of the restaurant.\n\nAfter the meal, just before heading to the station, we paid a visit to Val\u00e9rie's parents. She was about to be submerged with work again, she explained; she probably wouldn't be able to visit again before Christmas. Her father looked at her with a resigned smile. She was a good daughter, I thought, an attentive and caring daughter; she was also a sensual lover, affectionate and audacious; and, if need be, she would no doubt be a wise and loving mother. ' _Her feet are of fine gold, her legs like the columns of the temple of Jerusalem_.' I continued to wonder what exactly I had done to deserve a woman like Val\u00e9rie. Nothing, probably. I observe the world as it unfurls, I thought; proceeding empirically, in good faith, I observe it; I can do no more than observe.\n\n### 12\n\nAT THE END of October, Jean-Yves's father died. Audrey refused to accompany him to the funeral; actually, he had been expecting as much, he had asked her only for the sake of propriety. It would be a modest funeral: he was an only child, there would be some family, very few friends. His father would have a brief obituary in the ESAT alumni newsletter and that would be it, the end of the line. He had hardly seen anyone recently. Jean-Yves had never really understood what had moved him to retire to this undistinguished area, rural in the most depressing sense of the word and to which, moreover, he had no ties. Probably a last vestige of the masochism which had dogged him more or less his whole life. Having been a rather brilliant student, he had become bogged down in a lacklustre career as a manufacturing engineer. Though he had always dreamed of having a daughter, he had consciously limited himself to only one child \u2013 in order, he maintained, to give the boy a better education; the argument didn't stand up, he earned a very good salary. He gave the impression of being accustomed to his wife rather than truly loving her; perhaps he was proud of his son's professional successes \u2013 but, truth be told, the fact was he never spoke of them. He had no hobby, no leisure activity to speak of, apart from breeding rabbits and doing the crossword in _La R\u00e9publique du Centre-Ouest_. We are probably wrong to suspect that each individual has some secret passion, some mystery, some weakness; if Jean-Yves's father had had to express his innermost convictions, the profound meaning he ascribed to life, he could probably have cited nothing more than a slight disappointment. Indeed, his favourite expression, what Jean-Yves remembered him saying most often, what best encapsulated his experience of the human condition, was limited to the words 'You get old'.\n\nJean-Yves's mother seemed reasonably affected by her bereavement \u2013 he had, after all, been her lifelong companion \u2013 without really seeming to be shattered for all that. 'He'd gone downhill a lot...' she remarked. The cause of death was so vague that one might well have been talking about a general fatigue, or even despondency. 'He had no interest in anything anymore...' his mother said again. That, more or less, was her funerary oration.\n\nAudrey's absence was, of course, noticed, but during the ceremony his mother refrained from mentioning it. The evening meal was a frugal affair \u2013 in any case, she had never been a good cook. He knew she would broach the subject at some point. Bearing in mind the circumstances, it was quite difficult to avoid the issue as he usually did, by turning on the television, for example. His mother finished putting away the dishes, then sat opposite him, her elbows on the table.\n\n'How are things, with your wife?'\n\n'Not great...' He expanded on this for a few minutes, getting ever more bogged down in his own boredom; in conclusion, he indicated that he was thinking of divorce. His mother, he knew, hated Audrey, whom she accused of keeping her from her grandchildren; actually, it was quite true, but her grandchildren weren't too keen to see her either. If things had been different, it's true, they could have become used to it; Ang\u00e9lique at least, in her case it wasn't too late. But it would have meant different circumstances, a different life, all things that were difficult to imagine. Jean-Yves looked up at his mother's face, her greying chignon, her harsh features: it was difficult to feel a rush of tenderness, of affection for this woman; as far back as he could remember, she had never really been one for hugs; it was equally difficult to imagine her in the role of a sensual lover, a slut. He suddenly realised that his father must have been bored shitless his whole life. He felt terribly shocked by this, his hands tensed on the edge of the table: this time it was irreparable, it was definitive. In despair, he tried to recall a moment when he had seen his father beaming, happy, genuinely glad to be alive. There was one time, possibly, when he had been five and his father had been trying to show him how Meccano worked. Yes, his father had loved engineering, truly loved it \u2013 he remembered his father's disappointment the day he had announced he was going to study marketing; perhaps it was enough, after all, to fill a life.\n\nThe next day, he made a quick tour of the garden, which, to tell the truth, seemed quite anonymous to him; it evoked no memories of his childhood. The rabbits shifted nervously in their hutches, they hadn't been fed yet: his mother was going to sell them immediately, she didn't like looking after them. In reality, they were the real losers in this whole business, the only real victims of this death. Jean-Yves took a sack of feed granules, poured a couple of handfuls into the hutches; this gesture, at least, he could make in memory of his father.\n\nHe left early, just before the Michel Drucker programme, but that did not stop him getting caught up, just before Fontainebleau, in endless traffic jams. He tried a number of different stations, and ended up turning off the radio. From time to time the queue moved forward a few metres; he could hear nothing but the purring of engines, the splat of solitary raindrops against the windscreen. His mood was attuned to this melancholy emptiness. The only positive element of the weekend, he thought, was that he would never have to see Johanna the babysitter again. The new one, Eucharistie, had been recommended by a neighbour; she was a girl from Dahomey, serious, worked hard at school. At fifteen she was already in two years from graduation. Later, she hoped to be a doctor, possibly a paediatrician; in any case she was very good with the children. She had succeeded in tearing Nicolas away from his video games and getting him to bed before ten o'clock \u2013 something that they had never been able to do. She was wonderful with Ang\u00e9lique, fed her, bathed her, played with her; the little girl obviously adored her.\n\nHe arrived at half-past ten, exhausted from the journey; Audrey was, as far as he could remember, in Milan for the weekend; she would fly back the following morning and go straight to work. Divorce was seriously going to cramp her lifestyle, he thought with malicious satisfaction; it was easy to understand why she should want to put off broaching the subject. On the other hand, she did not go so far as to feign any affection, any rush of tenderness; that was something that could be counted in her favour.\n\nEucharistie was sitting on the sofa, she was reading a paperback of _Life: A User's Manual_ , by Georges Perec; everything had gone okay. She accepted a glass of orange juice; he poured himself a cognac. Usually, when he came home, she would tell him about the day, what she and the children had done together; this would last for a few minutes before she went. This time, too, she did so, as he poured himself a second cognac; he realised he hadn't been listening to a word. 'My father died...' he said, realising the fact again as he said the words. Eucharistie stopped abruptly and looked at him hesitantly; she did not know how to react, but he had clearly succeeded in capturing her attention. 'My parents were never happy together...' he continued, and this second observation was even worse: it seemed to deny his existence, to deprive him of a certain right to life. He was the fruit of an unhappy, mismatched union, something which would have been better if it had never been. He looked around him anxiously: in a few months at most he would leave this apartment, he would never again see these curtains, this furniture; everything already seemed to be fading, losing its solidity. He could just as easily be in the showroom of a department store after it closed; or in a photo from a catalogue, in something, at any rate, which had no real existence. He stood up unsteadily, walked over to Eucharistie and hugged the young girl's body violently in his arms. He slipped a hand under her pullover: her flesh was living, real. All of a sudden he came to himself and stopped, ashamed. She too had stopped struggling. He looked straight into her eyes, then kissed her on the mouth. She responded to his kiss, pushed her tongue against his. He slipped his hand higher under her pullover to her breasts.\n\nThey made love in the bedroom without a word; she had undressed quickly and then crouched on the bed, so he could take her. Even after they had come, they remained silent for some minutes and avoided mentioning the subject afterwards. She told him about her day again, what she and the children had been up to; then she told him that she could not stay the night.\n\nIn the weeks that followed, they did it again many times, every time she came over, in fact. He had more or less been waiting for her to broach the subject of the legality of their relations: after all, she was only fifteen, he was thirty-five; he could, at a pinch, have been her father. But she did not seem in the least inclined to see things in that light: in what light, then? In the end he realised, in a rush of emotion and of gratitude: in the simple light of pleasure. His marriage manifestly cut him off, he was out of touch; he had quite simply forgotten that certain women, in certain circumstances, make love _for pleasure_. He was not Eucharistie's first: she had already been with a boy the year before, a guy in his final year with whom she'd lost touch afterwards; but there were things she was unaware of, fellatio for example. The first time, he held back, was hesitant about coming in her mouth; but he quickly realised that she enjoyed it, or rather that it amused her to feel his semen spurt out. Usually, he had no trouble bringing her to orgasm; for his part it was immensely pleasurable feeling her firm, supple body in his arms. She was intelligent, curious; she was interested in his work and asked him lots of questions: she was almost everything Audrey was not. The universe of business was, to her, a curious, exotic world whose customs she wanted to learn; she would not have asked all these questions of her father, who, in any case, would have been unable to answer \u2013 he worked in a public hospital. In short, he thought, with a strange feeling of relativism, theirs was a relationship of equals. Even so, he was lucky that his first child had not been a daughter; in certain circumstances he found it difficult to imagine how \u2013 and more especially why \u2013 incest might be avoided.\n\nThree weeks after their first time, Eucharistie announced that she had met a boy. Under the circumstances it was best for them to end it; at any rate, it complicated matters. He seemed so desolate at the news that, the next time she came round, she offered to continue giving him blowjobs. In all honesty, he couldn't really see how that was less serious; but in any case he had more or less forgotten how he had felt when he was fifteen. When he got home he would talk for a long time about one thing and another; it was always she who decided on the moment. She would strip to the waist, allow him to caress her breasts; then he would lean back against the wall and she would kneel in front of him. From his moans she could tell precisely when he was going to come. She would then take her mouth away; with small, precise movements she would direct his ejaculation, sometimes towards her breasts, sometimes towards her mouth. In those moments she had a playful, almost childlike, expression; thinking back on it, he realised gloomily that her love life was just beginning, that she would make many lovers happy; their paths had crossed, that was all, and that in itself was a happy accident.\n\nThe second Saturday, at the moment when Eucharistie, eyes half-closed, mouth wide open, was beginning to jerk him off vigorously, he suddenly noticed his son popping his head round the door. He started, turned his head away; when he looked up again the child had disappeared. Eucharistie hadn't noticed anything; she slid her hand between his thighs, delicately squeezed his balls. At that moment, he had a strange sensation of immobility. Suddenly, it occurred to him, like a revelation, an impasse. There was too much overlap between the generations, fatherhood no longer had any meaning. He drew Eucharistie's mouth towards his penis; without quite understanding completely, he sensed that this would be the last time, he needed her mouth. As soon as her lips closed over him, he spurted several times, shoving his cock deep into her throat as shudders coursed through his body. Then she looked up at him; he kept his hands on the girl's head. She kept his penis in her mouth for two or three minutes, her eyes closed, running her tongue slowly over the head. Shortly before she left, he told her that they wouldn't do it again. He didn't really know why; if his son said anything it would surely do him a lot of harm when the divorce settlement was decided, but there was something else that he wasn't able to identify. He told me all of this a week later, in an irritating tone of self-reproach, begging me not to say anything to Val\u00e9rie. I found him a little annoying, to tell the truth; I really couldn't see what the problem was. However, purely out of friendship I pretended to take an interest, to weigh up the pros and cons, but I couldn't take the situation seriously, I felt a little as if I was on Mireille Dumas' TV show.\n\nFrom a professional point of view, on the other hand, everything was going well, he informed me with satisfaction. There had almost been a problem with the Thailand club a couple of weeks earlier: there had to be at least one hostess bar and one massage parlour to cater for customer expectations. This would be a little difficult to justify in the budget for the hotel. He telephoned Gottfried Rembke. The boss of TUI rapidly found a solution; he had an associate on the ground, a Chinese building contractor based in Phuket, who could sort out the building of a leisure complex just beside the hotel. The German tour operator seemed to be in a great mood, apparently things were looking good. At the beginning of November, Jean-Yves received a copy of the catalogue destined for the German market; he immediately noticed that they hadn't pulled any punches. In every photo the local girls were topless, wearing miniscule G-strings or see-through skirts; photographed on the beach or right in the hotel rooms, they smiled teasingly, ran their tongues over their lips: it was almost impossible to misunderstand. In France, he remarked to Val\u00e9rie, you would never get away with something like this. It was curious to note, he mused, that as Europe became ever closer, and the idea of a federation of states was ever more current, there was no noticeable standardisation of moral legislation. Although prostitution was accepted in Holland and Germany and was governed by statute, many people in France were calling for it to be criminalised, even for punters to be prosecuted as they were in Sweden. Val\u00e9rie looked at him, surprised: he had been odd lately, he launched increasingly frequently into aimless, unproductive ruminations. She herself coped with a punishing workload, methodically and with a sort of cold determination; she regularly took decisions without consulting him. It was something she was not really used to, and at times I sensed she felt lost, uncertain; the board of directors would not get involved, affording them complete freedom. 'They're waiting, that's all, they're waiting to see whether we fall flat on our faces,' she confided one day, with suppressed rage. She was right, it was obvious, I couldn't disagree with her; that was the way the game worked.\n\nFor my part, I had no objection to sex being subject to market forces. There were many ways of acquiring money, honest and dishonest, cerebral or, by contrast, brutally physical. It was possible to make money using one's intellect, talent, strength or courage, even one's beauty; it was also possible to acquire money through a banal stoke of luck. Most often, money was acquired through inheritance, as in my case; the problem of how it had been earned fell to the previous generation. Many very different people had acquired money on this earth: former top athletes, gangsters, artists, models, actors; a great number of entrepreneurs and talented financiers; a number of engineers, too, more rarely a few inventors. Money was sometimes acquired mechanically, by simple accumulation; or, on the other hand, by some audacious coup crowned with success. There was no great logic to it, but the possibilities were endless. By contrast, the criteria for sexual selection were unduly simple: they consisted merely of youth and physical beauty. These features had a price, certainly, but not an infinite price. The situation, of course, had been very different in earlier centuries, at a time when sex was essentially linked to reproduction. To maintain the genetic value of the species, humanity was compelled seriously to take into account criteria like health, strength, youth and physical prowess \u2013 of which beauty was merely a handy indicator. Nowadays, the order of things had changed: beauty had retained all of its value, but that value was now something marketable, narcissistic. If sex was really to come into the category of tradable commodities, the best solution was probably to involve money, that universal mediator which already made it possible to assure an exact equivalence between intelligence, talent and technical competence; which had already made it possible to assure a perfect standardisation of opinions, tastes and lifestyles. Unlike the aristocracy, the rich made no claim to being different in kind from the rest of the population; they simply claimed to be richer. Essentially abstract, money was a concept in which neither race, physical appearance, age, intelligence nor distinction played any part, nothing in fact, but money. My European ancestors had worked hard for several centuries; they had sought to dominate, then to transform the world, and, to a certain extent they had succeeded. They had done so out of economic self-interest, out of a taste for work, but also because they believed in the superiority of their civilisation: they had invented dreams, progress, utopia, the future. Their sense of a mission to civilise had disappeared in the course of the twentieth century. Europeans, at least some of them, continued to work, and sometimes to work hard, but they did so for money, or from a neurotic attachment to their work; the innocent sense of their natural right to dominate the world and direct the path of history had disappeared. As a consequence of their accumulated efforts, Europe remained a wealthy continent; those qualities of intelligence and determination manifested by my ancestors I had manifestly lost. As a wealthy European, I could obtain food and the services of women more cheaply in other countries; as a decadent European, conscious of my approaching death, and given over entirely to selfishness, I could see no reason to deprive myself of such things. I was aware, however, that such a situation was barely tenable, that people like me were incapable of ensuring the survival of a society, perhaps more simply we were unworthy of life. Mutations would occur, were already occurring, but I found it difficult to feel truly concerned; my only genuine motivation was to get the hell out of this shithole as quickly as possible. November was cold, bleak; I hadn't been reading Auguste Comte that much recently. My great diversion when Val\u00e9rie was out consisted of watching the movement of the clouds through the picture window. Immense flocks of starlings formed over Gentilly in the late afternoon, describing inclined planes and spirals in the sky; I was quite tempted to ascribe meaning to them, to interpret them as the heralds of an apocalypse.\n\n### 13\n\nONE EVENING, I met Lionel as I was leaving work; I hadn't seen him since the 'Thai Tropic' trip almost a year earlier. Curiously, however, I recognised him at once. I was a little surprised that he had made such a strong impression on me; I couldn't remember having said a word to him at the time.\n\nThings were going well, he told me. A large cotton disc covered his right eye. He'd had an accident at work, something had exploded; but it was okay, they'd managed to treat him in time, he would recover 50 per cent of the sight in his eye. I invited him for a drink in a caf\u00e9 near the Palais-Royal. I wondered whether I would recognise Robert or Josiane or the other members of the group as easily \u2013 yes, probably. It was a slightly distressing thought; my memory was constantly filling up with information that was almost completely useless. As a human being, I was particularly proficient in the recognition and storage of images of other humans. _Nothing is more useful to man than man himself_. The reason why I had invited Lionel was not particularly clear to me; the conversation would obviously drag. To keep it going, I asked whether he'd had the opportunity to go back to Thailand. No, and it wasn't for lack of wanting, but unfortunately the trip was rather expensive. Had he seen any of the other members of the group again? No, none of them. Then I told him I had seen Val\u00e9rie, whom he might perhaps remember, and that we were now living together. He seemed happy at this news; we had clearly made a good impression on him. He didn't get the chance to travel much, he told me; and that holiday in Thailand in particular was one of his fondest memories. I started to feel moved by his simplicity, his na\u00efve longing for happiness. It was at that point that I did something which, thinking back on it even today, I'm tempted to describe as _good_. On the whole, I am not good, it is not one of my characteristics. Humanitarians disgust me, the fate of others is generally a matter of indifference to me, nor have I any memory of ever having felt any sense of solidarity with other human beings. The fact remains that, that evening, I explained to Lionel that Val\u00e9rie worked in the tourist industry, that her company was about to open a new club in Krabi and that I could easily get him a week-long stay at 50 per cent discount. Obviously, this was pure invention; but I had decided to pay the difference. Maybe, to a degree, I was trying to _show off_ ; but it seems to me that I also felt a genuine desire for him to be able, even if only for a week, to once again feel pleasure at the expert hands of young Thai prostitutes.\n\nWhen I told her about the meeting, Val\u00e9rie looked at me somewhat perplexed; she herself had no memory of Lionel. That really was the problem with the boy, he wasn't a bad guy, but he had no personality: he was too reserved, too humble, it was difficult to remember anything at all about him. 'Okay...' she said, 'I mean, if it makes you happy; in fact he doesn't even have to pay the 50 per cent, I was going to talk to you about this, I'm going to get invitations for the week of the opening. It will be on January 1st.' I called Lionel the following day to tell him that his trip would be free; this was too much, he couldn't believe me, I even had a bit of trouble getting him to accept.\n\nThe same day, I received a visit from a young artist who had come to show me her work. Her name was Sandra Heksjtovoian, something like that, in any case some name that I was never going to remember; if I'd been her agent, I would have advised her to call herself Sandra Hallyday. She was a very young girl, wearing trousers and a tee-shirt, fairly unremarkable, with a roundish face and short, curly hair; she had graduated from the Beaux Arts in Caen. She worked entirely on her body, she explained to me; I looked at her anxiously as she opened her portfolio. I was hoping she wasn't going to show me photos of plastic surgery on her toes or anything like that \u2013 I'd had it up to here with things like that. But no, she simply handed me some postcards which she had had made, with the imprint of her pussy dipped in different coloured paints. I chose a turquoise and a mauve; I was a little sorry I hadn't brought photos of my prick to return the favour. It was all very pleasant, but, well, as far as I could remember, Yves Klein had already done something similar more than forty years ago; I was going to have trouble championing her cause. Of course, of course, she agreed, you had to take it as an _exercice de style_. She then took a more complex piece out of its cardboard packaging: it consisted of two wheels of unequal sizes linked by a thin strip of rubber; a handle made it possible to operate the contraption. The strip of rubber was covered with small plastic protuberances which were more or less pyramid-shaped. I turned the handle and ran my finger along the moving ribbon; it produced a sort of friction which was not unpleasant.\n\n'They're casts of my clitoris,' the girl explained; I immediately removed my finger.\n\n'I took photos using an endoscope, while it was erect, and put it all on a computer. Using 3-D software I reproduced the volume, I modelled the piece using ray-tracing, then I sent the co-ordinates to the factory.' I got the feeling she was allowing herself to be dominated a bit too much by technical considerations. I turned the handle again, more or less unconsciously. 'It cries out to be touched, doesn't it?' she went on with satisfaction. 'I had thought of connecting it to a resistor so it could power a bulb. What do you think?' To be honest, I wasn't in favour of the idea, it seemed to detract from the simplicity of the object. She was quite sweet, this girl, for a contemporary artist; I almost felt like asking her to come to an orgy some night, I was sure she'd get along well with Val\u00e9rie. I realised just in time that, in my position, such a thing risked being construed as sexual harassment. I considered the contraption despondently. 'You know,' I said, 'I'm really more involved in the financial aspect of the projects. For anything to do with the aesthetics, you'd be better off making an appointment to see Mlle Durry.' On a business card, I wrote down Marie-Jeanne's phone number and extension; after all, she must know a thing or two about this whole clitoris business. The girl looked a little disconcerted, but even so, handed me a small bag filled with plastic pyramids. 'I'll give you these casts,' she said, 'The factory made a lot of them.' I thanked her and walked her back to the service entrance. Before saying goodbye, I asked her if the casts were life size. Of course, she told me, it was all part of her artistic methodology.\n\nThat same evening, I examined Val\u00e9rie's clitoris carefully. I had never really paid it any serious attention; whenever I had stroked or licked it, it was as part of a more overall plan, I had memorised the position, the angles, the rhythmic movement to adopt. But now I examined the tiny organ at length as it pulsed before my eyes. 'What are you doing?' she asked, surprised, after five minutes spent with her legs apart. 'It's an artistic methodology...' I said, giving a little lick to soothe her impatience. The girl's cast lacked the taste and the smell obviously; but otherwise there was a resemblance, it was undeniable. My examination complete, I parted Val\u00e9rie's pussy with both hands and licked her clitoris with short, precise thrusts of my tongue. Was it the waiting that had stimulated her desire? More precise, more attentive movements on my part? The fact remains that she came almost immediately. Actually, I thought that Sandra was a pretty talented artist; her work encouraged one to see the world in a new light.\n\n### 14\n\nAS EARLY AS the beginning of December, it was clear that the Aphrodite clubs were going to be a huge success, and probably a success on a _historic_ scale. November is traditionally the most difficult month for the tourist industry. In October, there are still a number of late-season departures; in December, the Christmas period takes over; but rare, extremely rare, are those who consider taking a holiday in November, apart from some particularly hard-nosed and cynical senior citizens. Yet, the first results which came back from the clubs were excellent: the formula had been an immediate success, you might even go so far as to talk about a deluge. I had dinner with Jean-Yves and Val\u00e9rie the night the initial figures came in; he stared at me, almost bizarrely, the results had so exceeded his expectations: taken as a whole, the occupancy for the month was 95 per cent, regardless of destination. 'Ah yes, sex...' I said, embarrassed. 'People need sex, that's all, it's just that they don't dare admit it.' All of this made us inclined to be contemplative, almost silent; the waiter brought the _antipasti_. 'The Krabi opening is going to be unbelievable...' Jean-Yves went on. 'Rembke phoned me, everything's been booked out for three weeks. What's even better is that there's been nothing in the press, not a line. A discreet success, as massive as it is confidential; exactly what we were aiming for.'\n\nHe had finally decided to rent a studio flat and leave his wife; he would not get the keys until January 1st, but he was a lot better, I sensed he was already more relaxed. He was relatively young, handsome and extremely rich: all of these things do not necessarily make life easier, I realised, a little alarmed; but they help, at least, in awakening desire in others. I still could not understand his ambition, the furious energy he invested in making a success of his career. It wasn't for the money I don't think: he paid high taxes and didn't have expensive tastes. Neither was it out of commitment to the company, nor from a more general altruism: it was difficult to imagine the development of global tourism as a noble cause. His ambition existed in its own right, it couldn't be pinned down to one specific source: it was probably more like the desire to build something, rather than to a taste for power or a competitive nature \u2013 I had never heard him talk about the careers of his former friends at the HEC business school, and I don't think he gave them a second thought. All in all, it was a respectable motive, not unlike the one that explains the advance of human civilisation. The social reward bestowed on him was a large salary; under other regimes it might have taken the form of an aristocratic title, or of privileges like those accorded to the members of the _nomenklatura_ ; I didn't get the impression that it would have made much difference. In reality, Jean-Yves worked because he had a taste for work; it was something both mysterious and clear.\n\nOn December 15, two weeks before the opening, he received an anxious phone call from TUI. A German tourist had just been kidnapped with a Thai girl; the kidnapping had taken place in Hat Yai, in the extreme south of the country. The local police had received a confused message, written in an approximate English, which expressed no demands \u2013 but indicated that the two young people would be executed for behaviour in contravention of Islamic law. For some months there had indeed been an increase in the activities of Islamic movements, supported by Libya, in the border area with Malaysia; but this was the first time that they had attacked people.\n\nOn December 18, the naked, mutilated bodies of the young people were thrown from a van, right in the middle of the main square of the town. The young girl had been stoned to death, she had been beaten with extraordinary violence; everywhere her skin was ripped open, her body was little more than a swelling, barely recognisable. The German's throat had been cut and he had been castrated, his penis and testicles had been stuffed into his mouth. This time, the entire German press picked up the story, there were even some brief articles in France. The papers had decided not to publish photographs of the victims, but they quickly became available on the usual internet sites. Jean-Yves telephoned TUI every day: up until now, the situation was not alarming; there had been few cancellations, people stuck to their holiday plans. The prime minister of Thailand made repeated reassurances: it was undoubtedly an isolated incident, all known terrorist groups condemned the kidnapping and the executions.\n\nAs soon as we arrived in Bangkok, however, I felt a certain tension, especially around the Sukhumvit area where most of the Middle-Eastern tourists stayed. They came mainly from Turkey or Egypt, but sometimes also from more hard-line Muslim countries such as Saudi Arabia or Pakistan. When they walked through the crowds, I could feel the hostile stares directed towards them. At the entrance to most of the hostess bars, I saw signs: 'NO MUSLIMS HERE'; the owner of a bar in Patpong had even clarified his line of reasoning, writing in a decorative hand the following message: ' _We respect your Muslim faith: we don't want you to drink whisky and enjoy Thai girls_.' The poor things were hardly to blame, in fact it was obvious that in case of a terrorist attack, they would be the first to be targeted. On my first visit to Thailand, I had been surprised by the presence of people from Arab countries, in fact, they came for exactly the same reasons as Westerners, with one slight difference: they threw themselves into debauchery with much more enthusiasm. Often, in the hotel bars you'd find them around a bottle of whisky at ten in the morning; and they were first to arrive as soon as the massage parlours opened. In clear breach of Islamic law and probably feeling guilty about it, they were, for the most part, courteous and charming.\n\nBangkok was as polluted, noisy, stifling as always; but I was just happy to be back. Jean-Yves had two or three meetings with bankers, or at some ministry, anyway, I only vaguely followed what was going on. After two days, he informed us that his meetings had been very conclusive: the local authorities were as obliging as possible, they were prepared to do anything to attract the smallest amount of Western investment. For a number of years, Thailand had been unable to alleviate its economic crisis, the stock exchange and the currency were at historic lows, government debt had reached 70 per cent of the gross domestic product. 'They're so deep in shit that they're not even corrupt any more...' Jean-Yves told us. 'I had to grease a few palms, but not many, nothing at all compared to what was going on five years ago.'\n\nOn the morning of December 31, we took the plane to Krabi. As we got out of the minibus, I ran into Lionel, who had arrived the previous evening. He was delighted, he told me, absolutely delighted; I had a bit of trouble stemming his torrent of gratitude. But, as I arrived at my chalet, I too was struck by the beauty of the landscape. The beach was immense, immaculate, the sand as fine as powder. Over a distance of thirty metres, the ocean veered from azure to turquoise, from turquoise to emerald. Vast chalk crags covered with lush green forests rose out of the water as far as the horizon, losing themselves in the light and the distance, giving the bay a depth that seemed unreal, cosmic.\n\n'Isn't this the place where they filmed _The Beach_?' Val\u00e9rie asked me.\n\n'No, I think that was at Ko Phi Phi; but I haven't seen the film.'\n\nAccording to her, I hadn't missed much; apart from the landscapes it had nothing to recommend it. I vaguely remembered the book, which tells the story of a bunch of backpackers in search of an unspoiled island; the only clue they have is a map drawn for them by an old traveller in a shitty hotel on Khao San Road, just before he commits suicide. First, they go to Ko Samui \u2013 much too touristy; from there they go to a neighbouring island, but there are still too many people for their liking. In the end, by bribing a sailor, they finally arrive on their island, situated in a nature reserve and therefore, in theory, inaccessible. It's at this point that things start to go wrong. The early chapters of the book perfectly illustrate the curse of the tourist, caught up in a frenetic search for places which are 'not touristy', which his very presence undermines, forever forced to move on, following a plan whose very fulfilment, little by little, renders it futile. This hopeless situation, comparable to a man trying to escape his own shadow, was common knowledge in the tourist industry, Val\u00e9rie informed me: in sociological terms it was known as the double bind paradox.\n\nThe holidaymakers who had chosen the Krabi Eldorador Aphrodite, at any rate, did not look ready to succumb to the double bind paradox: although the beach was huge, they had all chosen more or less the same area. As far as I had been able to make out, they seemed to conform to the expected breakdown of clientele. Val\u00e9rie had the precise figures: 80 per cent Germans, mostly senior executives or professionals, 10 per cent Italians, 5 per cent Spaniards and 5 per cent French. The surprise was that there were a lot of couples. They looked pretty much like the sort of swinging couples that you might have run into on the Cap d'Agde: most of the women had silicone-enhanced breasts, a lot of them wore a gold chain around their waists or ankles. I also noticed that almost everyone swam in the nude. All of this made me fairly confident; you never have any trouble from people like that. In contrast to a 'backpackers' paradise', a resort dedicated to wife-swapping, which only comes into its own when visitor numbers are high, is not paradoxical by definition. In a world where the greatest of luxuries is acquiring the wherewithal to avoid other people, the good-natured sociability of middle-class German wife-swappers constitutes a form of particularly subtle subversion, I said to Val\u00e9rie, just as she was taking off her bra and panties. Immediately after undressing, I was a little embarrassed to discover that I had a hard on, and I lay down on my stomach beside her. She parted her thighs, serenely baring her sex to the sun. A few metres to our right was a group of German women who seemed to be discussing an article from _Der Spiegel_. One of them had shaved her public hair, you could easily make out her slender, delicate slit. 'I really go for that type of pussy...' Val\u00e9rie said in a low voice. 'It makes you feel like slipping a finger inside.' I really went for them too; but to our left was a Spanish couple where the woman, by contrast, had a really thick, black, curly pubic bush; I could really go for that too. As she lay down, I could make out the thick, plump lips of her pussy. She was a young woman, no more than twenty-five, but her breasts were heavy, with large, prominent areolas. 'Come on, turn over on to your back...' Val\u00e9rie whispered into my ear. I did as I was told, kept my eyes closed, as though somehow the fact that I could see nothing diminished the enormity of what we were doing. I felt my cock stand up, the glans emerging from its sheath of protective skin; concentrating purely on the sensation, the warmth of the sun on the mucous membranes was immensely pleasurable. I did not open my eyes when I felt a thread of suntan lotion trickle on to my torso, then on to my stomach. Val\u00e9rie's fingers moved in short, light touches. The fragrance of coconut filled the air. At the point when she began to rub oil into my penis, I opened my eyes suddenly: she was kneeling by my side, facing the Spanish woman who had propped herself up on her elbows to watch. I threw my head back, staring at the blue of the sky. Val\u00e9rie placed the palm of one hand on my balls, slipped her index finger into my anus; with her other hand she continued to jerk me off steadily. Turning my head to the left, I saw that the Spaniard was busying herself with her own guy's penis; I turned back to stare at the azure. At the point when I heard footsteps approaching across the sand, I closed my eyes again. First there was the sound of a kiss, then I heard whispering. I no longer knew how many hands or fingers stroked and wrapped around my prick; the sound of the backwash was very gentle.\n\nAfter the beach, we made a tour of the leisure centre; it was getting dark, the multicoloured signs of the go-go bars lit up one by one. Around a dozen bars arranged around in a circular piazza surrounded a huge massage parlour. In front of the entrance, we met Jean-Yves, who was just leaving, escorted to the door by a girl wearing a long dress. She had large breasts, pale skin and looked a little Chinese. 'Is it nice inside?' Val\u00e9rie asked him.\n\n'It's amazing: a bit kitsch, but very lavish. There are fountains, tropical plants, waterfalls; they've even put up statues of Greek goddesses.'\n\nWe settled ourselves on a deep sofa upholstered with gold thread before choosing two girls. The massage was very pleasant, the hot water and the liquid soap dissolved all traces of suntan oil from our skin, The girls moved gracefully: to soap us they used their breasts, their buttocks, their inner thighs: straight away Val\u00e9rie started to moan. Once again I marvelled at the richness of a woman's erogenous zones.\n\nAfter drying ourselves we lay down on a large, circular bed, two thirds of its circumference encircled by mirrors. One of the girls licked Val\u00e9rie, easily bringing her to orgasm. I knelt over her face; the other girl caressed my balls, jerking me off in her mouth. At the point when she felt I was about to come, Val\u00e9rie motioned to the girls to come closer: while the first girl licked my balls, the other kissed Val\u00e9rie on the mouth; I ejaculated over their half-joined lips.\n\nThe guests for the New Year's Eve party were mostly Thais connected in one way or another with the tourist industry. None of the directors of Aurore had come; the head of TUI had also been unable to get away, but he had sent a subordinate who clearly had no power whatever but seemed thrilled at the opportunity. The buffet was exquisite, a mixture of Thai and Chinese cuisine. There were crispy little _nems_ with basil and lemongrass, deep-fried parcels of water spinach, prawn curry with coconut milk, fried rice with cashew nuts and almonds, an unbelievably delicious Peking duck which melted in the mouth. French wines had been imported for the occasion. I chatted for a while with Lionel, who seemed to be basking in contentment. He was accompanied by a ravishing girl from Chiang Mai whose name was Kim. He had met her in a topless bar on the first night and they had been together ever since. I could easily see what this big, slightly clumsy boy saw in the fragile creature, so delicate she seemed almost unreal; I couldn't see how he could ever have found such a girl in his own country. They were a godsend, these little Thai whores, I thought; a gift from heaven, nothing less. Kim spoke a little French. She had been to France once, Lionel marvelled; her sister had married a Frenchman.\n\n'Really?' I enquired 'What does he do for a living?'\n\n'He's a doctor,' his face clouded a little. 'Obviously, with me it wouldn't be the same kind of life.'\n\n'You've got job security...' I said optimistically. 'Everyone in Thailand dreams of being a civil servant.'\n\nHe looked at me, a little doubtful. It was true, though, the public sector fascinated the Thais. It's true that in Thailand civil servants are corrupt; not only do they have job security, they're rich too. You can have everything you want. 'Well, I hope you have a nice evening...' I said, making my way towards the bar. 'Thank you...' he said, blushing, I don't know what possessed me to play the man of the world at that moment; decidedly, I was getting old. I did have some doubts about the girl: Thai girls from the north are usually very beautiful, but sometimes they're a bit too conscious of the fact. They spend their time staring at themselves in the mirror, keenly aware that their beauty alone constitutes a crucial economic advantage; and as a result they become useless, capricious creatures. On the other hand, unlike some cool western chick, Kim was not in a position to realise that Lionel himself was a bore. The principal criteria for physical beauty are youth, absence of handicap and a general conformity to the norms of the species; they are quite clearly universal. The ancillary criteria \u2013 vaguer and more relative \u2013 were more difficult to appreciate for a young girl from a different culture. For Lionel, the exotic was a wise choice, possibly even the only choice. Anyway, I thought, I've done my best to help him.\n\nA glass of Saint-Est\u00e8phe in hand, I sat on a bench to look at the stars. The year 2002 would mark France's entry into the single currency \u2013 amongst other things: there would also be the World Cup, the presidential elections, various high-profile media events. The rocky crags of the bay were lit up by the moon; I knew there would be a firework display at midnight. A few minutes later, Val\u00e9rie came and sat beside me. I took her in my arms, put my head on her shoulder; I could barely make out the features of her face, but I recognised the scent, the texture of her skin. At the moment when the first rocket exploded, I noticed that her green, almost transparent dress was the same one she had worn a year before at the New Year's Party on Ko Phi Phi; when she pressed her lips against mine, I felt something strange, as though the very order of things had been upturned. Strangely, and without in the least deserving it, I had been given a second chance. It is very rare, in life, to have a second chance; it goes against all the rules. I hugged her fiercely to me, overwhelmed by a sudden desire to weep.\n\n### 15\n\n###### _If love, then, cannot triumph, how can the spirit reign? All practical supremacy belongs to action_.\n\n###### Auguste Comte\n\nTHE BOAT SKIMMED over the immensity of turquoise, and I didn't have to worry about what I was doing. We had left early in the direction of Ko Maya, sailing past the outcrops of coral and the immense chalk crags. Some of them had eroded to form circular islets whose central lagoons could be reached via narrow channels carved into the rock. Inside these islets the water was still, emerald green. The pilot cut the engine. Val\u00e9rie looked at me, we remained silent, unmoving; moments passed in utter silence.\n\nThe pilot dropped us on the island of Ko Maya, in a bay protected by high rocky walls. The beach stretched out at the foot of the cliffs, it was about a hundred metres long, narrow and curved. The sun was high in the sky. It was already eleven o'clock. The pilot started up the engine and headed back in the direction of Krabi; he was to come back and pick us up in the late afternoon. As soon as he rounded the entrance to the bay, the roar died away.\n\nWith the exception of the sexual act, there are few moments in life in which the body exults in the simple pleasure of being alive, fills with joy at the simple fact of its presence in the world; January 1st was, for me, completely filled with such moments. I have no memory of anything other than that bliss. We probably swam, we must have warmed ourselves in the sun and made love. I don't think we spoke, or explored the island. I remember Val\u00e9rie's scent, the taste of salt drying on her pubis; I remember falling asleep inside her and being woken by her contractions.\n\nThe boat came back to collect us at five o'clock. On the terrace of the hotel overlooking the bay, I had a Campari and Val\u00e9rie a Mai Tai. The chalk crags were almost black in the orange light. The last of the bathers were returning, towels in hand. A few metres from the shore, entwined in the warm water, a couple were making love. The rays of the setting sun struck the gilded roof of a pagoda halfway up. In the peaceful air, a bell tolled several times. It's a Buddhist custom, when one has accomplished a good deed or a meritorious action, to commemorate the act by ringing a temple bell; how joyful is a religion which causes the air to resound with human testimony to good deeds.\n\n'Michel...' said Val\u00e9rie after a long silence, looking straight into my eyes. 'I want to stay.'\n\n'What do you mean?'\n\n'To stay here permanently. I was thinking about it as we were coming back this afternoon: it's possible. All I need is to be appointed resort manager. I've got the qualifications for it, and the necessary skills.'\n\nI looked at her, saying nothing; she put her hand on mine.\n\n'Only, you'd have to agree to give up your work. Would you?'\n\n'Yes.' I must have taken less than a second to answer, without a hint of hesitation; never have I been faced with a decision that was so easy to make.\n\nWe spotted Jean-Yves coming out of the massage parlour. Valerie waved to him; he came and sat at our table: she explained her plan.\n\n'Well...' he said hesitantly, 'I suppose we could manage it. Obviously Aurore are going to be a bit surprised, because what you're asking for is a demotion. Your salary will be cut in half at least; there's no other way of doing it given the other employees.'\n\n'I know,' she said; 'I don't give a damn.'\n\nHe looked at her again, shaking his head in surprise. 'It's your choice... If that's what you want... After all,' he said, as if he were only just realising it, 'I'm the one who runs the Eldorador resorts; I've got the right to appoint whoever I like as resort manager.'\n\n'So, you'd agree to it?'\n\n'Yes... yes, I can't stop you.'\n\nIt's a curious sensation, feeling your life teetering on the brink of a radical change; all you have to do is stay there, do nothing, to feel the sensation. Throughout the meal I remained silent, pensive, so much so that eventually Val\u00e9rie became worried.\n\n'Are you sure this is what you want?' she asked. 'Are you sure you won't miss France?'\n\n'No, I won't miss anything.'\n\n'There's nothing to do here, there's no cultural life.'\n\nI was already aware of this; inasmuch as I'd had occasion to give the matter any thought, culture seemed to me to be a necessary compensation for the misery of our lives. It was possible to imagine a different sort of culture, one bound up with celebration and lyricism, something which sprang from a state of happiness; I was doubtful \u2013 it appeared to me to be a highly theoretical proposition, and one which could no longer have any real significance in my life.\n\n'There's TV5...' I said indifferently. She smiled; it was well known that TV5 was in fact one of the worst television channels in the world. 'Are you sure you won't get bored?' she insisted.\n\nIn my life, I had known suffering, oppression, anxiety; I had never known boredom. I could see no objection to the endless, imbecile repetition of sameness. Of course, I harboured no illusions about being capable of getting to that point: I knew that misery is robust, it is resourceful and tenacious; but it was not a prospect that caused me the least concern. As a child, I could spend hours counting sprigs of clover in a meadow: in all the years of searching I had never found a four-leafed clover; I never felt any disappointment or any bitterness; to tell the truth, I could just as well have been counting blades of grass \u2013 all of those sprigs of clover, with their three leaves, seemed endlessly identical, endlessly splendid to me. One day, when I was twelve, I had climbed to the top of an electricity pylon high in the mountains. As I was going up, I didn't once look down at my feet. When I reached the platform at the top, the descent seemed complicated and dangerous. The mountain ranges stretched as far as the eye could see, crowned with eternal snows. It would have been much simpler to stay there, or to jump. I was stopped, _in extremis_ , by the thought of being crushed; but otherwise, I think I could have rejoiced endlessly in my flight.\n\nThe following day I met Andreas, a German who had been living in the area for ten years. He was a translator, he explained, which made it possible for him to work alone; he went back to Germany once a year for the Frankfurt Book Fair; if he had queries, he made them via the internet. He'd had the opportunity to translate a number of American bestsellers \u2013 among them _The Firm_ \u2013 which in themselves guaranteed him a healthy income; the cost of living here was low. Until now, there had been almost no tourism. He found it surprising to see so many compatriots descending on the place; he greeted the news unenthusiastically, but with no real displeasure either. His ties with Germany had in fact become very tenuous, despite the fact that his work obliged him to use the language constantly. He had married a Thai girl whom he'd met in a massage parlour, and they now had two children.\n\n'Is it easy, here, to have... um... children?' I asked. I felt as though I was asking something incongruous, as if I'd asked whether it was difficult to acquire a dog. To be honest, I had always felt a certain repugnance for young children; as far as I was concerned they were ugly little monsters who shat uncontrollably and screamed insufferably. But I was aware that it was something most couples _do_ ; I did not know whether it made them happy, at any rate they didn't dare complain about it. 'Actually,' I said glancing around the resort, 'with as much space as this, it might be feasible: they could wander between the chalets, they could play with bits of wood or whatever.'\n\nAccording to Andreas, yes, it was particularly easy to have children here; there was a school in Krabi, it was even within walking distance. And Thai children were very different from European children, a lot less quick-tempered and less prone to tantrums. For their parents, they felt a respect bordering on veneration, it came to them quite naturally, it was part of their culture. Whenever he visited D\u00fcsseldorf, he was quite literally frightened by the behaviour of his nephews.\n\nTo tell the truth, I was only half convinced by this idea of cultural immersion. For reassurance I reminded myself that Val\u00e9rie was only twenty-eight; in general, women don't get broody until about thirty-five. But, in the end, yes, if necessary, I would have her child; I knew the idea would come to her, it was unavoidable. After all, a child is like a little animal, admittedly with certain malicious tendencies; let's say, a bit like a small monkey. It might even have its advantages, I thought; eventually I would be able to teach it to play _Mille Bornes_. I nurtured a genuine passion for the game of _Mille Bornes_ , a passion which remained, in general, unsatisfied; who could I invite to play with me? Certainly not my work colleagues; nor the artists who came to show me their portfolios. Andreas, maybe? I gauged him quickly: no, he didn't look the type. That said, he seemed serious, intelligent; it was a friendship worth cultivating. 'Are you thinking of moving here... permanently?'\n\n'Yes, permanently.'\n\n'It's better to look at it like that,' he said, nodding his head. 'It's very difficult to leave Thailand; I know that if I had to do it now, it's something I'd find very hard to deal with.'\n\n### 16\n\nTHE DAYS PASSED with terrifying speed; we were supposed to go back on January 5. The night before, we met up with Jean-Yves in the main restaurant. Lionel had declined the invitation; he was going to watch Kim dance. 'I really like watching her dance almost naked in front of men...' he told us, 'knowing that later on, I'll be the one to have her.' Jean-Yves looked at him as he walked away. 'He's making progress, the gas man...' he noted, sarcastically. 'He's discovering perversion.'\n\n'Don't make fun of him...' Val\u00e9rie protested. 'I think I finally understand what you see in him,' she said turning to me; 'He's an endearing boy. Anyway, I'm sure he's having a fabulous holiday.'\n\nIt was getting dark; lights winked on in the villages around the bay. A last ray of sun lit up the golden roof of the pagoda. Since Val\u00e9rie had informed him of her decision, Jean-Yves hadn't broached the subject again. He waited until the end of the meal to do so; he ordered a bottle of wine.\n\n'I'm going to miss you...' he said. 'It won't be the same. We've been working together for more than five years. We've worked well together, we've never had a serious row. Without you, I would never have made it.'\n\nVal\u00e9rie didn't say anything. There was nothing to say; broadly speaking, it was true.\n\n'Now,' he said thoughtfully, 'we'll be able to extend the formula. One of the most obvious countries is Brazil. I've also been thinking about Kenya again: the ideal thing to do would be to open another club, further inland, for the safaris, and leave the beach club as an 'Aphrodite' resort. One of the other immediate possibilities is Vietnam.'\n\n'You're not afraid of the competition?' I asked.\n\n'There's no risk there. The American chains wouldn't dare get involved in something like this. What I was a bit afraid of was the reaction of the French press; but for the moment, there's been nothing. It has to be said that most of our customers are foreign, from Germany and Italy \u2013 they're more relaxed about this sort of thing.'\n\n'You're going to be the biggest pimp in the world...'\n\n'Not a pimp,' he protested. 'We don't take a penny from what the girls earn; we just let them work, that's all.'\n\n'Anyhow, there's no connection,' interrupted Val\u00e9rie; 'they're not really part of the hotel staff.'\n\n'Well, yes...' Jean-Yves said hesitantly. 'Here they're not connected; but I've heard that in the Dominican Republic the waitresses are only too happy to go upstairs.'\n\n'They're doing it of their own free will.'\n\n'Oh, yes, that's the least you can say.'\n\n'Well...' Val\u00e9rie extended a conciliating gesture to the world, 'don't let the hypocrites grind you down. You're there, you provide the framework, using the Aurore know-how, and that's all.'\n\nThe waiter brought lemongrass soup. At the neighbouring tables were German and Italian men accompanied by Thai girls, some German couples \u2013 accompanied or otherwise. Everyone quietly living together, with no apparent problem, in a general atmosphere of pleasure; this resort manager job promised to be pretty easy.\n\n'So, you're really going to stay here...' Jean-Yves said again; clearly he was having trouble believing it. 'It's surprising; I mean, in a way, I understand, but... what's surprising is that you're giving up the chance of making more money.'\n\n'More money to do what?' said Val\u00e9rie emphatically. 'Buy Prada handbags? Spend a weekend in Budapest? Eat white truffles in season? I've earned a lot of money, I can't even remember where it's gone: yes, I've probably spent it on stupid things like that. Do you know where your money goes?'\n\n'Well...' He thought. 'Actually, up to now, I think it's mostly Audrey who's spent it.'\n\n'Audrey's a stupid bitch,' she retorted, mercilessly. 'Thank God you're getting divorced. It's the most intelligent decision you've ever made.'\n\n'It's true, deep down she is very stupid...' he replied, unembarrassed. He smiled, hesitated a moment: 'You really are a strange girl, Val\u00e9rie.'\n\n'It's not me who's strange, it's the world around me. Do you really want to buy yourself a Ferrari cabriolet? A holiday home in Deauville, which will only get burgled anyway? To work ninety hours a week until you're sixty? To pay half of everything you earn in tax to finance military operations in Kosovo, or recovery plans for the inner cities? We're happy here; we have everything we need in life. The only thing the Western world has to offer is designer products. If you believe in designer products, then you can stay in the West; otherwise, in Thailand you can get excellent fakes.'\n\n'It's your position that's strange; you've worked for years at the centre of Western civilisation, without ever believing in its values.'\n\n'I'm a predator,' she replied calmly, 'a sweet little predator \u2013 my needs are not very great; but if I've worked all my life, it's only been for the cash; now, I'm going to start living. What I don't understand is other people: what's stopping you, for example, from coming to live here? You could easily marry a Thai girl: they're pretty, gentle, good in bed; some of them even speak a bit of French.'\n\n'Well, urn...' He hesitated again. 'Up until now, I've enjoyed having a different girl every night.'\n\n'You'll grow out of it. In any case, there's nothing stopping you visiting massage parlours after you're married; that's what they're there for.'\n\n'I know. I think... Fundamentally, I think I've always had trouble making the important decisions in my life.'\n\nA little embarrassed by this admission, he turned to me:\n\n'What about you, Michel, what are you going to do here?'\n\nThe response closest to the truth was probably something like 'Nothing'; but it's always difficult to explain that kind of thing to an active person. 'The cooking...' replied Val\u00e9rie on my behalf. I turned to her, surprised. 'Yes, yes,' she insisted, 'I've noticed that from time to time you have vague creative aspirations in that area. It's just as well, I don't like cooking; I'm sure that here you'll be able to make a start.'\n\nI tasted a spoonful of my curried chicken with green peppers; as it happened, I could imagine doing something similar with mangoes. Jean-Yves nodded thoughtfully. I looked at Val\u00e9rie: she was a good predator, more intelligent and more tenacious than I was; and she had chosen me to share her lair. It is possible to suppose that societies are dependent, if not on a common goal, then at least on a consensus \u2013 sometimes described in western democracies as a _weak consensus_ , by certain leader-writers whose political positions are very entrenched. As someone of pretty weak temperament myself, I had done nothing to change that consensus; the idea of a common goal seemed less clear. According to Immanuel Kant, human dignity consists in not accepting to be subject to laws except inasmuch as one can simultaneously consider oneself a legislator; never had such a bizarre fantasy crossed my mind. Not only did I not vote, but I had never considered elections as anything more than excellent television shows \u2013 in which, to tell the truth, my favourite actors were the political scientists: J\u00e9r\u00f4me Jaffr\u00e9 in particular delighted me. Being a political leader seemed to me a difficult, technical, wearing task; I was quite happy to delegate whatever powers I had. In my youth, I had encountered militants, who considered it necessary to force society to evolve in this or that direction; I had never felt any sympathy or any respect for them. Gradually, I had even learned to distrust them: the way they got involved in popular causes, the way they treated society as though it was something they played an active role in, seemed suspicious. What did I, for my part, have to reproach the West for? Not much \u2013 but I wasn't especially attached to it (and I was finding it more and more difficult to understand how one could feel attached to an idea, a country, anything in fact other than an individual). Life was expensive in the West, it was cold there; the prostitution was of poor quality. It was difficult to smoke in public places, almost impossible to buy medicines and drugs; you worked hard, there were cars, and noise, and the security in public places was very badly implemented. All in all, it had numerous drawbacks. I suddenly realised to my embarrassment that I considered the society I lived in more or less as a natural environment \u2013 like a savannah, or a jungle \u2013 whose laws I had to adapt to. The notion that I was in any way in solidarity with this environment had never occurred to me; it was like an atrophy in me, an emptiness. It was far from certain that society could continue to survive for long with individuals like me; but I could survive with a woman, become attached to her, try to make her happy. Just as I turned to give Val\u00e9rie another grateful look, I heard a sort of click to my right. Then I noticed an engine noise coming from the sea, which cut out immediately. At the front of the terrace, a tall blonde woman stood up, screaming. Then came the first burst of gunfire, a brief crackle. She turned towards us, bringing her hands up to her face: a bullet had hit her in the eye, the socket was now no more than a bloody hole; then she collapsed without a sound. Then I saw our assailants, three men wearing turbans, moving swiftly in our direction, machine-guns in hand. A second round of gunfire broke out, a little longer; the noise of crockery and broken glass mingled with screams of pain. For several seconds, we must have been completely paralysed; few people thought to take shelter under the tables. At my side, Jean-Yves gave a brief yelp, he had just been hit in the arm. Then I saw Val\u00e9rie slide gently from her chair and collapse on the ground. I rushed to her and put my arms around her. From that point on, I saw nothing. The bursts of machine-gun fire followed one after another in a silence disturbed only by the sound of exploding glasses; it seemed to me to go on for ever. The smell of gunpowder was very intense. Then everything was silent again. I noticed that my left arm was covered in blood; Val\u00e9rie must have been hit in the chest or the throat. The streetlamp beside us had been blown out and I could barely see a thing. Lying about a metre from me, Jean-Yves tried to get up and groaned. Just then, from the direction of the leisure complex, came an enormous explosion which ripped through the entire area and echoed around the bay for a long time. At first I thought my eardrums had burst, but some seconds later, in the midst of my daze, I became aware of a concert of dreadful screams, the genuine screams of the damned.\n\nThe emergency services arrived ten minutes later; they had come from Krabi. They went first to the leisure complex. The bomb had exploded in the middle of Crazy Lips, the largest of the bars, at peak time; it had been hidden in a sports bag left near the dance floor. It was a very powerful homemade dynamite device triggered by an alarm clock; the bag had been stuffed with bolts and nails. Under the force of the blast, the thin brick walls separating the bar from the other establishments had been blown out; a number of the metal girders which held up the whole building had buckled from the force of the blast, the roof was threatening to collapse. Faced with the extent of the catastrophe, the first thing the rescue workers did was to call for back-up. In front of the entrance to the bar a dancer crawled along the ground, still wearing her white bikini, her arms severed at the elbows. Nearby, a German tourist sitting in the midst of the rubble held his intestines as they spilled from his belly; his wife lay near him, her chest gaping, her breasts half torn off. Inside the bar a blackish smoke hung in the air; the ground was slippery, covered with blood seeping from human bodies and mutilated organs. A number of the dying, their arms or legs severed, tried to crawl towards the exit, leaving behind them a bloody trail. Bolts and nails had gouged out eyes, ripped off hands, torn faces to shreds. Some of the bodies had literally exploded from within, their limbs and viscera strewing the ground for several metres.\n\nWhen the rescue workers reached the terrace, I was still holding Val\u00e9rie in my arms; her body was warm. Two metres in front of me, a woman lay on the ground, her bloody face peppered with shards of glass. Others remained in their seats, mouths wide open, frozen in death. I screamed at the rescue workers: two nurses came over immediately, gently took Val\u00e9rie and placed her on a stretcher. I tried to stand up, but fell backwards; my head hit the ground. It was then that I heard, very distinctly, someone say in French: 'She's dead.'\n\n## Part Three\n\n## _Pattaya Beach_\n\n### 1\n\nIT WAS THE first time for a long while that I had woken up alone. The hospital in Krabi was a small, bright building; the doctor came to see me in mid-morning. He was French, a member of M\u00e9decins du Monde; they had arrived on the scene the day after the attack. He was a man of about thirty, a little stooped, with a worried expression. He told me that I had been asleep for three days. 'Actually, you weren't really asleep,' he went on; 'sometimes you appeared to be awake. We spoke to you several times, but this is the first time we've managed to make contact.' Make contact, I thought. He told me, too, that the death toll of the attack had been horrifying: at the moment, the dead numbered one hundred and seventeen; it was the most murderous attack ever to take place in Asia. A number of the injured were still in a extremely critical condition, considered too weak to be moved; Lionel was among them. Both of his legs had been severed, a piece of metal had lodged in the pit of his stomach; his chances of survival were remote. Others who had been seriously injured had been transported to Bumrungrad Hospital in Bangkok. Jean-Yves had only been slightly hurt: a bullet had fractured his humerus; it had been possible to treat him on the spot. Me, I was absolutely fine, not even a scratch. 'As for your friend...' the doctor said, 'her body has already been repatriated to France. I spoke to her parents on the phone: she will be buried in Brittany.'\n\nHe fell silent; he was probably waiting for me to say something. He watched me out of the corner of his eye; he seemed increasingly worried.\n\nTowards noon, a nurse arrived with a tray; she took it away an hour later. She told me I really should start to eat again, that it was vital.\n\nJean-Yves came to see me sometime in the afternoon. He too looked at me strangely, a little sidelong. He talked mostly about Lionel; he was dying now, it was only a matter of hours. He had asked for Kim a lot. Miraculously, she was unhurt, but seemed to have got over it rather quickly: as he was taking a stroll in Krabi the previous evening, Jean-Yves had seen her on the arm of an Englishman. He had said nothing about this to Lionel, who didn't seem to harbour any illusions anyway; at least he had been fortunate enough to have met her. 'It's strange...' Jean-Yves said to me, 'he seems happy.'\n\nAs he was leaving my room, I realised that I hadn't said a word; I really didn't know what to say to him. I knew perfectly well that something was wrong, but it was a vague feeling, difficult to put into words. It seemed to me that the best thing to do was keep quiet until the people around me realised their mistake; it was just a bad patch I had to get through.\n\nBefore he left, Jean-Yves looked up at me, then shook his head discouraged. It appears, at least this is what they told me immediately afterwards, that I talked a lot, all the time in fact, whenever I was left alone in the room; as soon as someone came in, I fell silent.\n\nA few days later they transported us to Bumrungrad Hospital in an air ambulance. I didn't really understand the reasons for the transfer; in fact I think it was mostly so the police would have an opportunity to question us. Lionel had died the night before; crossing the corridor I saw his body wrapped in a shroud.\n\nThe Thai police were accompanied by an embassy attach\u00e9 who acted as an interpreter; unfortunately, I had little to tell them. What seemed to most obsess them most was whether the attackers had been of Arab or Asian origin. I could well understand their preoccupation \u2013 it was important to know whether an international terrorist network had established a foothold in Thailand or whether they were dealing with Malay separatists \u2013 but all that I could do was repeat that everything had happened so quickly, that I had seen only shadows; as far as I knew, the men could have been of Malay appearance.\n\nThen I had a visit from some Americans, who I think were from the CIA. They spoke brutally, in an unpleasant tone; I felt as though I was a suspect myself. They hadn't thought it necessary to bring an interpreter, so I couldn't understand most of their questions. At the end, they showed me a series of photographs, purportedly of international terrorists; I did not recognise any of these men.\n\nFrom time to time, Jean-Yves came to see me in my room, sat at the foot of the bed. I was aware of his presence, I felt a little more tense. One morning, three days after we arrived, he handed me a small sheaf of papers: they were photocopies of newspaper articles. 'The board of Aurore faxed them to me yesterday,' he said; 'They made no comment.'\n\nThe first article, taken from the _Nouvel Observateur_ , was headlined 'A VERY SPECIAL CLUB'; it was two pages long, very detailed, and illustrated with a photograph taken from the German advertising campaign. The journalist accused the Aurore group in no uncertain terms of promoting sex tourism in third-world countries, and added that, in the circumstances, the reaction of the Muslims was understandable. Jean-Claude Guillebaud dedicated his editorial to the same subject. Interviewed by telephone, Jean-Luc Espitalier had declared: 'The Aurore group, a signatory of the world charter for ethical tourism, in no way sanctions such activities; those responsible will be disciplined.' The dossier continued with a vehement but poorly documented article by Isabelle Alonso, from the _Journal de dimanche_ , entitled: 'THE RETURN OF SLAVERY'. Fran\u00e7ois Giroud picked up the theme in his weekly diary: 'Faced,' he wrote, 'with the hundreds of thousands of women who have been sullied, humiliated, reduced to slavery throughout the world \u2013 it is regrettable to have to say this \u2013 what do the deaths of a few of the well-heeled matter.' The terrorist attack in Krabi had naturally given the story considerable impact. _Lib\u00e9ration_ ran a front-page story in which it published photos of the repatriated survivors, taken when they landed at Roissy, with the headline: 'NOT SO INNOCENT VICTIMS'. In his editorial, J\u00e9r\u00f4me Dupuy singled out the Thai government for its lenient attitude to prostitution and drugs, as well as for its frequent breaches of democracy. As for _Paris-Match_ , under the headline 'CARNAGE AT KRABI', came a full account of the 'night of horror'. They had managed to procure photos, which, it has to be said, were of pretty poor quality \u2013 black and white photocopies sent by fax \u2013 they could have been photos of just about anything, you could barely make out the bodies. In the same issue, they published the confessions of a sex tourist \u2013 who actually had nothing to do with the events: he was a freelance who operated mostly in the Philippines. Jacques Chirac had immediately made a statement in which, though he expressed his revulsion for the attack, he condemned the 'unacceptable behaviour of some of our fellow citizens abroad'. Speaking in the wake of the events, Lionel Jospin reiterated that a law existed to crack down on sex tourism, even when the victims were consenting adults. The articles which followed, in _Le Figaro_ and _Le Monde_ , wondered what means should be used to fight this plague, and the position the international community should adopt.\n\nIn the days that followed, Jean-Yves tried to get in touch with Gottfried Rembke by telephone; eventually, he succeeded. The head of TUI was sorry, truly sorry, but there was nothing he could do. In any case, as a tourist destination, Thailand was out of the question for several decades. Above and beyond that, the articles in the French press had had certain repercussions in Germany; it's true that opinion there was more divided, but the majority of the public nonetheless condemned sex tourism. Under the circumstances, he preferred to withdraw from the project.\n\n### 2\n\nI NO MORE understood the reasons for my return to Paris than I had the reasons for my transfer to Bangkok. I was little liked by the hospital staff, they probably found me too inert; even in hospital, even on your deathbed, you are forced to play the part. Medical personnel like patients to put up a certain amount of resistance, to show a wilfulness which they can do their utmost to break, for the good of the patient, naturally. I manifested nothing of the sort. You could roll me on to my side ready for an injection and come back three hours later: I would still be in exactly the same position. The night before my departure, I banged roughly into one of the doors in the hospital corridor as I was trying to find the toilets. In the morning, my face was covered in blood, there was a gash above my eyebrow; I had to be cleaned, have a dressing put on. It hadn't occurred to me to call a nurse; in fact, I hadn't felt a thing.\n\nThe flight was a neutral period of time; I'd lost even the habit of smoking. By the baggage carousel, I shook Jean-Yves's hand; then I took a taxi to the Avenue de Choisy.\n\nI immediately noticed that something wasn't right, that it would never be right. I didn't unpack. I walked around the apartment, a plastic bag in one hand, picking up all the photos of Val\u00e9rie I could find. Most of them had been taken at her parents' in Brittany, on the beach or in the garden. There were also a few erotic photos that I had taken in the flat; I liked to watch her masturbate, I found her movements beautiful.\n\nI sat on the sofa and dialled a number which I had been given to use in case of emergencies, twenty-four hours a day. It was a sort of crisis unit which had been set up especially to care for the survivors of the attack. It was based in a wing of the Sainte-Anne Hospital.\n\nMost of the people who had asked to go there really were in a sad state: despite massive doses of tranquillisers, they had nightmares every night, every time there were screams, worried shouts, tears. When I met them in the corridors I was struck by their distressed, panic-stricken faces; they seemed to be literally eaten up by fear. And that fear, I thought, would end only with their lives.\n\nFor my part, more than anything, I felt terribly weary. In general I only got up to drink a cup of Nescaf\u00e9 or nibble a few biscuits; meals were not compulsory, nor were the therapeutic activities. Even so, I underwent a series of tests, and three days after my arrival I had an interview with a psychiatrist; the tests had revealed 'extremely weakened reactivity'. I was not in pain, but I did, in fact, feel weakened; I felt weaker than it was possible to feel. He asked me what I intended to do. I replied, 'Wait'. I showed myself to be reasonably optimistic; I told him that all this sadness would come to an end, that I would find happiness again, but that I had to wait a while. He didn't seem really convinced. He was a man of about fifty, with a plump, cheerful face, absolutely clean-shaven.\n\nAfter a week, they transferred me to a new psychiatric hospital, this time for a lengthy stay. I had to stay there for a little over three months. To my great surprise, I met the same psychiatrist there. It was hardly surprising, he told me; this was where his surgery was based. Helping crisis victims was only a temporary assignment, something of a speciality in his case, in fact \u2013 he had already been on a committee set up after the bombing of the Saint-Michel RER station.\n\nHe didn't really talk like a typical psychiatrist, at least I found him bearable. I remember he talked to me about 'freeing oneself from attachments': it sounded like some Buddhist bullshit. Freeing what? I was nothing more than an attachment. Inclined to the transitory by nature, I had become attached to a transitory thing, as was my nature \u2013 none of this demanded any particular comment. Had I been inclined towards the eternal by nature, I went on, in order to fuel the conversation, I would have become attached to things eternal. Apparently his technique worked well with survivors haunted by fears of mutilation and death. 'These sufferings do not belong to you, they are not truly yours; they are merely passing phantoms in your mind,' he told people; and in the end, they believed him.\n\nI don't know at what point I began to become aware of the situation \u2013 but in any case, it was only episodic. There were still long periods \u2013 in fact there still are \u2013 when Val\u00e9rie is categorically not dead. In the beginning I could consciously prolong these without the slightest effort. I remember the first time I found it difficult, when I truly felt the weight of reality; it was just after a visit from Jean-Yves. It was a fraught moment; there were memories which I found difficult to deny. I didn't ask him to come back.\n\nMarie-Jeanne's visit, on the other hand, did me good. She didn't say much, she talked a bit about the atmosphere at work; I told her straight away that I wouldn't be coming back, because I was going to move to Krabi. She acquiesced without comment. 'Don't worry,' I told her, 'everything will be fine.' She looked at me with mute compassion; strangely, I actually think that she believed me.\n\nThe visit from Val\u00e9rie's parents was probably the most painful; the psychiatrist must have told them that I was going through a period of denial. As a result, Val\u00e9rie's mother cried almost the whole time; her father didn't seem very comfortable either. They had also come to iron out some practical details, to bring me a suitcase containing my personal belongings. They imagined I wouldn't want to keep the apartment in the 13th arrondissement. 'Of course not', I said, 'of course we'll deal with that later.' At that point Val\u00e9rie's mother began to cry again.\n\nLife goes by effortlessly in an institution: there, for the most part, human needs are satisfied. I had rediscovered _Questions pour un champion_ , it was the only show I watched, I no longer took any interest in the news. A lot of the other residents spent the entire day in front of the television. I wasn't all that keen, really: everything was moving too quickly. I believed that, if I could remain calm, avoid thinking as much as possible, matters would sort themselves out in the end.\n\nOne morning in April, I found out that matters had, in effect, sorted themselves out and that I would soon be able to leave. This seemed to me to complicate things rather: I would have to find a hotel room, create a neutral environment. At least I had money, that was something at least. 'You have to look on the bright side,' I said to one of the nurses. She seemed surprised, perhaps because this was the first time I had ever spoken to her.\n\nThere is no specific treatment for denial, the psychiatrist explained to me at our last interview; it is not really a disorder of mood, but a problem of perception. He had kept me in hospital all this time chiefly because he was worried about the possible risk of a suicide attempt \u2013 they are quite common in cases of sudden, brutal realisations; but now I was out of danger. I see, I said. I see.\n\n### 3\n\nA WEEK AFTER being discharged from hospital, I took a flight back to Bangkok. I had no particular plans. If we had an ideal nature, we could satisfy ourselves with the movements of the sun. The seasons were too distinct in Paris, they were a source of agitation, of insecurity. In Bangkok, the sun rose at six o'clock, it set at six o'clock; in the intervening time, it followed an unchanging course. There was, apparently, a monsoon season, but I had never witnessed it. The bustle of the city existed, but I couldn't clearly grasp the rationale behind it, it was more a sort of natural state. Undoubtedly all of these people had a destiny, a life, inasmuch as their incomes permitted; but for all I knew, they could just as easily have been a pack of lemmings.\n\nI took a room at the Amari Boulevard; most of the guests in the hotel were Japanese businessmen. This was where we had stayed, Val\u00e9rie, Jean-Yves and I, on our last visit; it wasn't really a good idea. Two days later, I moved to the Grace Hotel; it was only about ten metres down the road, but the atmosphere was noticeably different. It was probably the last place in Bangkok where you could still meet Arab sex tourists. They hugged the walls, staying holed up in the hotel \u2013 which had a discotheque and its own massage parlour. You spotted them in the surrounding alleys where there were stalls selling kebabs and long-distance call centres; but, further afield, nothing. I realised that without intending to, I had moved closer to the Bumrungrad Hospital.\n\nIt is certainly possible to remain alive animated simply by a desire for vengeance; many people have lived that way. Islam had wrecked my life, and Islam was certainly something which I could hate; in the days that followed, I devoted myself to trying to feel hatred for Muslims. I was quite good at it, and I started to follow the international news again. Every time I heard that a Palestinian terrorist, or a Palestinian child or a pregnant Palestinian woman had been gunned down in the Gaza Strip, I felt a quiver of enthusiasm at the thought that it meant one less Muslim. Yes, it was possible to live like this.\n\nOne evening, in the hotel coffee-shop, a Jordanian banker struck up a conversation with me. A man of amiable disposition, he insisted on buying me a beer; perhaps his enforced seclusion in the hotel was beginning to get to him. 'I understand how people feel, you know; you can't hold it against them...' he told me. 'It has to be said, we were asking for it. This isn't a Muslim country, there's no reason to spend hundreds of millions building mosques. To say nothing of the bomb attack, of course...' Seeing that I was listening to him attentively, he ordered another beer and become bolder. The problem with Muslims, he told me, was that the paradise promised by the prophet already existed here on earth: there were places on earth where young, available, lascivious girls danced for the pleasure of men, where one could become drunk on nectar and listen to celestial music; there were about twenty of them within five hundred metres of our hotel. These places were easily accessible. To gain admission, there was absolutely no need to fulfil the seven duties of a Muslim, nor to engage in holy war; all you had to do was pay a couple of dollars. It wasn't even necessary to travel to realise such things; all you needed was satellite TV. For him, there was no doubt, the Muslim way was doomed: capitalism would triumph. Already, young Arabs dreamed of nothing but consumer products and sex. They might try to pretend otherwise, but secretly, they wanted to be part of the American system: the violence of some of them was no more than a sign of impotent jealousy; thankfully, more and more of them were turning their backs on Islam. He himself had been unlucky: he was an old man now, and he had been forced to spend his whole life compromising with a religion he despised. I was in much the same boat: there would come a day when the world was delivered from Islam; but for me, it would come too late. I no longer really had a life; I had had a life, for a few months \u2013 that in itself was something, not everyone could say as much. The absence of the will to live is, alas, not sufficient to make one want to die.\n\nI saw him again the next day, just before he left for Amman; it would be a year before he could come back. On the whole, I was glad that he was leaving; I sensed that otherwise he would have wanted to talk to me again. The prospect gave me a bit of a headache: I found it very difficult now to tolerate intellectual debate; I no longer had any desire to understand the world, nor even to know it. Our brief conversation, however, had made a profound impression on me; in fact, he had convinced me from the outset, Islam was doomed. As soon as you thought about it, it seemed obvious. This simple thought was sufficient to dispel my hatred. Once again I ceased to have any interest in the news.\n\n### 4\n\nBANGKOK WAS STILL too much like a normal city, there were too many businessmen, too many tourists on package holidays. Two weeks later, I caught a bus for Pattaya. It had been bound to end this way I thought, as I boarded the vehicle; it was then that I realised that I was wrong, nothing in this story had been determined. I could easily have spent the rest of my life with Val\u00e9rie in Thailand, in Brittany, or indeed anywhere at all. Growing old is no joke; but growing old alone is worse than anything.\n\nAs soon as I had put down my luggage on the dusty floor of the bus station, I knew I had arrived at the end of my journey. A scrawny old junkie with long grey hair, a large lizard perched on his shoulder, was begging outside the turnstiles. I gave him a hundred baht before drinking a beer at the Heidelberg Hof directly opposite. A few pot-bellied, moustachioed German pederasts minced around in their flowery shirts. Near them, three Russian teenage girls, who had attained a pinnacle of sluttishness, squirmed as they listened to their ghetto-blaster. They writhed and rolled about on their chairs, the sleazy little cocksuckers. In a few minutes' walk through the streets of the town, I encountered an impressive variety of human specimens: rappers in baseball caps, Dutch dropouts, cyberpunks with red hair, Austrian dykes with piercings. There is nothing lower than Pattaya, it is a sort of cesspit, the ultimate sewer where the sundry waste of western neurosis winds up. Whether you're homosexual, heterosexual, or both, Pattaya is the last-chance saloon, the one beyond which you might as well give up on desire. The hotels are distinguished, naturally, by different levels of comfort and price, but also by the nationality of their clientele. There are two large communities, the Germans and the Americans (among whom probably some Australians and possibly even some New Zealanders conceal themselves). You also get quite a lot of Russians, recognisable because they dress like rednecks and behave like gangsters. There is even an establishment intended for the French, called Ma Maison. The hotel has only a dozen rooms, but the restaurant is very popular. I spent a week there before I realised that I was not particularly attached to _andouillettes_ or _cuisses de grenouille_ ; that I could live without following the French championship via satellite, and without leafing daily through the arts pages of _Le Monde_. In any case, I needed to find long-term accommodation. A standard tourist visa in Thailand only lasts for one month; but to get an extension, all you have to do is cross the border. A lot of the travel agencies in Pattaya offer a day return to the Cambodian border. After a three-hour trek in a minibus, you queue for an hour or two at customs, have lunch in a self-service restaurant on Cambodian soil (lunch is included in the price, as are tips for customs officials), then you start on your return journey. Most residents have been doing this every month for years; it's much easier than trying to get a long-term visa.\n\nYou don't come to Pattaya to start your life over, but to end it in tolerable conditions. Or, if you want to put it less brutally, to take a rest, a long rest \u2013 one which may prove permanent. These were the terms used by a homosexual of about fifty I met in an Irish pub on Soi 14; he had spent the greater part of his career as a designer working for the popular press and had managed to put some money aside. Ten years earlier, he had noticed that things were going badly for him: he still went out to clubs, the same clubs as always, but more and more often he came home empty-handed. Of course, he could always pay; but if it had to come to that, he would rather pay Asians. He apologised for this remark, hoped I would not infer any racist connotation. No, no, of course, I understood: it's less humiliating to pay for someone who looks nothing like any of those you have seduced in the past, who brings back no memories. If sex has to be paid for, it is best that, in a certain sense, it is undifferentiated. As everyone knows, one of the first things you feel in the presence of another race is that inability to differentiate, that feeling that physically, everyone looks more or less alike. The effect wears off after a few months, and it's a pity, because it bears out a reality: human beings do, in fact, look very much alike. Of course, we can distinguish between males and females; we can also, if we choose, distinguish between different age categories; but any more advanced distinction comes close to pedantry, probably a result of boredom. A creature that is bored elaborates distinctions and hierarchies. According to Hutchinson and Rawlins, the development of systems of hierarchical dominance within animal societies does not correspond to any practical necessity, nor to any selective advantage; it simply constitutes a means of combating the crushing boredom of life in the heart of nature.\n\nSo, the former designer was quietly living out the last years of his queer life treating himself to pretty, slender, muscular, dark-skinned boys. Once a year, he went back to France to visit his family and a few friends. His sex life was less frenetic than I might imagine, he told me: he went out once or twice a week, no more. He had been settled here in Pattaya for six years now; the profusion of varied, exciting and inexpensive sexual opportunities provoked a paradoxical calming of desire. Every time he went out, he was certain of being able to fuck and suck magnificent young boys who, for their part, would jerk him off sensitively and expertly in return. Confident of this fact, he spent more time getting ready to go out and he enjoyed these encounters in moderation. I realised then that he imagined I was in the throes of the erotic frenzy of my first weeks here, that he saw in me a heterosexual counterpart to his own case. I refrained from correcting him. He proved to be friendly, insisted on buying the beers, gave me a number of addresses for long-term accommodation. He had enjoyed talking to a Frenchman. Most of the homosexual residents were English; he was on good terms with them, but from time to time, he wanted to speak his own language. He had no real contact with the little French community which gathered at Ma Maison \u2013 mostly a crowd of straight, ex-colonial, ex-army thugs. If I was going to live in Pattaya, maybe we could go out together some night, no strings, obviously; he gave me his mobile number. I wrote it down, though I knew that I would never call him. He was pleasant, friendly, interesting if you like; but I simply wasn't interested in human relationships any more.\n\nI rented a room on Naklua Road, a little outside the bustle of the city. It had air-conditioning, a fridge, a shower, a bed and some bits of furniture; the rent was three thousand baht a month \u2013 a little more than five hundred francs. I informed my bank of this news, wrote a letter of resignation to the Ministry of Culture.\n\nThere was nothing much left for me to do in this life. I bought a number of reams of A4 paper with the intention of putting the elements of my life in order. It's something people should do more often before they die. It's curious to think of all these human beings who live out their whole lives without feeling the need to make the slightest comment, the slightest objection, the slightest remark. Not that these comments, these objections, these remarks are addressed to anyone in particular, nor intended to have any sort of meaning; but, even so, it seems to me to be better, in the end, that they be made.\n\n### 5\n\nSIX MONTHS LATER, I am still here in my room on Naklua Road, and I think that I have more or less finished my work. I miss Val\u00e9rie. If by chance it was my intention, when I began writing these pages, to lessen the feeling of loss, or to make it more bearable, I would by now be certain of my failure: Val\u00e9rie's absence has never been more painful to me.\n\nAt the beginning of my third month here, I decided in the end to go back to the massage parlours and the hostess bars again. In principle, the idea didn't really fill me with enthusiasm; I was afraid it would be a total fiasco. Nonetheless, I managed to get a hard-on, and even to ejaculate; but I never once experienced any pleasure. It wasn't the girls' fault, they were just as expert, just as gentle; but it was as though I was anaesthetised. I continued to go to a massage parlour once a week, to some extent on principle; then I decided to stop. It was, after all, a form of human contact \u2013 that was the drawback. Even if I didn't in the least believe that my ability to feel pleasure would return, it was possible that the girl would come, especially as the numbness in my penis meant that I could keep going for hours if I didn't make a little effort to interrupt the proceedings. I might get to the point where I wanted her to come, it could become an issue; and I didn't wish to have anything more to do with issues. My life was an empty space, and it was better that it remain that way. If I allowed passion to penetrate my body, pain would follow quickly in its wake.\n\nMy book is almost at an end. More and more often now, I stay in bed for most of the day. Sometimes I turn on the air-conditioning in the morning and turn it off at night and between the two absolutely nothing happens. I've become accustomed to the purring of the machine, which I found irritating at first; but I've also become accustomed to the heat; I don't really have a preference.\n\nFor a long time now, I've stopped buying French newspapers; I suppose that by this time the presidential elections have taken place. The Ministry of Culture, somehow or other, must be getting on with its work. Perhaps Marie-Jeanne still thinks about me from time to time, when she's working on the budget for an exhibition; I haven't tried to get in touch. I don't know what's become of Jean-Yves either; after he was fired from Aurore, I suppose he must have started his career again much further down, and probably in something other than tourism.\n\nWhen your love life is over, life in general takes on a sort of conventional, forced quality. One retains a human form, one's habitual behaviour, a sort of structure; but one's heart, as they say, isn't in it.\n\nMopeds drive down Naklua Road, sending up clouds of dust. It is noon already. Coming from outlying districts, the prostitutes arrive for work in the downtown bars. I don't think I'll go out today. Or maybe I will, late in the afternoon, to gulp down a soup at one of the stalls set up at the crossroads.\n\nWhen one gives up on life, the last remaining human contacts are those you have with shopkeepers. As far as I'm concerned, these are limited to a few words spoken in English. I don't speak Thai, which creates a barrier around me that is suffocating and sad. It is obvious that I will never really understand Asia, and actually it's of not great importance. It's possible to live in the world without understanding it: all you need is to be able to get food, caresses and love. In Pattaya, food and caresses are cheap by Western, and even by Asian, standards. As for love, it's difficult for me to say. I am now convinced that, for me, Val\u00e9rie was simply a radiant exception. She was one of those creatures who are capable of devoting their lives to someone else's happiness, of making that alone their goal. This phenomenon is a mystery. Happiness, simplicity and joy lies within them; but I still do not know how or why it occurs. And if I haven't understood love, what use is it to me to have understood the rest?\n\nTo the end, I will remain a child of Europe, of worry and of shame; I have no message of hope to deliver. For the West, I do not feel hatred; at most I feel a great contempt. I know only that every single one of us reeks of selfishness, masochism and death. We have created a system in which it has simply become impossible to live; and what's more, we continue to export it.\n\nIt's getting dark, the multicoloured fairy lights wink on at the entrances to the beer bars. The German OAPs settle in, placing their thick hands on the thighs of their young companions. More than any other people, they are acquainted with worry and shame, they feel the need for tender flesh, for soft, endlessly refreshing skin. More than any other people, they are acquainted with the desire for their own annihilation. It is rare to come across the vulgar, smug pragmatism of Anglo-Saxon sex tourists among them, that manner of endlessly comparing goods and prices. It is equally rare for them to exercise, to look after their bodies. In general, they eat too much, drink too much beer, get fat; most of them will die pretty soon. They are often friendly, they like to joke, to buy a round, to tell stories; but their company is soothing and sad.\n\nI understand death now; I don't think it will do me much harm. I have known hatred, contempt, decay and other things; I have even known brief moments of love. Nothing of me will survive, and I do not deserve for anything of me to survive; I will have been a mediocre individual in every possible sense.\n\nI imagine, I don't know why, that I will die in the middle of the night, and I still feel a little anxious at the thought of the suffering which will accompany the severing of all ties with the body. I find it difficult to envisage the cessation of life as completely painless and unconscious; naturally, I know that I'm wrong. Nonetheless, I have trouble convincing myself of that fact.\n\nThe locals will find me a few days later, quite quickly in fact; in this climate, corpses quickly start to stink. They won't know what to do with me, and will probably contact the French embassy. I'm far from being destitute, the case will be easy to deal with. There will certainly be quite a lot of money left in my account; I don't know who will inherit it \u2013 the state probably, or some distant relatives.\n\nUnlike other Asian peoples, the Thais don't believe in ghosts, and have little interest in the fate of corpses; most of them are buried in communal graves. Since I will have left no specific instructions, that is what will become of me. A death certificate will be drawn up, a box will be ticked in a registry office, far from here, in France. A few street hawkers, accustomed to seeing me in the area, will shake their heads. My apartment will be rented out to another resident. I'll be forgotten. I'll quickly be forgotten.\nThis eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.\n\nEpub ISBN: 9781448105472  \nVersion 1.0\n\n1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2\n\nVINTAGE  \n20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,  \nLondon SW1V 2SA\n\nVintage is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com\n\nCopyright \u00a9 Flammarion 2001  \nTranslated from the French, _Plateforme_   \nTranslation copyright \u00a9 Frank Wynne\n\nMichel Houellebecq has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work\n\nThis book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser\n\nFirst published in Great Britain in 2002 by William Heinemann\n\npenguin.co.uk\/vintage\n\nA CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library\n\nISBN 9780099437888\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":" \n\u00cdndice\n\nPortada\n\nIntroducci\u00f3n\n\nEl gueto jud\u00edo de Venecia. El exilio crea un hogar\n\nEl extranjero\n\nNotas\n\nCr\u00e9ditos\n\nNotas\n\n### INTRODUCCI\u00d3N\n\nHe aqu\u00ed dos ensayos sobre lo que significa ser extranjero. El primero se sit\u00faa en Venecia, en los albores del siglo XVI, cuando la ciudad se convirti\u00f3 en sede de un imperio comercial mundial y muchos de los extranjeros que se necesitaban para gobernar ese imperio eran mal vistos en la ciudad. Es lo que ocurri\u00f3 con los alemanes, los griegos, los turcos y sobre todo con los jud\u00edos, que fueron los peor considerados. \u00bfQu\u00e9 significaba forjarse la vida en un medio hostil? Me hice por primera vez esta pregunta cuando visit\u00e9 el gueto jud\u00edo de Venecia en los a\u00f1os sesenta. Las islas silenciosas y vac\u00edas que hab\u00edan formado el gueto, sus casas desmoronadas y sus sinagogas con el frente desfigurado, se hallaban a\u00fan bajo la influencia del espectro de las expulsiones y los asesinatos en masa de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Pero mucho antes, en el esplendor del Renacimiento, los jud\u00edos exiliados de Espa\u00f1a hab\u00edan conseguido hacerse all\u00ed un hogar. Las formas en que lo lograron muestran algo, me parece, de c\u00f3mo otros exiliados y otros migrantes, forzados a vivir en el aislamiento, son capaces de crear una comunidad por s\u00ed mismos.\n\nEl segundo ensayo versa sobre extranjeros y extranjeridad de una \u00e9poca cronol\u00f3gicamente m\u00e1s cercana a nuestros d\u00edas. El ensayo gira en torno a la vida de Aleksandr Herzen, el gran reformista ruso del siglo XIX que pas\u00f3 gran parte de su vida de exiliado en Gran Breta\u00f1a, o bien en el Continente, cambiando constantemente de ciudad. Isaiah Berlin me cont\u00f3 la historia de Herzen una noche, o mejor dicho un atardecer que se hizo noche mientras el fil\u00f3sofo se sumerg\u00eda en las circunstancias, las estrategias de supervivencia y los sentimientos de Herzen. Berlin tambi\u00e9n era un ruso en el exilio, pero su destino no pudo haber sido m\u00e1s dispar, pues Berlin se construy\u00f3 un nicho propio en el coraz\u00f3n del _establishment_ brit\u00e1nico, mientras que Herzen fue siempre un extra\u00f1o, dondequiera que viviera.\n\nM\u00e1s que sucumbir a la nostalgia y la autocompasi\u00f3n, Herzen trat\u00f3 de dar sentido al desplazamiento y lo cierto es que abraz\u00f3 esta idea como un modo de vida. Esta adopci\u00f3n hizo de \u00e9l un hombre moderno. El desplazamiento y la dislocaci\u00f3n se convirtieron en emblemas del arte moderno, as\u00ed como en hechos conductores en econom\u00eda y en pol\u00edtica. Mientras Berlin expon\u00eda la historia de Herzen, me preguntaba en qu\u00e9 sentido el relato de su vida se relacionaba con la creaci\u00f3n de la dislocaci\u00f3n en las artes; el segundo ensayo explora esta conexi\u00f3n.\n\nAunque con afinidad tem\u00e1tica, estos dos ensayos siguen caminos distintos. El primero es directamente un relato hist\u00f3rico, mientras que el segundo tiene m\u00e1s de experimento sobre c\u00f3mo se conecta la vida de un hombre singular \u2013una vida dedicada a la pol\u00edtica\u2013 con las pr\u00e1cticas art\u00edsticas. El estudio sobre Venecia que aqu\u00ed se presenta es una versi\u00f3n extendida de la historia del gueto que apareci\u00f3 en mi libro _Carne y piedra_. El estudio sobre Herzen tambi\u00e9n es una versi\u00f3n ampliada de un ensayo que escrib\u00ed para un _Festschrift_ en honor de mi amigo Joseph Rykwert. Agradezco a Lucasta Miller su solicitud de que compusiera este librito, as\u00ed como sus sugerencias relativas a la edici\u00f3n.\n\n_Londres, 2011_\n\n## El gueto jud\u00edo de Venecia\n\n## El exilio crea un hogar \nLa historia ha hecho del pueblo jud\u00edo un pueblo experimentado en materia de exilio. En Europa Occidental, los jud\u00edos sobrevivieron durante m\u00e1s de tres milenios en peque\u00f1as c\u00e9lulas, mezclados entre gentes extra\u00f1as y opresoras; fueron un pueblo desplazado en m\u00faltiples ocasiones, pero un pueblo sostenido por su fe dondequiera que viviese, un pueblo que cre\u00f3 comunidades all\u00ed donde le toc\u00f3 instalarse, comunidades peque\u00f1as y segregadas en las que la propia segregaci\u00f3n resultaba inseparable de su sensaci\u00f3n de identidad. Tendemos a considerar la segregaci\u00f3n como una imposici\u00f3n del poder que convierte a los segregados en v\u00edctimas pasivas, pero la formaci\u00f3n del gueto jud\u00edo en la Venecia renacentista sugiere una historia m\u00e1s compleja. Es la historia de exiliados que fueron segregados ciertamente contra su voluntad, pero que sobre la base de tal separaci\u00f3n crearon nuevas formas de comunidad y supieron, como actores sociales, sacar provecho de la segregaci\u00f3n misma.\n\nLos jud\u00edos de la Venecia renacentista, as\u00ed como los jud\u00edos de la Roma renacentista que siguieron sus pasos, obtuvieron cierto grado de autodeterminaci\u00f3n en guetos aislados. Pero esta segregaci\u00f3n acentu\u00f3 su otredad. En efecto, dejaron de mezclarse en el espacio urbano y su vida se fue haciendo cada vez m\u00e1s enigm\u00e1tica para los poderes dominantes al otro lado de los muros del gueto. Las fantas\u00edas sobre los jud\u00edos hac\u00edan las veces de conocimiento cotidiano acerca de su vida y terminar\u00edan por ahogar el gueto. Para los propios jud\u00edos, el gueto interpon\u00eda obst\u00e1culos a su contacto con el mundo exterior, pues su propia judeidad parec\u00eda correr peligro cuando se aventuraban fuera de los muros del gueto. La exposici\u00f3n a los otros entra\u00f1aba para ellos la amenaza de una p\u00e9rdida de identidad.\n\nEn cierto sentido, \u00e9sta es la historia de la mayor\u00eda de los grupos de personas desplazadas y forzadas al aislamiento, pero la Venecia del Renacimiento convirti\u00f3 esta realidad en una historia especial y al mismo tiempo en algo m\u00e1s amplio, pues la experiencia de los jud\u00edos en el gueto de Venecia dej\u00f3 impresa una modalidad permanente de v\u00ednculo entre cultura y derechos pol\u00edticos. Gracias a su comercio, Venecia era sin duda la ciudad m\u00e1s internacional del Renacimiento, la puerta de comunicaci\u00f3n entre Europa y el Este, as\u00ed como entre Europa y \u00c1frica; en gran medida, una ciudad de extranjeros. Pero, a diferencia de la Roma antigua, no era un poder territorial; el gran n\u00famero de extranjeros que en Venecia iban y ven\u00edan no formaban parte de un imperio com\u00fan ni de una naci\u00f3n-Estado. Adem\u00e1s, a los extranjeros residentes en la ciudad \u2013alemanes, griegos, turcos, d\u00e1lmatas, lo mismo que a los jud\u00edos\u2013 les estaba vedada la ciudadan\u00eda oficial de la ciudad; eran inmigrantes permanentes. De este marco hist\u00f3rico de individuos sin ciudadan\u00eda deriv\u00f3 un conflictivo conjunto de c\u00f3digos y de derechos.\n\nPor un lado, los derechos humanos se conceb\u00edan sin localizaci\u00f3n concreta, eran derechos de contrato que se aplicaban a todas las partes con independencia de su lugar de origen, de su lugar de residencia en la ciudad o de qui\u00e9nes fueran. En este sentido, el derecho de contrato veneciano se diferenciaba del londinense de la misma \u00e9poca. En Londres, la validez de un contrato estaba restringida a la gente que pertenec\u00eda a la misma Commonwealth, lo que significaba comunidad geogr\u00e1fica, pol\u00edtica y, despu\u00e9s de la Reforma, religiosa. En Venecia, en cambio, los derechos econ\u00f3micos se reg\u00edan por un principio distinto, pues se pensaba que el simple acto de establecer un contrato generaba derechos, mientras que en la Inglaterra isabelina los derechos de contrato eran derechos que el Estado otorgaba a las partes contratantes.\n\nDe alguna manera, los venecianos asociaron lugar y derecho en la ejecuci\u00f3n de los contratos. En Venecia, en el \u00e1rea que rodeaba el puente de Rialto, se desarroll\u00f3 un conjunto de pr\u00e1cticas culturales, muy parecidas a las que m\u00e1s tarde, y sobre la base del ejemplo veneciano, se desarrollar\u00edan en la City de Londres, de modo que los contratos verbales pudieran ser realmente vinculantes. Para los venecianos, la sacralidad del contrato derivaba tanto de rituales de negociaci\u00f3n como del deseo de las partes de resultar dignas de confianza en futuras negociaciones; adem\u00e1s, la confianza verbal iba unida al uso de un capital no sometido a impuestos ni registrado, que las partes contratantes deseaban mantener oculto a los ojos del Estado, lo que consegu\u00edan dejando la menor constancia posible en papel. Estos v\u00ednculos verbales establec\u00edan la sacralidad del contrato al margen de la ley escrita vigente en el Palacio Ducal, situado en la Plaza San Marcos. El derecho veneciano era famoso por sus elaborados registros, por su intento de dejar todo asentado en papel, consecuencia de la enorme burocratizaci\u00f3n de su Estado.\n\nLa sacralidad del contrato verbal \u2013es lo que argumentar\u00e9\u2013 estableci\u00f3 una conexi\u00f3n entre los derechos econ\u00f3micos y los derechos de libertad de palabra. Los contratos verbales pod\u00edan ser revisados en cualquier momento por las partes contratantes si, por ejemplo, los barcos se perd\u00edan en el mar o se produc\u00eda un cambio en el valor de las mercanc\u00edas en el puente de Rialto. La libre expresi\u00f3n como principio hund\u00eda sus ra\u00edces en el deseo de hacer del contrato verbal un instrumento maleable. La econom\u00eda dio a la libertad de palabra una dimensi\u00f3n distinta de la que Milton le hab\u00eda atribuido en la _Areopag\u00edtica_ , donde se trataba de la libertad de expresi\u00f3n desde los puntos de vista de la moral sexual y la herej\u00eda religiosa.\n\nLa creaci\u00f3n en Venecia de espacios-gueto, para los jud\u00edos al igual que para otros extranjeros, asoci\u00f3 lugar y derecho en un nuevo sentido, originando lo que podr\u00eda denominarse derechos locales. La naturaleza de estos derechos locales se relacionaba con la protecci\u00f3n de la violencia. La ciudad proteger\u00eda a un jud\u00edo o a un turco de las turbas cristianas en Cuaresma o en otros momentos de intensa pasi\u00f3n religiosa \u00fanicamente si los que no eran venecianos estaban en su lugar, esto es, encerrados en el espacio reservado para el extra\u00f1o. Una vez que una persona se aventuraba a internarse en una zona de la ciudad a la que no pertenec\u00eda, perd\u00eda todo derecho a ser protegida de ataques, fueran del tipo que fuesen. De esta suerte, lugar y cuerpo estaban concretamente unidos.\n\nLas protecciones que proporcionaba el gueto constitu\u00edan para los jud\u00edos una experiencia nueva. Para ellos, ser \u00abjud\u00edo\u00bb se convert\u00eda entonces en una experiencia espacial. Evidentemente, la limitaci\u00f3n de la garant\u00eda de integridad del cuerpo humano al espacio segregado y reservado a otros cuerpos igualmente marginados, fortalec\u00eda los lazos comunales. En t\u00e9rminos m\u00e1s generales, desde la Baja Edad Media la concepci\u00f3n de la sociedad como cuerpo colectivo hab\u00eda sido un lugar com\u00fan. La existencia de espacios segregados, como los guetos venecianos, daba un nuevo significado a esa imagen medieval. Las fuerzas que desarrollaban el capitalismo moderno arrancaban a la gente de sus lugares geogr\u00e1ficos y sociales tradicionales en la sociedad; \u00fanicamente quienes eran oficialmente marginados estaban obligados a ocupar un lugar fijo. La creencia en la comunidad org\u00e1nica, creencia que se manten\u00eda en oposici\u00f3n a las fuerzas del capitalismo moderno, vino, en tiempos m\u00e1s cercanos, a encarnarse en los marginados; la segregaci\u00f3n adquir\u00eda as\u00ed un valor humano positivo, como si se hubiera mantenido al segregado libre de contagio. El espacio del gueto se idealiz\u00f3 como una comunidad \u00abreal\u00bb, como un espacio org\u00e1nico. Los jud\u00edos de la Venecia renacentista fueron los primeros en pensar que su segregaci\u00f3n, ir\u00f3nicamente, conten\u00eda este aspecto positivo.\n\nEl aparato gubernamental de Venecia desempe\u00f1aba un papel decisivo en lo concerniente a la formaci\u00f3n tanto de los derechos sin localizaci\u00f3n como de los derechos locales, puesto que la ciudadEstado supervisaba los contratos y patrullaba la ciudad; la ciudad-Estado actuaba con todo rigor para garantizar los contratos verbales, aun cuando \u00e9stos cometieran fraude fiscal contra la ciudad. Venecia contaba con la fuerza de polic\u00eda m\u00e1s sofisticada de Europa y castigaba severamente la violencia informal, incluso con fines l\u00edcitos, como en el caso de asesinato de una esposa ad\u00faltera. Pero en ambos casos la estructura del Estado s\u00f3lo se expresaba como si actuara, por un lado, simplemente como un mecanismo, como un instrumento de crecimiento econ\u00f3mico y, por otro lado, como regulador de la protecci\u00f3n corporal. La Commonwealth de Venecia, por tomar el t\u00e9rmino ingl\u00e9s, se defin\u00eda en el Renacimiento tard\u00edo en t\u00e9rminos de ceremonial c\u00edvico y del funcionamiento burocr\u00e1tico del propio gobierno. El lenguaje de los derechos no locales y de los derechos locales perge\u00f1ados por el gobierno era un lenguaje que se refer\u00eda a individuos en el seno de la ciudad m\u00e1s que a una representaci\u00f3n de lo que la ciudad-Estado de Venecia era en s\u00ed misma. En este sentido, la ciudadEstado encontraba cierta protecci\u00f3n; su propia legitimidad no se ve\u00eda cuestionada cuando fallaban la maquinaria de la econom\u00eda o la regulaci\u00f3n de la violencia. En consecuencia, en esta primera \u00abciudad global\u00bb del mundo moderno el sistema de gobierno y la ciudad crec\u00edan por separado.\n\nEl lenguaje que dio forma al gueto de la Venecia renacentista, as\u00ed como la construcci\u00f3n de derechos derivada de la formaci\u00f3n del gueto, aclaran nociones comunes de lugar y derecho. El dualismo que aparece por primera vez en Venecia es el de derechos econ\u00f3micos de contrato y derechos corporales ante la violencia. La protecci\u00f3n econ\u00f3mica no ten\u00eda localizaci\u00f3n; los derechos del cuerpo depend\u00edan del cuerpo segregado en el espacio. En el mundo moderno, a menudo el Estado utiliza este dualismo para dar distinto valor a los derechos humanos. Para los grupos oprimidos, el Estado est\u00e1 mejor dispuesto a garantizar los derechos locales que los derechos universales. Proteger\u00e1 a los cuerpos vulnerables en la medida en que \u00e9stos permanezcan en su lugar de pertenencia, pero brinda menos protecci\u00f3n a la extensi\u00f3n del poder econ\u00f3mico a estos cuerpos en el conjunto de la sociedad. En efecto, el Estado se servir\u00e1 de los valores de la comunidad para limitar el acceso econ\u00f3mico al conjunto de la sociedad. Los grupos oprimidos pueden coadyuvar a esta limitaci\u00f3n de su propia libertad centr\u00e1ndose en la coherencia de la comunidad, en el icono de un cuerpo org\u00e1nico de los oprimidos.\n\n### _La formaci\u00f3n del gueto veneciano_\n\nHoy es f\u00e1cil imaginar que los jud\u00edos hab\u00edan vivido siempre en Europa en las condiciones de aislamiento propias del espacio del gueto. En realidad, del Concilio Lateranense de 1179 en adelante, la Europa cristiana trat\u00f3 de impedir que los jud\u00edos vivieran entre cristianos. Roma es el prototipo de la ejecuci\u00f3n pr\u00e1ctica de dicho Concilio. Desde el comienzo de la Edad Media, al igual que otras ciudades de Europa, como Frankfurt, Roma tuvo lo que hoy se denomina un gueto. Es cierto que se pod\u00eda cerrar unas cuantas calles del barrio jud\u00edo de Roma, pero el desorden del tejido urbano medieval era tal que resultaba pr\u00e1cticamente imposible aislar por completo a los jud\u00edos. Adem\u00e1s, en la mayor\u00eda de las otras ciudades europeas los jud\u00edos no viv\u00edan en comunidades estrechamente compactas, sino m\u00e1s bien en peque\u00f1as c\u00e9lulas dispersas, lo cual se deb\u00eda en parte a una simple forma de protecci\u00f3n, pues s\u00f3lo pasando inadvertidos o mediante el anonimato pod\u00edan escapar a la persecuci\u00f3n.\n\nEn Venecia, la naturaleza f\u00edsica de la ciudad, construida sobre el agua, hizo finalmente posible poner en pr\u00e1ctica la regla prescrita por el Concilio de Letr\u00e1n. Las calles de la ciudad son canales que separan grupos de edificios en un vasto archipi\u00e9lago de islas. En la construcci\u00f3n del gueto jud\u00edo, los padres de la ciudad se limitaron a utilizar la ecolog\u00eda isle\u00f1a de la ciudad para crear un espacio de segregaci\u00f3n. Esos muros de agua sugirieron luego al papa Pablo IV la utilizaci\u00f3n en Roma de muros de piedra dentro de la ciudad para hacer efectiva la segregaci\u00f3n; m\u00e1s tarde, el papa Sixto V ampli\u00f3 y regulariz\u00f3 los primeros muros del gueto de esta ciudad. A partir de esta diferencia social amurallada, un nuevo principio del dise\u00f1o urbano europeo, el espacio del gueto, cristaliz\u00f3 como forma urbana moderna. En el mundo moderno, los autom\u00f3viles y las autopistas hacen las veces de muros de segregaci\u00f3n.\n\nAnte todo, \u00bfpor qu\u00e9 constitu\u00edan los jud\u00edos y otros extranjeros un \u00abproblema\u00bb para Venecia? \u00bfQu\u00e9 los hab\u00eda llevado all\u00ed? El comercio de especias era un buen ejemplo del tipo de comercio que hab\u00eda forjado la riqueza de Venecia, al precio de atraer a la ciudad a jud\u00edos y otros extranjeros. La primera especia que tuvo Venecia bajo su control fue la sal, que suministraba el medio m\u00e1s elemental de preservaci\u00f3n de los alimentos. La sal veneciana era secada en las marismas de la costa y luego vendida tierra adentro. Sin embargo, lo que enriqueci\u00f3 a la Venecia del Renacimiento no fue el comercio de la sal, que de acuerdo con el antiguo modelo medieval de la ciudad se vend\u00eda en sus alrededores inmediatos; la riqueza le lleg\u00f3 m\u00e1s bien de un comercio como el del azafr\u00e1n, para el que el mercado local inmediato era peque\u00f1o, pero el mercado de toda Europa era inmenso.\n\nHacia el a\u00f1o 1000, Venecia se hab\u00eda establecido como potencia hegem\u00f3nica en la totalidad del mar Adri\u00e1tico, que era a su vez una de las rutas a Jerusal\u00e9n; de esta manera, Venecia se convirti\u00f3 en una ciudad decisiva en las cruzadas europeas por la recuperaci\u00f3n de Tierra Santa. En la Tercera Cruzada, la ciudad hab\u00eda adquirido derechos de comercio con el Este, derechos que emple\u00f3 para importar especias: pimienta, que en parte proven\u00eda de la India y en parte de la costa oriental de \u00c1frica a trav\u00e9s del puerto de Alejandr\u00eda; azafr\u00e1n y nuez moscada, de Persia, y canela, de Ceil\u00e1n. Los cruzados hab\u00edan regresado del Este con el sabor de estas especias en su memoria y la llegada de ellas cambi\u00f3 la dieta europea. El comercio de las especias lleg\u00f3 a constituir una parte tan importante de la econom\u00eda veneciana, que se crearon administraciones especiales, como la Oficina del Azafr\u00e1n, para regular el comercio.\n\nLos jud\u00edos ricos hab\u00edan ido llegando al norte de Italia desde Alemania durante dos siglos antes de la instauraci\u00f3n del primer gueto, y muchos de ellos se involucraron en el proceso por el que los beneficios obtenidos en el comercio de bienes extranjeros, como las especias, se volcaron en inversiones en diamantes, oro y plata. En el V\u00e9neto, la banca jud\u00eda se desarroll\u00f3 a partir de la conversi\u00f3n de las ganancias en este tipo de activos, que se pod\u00edan volver a vender con rapidez.\n\nTambi\u00e9n la persecuci\u00f3n religiosa impuls\u00f3 a los jud\u00edos hacia Venecia. Alrededor del a\u00f1o 1300, los pogromos se hab\u00edan vuelto muy severos en Alemania y llevaron a los jud\u00edos a las ciudades del norte de Italia de Padua, Verona y Venecia. Como consecuencia de las guerras de la Liga de Cambrai, en 1509 los prestamistas jud\u00edos abandonaron la tierra firme; alrededor de quinientos huyeron de Padua y Mestre \u2013el territorio continental de Venecia\u2013 a Venecia propiamente dicha. Sin embargo, en 1515 la presencia de estos jud\u00edos fue percibida como una indignidad moral. En Venecia, a partir de 1510, los ataques contra ellos se fueron haciendo cada vez m\u00e1s enconados. Estos ataques eran dirigidos, entre otros, por fray Lovato de Padua, cuya fuerza oratoria condujo en 1511 a los venecianos a la destrucci\u00f3n de las casas de los jud\u00edos que viv\u00edan cerca de Campo San Paolo; dos a\u00f1os antes hab\u00eda propugnado la captura de todo el dinero de los prestamistas \u00aby no dejarles nada con que vivir\u00bb.\n\nSin embargo, no se expuls\u00f3 a los jud\u00edos. La econom\u00eda dio muestras de ser una fuerza tan poderosa como la religi\u00f3n. En palabras de un ciudadano destacado: \u00abLos jud\u00edos son a\u00fan m\u00e1s necesarios para una ciudad que los panaderos, y sobre todo para una ciudad como \u00e9sta.\u00bb2 No s\u00f3lo proporcionaban servicios bancarios a los comerciantes, sino tambi\u00e9n pr\u00e9stamos a los pobres y al Estado. Adem\u00e1s, era imposible expulsar a los jud\u00edos sin costes directos para el gobierno veneciano, pues \u00e9ste habr\u00eda perdido personas que pagaban cuantiosos impuestos. Del conflicto entre religi\u00f3n y econom\u00eda surgi\u00f3 la estrategia de compromiso de segregaci\u00f3n espacial en la ciudad, que, en palabras del historiador Brian Pullan, era una estrategia \u00abde segregaci\u00f3n de la comunidad jud\u00eda, aunque no de expulsi\u00f3n\u00bb.\n\nComo consecuencia de los desastres de comienzos del siglo XVI, la ciudad comenz\u00f3 a explorar la posibilidad de utilizar el Gueto Nuevo como lugar de segregaci\u00f3n. El significado original en italiano de la palabra _ghetto_ era \u00abfundici\u00f3n\u00bb (derivada de _gettare, \u00ab_ arrojar\u00bb). El Gueto Nuevo y el Gueto Viejo eran los antiguos distritos de fundici\u00f3n de Venecia, lejos del centro ceremonial de la ciudad; hacia 1500, sus funciones manufactureras hab\u00edan dado paso al Arsenal. El Gueto Nuevo era una superficie romboidal de tierra \u00edntegramente rodeada de agua; los edificios formaban una pared en todo el borde con un espacio abierto en el centro. El Gueto Nuevo se caracterizaba por ser una isla en la ciudad, pues s\u00f3lo dos puentes lo un\u00edan al tejido urbano; si se cerraban los puentes, quedaba absolutamente incomunicado.\n\nLa propuesta de utilizar el Gueto Nuevo fue hecha por Zacaria Dolfin en 1515. \u00c9ste era su plan para segregar a los jud\u00edos:\n\nEnviar a todos a vivir en el Gueto Nuevo, que es como un castillo, poner puentes levadizos y cerrarlo con un muro; s\u00f3lo tendr\u00edan una puerta, que los mantendr\u00eda encerrados y all\u00ed permanecer\u00edan; durante la noche, ir\u00edan dos buques del Consejo de los Diez y all\u00ed se quedar\u00edan, a sus expensas, para su mayor seguridad.\n\nY as\u00ed fue, en efecto, como vivieron los jud\u00edos en el gueto despu\u00e9s de 1516. Cuando se abr\u00edan los puentes, por la ma\u00f1ana, algunos jud\u00edos iban a la ciudad, sobre todo al \u00e1rea que rodeaba Rialto, donde circulaban entre la gente normal, mientras que los cristianos iban al gueto a pedir dinero prestado o a vender comida y hacer negocios. Cuando oscurec\u00eda, los jud\u00edos deb\u00edan estar en el gueto, los cristianos ten\u00edan que abandonarlo y se levantaban los puentes. Adem\u00e1s, por la noche se cerraban las ventanas de los edificios del gueto que daban al exterior y, como les hab\u00edan retirado todos los balcones, la pared del gueto se asemejaba a la muralla de un castillo, con su foso alrededor.\n\n\u00c9sta fue la primera fase de la segregaci\u00f3n de los jud\u00edos. La segunda consisti\u00f3 en la expansi\u00f3n del barrio jud\u00edo al Gueto Viejo, el antiguo distrito de fundici\u00f3n. Eso tuvo lugar en 1541. En aquella \u00e9poca los venecianos pasaban por una dif\u00edcil situaci\u00f3n financiera: sus tarifas aduaneras hab\u00edan sobrepasado las de otras ciudades y el comercio deca\u00eda. Por eso decidieron distender un poco las barreras fronterizas, lo que tuvo como consecuencia que los jud\u00edos orientales, en particular los de Ruman\u00eda y Siria, fueran a la ciudad a hacer negocios. Algo m\u00e1s que buhoneros y algo menos que comerciantes burgueses, hac\u00edan negocio con todo lo que pudiera caer en sus manos, y de esa manera, hasta 1541, se desplazaron constantemente de un lugar a otro. Sanuto, relevante figura ciudadana, describi\u00f3 crudamente la actitud de los venecianos respecto de los comerciantes jud\u00edos: \u00abNuestros compatriotas nunca quisieron que los jud\u00edos tuvieran tiendas y comerciaran en esta ciudad, sino que compraran y vendieran y se volvieran a marchar.\u00bb Esta vez los jud\u00edos no se marcharon, sino que quisieron quedarse y hasta estaban dispuestos a pagar un precio por ello. Se transform\u00f3 el Gueto Antiguo en un espacio jud\u00edo para alojarlos, se sellaron sus paredes externas y se retiraron los balcones. A diferencia del primer gueto, el segundo ten\u00eda una peque\u00f1a plaza y muchas callejuelas.\n\nEste espacio de segregaci\u00f3n no era el primero que conoc\u00eda la ciudad. El gueto no hizo m\u00e1s que llevar al extremo la respuesta que Venecia ven\u00eda dando a sus extranjeros desde hac\u00eda dos siglos. Era una respuesta que se hab\u00eda aplicado incluso a correligionarios cristianos, los alemanes encerrados en su propia temprana versi\u00f3n de un gueto, el Fondaco dei Tedeschi, la \u00abf\u00e1brica de los alemanes\u00bb, en cuyo caso la palabra _f\u00e1brica_ se empleaba en el sentido de un edificio en el que la gente viv\u00eda y trabajaba. Esta combinaci\u00f3n era t\u00edpica de las casas urbanas medievales. El Fondaco dei Tedeschi era una de esas casas por excelencia, con la caracter\u00edstica a\u00f1adida de que todos sus habitantes eran alemanes.\n\nEn su forma primitiva, el Fondaco dei Tedeschi era una casa de segregaci\u00f3n s\u00f3lo parcial. En principio, se daba por supuesto que nadie saldr\u00eda de ella una vez ca\u00edda la noche, pero en realidad la oscuridad nocturna result\u00f3 ser para los alemanes el momento de mayor actividad del d\u00eda, pues a cubierto de ella contrabandeaban bienes en ambos sentidos para evitar el pago de derechos aduaneros. En consecuencia, en 1479 el gobierno tom\u00f3 medidas para asegurar que este lugar de segregaci\u00f3n se convirtiera en un edificio de aislamiento. En efecto, decret\u00f3 que, al oscurecer, se cerraran las ventanas y se echara el pestillo a las puertas del Fondaco, desde fuera. Fue \u00e9se el a\u00f1o en que la casa de los alemanes cristianos se convirti\u00f3 en el prototipo de los espacios urbanos m\u00e1s extensos que m\u00e1s tarde mantendr\u00edan encerrados a los jud\u00edos.\n\nEl gueto de Venecia requiere otro marco hist\u00f3rico, que es lo que marca su oposici\u00f3n al del gueto romano que el papa Pablo IV comenz\u00f3 a construir en 1555. El gueto de Pablo estaba destinado, ante todo, a mantener encerrados a todos los jud\u00edos en el mismo lugar, de manera que los sacerdotes cristianos pudieran convertirlos sistem\u00e1ticamente, casa por casa, sin dejar a ninguno la posibilidad de eludir la palabra de Cristo. Esto traduc\u00eda en t\u00e9rminos espaciales la idea de la oveja descarriada; todos juntos, ser\u00edan recuperables. Pero a este respecto el gueto romano fue un tremendo fracaso, pues en todo un a\u00f1o s\u00f3lo unos veinte jud\u00edos, de una poblaci\u00f3n de cuatro mil, sucumbieron a la conversi\u00f3n por la v\u00eda de la concentraci\u00f3n espacial. De modo m\u00e1s duradero, los muros del gueto romano partieron en dos una zona previamente controlada por familias de comerciantes romanos que traficaban con la comunidad de residentes jud\u00edos; al apoderarse del espacio del gueto romano para la conversi\u00f3n, el Papa debilit\u00f3 tambi\u00e9n el dominio territorial que estas familias cristianas ten\u00edan sobre la ciudad.\n\nLos guetos venecianos, por el contrario, no fueron concebidos como espacios de conversi\u00f3n, ni estaban estrat\u00e9gicamente situados en el centro de la ciudad. En efecto, eran geogr\u00e1ficamente marginales, pues ocupaban una vieja instalaci\u00f3n industrial abandonada, y el encierro de la comunidad jud\u00eda en ese p\u00e1ramo ten\u00eda la intenci\u00f3n de marcar la irremediable diferencia inherente a su judeidad. Pero \u00bfqu\u00e9 significaba ser \u00abjud\u00edo\u00bb? \u00bfQu\u00e9 significado tendr\u00eda para los jud\u00edos, en lo relativo a su identidad como tales, el hecho de vivir en un espacio de segregaci\u00f3n? Para entender tal cosa es \u00fatil comparar a los jud\u00edos con otro grupo marginal al que los venecianos no pod\u00edan controlar mediante la segregaci\u00f3n espacial, el de las cortesanas que formaban el estrato superior de la prostituci\u00f3n en la ciudad.\n\n### _La cortesana y el jud\u00edo_\n\nEs posible que la prostituci\u00f3n sea la profesi\u00f3n m\u00e1s antigua del mundo, pero en el curso de la historia ha adoptado muchas formas. En el Renacimiento, la cortesana adopt\u00f3 la apariencia de una especie de prostituta de alto nivel; era una mujer joven que no s\u00f3lo vend\u00eda su cuerpo, sino que proporcionaba placeres sociales a sus clientes, como la asistencia a conciertos, cenas y representaciones teatrales privadas. La palabra _cortesana_ comenz\u00f3 a usarse a finales del siglo XV como femenino de _cortesano_ ; tal como se la usaba en italiano, estas mujeres eran las _cortigiane_ que proporcionaban placer a los _cortigiani_ , es decir, hombres de la nobleza, soldados, administradores y la poblaci\u00f3n par\u00e1sita de las cortes renacentistas. La corte era un escenario pol\u00edtico y sus cenas, recepciones y reuniones diplom\u00e1ticas, momentos de aburrid\u00edsima seriedad. La cortesana aliviaba a los hombres de ese mundo oficial de modo muy parecido a aquel en que la antigua prostituta griega se convert\u00eda en la compa\u00f1era de placer de los hombres en encuentros sociales festivos.\n\nLas j\u00f3venes que de alguna manera entraban en la prostituci\u00f3n lo hac\u00edan alrededor de los catorce a\u00f1os. Aretino afirma haberle o\u00eddo decir a una jovencita: \u00abEn un mes aprend\u00ed todo lo que hay que saber de la prostituci\u00f3n: c\u00f3mo despertar la pasi\u00f3n, atraer a los hombres, seducirlos y dejar plantado a un amante; c\u00f3mo llorar cuando deseaba re\u00edr y re\u00edr cuando por dentro lloraba, y c\u00f3mo vender una y otra vez mi virginidad.\u00bb M\u00e1s tiempo llevaba convertirse en cortesana. Para ello era necesario establecer una red de clientes de clase alta, enterarse de los chismes de la ciudad y de la corte con el fin de divertirlos y adquirir una casa y ropa que les agradara.\n\nA diferencia del sistema japon\u00e9s de la geisha, donde las artes sociales estaban codificadas en rituales estrictos que se aprend\u00edan y se transmit\u00edan de generaci\u00f3n en generaci\u00f3n, de la misma manera en que se daba formaci\u00f3n a un abogado, la prostituta del Renacimiento que esperaba convertirse en cortesana ten\u00eda que hacerse a s\u00ed misma. En cierto sentido, su problema se asemejaba al del cortesano que ten\u00eda necesidad de manuales de comportamiento como _El libro del cortesano_ , de Castiglione, que le explicaba c\u00f3mo comportarse en esta nueva instituci\u00f3n, la corte, que era un centro de poder distinto del antiguo castillo feudal, m\u00e1s cosmopolita y menos obligado ante la tradici\u00f3n que ante los cambios pol\u00edticos y financieros internacionales. _El libro del cortesano_ , de Castiglione, indicaba a un hombre c\u00f3mo actuar en un mundo de extra\u00f1os. Hab\u00eda muchos libros vulgares que intentaban dar an\u00e1loga instrucci\u00f3n a la cortesana, pero la verdadera educaci\u00f3n de \u00e9sta consist\u00eda en aprender a imitar a las mujeres de las clases altas, a vestir, hablar y escribir como ellas.\n\nAl aprender a \u00abhacerse aceptar\u00bb, las cortesanas creaban un problema peculiar, problema que, aunque en menor grado, tambi\u00e9n ocasionaban las prostitutas de un nivel social m\u00e1s bajo, pues si ten\u00edan \u00e9xito y aprend\u00edan el arte de disfrazarse, pod\u00edan ir a cualquier sitio. Lo m\u00e1s grave no era que se infiltraran en los c\u00edrculos de mujeres virtuosas, sino que las sustituyeran no s\u00f3lo present\u00e1ndose y hablando como virtuosas damas cristianas, sino sirviendo tambi\u00e9n como plenas compa\u00f1eras er\u00f3ticas de sus hombres. Por esta raz\u00f3n se consideraba a la cortesana una amenaza, la amenaza de una mujer con la misma apariencia que cualquier otra, pero sexualmente libre. En una proclama promulgada en 1543, el gobierno veneciano declaraba que las prostitutas se mostraban \u00aben las calles, las iglesias y en todo lugar tan enjoyadas y bien vestidas, que con harta frecuencia son tomadas por damas de la nobleza y por ciudadanas, porque su atav\u00edo no se diferencia del de las mujeres antes mencionadas, y son confundidas con ellas no s\u00f3lo por los extranjeros, sino tambi\u00e9n por los habitantes de Venecia, incapaces de distinguir lo verdadero de lo falso...\u00bb.\n\nEn la \u00e9poca de Shakespeare ya hac\u00eda siglos que Venecia contaba con gran n\u00famero de prostitutas que viv\u00edan del comercio con los marineros que visitaban la ciudad. El simple volumen de dinero que cambiaba de manos en la industria sexual v\u00e9neta durante el Renacimiento fue convirti\u00e9ndola poco a poco en \u00abuna fuente leg\u00edtima de beneficios de honorables empresarios de buena familia\u00bb. No faltaban casos de mujeres de indudable buena cuna que se hac\u00edan prostitutas, pero eran relativamente raros. Lo m\u00e1s normal era que las prostitutas de \u00e9xito respondieran al perfil de jovencita que aprend\u00eda a asimilarse y a ganarse as\u00ed el acceso a clientes de clase m\u00e1s alta, como oficiales de marina, mercaderes o miembros de las delegaciones diplom\u00e1ticas que visitaban la ciudad. Para la realizaci\u00f3n de estos contactos, las prostitutas contaban con nobles venecianos que les prestaban secretamente su asistencia en beneficio propio.\n\nEn Roma, la prostituci\u00f3n experiment\u00f3 una r\u00e1pida irrupci\u00f3n tras el regreso del papado y un declive igualmente r\u00e1pido. En 1566, el papa P\u00edo V, en pleno auge de la Contrarreforma, trat\u00f3 de expulsar de Roma toda prostituci\u00f3n, y, tras el fracaso de su empe\u00f1o, intent\u00f3 destruir la aceptaci\u00f3n social de las cortesanas, empresa en la que tuvo mejor fortuna. Venecia, por su lado, en la medida en que segu\u00eda siendo una ciudad-puerto de gran actividad, tuvo que tolerar a las prostitutas como parte de su econom\u00eda de servicios, exactamente de la misma manera en que tuvo que tolerar a los jud\u00edos, que prestaban dinero y cambiaban billetes extranjeros. Para una prostituta joven, la posibilidad de convertirse en cortesana con una clientela tan estable y rica era una perspectiva tentadora.\n\nAnte esta realidad econ\u00f3mica, la ciudad intent\u00f3 tratar a las prostitutas de la misma manera que trataba a los jud\u00edos: \u00abNo s\u00f3lo se procur\u00f3 muchas veces confinar [a las prostitutas] en barrios especiales, sino que en una ocasi\u00f3n hubo incluso un intento abortado de obligarlas a llevar una prenda amarilla para que resultaran claramente reconocibles.\u00bb Los jud\u00edos de Venecia fueron los primeros a los que se les oblig\u00f3 a llevar una insignia amarilla en 1397; a las prostitutas y a los proxenetas se les orden\u00f3 en 1416 que usaran bufandas amarillas. Aunque la ley no se lo imped\u00eda, rara vez las jud\u00edas sal\u00edan del gueto con los adornos o las joyas que usaban otras mujeres respetables. Los jud\u00edos tem\u00edan provocar rechazo si una persona con la se\u00f1al amarilla exhib\u00eda cualquier muestra de riqueza, de modo que las jud\u00edas, en las pocas ocasiones en que se aventuraban a ir a otros lugares de la ciudad, se destacaban tanto por la sencillez de su vestimenta como por la prenda amarilla. Las autoridades trataron de marcar de la misma manera a las prostitutas. El decreto de 1543, ya mencionado, defin\u00eda en estas palabras los aspectos de la apariencia de una mujer virtuosa, que una prostituta no pod\u00eda adoptar: \u00abEn consecuencia, se proclama que ninguna prostituta puede vestir ni llevar en ninguna parte de su persona oro, plata o seda, ni tampoco lucir collares, perlas, joyas o simples anillos en las orejas o en las manos.\u00bb Encontramos en esto la curiosa iron\u00eda, sobre la cual volveremos m\u00e1s adelante, de que la mujer virtuosa pod\u00eda llevar toda clase de vestimenta seductora, mientras que la puta deb\u00eda parecer sobria, al igual que los jud\u00edos.\n\nLos c\u00f3digos de vestimenta destinados a advertir a la gente respetable que se hallaba en presencia de elementos marginales puso fin a una lucha que se hab\u00eda librado durante casi sesenta a\u00f1os para confinar a las prostitutas en un espacio acotado de la ciudad cerca de Rialto, siguiendo, una vez m\u00e1s, el modelo de segregar la diferencia que se hab\u00eda llevado al extremo con los jud\u00edos. En un principio, los venecianos hab\u00edan imaginado algo as\u00ed como prost\u00edbulos administrados por el Estado, prop\u00f3sito con el cual compraron dos casas. Pero para las prostitutas era m\u00e1s lucrativo el trabajo por su cuenta con proxenetas, que consegu\u00edan clientes de toda la ciudad y proporcionaban habitaciones o creaban prost\u00edbulos clandestinos donde escapar a la vigilancia estatal; estos lugares ilegales para la pr\u00e1ctica del sexo il\u00edcito pod\u00edan evadir los impuestos que impon\u00eda el Estado, que se calculaban cuidadosamente sobre cada transacci\u00f3n sexual. El proyecto del prost\u00edbulo regido por el Estado qued\u00f3 en nada, pero el deseo de confinar a las prostitutas \u2013que, despu\u00e9s de todo, ofend\u00edan a la moral cristiana\u2013 no cej\u00f3, mientras que la \u00abindustria del sexo\u00bb continuaba traspasando sus fronteras legales. En consecuencia, el obligar a prostitutas y proxenetas a llevar vestimentas \u00abjud\u00edas\u00bb era la segunda estrategia oficial de control, pero volvi\u00f3 a fracasar, pues la vestimenta cumpl\u00eda m\u00e1s una funci\u00f3n publicitaria que de advertencia.\n\nEn la \u00e9poca de Shakespeare, la ciudad llegaba a la convicci\u00f3n de que era imposible controlar la prostituci\u00f3n por medio de la segregaci\u00f3n. Se aprob\u00f3 una ley que prohib\u00eda a las prostitutas establecerse a lo largo del Gran Canal, ubicaci\u00f3n de la ciudad a la que ten\u00edan acceso gracias a sus ping\u00fces ganancias; el \u00fanico resultado de esto fue que emplearon su dinero para infiltrarse en otras zonas respetables de la ciudad. En los primeros a\u00f1os del siglo XVII, todos los intentos de regular el aspecto exterior de las prostitutas hab\u00eda terminado en fiasco. Los c\u00f3digos \u00abjud\u00edos\u00bb fueron reemplazados por edictos que prohib\u00edan a las prostitutas vestir seda blanca, una tela destinada exclusivamente a j\u00f3venes damas solteras y a ciertas monjas, o que se adornaran las manos con anillos de mujeres casadas. Todo fue in\u00fatil; el Estado no pudo controlar el sexo en la ciudad.\n\n\u00bfPor qu\u00e9 la instauraci\u00f3n de guetos funcion\u00f3 bien para ciertos tipos de diferencia en la ciudad, pero no para otros? \u00bfPor qu\u00e9, en el caso de Venecia, ser\u00eda posible controlar mediante el aislamiento a los marginales religiosos y \u00e9tnicos, pero no a los marginales sexuales?\n\nLas cortesanas no ten\u00edan ning\u00fan inter\u00e9s, econ\u00f3mico ni personal, en que se las aislara, y por eso se resistieron por todos los medios a que se dispusiera de su libertad de movimiento. Los jud\u00edos, en cambio, afrontaban una realidad m\u00e1s compleja. Protestaron contra la severidad de esta forma de aislamiento, pero tambi\u00e9n colaboraron con las autoridades en la negociaci\u00f3n de las condiciones en las que habr\u00edan de vivir en el gueto. No entraron pasivamente en el gueto.\n\nA cambio del aislamiento inherente a la segregaci\u00f3n, los jud\u00edos obtuvieron la garant\u00eda de integridad f\u00edsica dentro de los muros del gueto mientras permanecieran en \u00e9l. Esta garant\u00eda ven\u00eda dada por el propio espacio f\u00edsico. En efecto, el espacio aislado protegi\u00f3 a los jud\u00edos, por ejemplo, en 1534, cuando fueron blanco de una ola de ataques durante la Cuaresma; se alzaron los puentes, se cerraron las ventanas, y la turba de fan\u00e1ticos no pudo llegar hasta ellos. En sus tratos con todas las comunidades extranjeras, la voluntad de la ciudadEstado era perseguir los cr\u00edmenes violentos contra los extranjeros en tanto \u00e9stos se hallaran en sus respectivos barrios, pero en la pr\u00e1ctica se negaba a perseguir ataques violentos a extranjeros que se produjeran fuera de esos espacios cerrados.\n\nEn segundo lugar, mientras que el Estado no ten\u00eda nada que ofrecer a la cortesana en compensaci\u00f3n por el uso del distintivo amarillo, ten\u00eda en cambio algo positivo que ofrecer al jud\u00edo por el cumplimiento de esa misma obligaci\u00f3n. En compensaci\u00f3n por el ingreso de los jud\u00edos en el gueto, el Estado les permit\u00eda construir sinagogas. La sinagoga, que en la Edad Media consist\u00eda en una congregaci\u00f3n lit\u00fargica en una casa de familia o en un edificio cualquiera, estaba en el gueto protegida por un Estado cristiano. El edificio de la sinagoga se convirti\u00f3 en la instituci\u00f3n p\u00fablica definitoria de la vida comunitaria y poco despu\u00e9s el gueto lleg\u00f3 a ser el emplazamiento id\u00f3neo para sinagogas que representaban a diferentes grupos confesionales, esto es, sefard\u00edes y asquenazis, y hubo incluso una para los diecinueve jud\u00edos chinos que viv\u00edan en Venecia a mediados del siglo XVI.\n\nEsta concentraci\u00f3n de diferentes tipos de sinagogas en el gueto urbano tuvo profundas consecuencias en el concepto mismo de identidad jud\u00eda. La variedad de ramas del juda\u00edsmo renacentista respond\u00eda a la variedad de los materiales sociales que las constitu\u00edan. Los asquenazis no hablaban la misma lengua que los sefard\u00edes, ni compart\u00edan una cultura com\u00fan, aparte de que entre ellos hab\u00eda tambi\u00e9n importantes diferencias doctrinarias. Los jud\u00edos levantinos inclu\u00edan en su seno a individuos pertenecientes a diversas sectas cism\u00e1ticas cuya lengua, costumbres y actividad econ\u00f3mica guardaban escasa semejanza con las de los jud\u00edos de Europa Occidental; en cuanto a los jud\u00edos chinos, es casi imposible imaginar alguna ligaz\u00f3n entre su condici\u00f3n y la de los otros jud\u00edos. Pero, forzados a vivir todos en el mismo espacio denso y limitado, estaban unidos de hecho, y esta circunstancia reforz\u00f3 la \u00fanica caracter\u00edstica que ten\u00edan en com\u00fan, la de \u00abser jud\u00edos\u00bb.\n\nLa elaboraci\u00f3n de esta identidad se produjo de maneras muy concretas. Efectivamente, los diferentes tipos de jud\u00edos cooperaban para proteger sus intereses desarrollando formas de representaci\u00f3n colectiva tales que les permit\u00edan dirigirse al mundo exterior como \u00abjud\u00edos\u00bb. En el gueto veneciano, lo mismo que poco despu\u00e9s en el gueto romano, los jud\u00edos constituyeron organizaciones fraternales que se reun\u00edan en las sinagogas, pero que s\u00f3lo se ocupaban de cuestiones puramente seculares relativas al gueto. Dado que estaban destinados a vivir en el aislamiento, gran parte de este trabajo secular ten\u00eda por finalidad la autoayuda ante las dificultades de las condiciones materiales del propio gueto.\n\nEl aumento de la poblaci\u00f3n del gueto fue poco a poco convirtiendo este espacio cerrado en un lugar sucio e insalubre, donde la peste encontraba un excelente caldo de cultivo. Los jud\u00edos trataron de protegerse recurriendo a sus propios m\u00e9dicos, pues la medicina era la \u00fanica profesi\u00f3n liberal que se les permit\u00eda practicar en la ciudad. Pero el conocimiento m\u00e9dico, incluso en su forma primitiva, ten\u00eda un gran enemigo en la ley de la vivienda a la que los jud\u00edos estaban sometidos y que no les permit\u00eda poseer en el gueto edificios en propiedad, sino \u00fanicamente construir sobre los existentes y dividir interiormente las casas en apartamentos cada vez m\u00e1s peque\u00f1os. Las fraternidades jud\u00edas controlaban el espacio del gueto, pero era un espacio en permanente degradaci\u00f3n.\n\nEn Venecia, la econom\u00eda asentada sobre la base de las especias produjo un profundo efecto en la vida religiosa del gueto, debido al consumo de caf\u00e9. Tradicionalmente, en la Edad Media las oraciones y los estudios religiosos de los jud\u00edos ten\u00edan lugar por la ma\u00f1ana. La aparici\u00f3n del caf\u00e9, del que muy pronto se pudo disponer en la ciudad, fue bien recibida por los jud\u00edos como una manera de sacar provecho de su segregaci\u00f3n espacial. Lo emplearon como est\u00edmulo para mantenerse despiertos y desplazaron los momentos de plegaria y de estudio a las horas de la noche en que deb\u00edan permanecer encarcelados.\n\nPor esos medios, debido a su encierro en el espacio del gueto, los jud\u00edos, al igual que los alemanes, los turcos y los griegos de Venecia, experimentaron un sentimiento de solidaridad rec\u00edproca; en el aislamiento, estos extra\u00f1os \u00abconstruyeron\u00bb un sentido de car\u00e1cter colectivo. Por el contrario, para las prostitutas habr\u00eda carecido por completo de sentido forjar una solidaridad en esa forma, pues en su caso no hab\u00eda una naci\u00f3n, una memoria ni una antropolog\u00eda a partir de la cual pudieran ellas constituirse como pueblo.\n\nEl espacio de identidad jud\u00eda se relacionaba con el cuerpo de otras maneras, mediante su modo de hacer dinero, es decir, mediante la usura. Tal como se la practicaba en Venecia desde el siglo XII, la usura consist\u00eda en prestar dinero a tasas de entre el quince y el veinte por ciento, que, en conjunto, eran menores que las que se pagaba en los pa\u00edses m\u00e1s septentrionales. Con independencia de d\u00f3nde se las exigiera ni de qui\u00e9n lo hiciera, se las juzgaba como dinero jud\u00edo y, por tanto, una forma vil de riqueza. En la _\u00c9tica a Nic\u00f3maco_ , Arist\u00f3teles hab\u00eda condenado la usura como \u00abuna ganancia de dinero a partir del propio dinero\u00bb, como si el dinero pudiera reproducirse como un animal, y esta conexi\u00f3n \u00abantinatural\u00bb con el dinero era ofensiva. (Un pr\u00e9stamo veneciano \u00ablimpio\u00bb en esta etapa primitiva del capitalismo significaba un pr\u00e9stamo con baja tasa de inter\u00e9s variable y sin seguridad para el prestamista de recuperar su dinero.) Como pr\u00e1ctica antinatural, la usura era comparada con el sexo il\u00edcito. Un contempor\u00e1neo de Shakespeare declaraba en _The Seven Deadly Sins of London_ que \u00abel usurero vive de la lascivia del dinero, [que] es la madama de sus propias bolsas\u00bb; otro cr\u00edtico cristiano de los jud\u00edos escrib\u00eda que el usurero \u00absomete su dinero al acto antinatural de la procreaci\u00f3n\u00bb. En otros pasajes, el dinero obtenido mediante usura se comparaba con los excrementos, y al jud\u00edo con un copr\u00f3fago.\n\nDesde los tiempos prehel\u00e9nicos, el juda\u00edsmo se hab\u00eda interesado en los rituales relativos a la purificaci\u00f3n del cuerpo. Los ba\u00f1os del _Mikvah_ para las mujeres eran precisamente uno de esos rituales, como lo era tambi\u00e9n la limpieza de la casa antes de dar inicio a importantes festividades religiosas. En la Edad Media, los jud\u00edos empezaron a sobrevivir econ\u00f3micamente mediante pr\u00e1cticas que les hac\u00edan parecer sucios a ojos de los dem\u00e1s; entonces, la cuesti\u00f3n de la limpieza corporal, codificada en religi\u00f3n desde dentro y estigmatizada por el prejuicio social desde fuera, pod\u00eda abordarse de un nuevo modo en el gueto. La separaci\u00f3n espacial pod\u00eda convertirse en una virtud si se le quitaba a la comunidad la m\u00e1cula de la contaminaci\u00f3n. La lucha contra la peste, producida por el propio espacio del gueto, adoptaba ahora un car\u00e1cter religioso. En efecto, daba una nueva dimensi\u00f3n, una dimensi\u00f3n visual, a la palabra hebrea _Kadosh_. Como observa Kenneth Stow, _Kadosh_ \u00absignifica literalmente separar o separado. \u00c9se es su sentido original, b\u00edblico. Su relaci\u00f3n con lo divino se halla en el Lev\u00edtico: \"Sed santos _(kadoshim)_ , pues yo, el Se\u00f1or vuestro Dios, soy santo _(kadosh)\"\u00bb_.14 Espacialmente segregados, empezaron a pensar en considerar el gueto como el escenario de una nueva tarea, la tarea de purificaci\u00f3n, la purificaci\u00f3n de una comunidad vali\u00e9ndose de su separaci\u00f3n. Pero \u00bfc\u00f3mo pod\u00eda coexistir esta tarea con su vida econ\u00f3mica fuera del gueto y con los m\u00e1rgenes de intercambio social con cristianos que coexist\u00edan con su propia marginalidad? \u00bfC\u00f3mo pod\u00eda una vida en el gueto ser a la vez una vida urbana? Estas preguntas dieron forma al tema de los derechos.\n\n### _Dos vidas de gueto_\n\nLa intriga de _El mercader de Venecia_ , de Shakespeare, gira en torno a una circunstancia que nos resulta extra\u00f1a cuando pensamos en ella. Shylock, rico prestamista jud\u00edo de Venecia, ha prestado tres mil ducados a Bassanio por tres meses, y Antonio, amigo de Bassanio, se ha comprometido a devolver el dinero prestado. Si no lo hace, Shylock, que odia al arist\u00f3crata cristiano Antonio y todo lo que \u00e9ste representa, quiere una libra de su carne como compensaci\u00f3n. La fortuna se vuelve contra Antonio y los barcos que transportan toda su riqueza naufragan en una tormenta. Por tanto, Shylock reclama su libra de carne.\n\nLo extra\u00f1o es que ni Antonio ni las autoridades cristianas que en ese momento entran en acci\u00f3n en la obra se sientan obligados a mantener la palabra dada a un jud\u00edo. El sistema econ\u00f3mico, como hemos se\u00f1alado, hac\u00eda amplio uso de los contratos verbales; tambi\u00e9n se llevaban registros escritos, pero lo decisivo era el car\u00e1cter vinculante de la palabra dada. En el sistema bancario de Rialto, tal como lo describe el historiador Frederick Lane, las transferencias se realizaban en estos t\u00e9rminos: \u00abel banquero [...] sentado tras un banco bajo el p\u00f3rtico de una iglesia en Rialto, con su gran diario desplegado ante \u00e9l. El pagador ordena verbalmente al banquero que realice una transferencia a la cuenta de la persona que recibe el pago\u00bb. Rialto, que era el centro de la actividad econ\u00f3mica, se llenaba todos los d\u00edas de chismes y de noticias; el capitalismo se practicaba sin estad\u00edsticas ni garant\u00edas gubernamentales de ning\u00fan tipo; la confianza personal en el otro era decisiva a la hora de cerrar tratos comerciales.\n\nFuera del teatro, el p\u00fablico ingl\u00e9s de Shakespeare, lo mismo que Sanuto en Venecia un siglo antes, trataba a los jud\u00edos como animales semihumanos en quienes no se pod\u00eda confiar. En la obra, Shakespeare presenta estos prejuicios haciendo del prestamista jud\u00edo un verdadero can\u00edbal, puesto que Shylock propone extraer una libra de carne de la cadera de Antonio si el noble no puede pagar. La pr\u00e1ctica antinatural de la usura es as\u00ed revelada en su consecuencia corporal m\u00e1s inhumana.\n\nDe tal manera, es de suponer que el p\u00fablico esperara que el Duque (el Dogo) de Venecia, a modo de poderoso _deus ex machina_ , entrara en escena y mandara al can\u00edbal a la c\u00e1rcel, o por lo menos que declarara inmoral el contrato y, por tanto, nulo. Sin embargo, cuando uno de los personajes secundarios de _El mercader de Venecia_ dice que est\u00e1 seguro de que el Duque resolver\u00e1 la cuesti\u00f3n exactamente de esa manera, Antonio responde:\n\nEl Duque no puede impedir a la ley que siga su curso,\n\ny para explicar por qu\u00e9, remite a las razones del auge de la ciudad\n\na causa de las garant\u00edas comerciales que los extranjeros encuentran cerca de nosotros en Venecia; suspender la ley ser\u00eda atentar contra la justicia del Estado, puesto que el comercio y la riqueza de la ciudad dependen de todas las naciones.\n\nAl poner estas palabras en boca del Duque, Shakespeare, m\u00e1s que presentar a su p\u00fablico las relaciones de \u00e9ste con la peque\u00f1a poblaci\u00f3n de jud\u00edos existente entre la poblaci\u00f3n londinense, expone un argumento que explica a su p\u00fablico algo relativo a su propia vida. La riqueza de la ciudad necesita que la gente acepte las impurezas morales. El Duque de Shakespeare va incluso m\u00e1s all\u00e1: en honor de las \u00abgarant\u00edas comerciales\u00bb, la gente debe honrar los contratos, piense lo que piense de las cualidades morales de las partes contratantes, o incluso del tipo de moral que \u00e9stas representan. Es menester tolerar hasta el canibalismo, si es que ambas partes han convenido en \u00e9l y esto no afecta a terceros. De esta manera, el contrato se mostraba como una fuerza que generaba sus propios derechos, reclamaciones y t\u00edtulos; ninguna ley superior ni ning\u00fan gobierno exterior pueden intervenir en su funcionamiento.\n\nEl contrato can\u00edbal entre Shylock y Antonio es un contrato verbal y son precisamente sus cualidades verbales las que Shakespeare hace enunciar al Duque en su enfrentamiento con Shylock. M\u00e1s que ordenarle que desista, el Duque razona con Shylock; si es preciso violar el contrato, eso s\u00f3lo puede hacerse a trav\u00e9s del di\u00e1logo. Shylock puede a su vez burlarse de estos alegatos ducales e insultar, porque sabe que \u00abest\u00e1 en su derecho\u00bb de decir lo que se le ocurra. Esto es justamente lo que quiere decir Porcia, la mujer que terminar\u00e1 por cortar este nudo gordiano, cuando declara que \u00abno hay fuerza en Venecia que pueda alterar un decreto establecido\u00bb. El \u00abdecreto\u00bb es el acuerdo al que Antonio y Shylock han llegado a trav\u00e9s de la negociaci\u00f3n verbal, y la libertad de Shylock para hablar con el Duque en tono insultante, combativo, deriva de la misma fuente, es decir, de la legitimidad y la protecci\u00f3n que proporcionan las palabras. La acci\u00f3n de la pieza dramatiza una conexi\u00f3n que comienza a tomar forma en el Renacimiento, esto es, la conexi\u00f3n entre la libertad de palabra y el car\u00e1cter sagrado del contrato. Esta libertad econ\u00f3mica se desprende de la libertad de expresi\u00f3n.\n\nPuesto que Shakespeare es un dramaturgo, la libertad de palabra que desvela en este contrato can\u00edbal sirve a la finalidad art\u00edstica de profundizar la imagen estereot\u00edpica del jud\u00edo avaricioso. Desde este punto de vista, _El mercader de Venecia_ marca un fuerte contraste con la pieza de Marlowe titulada _El jud\u00edo de Malta_. Marlowe convierte a Barrab\u00e1s, el jud\u00edo malt\u00e9s, en una figura divertida, simplemente despreciable por su avaricia. Shylock, en cambio, es un ser humano m\u00e1s complejo, su codicia se amalgama con el odio a los cristianos que le niegan la elemental consideraci\u00f3n debida a otro ser humano. El parlamento m\u00e1s famoso de Shylock es un intento de restaurar la dignidad corporal del cuerpo de los jud\u00edos:\n\n\u00bfEs que un jud\u00edo no tiene ojos? \u00bfEs que un jud\u00edo no tiene manos, \u00f3rganos, proporciones [...]? Si nos envenen\u00e1is, \u00bfno nos morimos? Y si nos ultraj\u00e1is, \u00bfno nos vengaremos?\n\nEl parlamento apela a la universalidad del cuerpo, a la igualdad de derechos que asiste a todos los cuerpos, comprendido el derecho de vengarse. Y a su vez, la apelaci\u00f3n de Shylock es lo que presta el marco al desenlace en el cuarto acto, cuando Porcia termina por disolver el contrato de Shylock.\n\nEn _El mercader de Venecia_ Shakespeare nos sorprende con el desenlace. Construye un gran drama de derecho versus moral y de pronto, en el cuarto acto, disipa todas sus tensiones. Porcia, disfrazada de abogado, dice a Shylock que su reclamaci\u00f3n es justa, pero que debe ajustarse estrictamente a sus t\u00e9rminos y coger una libra de carne, pero ni una gota de sangre, pues no estaba especificado en el contrato; adem\u00e1s, s\u00f3lo puede extraer una libra de carne, ni una onza m\u00e1s ni una menos. Puesto que Shylock no puede ser un can\u00edbal tan cient\u00edfico, el juego toca a su fin. Muchos cr\u00edticos han visto en esto un pobre final, pues el conflicto principal es eludido mediante una especie de triqui\u00f1uela de abogado. Sin embargo, es completamente coherente con el sentido general de la obra, pues los poderes operantes en la Venecia de Shakespeare son poderes que a\u00edslan a las personas de la textura de la circunstancia, de las cargas locales.\n\nEn ning\u00fan otro pasaje de la obra resultan m\u00e1s evidentes estos poderes de aislamiento de la circunstancia y del lugar que en la figura de la hija de Shylock, Jessica. En el momento en que se enamora de un cristiano, Jessica abandona a su padre, su casa y su fe. No da casi muestras de aflicci\u00f3n por dejar el mundo de su padre, ni tampoco por robarle, que es lo que hace en realidad cuando se apodera de las joyas de Frankfurt para pagarse los placeres de su luna de miel. Contado de esta manera, parece una criatura despreciable y, sin embargo, en la obra resulta absolutamente encantadora. Esto es as\u00ed porque Shakespeare no imagina la \u00abjudeidad\u00bb como una maldici\u00f3n racial, ni como una identidad racial o ni siquiera cultural. El peso de \u00abser jud\u00edo\u00bb es en realidad ligero en _El mercador de Venecia_ ; aqu\u00ed, el hecho de \u00abser jud\u00edo\u00bb se asemeja m\u00e1s bien al de usar cierto tipo de vestimenta, que uno puede quitarse si, por ejemplo, se enamora.\n\nLa misma ligereza conlleva la triqui\u00f1uela contractual que Porcia aplica a Shylock. A mi juicio, se trata precisamente de la visi\u00f3n \u00e9tica que Shakespeare ten\u00eda de los derechos de contrataci\u00f3n: al liberar a hombres y mujeres de la fuerza de la circunstancia, el trabajo de las palabras les arrebata tambi\u00e9n la densidad de la experiencia. Tanto la acci\u00f3n \u2013la habilidad de Porcia en el manejo de la ley\u2013 como el personaje \u2013la judeidad de Jessica\u2013 se vuelven ingr\u00e1vidos bajo el trabajo de las palabras; se prescinde del odio mortal de Shylock y se olvida tanto su vileza como la nobleza de su gran parlamento sobre el cuerpo del jud\u00edo; su hija le ha robado y lo ha abandonado. Es dif\u00edcil imaginar todo esto como una soluci\u00f3n cristiana de los acontecimientos. Tuvo raz\u00f3n Shakespeare en decir que _El mercader de Venecia_ era una comedia, pues el bien y el mal terminan por no tener consecuencia alguna. Es ya un lugar com\u00fan decir que _El mercader de Venecia_ es una pieza acerca del intercambio; pero en esta comedia, el sentido impl\u00edcito del intercambio es la indiferencia.\n\nComo lectores modernos conocemos la realidad social de la indiferencia inherente al _ethos_ de la sacralidad de los contratos. Lo que perturba al lector moderno con la mente puesta en los derechos humanos son las conexiones que en este drama se dan entre la sacralidad del contrato y la libertad de expresi\u00f3n. \u00c9ste era el emblema de Venecia para Shakespeare y sus contempor\u00e1neos, el de un lugar de riqueza adquirida, a sus ojos, por medios nuevos y modernos, una ciudad internacional tan independiente del localismo como de Europa y del poder del gobierno cristiano. Esta visi\u00f3n de una ciudad libre de ataduras culturales no es, por supuesto, la Venecia de los guetos jud\u00edos ni de los Fondaci de alemanes, turcos o albaneses. _El mercader de Venecia_ se puede leer, me parece, como un tipo de premonici\u00f3n de la modernidad, del significado de la libertad, experiencialmente despojado de contenido concreto, propio del mundo moderno; el gueto de Venecia ofrece otra premonici\u00f3n.\n\nLeon (Judah Aryeh) Modena, que vivi\u00f3 de 1571 a 1648, pas\u00f3 la mayor parte de su vida adulta en el gueto de Venecia. Fue escriba, poeta, rabino, m\u00fasico y l\u00edder pol\u00edtico, estudioso de lat\u00edn, griego, franc\u00e9s, ingl\u00e9s y, sorprendentemente para nosotros, jugador compulsivo; su autobiograf\u00eda, titulada _The Life of Judah_ , es un juego de palabras, pues se supon\u00eda que el juego era el pecado de Judas.\n\nNacido fuera de la ciudad, Modena lleg\u00f3 a Venecia en 1590, cuando ten\u00eda diecinueve a\u00f1os; tres a\u00f1os despu\u00e9s, ya casado, decidi\u00f3 convertirse en rabino y cuando alcanz\u00f3 su objetivo hab\u00eda cumplido ya treinta y ocho. Su vida en los a\u00f1os intermedios fue agitada; escribi\u00f3 mucho mientras viajaba de un lugar a otro, pero se sent\u00eda insatisfecho. Fue un cabal ejemplo de jud\u00edo errante y s\u00f3lo cuando entr\u00f3 en el mundo cerrado del gueto de Venecia, rodeado de jud\u00edos de todo tipo que llevaban una vida p\u00fablica activa, empez\u00f3 a sentirse verdaderamente en casa.\n\nCuando, en 1609, se orden\u00f3 finalmente en Venecia, su vida adopt\u00f3 un car\u00e1cter intensamente local. En la Venecia renacentista, el rabino iba a la sinagoga tres veces por d\u00eda \u00abpara dirigir el servicio, recitar las plegarias por los enfermos y los muertos, predicar todos los Sabbath por la ma\u00f1ana antes de extraer la Torah del arca y leerla, y los lunes y los jueves para comentar dos o tres pasajes de la ley despu\u00e9s de su lectura y luego devolverla al arca\u00bb.19  En virtud de sus dones intelectuales y su incesante producci\u00f3n escrita, sus sermones alcanzaron fama internacional y comenz\u00f3 a atraer al gueto a muchos cristianos que iban para o\u00edrlo hablar.\n\nLeon Modena fue el rabino que m\u00e1s atrajo a los cristianos, pero no el \u00fanico. Puesto que las sinagogas adoptaron la forma de instituci\u00f3n p\u00fablica \u2013esto es, de edificios apartados de las retorcidas callejuelas de la vida jud\u00eda, frente a la esquina sudeste del Gueto Nuevo y la calle principal del Gueto Viejo, f\u00e1ciles de encontrar y de visitar\u2013, se convirtieron en lugares que, dentro del gueto, tend\u00edan a lo largo del d\u00eda ocasionales puentes sobre el abismo cultural entre jud\u00edos y cristianos. A condici\u00f3n de que el orador tuviera la suficiente elocuencia, los cristianos, aunque no con frecuencia, ir\u00edan al gueto a o\u00edrlo hablar en la sinagoga. A semejanza de los turistas modernos que van a Harlem, estos visitantes del gueto practicaban en general una especie de voyeurismo. Los cristianos que, como Paulo Scarpi, asist\u00edan para o\u00edr con seriedad a Modena, pagaron un precio por ello; a Scarpi se le deneg\u00f3 un obispado por \u00abhaberse entendido con jud\u00edos\u00bb.\n\nLos talentos personales de Modena fueron un ejemplo que sirvi\u00f3 de prueba de la medida en que un hombre ilustrado pod\u00eda romper el aislamiento del gueto. Su reputaci\u00f3n aument\u00f3 durante la d\u00e9cada de 1620 y en 1628 asumi\u00f3 el control de la academia musical jud\u00eda (l'Accademia degli Impediti), con la que ofreci\u00f3 recitales de m\u00fasica coral jud\u00eda y salmos en la sinagoga sefard\u00ed. \u00abLa nobleza cristiana de Venecia acudi\u00f3 en gran n\u00famero a este acontecimiento espectacular\u00bb, escribe su bi\u00f3grafo reciente, \u00aby las autoridades tuvieron que intervenir para controlar a la multitud.\u00bb\n\nModena, como se\u00f1ala la historiadora moderna Natalie Davis, \u00abse diferencia de Shylock pr\u00e1cticamente en todo, pues es un jud\u00edo que arriesga su dinero con prodigalidad [...] que disfruta de la admiraci\u00f3n de los cristianos...\u00bb. Y sin embargo, cuando su vida se acercaba al final, las mismas condiciones del gueto que le hab\u00edan permitido prosperar \u2013su establecimiento formal en el interior de una ciudad y su magn\u00e9tica atracci\u00f3n para los jud\u00edos que vagaban por doquier\u2013 se convirtieron en una trampa para \u00e9l.\n\nCuando una grave peste azot\u00f3 Venecia entre 1629 y 1631, la segregaci\u00f3n del gueto que imped\u00eda a los jud\u00edos marcharse en busca de lugares menos insalubres oblig\u00f3 a quienes se hallaban bajo el cuidado pastoral de Modena a padecer con particular intensidad los estragos de la enfermedad. Tres a\u00f1os despu\u00e9s, en 1634, el nieto de Modena, de catorce a\u00f1os a la saz\u00f3n, pens\u00f3 que la gran fama de su abuelo le servir\u00eda para obtener su libertad personal como tip\u00f3grafo, pero aquella fama demostr\u00f3 tener l\u00edmites personales y el muchacho fue enviado a la c\u00e1rcel. El propio Modena se top\u00f3 con los l\u00edmites de la consideraci\u00f3n con la que los cristianos le trataban, pues por la publicaci\u00f3n de su magna obra sobre los ritos religiosos jud\u00edos fue llevado ante la Inquisici\u00f3n veneciana en 1637 y \u00fanicamente gracias a sus relaciones personales con el Gran Inquisidor pudo salvar de las llamas su vida y el libro, que, no obstante, sigui\u00f3 siendo vituperado por dignatarios menores de la Iglesia. Para la Inquisici\u00f3n, el libro de Modena sobre el ritual jud\u00edo constitu\u00eda una amenaza porque sacaba al dominio abierto y p\u00fablico de la antropolog\u00eda algo que hab\u00eda estado confinado en las sombras de la fantas\u00eda. Ante todo, en estos a\u00f1os finales de su vida, Modena hubo de descubrir la terrible conexi\u00f3n entre la fantas\u00eda psicosocial y la segregaci\u00f3n espacial.\n\nEn marzo de 1636, un grupo de jud\u00edos recibi\u00f3 y ocult\u00f3 en el gueto bienes robados en otra parte de Venecia. Modena describe c\u00f3mo la polic\u00eda organiz\u00f3 la b\u00fasqueda de seda, ropa de seda y oro ocultos. \u00abEn Purim, el recinto del gueto fue clausurado para realizar con grandes prisas una requisa casa por casa.\u00bb Dada la organizaci\u00f3n del espacio, para hacer tal cosa bastaba con levantar unos cuantos puentes y cerrar unas cuantas puertas. Modena protest\u00f3 contra esto con el argumento de que \u00abcuando un individuo comet\u00eda un delito, ellos [los cristianos] lanzaban su c\u00f3lera contra toda la comunidad...\u00bb, para agregar esta reveladora conclusi\u00f3n: \u00abllam\u00e1ndonos banda de ladrones y diciendo que en el gueto se oculta todo tipo de delitos\u00bb.\n\nEn la \u00e9poca en que Shakespeare escribi\u00f3 _El mercader de Venecia_ , los jud\u00edos de la ciudad se hab\u00edan convertido en verdaderos enigmas para sus contempor\u00e1neos cristianos, que ya no los ve\u00edan de manera rutinaria entre ellos, salvo en las escasas ocasiones en que el propio Modena los atra\u00eda al gueto. Entonces tom\u00f3 cuerpo el rumor no comprobado acerca de la vida que llevaban los jud\u00edos. En parte, esto se deb\u00eda simplemente al hecho de que los jud\u00edos que llegaban en n\u00famero creciente a la ciudad desaparec\u00edan de inmediato en el gueto. Pero al tener encerrados a los diferentes, lo \u00fanico que el resto de la ciudad pod\u00eda saber de ellos era producto de la fantas\u00eda. En 1636, la fantas\u00eda de que todos los jud\u00edos estaban implicados en una banda de ladrones se convirti\u00f3 en el curso de dos o tres d\u00edas en convicci\u00f3n inquebrantable del p\u00fablico veneciano. Dada la inexistencia de trato cotidiano con la mayor\u00eda de los jud\u00edos, no hab\u00eda experiencia capaz de poner l\u00edmite a la fantas\u00eda. A partir del robo se atribuyeron a los encerrados tras los muros del gueto tambi\u00e9n otros delitos, como el secuestro de ni\u00f1os en el gueto y la pr\u00e1ctica de la misa negra. El gueto, a ojos de los cristianos, se hab\u00eda convertido en un espacio de ocultamiento. Se pensaba que, detr\u00e1s de sus puentes levantados, sus ventanas cerradas y su vida al margen del sol y del agua, justamente por tratarse de una vida dif\u00edcilmente visible, el delito y la idolatr\u00eda se ensa\u00f1aban.\n\nComo en los d\u00edas siguientes el rumor creci\u00f3, los jud\u00edos fueron v\u00edctimas del mayor pogromo conocido en Europa desde que Adriano, el emperador romano, lanzara la guerra contra los jud\u00edos de Jerusal\u00e9n, quince siglos antes. Los venecianos hab\u00edan ocultado la diferencia y en un pogromo como el de 1636 \u2013pues no fue otra cosa\u2013 los jud\u00edos experimentaron las consecuencias extremas de la pol\u00edtica de aislamiento. En un espacio-gueto percibido desde fuera, la fantas\u00eda convierte la diferencia en una otredad incomprensible.\n\nAs\u00ed fue como los derechos locales de los que hab\u00edan gozado los jud\u00edos tocaron a su fin. El aparato del Estado no pudo proteger sus cuerpos, porque la pasi\u00f3n popular, movilizada por la fantas\u00eda, demostr\u00f3 ser m\u00e1s fuerte que los poderes de polic\u00eda del Estado. Los historiadores discuten hasta qu\u00e9 punto la polic\u00eda form\u00f3 parte de la turba, pero lo cierto es que el hacinamiento de tantos jud\u00edos, al dar tanta consistencia espacial a la comunidad, permiti\u00f3, una vez violentadas las puertas, atacarlos como a animales acorralados para la matanza.\n\nEn el gueto de Venecia, Modena, el jud\u00edo errante, el cosmopolita por excelencia, hab\u00eda por fin abrazado el juda\u00edsmo al armonizar fe y espacio. Tras el pogromo de 1636 comenz\u00f3 a arrepentirse de la vida con la que tan c\u00f3modo se hab\u00eda sentido. Su yerno Jacob, a quien le un\u00eda un v\u00ednculo personal muy estrecho, hab\u00eda sido desterrado a Ferrara como parte de un castigo generalizado a los jud\u00edos durante la persecuci\u00f3n de 1636. En 1643, enfermo, perseguido por su propia mujer, solo, Leon Modena pidi\u00f3 a las autoridades que permitieran el regreso de Jacob. \u00c9stas, todav\u00eda bajo la influencia de los temores que hab\u00edan provocado la gran persecuci\u00f3n, se negaron. Entonces Modena sucumbi\u00f3 a un severo brote de su vicio de toda la vida, \u00ablos juegos de azar. Persist\u00ed en esto [durante dos meses] con una p\u00e9rdida de dinero, y de honor, de tal magnitud como nunca hab\u00eda experimentado, m\u00e1s el a\u00f1adido de ri\u00f1as familiares\u00bb. Toda su vida hab\u00eda jugado no por placer sino por desesperaci\u00f3n, cuando sus propios esfuerzos parec\u00edan incapaces de garantizar su supervivencia. He aqu\u00ed al viejo rabino, al estudioso de renombre mundial, sentado a la mesa de juego, tirando los dados y barajando cartas semana tras semana, como si los simples rituales de la apuesta pudieran aliviarle el dolor.\n\nCerca del final, la memoria estalla en esta terrible confesi\u00f3n de desamparo:\n\n\u00bfQui\u00e9n me dar\u00e1 conocimiento de palabras de lamentaci\u00f3n, de queja y de aflicci\u00f3n tales como para poder hablar y escribir acerca de cu\u00e1nto peor fue mi suerte que la de cualquier otra persona? Habr\u00e9 de sufrir y de soportar lo que comenz\u00f3 a desolarme el d\u00eda en que nac\u00ed y continu\u00f3 sin respiro durante setenta y seis a\u00f1os enteros.\n\nLos espacios-gueto que Venecia cre\u00f3 para sus jud\u00edos, alemanes, persas y griegos, as\u00ed como el que trat\u00f3 de crear para sus cortesanas, resultan ser una gran iron\u00eda de la forma urbana. Si nos atenemos estrictamente a su poblaci\u00f3n, podemos decir que Venecia era la ciudad con mayor diversidad de la Europa renacentista; ninguna otra ten\u00eda una poblaci\u00f3n tan cosmopolita. Las condiciones econ\u00f3micas que crearon la riqueza de la Venecia renacentista dotaron a la ciudad de gran abundancia de seres humanos, pero esta ciudad de lujo material se neg\u00f3 a utilizar esa abundancia como objeto de experiencia cotidiana. Una conclusi\u00f3n ser\u00eda que nos hallamos ante una relaci\u00f3n de causa y efecto. Desde este punto de vista, la sociedad no pod\u00eda soportar la diversidad que la econom\u00eda hab\u00eda llevado a la ciudad, argumento que se oye hoy con frecuencia en ciudades mestizas como Nueva York, Berl\u00edn o Londres. Lo que gravita en contra de este argumento es que el gueto no es algo que a los jud\u00edos les sucede como v\u00edctimas pasivas. A trav\u00e9s de sus confraternidades, que hac\u00edan las veces de mediadoras con el mundo exterior, la gradual identificaci\u00f3n de fe y espacio hizo que los jud\u00edos se convirtieran en hombres y mujeres del gueto, un espacio a la vez de represi\u00f3n y de identificaci\u00f3n.\n\nPodr\u00eda decirse que para los jud\u00edos de Venecia no hab\u00eda opci\u00f3n, pero \u00e9sa no es la cuesti\u00f3n. Los jud\u00edos que rechazaron esa forma de vida abandonaron la ciudad. La dicotom\u00eda que marc\u00f3 la historia moderna de los jud\u00edos comenz\u00f3 con la posibilidad de vivir territorialmente, bajo las condiciones que les impon\u00edan la Venecia y Roma renacentistas. Los jud\u00edos que se rebelaron contra la guetizaci\u00f3n tuvieron que padecer las consecuencias de una vida desarraigada; los que aceptaron esa forma de vida tuvieron que sufrir las de su arraigo. Lo que Modena lleg\u00f3 a ver al final de sus d\u00edas fue que aquel espacio arraigado era en s\u00ed mismo un motivo de debilitamiento; el derecho local qued\u00f3 superado, abolido por la falta de l\u00f3gica espacial de la otredad.\n\n### _Conclusi\u00f3n_\n\nNo he intentado con este breve esbozo escribir una historia ingenua. Me pareci\u00f3 que la historia de los jud\u00edos de la Venecia del Renacimiento, as\u00ed como la incompatibilidad del concepto de derechos con su presencia en la ciudad, guardaba relaci\u00f3n con el pensamiento actual sobre los derechos humanos.\n\nEn estos \u00faltimos a\u00f1os, los an\u00e1lisis de los derechos humanos se orientaron a la sociedad civil, esto es, a las pr\u00e1cticas religiosas, econ\u00f3micas y comunitarias. Estos an\u00e1lisis han tratado de ofrecer una concepci\u00f3n de los derechos humanos como pr\u00e1cticas sociales en s\u00ed mismos, como pr\u00e1cticas que trascienden las formulaciones legales y la hegemon\u00eda del Estado. Pocos pensadores modernos consentir\u00edan en seguir a Hannah Arendt hasta su \u00faltima y amarga consecuencia, la del divorcio de la pol\u00edtica respecto de la esfera de la sociedad civil. Sin embargo, hay una tendencia a aceptar la distinci\u00f3n de Arendt, pero desde el otro lado, es decir, con la idea de que el marco de las pr\u00e1cticas sociales resulta ser un correctivo de la formulaci\u00f3n meramente legal de los derechos.\n\nLa historia de los jud\u00edos de Venecia, tal como la he relatado, podr\u00eda constituir un motivo de reflexi\u00f3n para quienes est\u00e1n dispuestos a aceptar esta visi\u00f3n correctiva, pues se trata de una historia en la que los poderes discursivos de los seres humanos, as\u00ed como la organizaci\u00f3n espacial de las vidas humanas, corrompen la mera experiencia del derecho. Las formulaciones culturales de derechos en el discurso y en el espacio pueden resultar ilusorias o autodestructivas. El Estado es, a mi juicio, un correctivo necesario de las normas de derecho en el seno de la sociedad civil.\n\nPero he tenido tambi\u00e9n otra raz\u00f3n para centrar este ensayo en la relaci\u00f3n entre lugar y derecho. La ideolog\u00eda del lugar \u2013en la forma de celebraciones de los ideales locales o en la forma de ideales de una cultura com\u00fan en un grupo particular\u2013 se erige hoy contra los reclamos de universalizaci\u00f3n de la Ilustraci\u00f3n. Los pensadores de la Ilustraci\u00f3n, como Kant, creyeron ilusoriamente que lo social pod\u00eda subsumirse en lo pol\u00edtico; esta ilusi\u00f3n se ve hoy contradicha por celebraciones de cohesi\u00f3n social en s\u00ed misma y por s\u00ed misma, particularmente entre los grupos oprimidos. Que los derechos efectivos puedan ser resultado del simple acto de cohesi\u00f3n social me parece un error tan grave como ha demostrado serlo la noci\u00f3n kantiana de ciudadan\u00eda universal.\n\nLos derechos sin localizaci\u00f3n de los contratos, tal como aparec\u00edan en el capitalismo veneciano, eran defectuosos por la mutabilidad misma de la palabra hablada. La lucha por conseguir la especificidad en la ley escrita me parece la \u00fanica manera de contrarrestar esta verbal \u00ablevedad del ser\u00bb, para adaptar una frase de Kundera. Los jud\u00edos de Venecia pose\u00edan tanto los derechos verbales como los espaciales, pese a lo cual no fueron incorporados al funcionamiento codificado del Estado. M\u00e1s que derechos de legitimaci\u00f3n, los suyos eran derechos de tolerancia. A mi juicio, \u00fanicamente el Estado puede realizar esta operaci\u00f3n de legitimaci\u00f3n, y \u00fanicamente puede hacerlo rescatando las palabras del dominio de la comprensi\u00f3n hablada. \n\n## El extranjero \n### _El espejo de Manet_\n\n\u00c9douard Manet fue un pintor de la ciudad, pero no un pintor realista tal como este t\u00e9rmino se entiende com\u00fanmente. No trataba de lograr con la pintura el efecto de sorprender la vida al desnudo, como hicieron los fot\u00f3grafos de su \u00e9poca. El registro de Manet tampoco comparte gran cosa con el esp\u00edritu de los indignados retratos urbanos de protesta que nos presenta Zola de putas, ni\u00f1os abandonados o familias comiendo ratas asadas. El arte de Manet es capaz de lograr una impresionante declaraci\u00f3n pol\u00edtica directa, como lo demuestra el cuadro realizado en 1868 titulado _La ejecuci\u00f3n del Emperador Maximiliano_ , pero la visi\u00f3n que el artista tiene de la ciudad se vale de otros medios para obtener sus efectos.\n\nEn su registro de la vida que ve\u00eda en Par\u00eds, Manet empleaba detalles visuales que perturban la mirada, que la arrastran de objeto en objeto dentro del cuadro y que a menudo sugieren que la verdadera historia a la que la pintura se refiere tiene lugar en otro sitio, fuera de la tela. En su pintura de la ciudad, Manet es un artista del desplazamiento; y es precisamente a trav\u00e9s de su comprensi\u00f3n del desplazamiento como nos habla en t\u00e9rminos sociales, tanto hoy como en su d\u00eda; su arte desaf\u00eda ciertos supuestos con los que describimos a gente desplazada, ya sea econ\u00f3mica, ya sea pol\u00edticamente, es decir, los inmigrantes, los exiliados, los expatriados.\n\nEstas palabras aluden a los diferentes motivos por los que es posible que una persona viva en el extranjero, pero hoy en d\u00eda el resultado de tales desplazamientos parece un destino com\u00fan. Ser extranjero es vivir a disgusto fuera del propio pa\u00eds; nos referimos al inmigrante que siente el impacto de la cultura y se aferra a s\u00ed mismo, al exiliado que hiberna con indiferencia en una ciudad que apenas lo roza, al expatriado que pronto sue\u00f1a con el retorno... Tales im\u00e1genes ti\u00f1en de sentimientos la necesidad de ra\u00edces y de valores que el coraz\u00f3n experimenta. M\u00e1s a\u00fan, niegan a los que se han convertido en extranjeros la voluntad y la capacidad para hacer algo humano a partir de la experiencia del desplazamiento, aun cuando se hubieran visto inicialmente forzados a emigrar. Pese a ser un pintor que se siente absolutamente c\u00f3modo en su ciudad y a su inter\u00e9s por los olores y las sombras de su vida cotidiana, Manet imagina lo que la experiencia misma del desplazamiento tiene de positivo. Bajo su pincel se abre la dualidad de \u00ablo propio\u00bb y \u00ablo extra\u00f1o\u00bb, pues la representaci\u00f3n imaginaria de los lugares familiares se vuelve ella misma cada vez m\u00e1s rara y extra\u00f1a.\n\nLa agudeza de Manet para captar el desplazamiento se expresa con toda amplitud en su \u00faltima gran obra, _El bar del Folies-Berg\u00e8re_ , realizada en el invierno de 1881-1882. Es interesante la historia de esta pintura. En 1879, Manet se ofreci\u00f3 al Concejo Municipal de Par\u00eds como pintor de murales para la nueva sede del ayuntamiento. Estos murales del Par\u00eds moderno mostrar\u00edan el efecto de las nuevas construcciones \u2013puentes de acero, alcantarillado de cemento, edificios de hierro forjado\u2013 en la vida de la ciudad. La propuesta de Manet fue rechazada, pero lo significativo es que la gran obra que realiz\u00f3 con posterioridad a esta negativa no presenta ninguna de las escenas previstas para sus murales de Par\u00eds, sino que gira m\u00e1s bien en torno a algo aparentemente m\u00e1s sentimental, m\u00e1s _kitsch_ incluso, un cuadro del Folies-Berg\u00e8re. El prop\u00f3sito de Manet era infundir a esta escena banal la fuerza de todos los cambios que \u00e9l sent\u00eda que se estaban operando por entonces en Par\u00eds, cambios que hab\u00edan dado lugar al desarrollo de una sensibilidad moderna.\n\nPara nosotros es importante entender qu\u00e9 era y qu\u00e9 no era el Folies-Berg\u00e8re en la \u00e9poca de Manet. Era un lugar de permisividad sexual; entre la multitud se paseaban por igual prostitutas y prostitutos y se bailaba el canc\u00e1n, que en su versi\u00f3n del siglo XIX no ten\u00eda nada que ver con su descendiente m\u00e1s moderno y adecentado (el canc\u00e1n, que se introdujo en Par\u00eds en la d\u00e9cada de 1830, lo bailaban en general mujeres sin ropa interior bajo sus faldas cortas y sueltas, de modo que cada vez que levantaban una pierna dejaban al descubierto sus montes de Venus). Pero el Folies-Berg\u00e8re no era en s\u00ed mismo un prost\u00edbulo, aunque estaba estrat\u00e9gicamente situado cerca de varias casas de este tipo, por lo cual las mujeres respetables pod\u00edan acudir al local a divertirse, lo que hac\u00edan en n\u00famero tambi\u00e9n respetable. Por tanto, se trataba de un lugar rayano en la indecencia, pero de un lugar p\u00fablico, lleno de gente ruidosa que beb\u00eda y flirteaba en un ambiente perfumado por cigarros, caf\u00e9 y Beaujolais barato. Los parisinos iban al Folies cuando deseaban relajarse. Era c\u00f3modo y acogedor, un hogar alejado, muy alejado, de los rigores del hogar familiar.\n\nLa escena que Manet ha aislado nos muestra una mujer de pie detr\u00e1s de una barra. Pensativa, triste, seria, es una figura aislada en medio del ruido (la figura del cuadro se basa en Suzon, una camarera del Folies-Berg\u00e8re a quien Manet conoc\u00eda). El espectador es atra\u00eddo al interior de la escena por el uso que hace Manet de los espejos, que crean una experiencia especial de desplazamiento.\n\nEl cuadro representa a la camarera mirando directamente de frente al espectador. El espejo delante del cual se encuentra ella de pie tambi\u00e9n se opone directamente al espectador. Manet refuerza esta alineaci\u00f3n plenamente frontal colocando los brazos extendidos y las manos sobre la barra del bar, ladeadas como un bailar\u00edn de ballet que girara las piernas hacia fuera, con los pies en l\u00ednea recta, manteniendo el cuerpo completamente de frente. A la derecha de esta figura vemos su espalda reflejada en el espejo, en donde la masa plana de su vestido negro es exactamente de la misma medida que el cuerpo, de modo que su figura reflejada carece del efecto de reducci\u00f3n propio de la perspectiva, pues el reflejo se muestra en el mismo plano dimensional que el cuerpo. Digo que vemos su reflejo en un espejo, aunque esto es imposible desde el punto de vista \u00f3ptico; no podemos verla directamente de frente y al mismo tiempo ver su reflejo a la derecha. Hoy el espectador acepta esta imposibilidad, que parece visualmente l\u00f3gica, aunque \u00f3pticamente imposible. Sin embargo, Charles de Feir, en su _Guide du Salon de Paris 1882_ , hablaba en nombre de muchos contempor\u00e1neos de Manet al considerar este extra\u00f1o espejo como una se\u00f1al de la defectuosa t\u00e9cnica del pintor.\n\nEn muchas de las \u00faltimas pinturas de Manet, la sensaci\u00f3n de desplazamiento \u00f3ptico del espectador se ve reforzada por alg\u00fan gesto arbitrario y aparentemente menor, que contribuye as\u00ed a separar la escena del hecho representacional. En _El bar del Folies-Berg\u00e8re_ esto se produce gracias a la manera en que Manet pinta dos l\u00e1mparas de gas reflejadas en el espejo; son dos discos de un blanco puro colocados sobre el plano del cuadro, l\u00e1mparas que no proyectan sombra, que no est\u00e1n rodeadas de penumbras como suele suceder con las luces reflejadas, que no est\u00e1n pintadas del todo. Una vez m\u00e1s, los contempor\u00e1neos de Manet vieron en estas extra\u00f1as luces una se\u00f1al de imperfecci\u00f3n del pintor. En _L'Illustration_ , Jules Compte dijo de ellas que \u00abprobablemente Monsieur Manet ha elegido un momento en que las l\u00e1mparas no funcionaban adecuadamente, pues nunca hemos visto una luz menos resplandeciente...\u00bb.\n\nEn la actualidad podemos apreciar que estos discos blancos tienen la misma finalidad que el reflejo desplazado del vestido negro de la camarera, esto es, organizar la pintura de tal manera que nos concentremos \u00fanicamente en la experiencia relevante de profundidad y de efecto de retroceso. En el rinc\u00f3n superior derecho del cuadro, reflejado en el espejo, vemos el hombre al que mira la camarera y que a su vez la mira intensamente a los ojos. Sin embargo, as\u00ed como la espalda de la camarera no podr\u00eda verse reflejada a su derecha, este decidido caballero de sombrero de copa que le formula una pregunta con la mirada y que provoca en ella esa expresi\u00f3n tan triste, no puede tener presencia \u00f3ptica, pues en tal caso impedir\u00eda por completo nuestra visi\u00f3n directa y sin obst\u00e1culos de Suzon, que mira directamente al frente. La pintura est\u00e1 organizada de tal manera que el espectador, usted o yo, est\u00e1 delante de ella. Pero, por supuesto, ni usted ni yo nos parecemos a la persona reflejada en el espejo. A causa de la posici\u00f3n completamente frontal del personaje en relaci\u00f3n con el espectador, es imposible mirar la figura sin que se produzca esta perplejidad reflexiva. El dramatismo creado por Manet en esta pintura es \u00e9ste: miro al espejo y veo a alguien que no soy yo.\n\nEste aspecto del cuadro llam\u00f3 la atenci\u00f3n de los contempor\u00e1neos de Manet. Alguno trat\u00f3 de superar la perplejidad con una broma (el _Journal Amusant_ del 27 de mayo de 1882 presentaba un grabado del cuadro en el cual se hab\u00eda introducido el caballero reflejado en el espejo, de pie ante la camarera y obstruyendo nuestra mirada), pero la mayor\u00eda de los cr\u00edticos reaccion\u00f3 con irritaci\u00f3n a las perturbadoras preguntas que el cuadro de Manet planteaba al espectador: \u00ab\u00bfEs ver\u00eddico este cuadro? No. \u00bfEs bello? No. \u00bfEs atractivo? No. Entonces, \u00bfqu\u00e9 es?\u00bb El malestar de los cr\u00edticos pod\u00eda tener mucho que ver con el relato que narra la propia pintura, el de las proposiciones de un hombre a una joven camarera que le responde con una mirada de infinita tristeza.\n\nEsta historia, por supuesto, se ajusta como anillo al dedo a un serm\u00f3n victoriano. Es cierto que Edgar Degas pint\u00f3 m\u00e1s directamente el mensaje moral de la joven solitaria en un ambiente p\u00fablico saturado de vicio, por ejemplo, en _La absenta_ , de 1876, pero en la pintura de Manet, la perturbaci\u00f3n \u00f3ptica exime a la mujer de servir a una finalidad tan claramente moralizadora. Una cuesti\u00f3n que surge en relaci\u00f3n con este cuadro es la de si la visi\u00f3n que del mismo puedan tener hombres y mujeres con otras vestimentas y de otras \u00e9pocas y lugares ser\u00e1 inseparable de la historia que en \u00e9l se expone. Con la misma t\u00e9cnica pict\u00f3rica se ha dado particular relieve a los objetos colocados sobre la barra. Las botellas est\u00e1n pintadas con todo detalle y contrastan con los discos abstractos de ese espejo que nos muestra una imagen de uno mismo distinta de aquella en la que habr\u00edamos preferido reconocernos. Aunque el espejo cruza la pintura de un extremo al otro, Manet s\u00f3lo permite ver el reflejo de dos de los densos conjuntos de objetos de esa abigarrada colecci\u00f3n, a pesar de que deber\u00eda verse el de _todos_. Estos fantasmas \u00f3pticos de botellas, flores y frutas parecen los objetos m\u00e1s s\u00f3lidos del cuadro.\n\nEs as\u00ed como opera el desplazamiento en _El bar del Folies-Berg\u00e8re_. El desplazamiento crea valor, valor reflexivo, lo que quiere decir valor que se da al espectador como inherente a lo que ve y al propio mundo f\u00edsico, cuya naturaleza y formas nos vemos forzados a evaluar contemplando su transmutaci\u00f3n en un espejo distorsionante. Por el contrario, hay en esos objetos una solidez, aunque meramente ilusoria, que no ha sido sometida a este desplazamiento. De haber sido Manet un fil\u00f3sofo \u2013a lo que se hubiera negado enf\u00e1ticamente\u2013 habr\u00eda podido se\u00f1alar que lo fundamental de su pintura era que la solidez de las cosas no desplazadas, al igual que la de los yos que no han tenido nunca la experiencia del desplazamiento, puede ser en realidad la mayor de las ilusiones. Esta pintura entra\u00f1a, por cierto, la promesa modernista de que la perturbaci\u00f3n infundir\u00e1 valor a la experiencia. Pero \u00bfc\u00f3mo podr\u00eda esta promesa de desplazamiento trasladarse de la tela a la calle?\n\n### _Un cambio en el exilio_\n\nSi fu\u00e9ramos capaces de recorrer las calles del Par\u00eds de la juventud de Manet \u2013las calles comprendidas entre la Rue de Rivoli y el Boulevard SaintMichel de norte a sur, y entre lo que son hoy los puentes de Saint-Michel y Carrousel de este a oeste\u2013 ver\u00edamos que el m\u00e9todo de pintura de Manet plasmaba en la tela una escena de la vida real.\n\nEsta secci\u00f3n de Par\u00eds conten\u00eda una multitud de extranjeros mezclados entre los estudiantes de las facultades de bellas artes, medicina y derecho de la Universidad de Par\u00eds. El contingente mayor y m\u00e1s antiguo estaba formado por centroeuropeos, polacos y bohemios que hab\u00edan sido desplazados de forma permanente de sus respectivos pa\u00edses en la d\u00e9cada de 1830. En la d\u00e9cada siguiente llegaron a esta zona de la ciudad los emigrados pol\u00edticos italianos, a los que en 1846 se uni\u00f3 un contingente de griegos. La mayor\u00eda estaba en Par\u00eds por razones pol\u00edticas; muchos de ellos eran intelectuales, aunque entre los griegos hab\u00eda un gran n\u00famero de marineros que hab\u00edan sido capturados una generaci\u00f3n antes, durante la guerra de Independencia.\n\nPodr\u00edamos concebir ese mundo como un mundo premoderno de extranjeros. Los parisinos idealizaron la resistencia que en otros lugares opon\u00edan los burgueses locales a la explotaci\u00f3n de la aristocracia y la realeza. Aunque los franceses no son en general particularmente accesibles para los forasteros, recibieron con simpat\u00eda a polacos y griegos; las revueltas en esos dos pa\u00edses se percib\u00edan m\u00e1s como revoluciones de la clase media que como revueltas de los pobres. Durante la d\u00e9cada de 1830, las universidades de Francia estuvieron abiertas a los extranjeros y se produjo la primera codificaci\u00f3n moderna del derecho de asilo pol\u00edtico (seg\u00fan la cual un individuo puede solicitar este estatus a trav\u00e9s de una tramitaci\u00f3n estatal establecida, sin tener que suplicarlo como favor a un gobernante). En estas condiciones, los emigrantes de las d\u00e9cadas de 1830 y 1840 trataron de movilizar a los parisinos a favor de sus diversas causas, con la esperanza de obtener dinero y presionar a la opini\u00f3n p\u00fablica para que impulsara a la acci\u00f3n al gobierno franc\u00e9s. Hoy se conoce el lado elegante de esos esfuerzos, como la m\u00fasica que Chopin escrib\u00eda a modo de _pi\u00e8ces d'occasion_ para conciertos de beneficencia, pero hab\u00eda tambi\u00e9n una adhesi\u00f3n m\u00e1s popular del p\u00fablico, como el proselitismo que los marineros griegos hac\u00edan entre los estibadores y los transportistas de los _quais_ del Sena en busca de ayuda, y con tal fortuna que en los muelles se usaba la ropa de trabajo griega como se\u00f1al de solidaridad. Adem\u00e1s, la polic\u00eda de Par\u00eds, en general, daba su aprobaci\u00f3n, pensando que los intereses extranjeros desviar\u00edan a los trabajadores franceses de sus motivos locales de descontento, desviaci\u00f3n que, con respecto al proletariado parisino, se hab\u00eda conseguido efectivamente durante las guerras napole\u00f3nicas.\n\nEra, pues, curiosa la situaci\u00f3n de esta naci\u00f3n xen\u00f3foba que encontraba atractivos a los extranjeros perseguidos, pero que era tambi\u00e9n un escenario de consecuencias hist\u00f3ricas, pues fue en Par\u00eds donde resultaron por primera vez patentes los cambios que producir\u00edan la imagen m\u00e1s moderna del extranjero como figura necesariamente sufriente. Esos cambios, parad\u00f3jicamente, se debieron al desarrollo del nacionalismo moderno; fue el nacionalismo lo que hizo que quienes abandonaban sus respectivas naciones parecieran pacientes sometidos a una amputaci\u00f3n quir\u00fargica.\n\nEs verdad, por supuesto, que a partir de los antiguos griegos se pens\u00f3 que la pertenencia a una naci\u00f3n era necesaria para dar forma a un ser humano completo; a los extranjeros de las ciudadesEstado griegas \u2013los metecos\u2013, los ciudadanos griegos los consideraban j\u00f3venes inconsistentes, porque no pod\u00edan ejercer el privilegio adulto del voto. Pero el significado de \u00abnaci\u00f3n\u00bb ha experimentado enormes variaciones en el curso de la historia occidental. Unas veces, la nacionalidad fue inseparable de una determinada pr\u00e1ctica religiosa, otras, se consustanci\u00f3 con dinast\u00edas aristocr\u00e1ticas, y aun otras incluy\u00f3 la red de socios comerciales de una ciudad matriz.\n\nEl nacionalismo que comienza a descubrir su voz en la Revoluci\u00f3n de 1848 distingue una nueva versi\u00f3n de la identidad colectiva en nuestra civilizaci\u00f3n, pues la nacionalidad se convierte entonces en un fen\u00f3meno antropol\u00f3gico del que la actividad pol\u00edtica es, en el mejor de los casos, simple sierva. La naci\u00f3n se convierte en un _ethos_ , en gobierno del _nomos_ , en t\u00e9rminos griegos, o, en otras palabras, en el puro gobierno de la costumbre; e interferir la sacralidad de la costumbre con la toma de decisiones pol\u00edticas o la negociaci\u00f3n diplom\u00e1tica es poco menos que un crimen. Debido a este gran cambio en el sentido de la nacionalidad, los exiliados que viv\u00edan en Par\u00eds en 1848 se vieron obligados a pensar de nuevo lo que significaba estar mucho tiempo desplazados de \u00abcasa\u00bb. Su vida cotidiana en el extranjero perdi\u00f3 poco a poco contacto con los rituales y las costumbres de su pa\u00eds y el _nomos_ pas\u00f3 a ser recuerdo en lugar de actividad. Se ver\u00edan forzados a buscar sentido a su vida en el hecho mismo del desplazamiento, en su condici\u00f3n de extranjeros, o sea, a contemplar los recuerdos de la naci\u00f3n como algo parecido al espejo de Manet.\n\nLa Revoluci\u00f3n de 1848 dur\u00f3 cuatro meses, de febrero a junio. Comenz\u00f3 en Par\u00eds, pero en marzo sus repercusiones se hab\u00edan de sentir en toda Europa Central, donde surg\u00edan movimientos que proclamaban la superioridad de las rep\u00fablicas nacionales sobre los parcelamientos del territorio realizados por las dinast\u00edas y los diplom\u00e1ticos en el Congreso de Viena de 1815. Los acontecimientos tuvieron algo de la misma \u00edndole explosiva que m\u00e1s tarde, en los \u00faltimos meses de 1989, caracterizar\u00eda la liberaci\u00f3n de la hegemon\u00eda rusa que se extendi\u00f3 por esas mismas naciones.\n\nLos doctrinarios de \u00abla naci\u00f3n\u00bb que empezaron a ejercer influencia p\u00fablica en 1848 empleaban otra clase de lenguaje que el de quienes, antes que ellos y en sus respectivos pa\u00edses, hab\u00edan defendido los reg\u00edmenes constitucionales, la democracia u otros ideales pol\u00edticos, haci\u00e9ndose eco de los ideales de la Revoluci\u00f3n Norteamericana y de la Revoluci\u00f3n Francesa. El lenguaje de los eslav\u00f3filos o de los Hijos del \u00c1tica era, como he dicho, un triunfo de la antropolog\u00eda sobre la pol\u00edtica. En 1848, los revolucionarios nacionalistas rechazaban la idea de naci\u00f3n como c\u00f3digo pol\u00edtico, pues lo que para ellos conformaba una naci\u00f3n eran la tradici\u00f3n, las formas de comportamiento y las actitudes morales de un _volk_ ; los elementos constitutivos de la vida nacional eran, por tanto, lo que un pueblo come, la manera en que se mueve cuando baila, las expresiones dialectales de su lenguaje, las formas de sus plegarias. El derecho es incapaz de legislar los placeres de ciertas comidas y las constituciones no pueden ordenar la fervorosa creencia en determinados santos; en resumen, el poder no puede crear la cultura.\n\nLa doctrina del nacionalismo que cristaliz\u00f3 en 1848 a\u00f1ade un imperativo geogr\u00e1fico al concepto de cultura propiamente dicho, pues el h\u00e1bito, la fe, el placer, el ritual, todo, depende de su representaci\u00f3n en un territorio determinado. Adem\u00e1s, el lugar que alimenta los rituales es un lugar formado por personas que se parecen a nosotros, personas con quienes podemos compartir sin explicar. De esta manera, \u00abterritorio\u00bb se convierte en sin\u00f3nimo de \u00abidentidad\u00bb.\n\nEs importante comprender que los anales de la Europa de mediados del siglo XIX estaban llenos de nacionalistas revolucionarios que predicaban a un p\u00fablico a veces receptivo, a veces indiferente, pero siempre un p\u00fablico que o\u00eda algo _nuevo_ , eso es, la alabanza de rituales y creencias normales y la celebraci\u00f3n de la vida cotidiana como virtud colectiva. Un c\u00f3digo m\u00e1s antiguo de honor nacional, por ejemplo, habr\u00eda considerado degradante esta celebraci\u00f3n de la vida cotidiana. En virtud de este c\u00f3digo m\u00e1s antiguo se vest\u00eda a un soldado de infanter\u00eda de franela azul y roja con adornos dorados, charreteras y botones ceremoniales estampados. No importaba que fuera una vestimenta in\u00fatil, o, peor a\u00fan, que lo fuera para el uso militar; no importaba que el soldado se muriera de hambre en los barracones; esta ropa ceremonial le daba un lugar en algo m\u00e1s grande e importante que \u00e9l, glorificaba su condici\u00f3n de franc\u00e9s. An\u00e1logamente, en tiempos de paz, monarcas como Luis XIV trataban de legitimar sus pol\u00edticas mediante sofisticados ceremoniales; esos \u00abavances\u00bb, \u00abgiros\u00bb y \u00abaudiencias\u00bb infund\u00edan un contraste dram\u00e1tico a la gloria del Estado, lo mismo que sus magn\u00edficos y altos edificios, tan elevados, y por eso tan \u00abantinaturales\u00bb, en relaci\u00f3n con el dominio de la vida cotidiana. El honor nacional hab\u00eda que buscarlo en el artificio.\n\nPor el contrario, la ideolog\u00eda de la naci\u00f3n que predicaban Kossuth, Manzoni, Garibaldi, Mickiewicz o Louis Blanc, seg\u00fan la cual la gente encontraba su honra personal en la vida ordinaria, comerciando, divirti\u00e9ndose, rezando o cosechando, significaba que el honor deb\u00eda buscarse en la autenticidad antes que en el artificio.\n\nEl esp\u00edritu de este nuevo nacionalismo se hace visible casi al mismo tiempo que se imprimen los textos revolucionarios, en febrero y marzo de 1848. En los carteles que Chodluz y otros realizaron en la primavera de 1848 convocando a la unidad nacional se muestra al Pueblo respondiendo a la llamada al alzamiento en ropa de trabajo o vestimenta campesina. El sentido de estas im\u00e1genes es m\u00e1s complejo que la simple identificaci\u00f3n del Pueblo con los pobres, pues en los carteles revolucionarios de 1790 y 1791 los pobres se representaban a menudo en uniformes militares o con los colores de sus clubs pol\u00edticos. Dos generaciones m\u00e1s tarde, en respuesta a un gran acontecimiento hist\u00f3rico, el Pueblo no viste para la ocasi\u00f3n. Tampoco en los carteles de 1848 las masas exhiben expresiones particularmente dram\u00e1ticas de odio o de exaltaci\u00f3n patri\u00f3tica; todo se hace con el prop\u00f3sito de dar a entender que el pueblo no es consciente de s\u00ed mismo, que simplemente es lo que es. Las cl\u00e1sicas figuras aleg\u00f3ricas que blasonaban los carteles de las revoluciones de 1830, como _La Libertad guiando al pueblo_ , de Delacroix, son ya realmente cosas del pasado. Para los nacionalistas revolucionarios de 1848, la falta de conciencia de s\u00ed mismo del _volk_ , la ausencia de un espejo, era una fuente de virtud que se opon\u00eda a los vicios de la autoconciencia y la autoalienaci\u00f3n del burgu\u00e9s cosmopolita, cuya actitud mental descansaba en un juego de espejos que reflejaban interminables vacilaciones y reconsideraciones.\n\nEsta imagen antropol\u00f3gica de un _volk_ es un acontecimiento que marca una \u00e9poca en la iconograf\u00eda y la ret\u00f3rica sociales modernas. El nacionalismo del siglo XIX estableci\u00f3 lo que hoy podr\u00edamos llamar regla b\u00e1sica de la modernidad para tener una identidad. La identidad m\u00e1s fuerte es la que se tiene sin conciencia de tenerla, la que corresponde simplemente a lo que se _es_. En otras palabras, uno es m\u00e1s uno mismo cuanto menos conciencia tiene de serlo.\n\nEs importante entender que esta f\u00f3rmula es en efecto una regla para el ejercicio del poder, aun cuando hable en nombre de una unidad cultural, de un alma del pueblo, con independencia de cualquier r\u00e9gimen pol\u00edtico. Los grandes imperialistas del siglo XIX, hombres como Livingstone, Stanley y Rhodes, se adhirieron a esta visi\u00f3n antropol\u00f3gica y apoyaron tambi\u00e9n el extendido punto de vista acerca del car\u00e1cter sagrado de la cultura cotidiana y creyeron en la primac\u00eda del _nomos_ , s\u00f3lo que, para ellos, la conclusi\u00f3n derivada de todo eso era el principio de no contaminar a los \u00abnativos\u00bb por un contacto excesivo con los amos extranjeros, porque eso habr\u00eda debilitado la integridad de la cultura nativa. Rhodes hablaba en serio. Lo que ocurre es simplemente que esta regla b\u00e1sica del _nomos_ moderno, la que sostiene que uno es m\u00e1s uno mismo cuanto menos conciencia tiene de serlo, puede servir tanto al levantamiento revolucionario, como en 1848, como a la orquestaci\u00f3n de formas en que una naci\u00f3n que domina a otras trata, sin embargo, de impedir la \u00abcontaminaci\u00f3n\u00bb cultural. Del mismo modo, tambi\u00e9n un Estado moderno puede sacar provecho de la virtud antropol\u00f3gica. Sus instituciones pueden legitimarse como reflejos del impulso popular m\u00e1s que como construcciones, que podr\u00edan ser problem\u00e1ticas y requerir an\u00e1lisis constantes. Instituciones como la polic\u00eda civil o el comit\u00e9 revolucionario de vecinos pueden ser declarados \u00f3rganos permanentes de espontaneidad, las consecuencias de lo que \u00abtodo el mundo\u00bb desea ver brotar de la vida del pueblo.\n\nLa celebraci\u00f3n que Rousseau hizo del \u00abbuen salvaje\u00bb un siglo antes de 1848 era un amargo juego de palabras. Parece ser que Rousseau qued\u00f3 muy impresionado por la figura disecada de un indio americano que un taxidermista exhibi\u00f3 en Par\u00eds en 1741 con toda su vestimenta ceremonial. Rousseau imagin\u00f3 que este \u00absalvaje\u00bb era un hombre con una capacidad de reflexi\u00f3n m\u00e1s aguda y profunda que los empelucados, charlatanes e irreflexivos parisinos que visitaban la tienda del taxidermista. El buen salvaje, idealizaci\u00f3n dieciochesca de la persona aut\u00e9ntica, piensa. Una vez m\u00e1s, la distinci\u00f3n entre los revolucionarios del siglo XVIII y los nacionalistas del XIX ven\u00eda marcada por una diferencia en la conciencia geogr\u00e1fica. Las doctrinas pol\u00edticas de 1789 trascend\u00edan lo local. Efectivamente, para creer en la libertad, la igualdad y la fraternidad que proclamaba la Revoluci\u00f3n Francesa no hac\u00eda falta vivir en Par\u00eds ni ser franc\u00e9s. En sus _Reflexiones de un ciudadano universal del mundo_ , escritas en 1784, Kant sosten\u00eda que un ser humano desarrolla en casa la mayor parte de lo que siente una persona y extrae est\u00edmulo de una diversidad de personas distintas. Este \u00abciudadano universal\u00bb busca el est\u00edmulo en escenarios extra\u00f1os a \u00e9l y de todos ellos recoge lo que hay de com\u00fan, de universal.\n\nPor cierto que, en materia de ideolog\u00eda, ning\u00fan cambio se produce como un simple paso de una forma de creencia a otra. En los escritos de Manzoni sobre el campesinado italiano, sus campesinos aparecen a veces como los aut\u00e9nticos italianos porque, apartados de las ciudades que fueron sede del poder austroh\u00fangaro, conservaron los modos de vida de la Italia anterior, libre. Al ser conscientes guardianes de lo que es en realidad una cultura superior, se asemejan en esto al buen salvaje de Rousseau. Entonces el campesinado \u2013a veces Manzoni escribe como m\u00e1s tarde lo har\u00e1 Tolst\u00f3i\u2013 es moralmente superior porque los campesinos no tienen conciencia de s\u00ed mismos en el tiempo y la historia y est\u00e1n libres del corrosivo veneno del exceso de reflexi\u00f3n, de pensar m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de los confines de la vida tal como se da. El campesino no mira al espejo de la historia; el campesino es, sin m\u00e1s. El Pueblo es silencioso.\n\nEn la ret\u00f3rica del nacionalismo que tom\u00f3 forma en el siglo XIX, la espontaneidad y la carencia de autoconciencia cosmopolita de la gente iban unidas a su vez a una concepci\u00f3n del tiempo nacional. Tambi\u00e9n la naci\u00f3n _es_ , sin m\u00e1s. Para la ret\u00f3rica del nacionalismo, los rituales, las creencias y la moral de un pueblo representan m\u00e1s bien formas de ser que de hacer, de acuerdo con la distinci\u00f3n de Heidegger; los rituales, las creencias y la moral que crean el ideal nacional se celebran como probados por el tiempo y como factores permanentes de cohesi\u00f3n, pues pertenecen a la tierra misma, a la unidad de los seres humanos con \u00absu\u00bb suelo. Esta noci\u00f3n de ser nacional tambi\u00e9n entra\u00f1a cierto tipo de silencio. En los llamamientos de Luis Kossuth a la revuelta magiar, la interacci\u00f3n multisecular de los magiares con los turcos, eslavos y alemanes cuya historia los hab\u00eda llevado a vivir entre ellos quedaba excluida de la explicaci\u00f3n de aquello en que consiste ser magiar, pese a que, de hecho, estos encuentros hist\u00f3ricos ti\u00f1eron la pr\u00e1ctica de la religi\u00f3n, crearon una cocina compleja y alteraron la estructura de la propia lengua h\u00fangara. En lugar de esta historia, Kossuth predic\u00f3 una versi\u00f3n de la cultura magiar como si de generaci\u00f3n en generaci\u00f3n hubiera permanecido al mismo tiempo inmutable e independiente. El corolario del tiempo nacional, que es tiempo del ser, era el concepto de pureza nacional.\n\nComo Isaiah Berlin ha mostrado en su estudio _Vico and Herder_ , los dos precursores dieciochescos del nacionalismo del siglo XIX, el encuadre de la naci\u00f3n en t\u00e9rminos antropol\u00f3gicos, empez\u00f3 por la m\u00e1s liberal de las razones, la afirmaci\u00f3n de la dignidad de las diferencias humanas. Para Herder, en palabras de Berlin: \u00ablas diferencias [del pueblo] son lo m\u00e1s importante, pues son ellas las que hacen de \u00e9l lo que es, lo que le da existencia por s\u00ed mismo\u00bb. Es f\u00e1cil olvidar hasta qu\u00e9 punto es osada y reciente la simple afirmaci\u00f3n de que los seres humanos son productos de culturas particulares. Maquiavelo aconsejaba al o\u00eddo de su Pr\u00edncipe poniendo ejemplos de emperadores y reyes antiguos, gobernantes que, aunque muertos hac\u00eda miles de a\u00f1os, pod\u00edan a\u00fan servir como modelos, porque la naturaleza humana no cambia, o eso era al menos lo que pensaban Maquiavelo y sus contempor\u00e1neos.\n\nEn el siglo XVIII, la afirmaci\u00f3n de que los seres humanos encarnan una cultura espec\u00edfica era algo m\u00e1s que un recurso para tomar en serio las variaciones antropol\u00f3gicas, era un ataque a lo que hoy llamamos \u00abeurocentrismo\u00bb. Voltaire cre\u00eda que \u00abes una terrible arrogancia afirmar que, para ser feliz, todo el mundo deber\u00eda hacerse europeo\u00bb. En diferentes lugares, diferentes pueblos encuentran diferentes maneras de buscar la felicidad, el m\u00e1s dif\u00edcil de los logros. Sin embargo, entre la afirmaci\u00f3n de la diferencia en el siglo XVIII y la misma afirmaci\u00f3n en el XIX hay una brecha que puede exponerse as\u00ed: para Voltaire, el conocimiento de que hay otros que no s\u00f3lo no mueren por ingerir comidas que a nosotros nos dan miedo, sino que incluso las saborean con placer, deber\u00eda hacernos reflexionar acerca de nuestras convicciones, deber\u00eda despertar en nosotros el deseo de probar lo prohibido. La percepci\u00f3n de valores diferentes deber\u00eda volver m\u00e1s cosmopolita al sujeto que los percibe. Herder, sin embargo, se adelant\u00f3 a su tiempo al comprender que la percepci\u00f3n de la diferencia, debido a la ausencia de humanidad com\u00fan a la que recurrir conjuntamente, puede volver m\u00e1s etnoc\u00e9ntrica a la gente.\n\nEn el lugar y fuera del lugar; la virtud de ser uno mismo en el lugar propio y el defecto de verse a s\u00ed mismo en otro lugar. Es precisamente aqu\u00ed donde empiezan los problemas de ser extranjero. En la temprana primavera de 1848, a \u00abDaniel Stern\u00bb (seud\u00f3nimo con el que firmaba Marie d'Agoult, en un tiempo compa\u00f1era de Franz Liszt, cuyas cr\u00f3nicas de 1848 son un vivo registro del levantamiento) le parec\u00eda que \u00abla colonia extranjera se vaciar\u00e1 en unos d\u00edas, cuando nuestros amigos regresen a los lugares que los reclaman\u00bb. Dado el triunfalismo con que se anunciaban los nacionalismos en la prensa, esa expectativa parece l\u00f3gica. El interrogante pol\u00edtico que este nacionalismo planteaba a los que se hab\u00edan vuelto extranjeros \u2013emigrados, expatriados o exiliados\u2013 era el siguiente: \u00bfpor qu\u00e9 no est\u00e1is en casa con los vuestros? \u00bfC\u00f3mo pod\u00e9is ser rusos en otra parte? Sin embargo, a finales de abril de 1848, Daniel Stern hab\u00eda observado que, curiosamente, pocos emigrados hab\u00edan regresado a su casa. \u00abA\u00fan se los ve discutiendo en el Palais Royal, recibiendo emisarios del exterior, lanzando bravatas; rebosan de esperanza, pero ninguno ha hecho las maletas.\u00bb\n\nTal vez el m\u00e1s grande de los exiliados del siglo XIX haya sido un hombre que, pese a su breve aparici\u00f3n en este escenario, dej\u00f3 expresada en prosa indeleble su percepci\u00f3n de la maldita relaci\u00f3n entre el nacionalismo y la condici\u00f3n de extranjero. Aleksandr Herzen era hijo ileg\u00edtimo de un noble ruso ya entrado en a\u00f1os y una joven alemana (de ah\u00ed su nombre, m\u00e1s o menos equivalente a _herzlich_ , \u00abde coraz\u00f3n\u00bb). Inspirado por la sublevaci\u00f3n de 1825, fue un joven activo en la pol\u00edtica radical rusa, tal como esto se entend\u00eda entonces, es decir que fue un propulsor de la monarqu\u00eda constitucional y las reformas liberales. Por esta causa sufri\u00f3 el exilio interno y finalmente la expulsi\u00f3n del imperio ruso. Al igual que otros miembros de su generaci\u00f3n, pens\u00f3 en un primer momento que era un exiliado temporal y esperaba regresar a su tierra natal cuando las circunstancias pol\u00edticas lo hicieran posible. Pero cuando, finalmente, esta posibilidad se dio, se ech\u00f3 atr\u00e1s. No fueron la asimilaci\u00f3n social, el amor a la cultura europea ni v\u00ednculos personales \u2013como los de su amigo Turgu\u00e9niev con Pauline Viardot\u2013 lo que le retuvo. Manten\u00eda su apasionado inter\u00e9s por los asuntos de su pa\u00eds, pero ya no se sent\u00eda capaz de vivir en \u00e9l. Deambul\u00f3 por las capitales de Europa Occidental y pas\u00f3 sus \u00faltimos a\u00f1os en Londres, donde public\u00f3 un famoso bolet\u00edn informativo sobre la realidad rusa con el t\u00edtulo de _The Bell_.\n\nHay cierto tipo de pensamiento social, falsamente humanitario, que propone una relaci\u00f3n inversa entre conciencia y circunstancia. Seg\u00fan esta manera de pensar, los padecimientos convierten a los pobres en v\u00edctimas intelectuales de sus necesidades y su pensamiento es mero c\u00e1lculo de supervivencia, mientras que las sutilezas de la conciencia, las complejidades de la interpretaci\u00f3n, son lujos de rico. Para este tipo de pensamiento, el hijo bastardo de un arist\u00f3crata no puede servir como gu\u00eda de los dilemas que afrontaban las sucesivas oleadas de emigrantes que abandonar\u00edan Europa en el siglo XIX, y mucho menos a\u00fan de los interrogantes que afrontan hoy los jornaleros mexicanos, los comerciantes coreanos, los jud\u00edos sovi\u00e9ticos y otros extranjeros. Herzen el amigo de John Stuart Mill; Herzen el t\u00edmido con esa timidez alimentada por la asistencia a tantos acontecimientos formales; Herzen el curioso de lugares a los que, no obstante, sabe que no pertenece...; este polifac\u00e9tico Herzen hace su entrada en esta historia en abril de 1848. Fue en ese momento de dilaci\u00f3n cuando Herzen se uni\u00f3 a la colonia de emigrados de Par\u00eds; lo hizo para alejarse de Roma, que se hallaba entonces en sus primeros momentos de despertar nacionalista.\n\nNo hay que pensar que Herzen o los otros emigrados parisinos que no respondieron de inmediato al llamamiento de su propia naci\u00f3n fueran cobardes; la vida de muchos emigrados estaba marcada por una larga serie de encarcelamientos y torturas, en particular a manos de la polic\u00eda austr\u00edaca. En parte, la explicaci\u00f3n de su inmovilismo debe buscarse en un mal conocido, el de quedar al margen de los acontecimientos. Su red de contactos mutuos en el extranjero estaba anticuada, as\u00ed como lo estaban sus planes pol\u00edticos, pues las constituciones y las agencias gubernamentales no ten\u00edan cabida en la nueva ret\u00f3rica del Pueblo. Pero, como observ\u00f3 Daniel Stern, algo m\u00e1s que eso hab\u00eda sucedido a los extranjeros en el exilio. \u00abEs como si se hubieran mirado al espejo y hubiesen visto otro rostro que el que esperaban ver\u00bb, dijo. Esto desconcert\u00f3 a los emigrantes y a la propia Stern; algo hab\u00eda en ellos que se resist\u00eda a regresar, algo los reten\u00eda.\n\nLa imagen de Daniel Stern se asemeja asombrosamente al espejo de Manet en la gran diferencia entre lo reflejado y lo que esper\u00e1bamos ver. Esta conexi\u00f3n es exactamente lo que Herzen recoger\u00eda en el curso de su vida en su af\u00e1n por entender de qu\u00e9 manera el nacionalismo hab\u00eda forzado a la gente a mirar algo semejante al espejo de Manet para encontrar una imagen llevadera de s\u00ed misma. En ese espejo de desplazamiento, espejo deformante, el ritual, la creencia, el h\u00e1bito y los signos del lenguaje se mostrar\u00edan completamente distintos que en el pa\u00eds de origen. Es posible, por cierto, que el extranjero tenga con su cultura una relaci\u00f3n m\u00e1s inteligente, m\u00e1s comprensiva, que la persona que nunca ha salido de ella y no conoce nada m\u00e1s que lo que tiene delante, que no se ha visto obligada a sopesar las diferencias entre una cultura y otra. Pero no es esto lo que apremia a quien se convierte en extranjero; lo m\u00e1s acuciante es la necesidad de manejar creativamente la propia condici\u00f3n de desplazado, tratar los materiales de identidad de la misma manera en que un artista trata los objetos inertes que constituyen el tema de su pintura. Uno tiene que hacerse a s\u00ed mismo.\n\nEsto era posiblemente lo que Herzen sent\u00eda cuando le\u00eda las informaciones de prensa sobre una ola de violencia en Eslovaquia contra los gitanos, que hab\u00edan entrado en gran n\u00famero en el pa\u00eds, creyendo en 1848, como en 1990, que una naci\u00f3n que se levanta contra sus amos tambi\u00e9n puede prometerles libertad; cuando beb\u00eda vino en el Caf\u00e9 Lamblin, que un siglo y medio despu\u00e9s sigue sirviendo el mismo brebaje adulterado que tanto le disgustaba; cuando sus compa\u00f1eros confabulaban, telegrafiaban, discut\u00edan y no se marchaban, o cuando encabez\u00f3, en un mes de marzo, un contingente de extranjeros hasta la Asamblea Nacional en apoyo a los \u00abderechos del hombre\u00bb. Tendr\u00edan que encontrar una nueva manera de ser rusos.\n\n### _La segunda herida_\n\nLa circunstancia en torno a la cual gira todo el relato en la leyenda de Edipo Rey no parece contener demasiado inter\u00e9s art\u00edstico en s\u00ed misma, sino ser \u00fanicamente un eslab\u00f3n en la maquinaria de la intriga. Hab\u00eda en los tobillos del rey una marca, consecuencia de una herida de la infancia. El nombre Edipo significa en griego \u00abque tiene los tobillos perforados\u00bb. El rey hab\u00eda vagado sin rumbo y hab\u00eda perdido contacto con sus or\u00edgenes; cuando los personajes de la leyenda llegan al momento en que deben conocer la verdadera identidad del rey, son capaces de recuperar esta verdad observando su cuerpo. El proceso de identificaci\u00f3n comienza cuando un mensajero declara: \u00abLas articulaciones de tus pies te lo pueden atestiguar.\u00bb\n\nSi la prueba que busca el rey Edipo no fuera la del incesto, prestar\u00edamos m\u00e1s atenci\u00f3n a esta cicatriz. Pese a las grandes migraciones de su vida, su cuerpo contiene una evidencia permanente de qui\u00e9n es \u00abrealmente\u00bb. Los viajes del rey no han dejado en su cuerpo marcas comparables. Esto quiere decir que su experiencia migratoria cuenta poco en relaci\u00f3n con su origen.\n\nEsta cicatriz de Edipo parece ser en la cultura occidental una fuente de las marcas indelebles que el siglo XIX leer\u00eda luego en el cuerpo colectivo de la naci\u00f3n. El origen se convierte en destino. Al mirar hacia atr\u00e1s a los inicios de nuestra civilizaci\u00f3n, parecer\u00eda que el exilio, el desposeimiento, la migraci\u00f3n hubiesen sido mucho menos importantes que las marcas de los or\u00edgenes y de la pertenencia. Se podr\u00eda interpretar la negativa de S\u00f3crates a exiliarse como una demostraci\u00f3n de la creencia de que incluso la muerte como ciudadano era m\u00e1s honorable que el exilio; o entender que el sentido de la observaci\u00f3n de Tuc\u00eddides de que los extranjeros carecen de lenguaje no es literalmente el de que no sepan hablar bien, sino el de que su lenguaje cuenta poco en la _polis_ , que s\u00f3lo es la charla intrascendente de quienes no pueden votar.\n\nSin embargo, las marcas en los tobillos de Edipo no eran las \u00fanicas marcas que hab\u00eda en su cuerpo. A las heridas que otros le infirieron en un principio, responder\u00e1 arranc\u00e1ndose los ojos. Si prescindimos de toda la carga sexual de esta leyenda y la analizamos simplemente como un relato, la segunda herida equilibra la primera, pues \u00e9sta marca sus or\u00edgenes, mientras que aqu\u00e9lla marca su historia posterior. Herido dos veces, se ha convertido en un hombre cuya vida puede leerse literalmente en su cuerpo y en esas condiciones se lanza al mundo como un errante. Edipo piensa que si abandona Tebas tal vez pueda regresar a sus or\u00edgenes, a la monta\u00f1a, a \u00abese Citeron que es llamado m\u00edo, el que mi padre y mi madre, en vida, dispusieron que fuera leg\u00edtimamente sepultura para m\u00ed\u00bb, aunque este retorno no se producir\u00e1. En efecto, cuando comienza _Edipo en Colono_ , ha llegado en cambio al _deme_ (\u00abaldea\u00bb) de Colono, a mil seiscientos metros al noroeste de Atenas, donde el or\u00e1culo de Delfos le ha dicho que morir\u00e1; la profec\u00eda se cumplir\u00e1 de un modo muy diferente del que Edipo hab\u00eda imaginado al inicio de la obra. Las dos heridas del cuerpo de Edipo son, pues, una inocultable cicatriz del origen y las cicatrices del errante que no parecen curarse.\n\nEsta segunda herida sin curar significa en la civilizaci\u00f3n occidental tanto como la cicatriz de origen, que marca el valor que se atribuye a la pertenencia a un lugar particular. Los propios griegos hab\u00edan visto en el viaje inacabado de Edipo un eco de las leyendas hom\u00e9ricas, sobre todo la de Odiseo. En la pr\u00e1ctica griega \u2013m\u00e1s tarde codificada en el derecho romano\u2013, hab\u00eda ciertas circunstancias en las que el exilio extranjero era en realidad honroso, m\u00e1s honroso que el camino elegido por S\u00f3crates, pues el _exsilium_ daba a una persona convicta de una acusaci\u00f3n capital la posibilidad de escoger el exilio en lugar de la muerte, elecci\u00f3n que ahorraba a sus amigos y parientes la verg\u00fcenza y el dolor de presenciar su ejecuci\u00f3n. Pero en _Edipo en Colono_ , al describir a Edipo como una figura que ha sido ennoblecida por su desarraigo, S\u00f3focles introduce una dimensi\u00f3n moral al simple acto de migrar. La obra convierte a Edipo en el _meteco_ , el extranjero, una figura de grandeza tr\u00e1gica antes que un forastero de rango inferior al ciudadano.\n\nEl hecho de hacerse extranjero implica un desplazamiento respecto de las propias ra\u00edces. Este desarraigo tiene un valor moral positivo, esencial a la tradici\u00f3n judeocristiana. El pueblo del Antiguo Testamento se conceb\u00eda como gente errante, desarraigada. El propio Yahv\u00e9 del Antiguo Testamento era un Dios errante, su Arca de la Alianza era transportable y, para decirlo en los t\u00e9rminos teol\u00f3gicos de Harvey Cox: \u00abCuando, finalmente, el Arca fue capturada por los filisteos, los hebreos comenzaron a darse cuenta de que ni siquiera en ella ten\u00eda Yahv\u00e9 una localizaci\u00f3n [...] Yahv\u00e9 viajaba con su pueblo a donde fuese.\u00bb Era m\u00e1s un dios del tiempo que del lugar, un dios que promet\u00eda a sus seguidores un significado divino para sus malhadados viajes.\n\nEl permanente desplazamiento de un lugar a otro y la exposici\u00f3n eran sentimientos de consecuencias tan poderosas para la fe entre los primeros cristianos como lo hab\u00edan sido para los jud\u00edos del Antiguo Testamento. El autor de la _Ep\u00edstola a Diogneto_ , en el momento de mayor gloria del imperio romano, declaraba lo siguiente:\n\nLos cristianos, en efecto, no se distinguen de los dem\u00e1s hombres ni por su tierra ni por su habla ni por sus costumbres. Porque ni habitan ciudades exclusivas suyas [...] ni llevan un g\u00e9nero de vida aparte de los dem\u00e1s [...] habitan sus propias patrias, pero como forasteros [...] toda tierra extra\u00f1a es para ellos patria, y toda patria, tierra extra\u00f1a.\n\nEsta imagen del errabundo lleg\u00f3 a ser una de las maneras en que San Agust\u00edn defin\u00eda las dos ciudades en _La ciudad de Dios_ :\n\nHoy se recuerda de Ca\u00edn que fund\u00f3 una ciudad; pero Abel, que s\u00f3lo fue un peregrino, no fund\u00f3 ninguna, porque la ciudad de los santos es soberana y celestial, aunque produzca en la tierra los ciudadanos, en los cuales yerra como en un peregrinaje por el tiempo hasta que llegue el Reino de la eternidad.\n\nEsta preferencia del \u00abperegrinaje por el tiempo\u00bb al establecimiento en un lugar extrae su autoridad de la negativa de Jes\u00fas a permitir a Sus disc\u00edpulos construir monumentos en Su honor, y de Su promesa de destruir el Templo de Jerusal\u00e9n. As\u00ed pues, la cultura judeocristiana gira, en sus mismas fuentes, en torno a experiencias de desplazamiento. La nuestra es una cultura religiosa de la segunda cicatriz.\n\nLa raz\u00f3n de la atribuci\u00f3n de este valor al desarraigo proviene de una profunda desconfianza respecto de la antropolog\u00eda de la vida cotidiana; _nomos_ no equivale a \u00abverdad\u00bb. Las cosas ordinarias, en s\u00ed mismas, son ilusorias, tan ilusorias para los \u00f3rficos y Plat\u00f3n como para San Agust\u00edn. Esta devaluaci\u00f3n de la conducta cotidiana aparece tambi\u00e9n en ese memorable momento de _Edipo en Colono_ en el que Edipo habla al joven Teseo:\n\n\u00a1Oh querid\u00edsimo hijo de Egeo! La vejez y la muerte a su tiempo s\u00f3lo a los dioses no alcanzan. El tiempo, que todo lo puede, arrasa todas las dem\u00e1s cosas. Se consume el vigor de la tierra, se consume el del cuerpo, perece la confianza, se origina la desconfianza y no permanece el mismo esp\u00edritu ni entre los hombres amigos ni entre una ciudad y otra.\n\nPara unos, pronto, para otros, m\u00e1s tarde, los placeres se vuelven amargos y, posteriormente, dulces. Asimismo, si a Tebas por ahora le van bien sus relaciones contigo, el tiempo incalculable en su curso engendra d\u00edas y noches sin cuento durante los cuales se pueden romper por la lanza, con un peque\u00f1o motivo, los amistosos acuerdos de hoy.\n\nEsta segunda cicatriz, la marca del extranjero, es, por tanto, un estigma moral precisamente porque no se cura. Tanto en el pensamiento cl\u00e1sico como en el judeocristiano, quienes hab\u00edan roto las cadenas de las circunstancias, quienes viv\u00edan una vida desarraigada, pod\u00edan devenir seres humanos consecuentes. Vagando por el mundo se transformaban a s\u00ed mismos. Se liberaban de la participaci\u00f3n ciega y de esa manera les era posible indagar a fondo, elegir por s\u00ed mismos o, como el ciego rey griego y el m\u00e1rtir cristiano, sentirse finalmente en presencia de un Poder Superior. Las dos cicatrices en el cuerpo del rey Edipo representan un conflicto fundamental en nuestra civilizaci\u00f3n entre, por un lado, los llamamientos de la verdad del lugar y los comienzos y, por otro lado, las verdades que se descubren al convertirse en extranjero.\n\n\u00c9ste es el contexto en el que deber\u00edan encuadrarse las pasiones del nacionalismo moderno, con su \u00e9nfasis en el hecho de compartir entre personas semejantes la dignidad de la vida cotidiana, el valor de la identidad. Estas pasiones abogan por la comunidad a expensas de la autotransformaci\u00f3n. Desde las leyendas hom\u00e9ricas, a trav\u00e9s de la tragedia, y desde los profetas del Antiguo Testamento, a trav\u00e9s de los primeros prelados cristianos, ha habido una pasi\u00f3n antit\u00e9tica por las experiencias autotransformadoras a expensas de la comunidad, una pasi\u00f3n por el desplazamiento.\n\n### _El espejo de Herzen_\n\nEl 27 de junio de 1848, la Revoluci\u00f3n tocaba a su fin en Par\u00eds. Las tropas barrieron la ciudad disparando indiscriminadamente a la multitud, desplegando ca\u00f1ones que dispararon al azar contra barrios de clase obrera. Hab\u00edan llegado las fuerzas del orden. Herzen, al igual que los otros extranjeros que hab\u00edan permanecido en Par\u00eds por decisi\u00f3n personal, fue obligado a abandonar la ciudad; fue a Ginebra, luego otra vez a Italia, despu\u00e9s nuevamente a Francia, para llegar finalmente a Londres en agosto de 1852. Era entonces un hombre de edad mediana achacoso, cuya mujer hab\u00eda quedado er\u00f3ticamente comprometida en otro lugar, un hombre que se hab\u00eda pronunciado p\u00fablicamente contra los eslav\u00f3filos que dominaban el discurso radical en su pa\u00eds y que hablaba un ingl\u00e9s titubeante y en el estilo de sus lecturas de Sir Walter Scott. \u00ab[P]oco a poco comenc\u00e9 a darme cuenta de que no ten\u00eda absolutamente ning\u00fan lugar adonde ir ni ning\u00fan motivo para ir a ninguna parte.\u00bb No es exagerar su sufrimiento decir que en ese momento Herzen se convirti\u00f3 en algo as\u00ed como una figura tr\u00e1gica, un hombre que sent\u00eda el dolor de la segunda marca de la falta de hogar, que no curar\u00eda.\n\nLo instructivo de los escritos de Herzen es su manera de dar sentido a la conducta cotidiana en tales condiciones, de dar sentido a la condici\u00f3n de extranjero. \u00abGradualmente, una revoluci\u00f3n se fue produciendo en m\u00ed.\u00bb En parte, empez\u00f3 a convertir en virtud su aislamiento en el exilio: \u00abEra consciente de un poder en m\u00ed mismo [...] Me hice m\u00e1s independiente de los dem\u00e1s.\u00bb Y as\u00ed comenz\u00f3 a reconstruir su modo de ver su mundo circundante: \u00abSe hab\u00eda acabado el baile de disfraces, todos se hab\u00edan quitado las capas con capuchas, las guirnaldas hab\u00edan ca\u00eddo de las cabezas y las m\u00e1scaras hab\u00edan dejado los rostros al descubierto.\u00bb Para explicar las consecuencias de esta nueva visi\u00f3n de los otros en esta crisis personal del exilio, Herzen recurri\u00f3 a la misma iconograf\u00eda de visi\u00f3n distorsionada que hab\u00eda evocado Daniel Stern. \u00abVe\u00eda rasgos distintos de los que hab\u00eda supuesto.\u00bb\n\nAntes que ver en el exilio un motivo para la trascendencia espiritual del mundo, como habr\u00eda hecho un cristiano, Herzen se mantuvo con los pies en la tierra y trat\u00f3 de entender qu\u00e9 deb\u00eda hacer un extranjero con su propia nacionalidad. La naci\u00f3n, para una persona que se hab\u00eda convertido en extranjera, entra\u00f1aba dos peligros, el del olvido y el del recuerdo. El primero era una condici\u00f3n en la que el extranjero se sent\u00eda humillado por el deseo de asimilarse; el otro, una condici\u00f3n en la que se sent\u00eda destrozado por la nostalgia.\n\nEn la d\u00e9cada de 1850, Herzen lleg\u00f3 a tener experiencia personal de estos peligros, ejemplificados por dos hombres que resurgieron de su pasado en la d\u00e9cada de 1830 y comienzos de la de 1840. Iv\u00e1n Golovin fue, al igual que Herzen, un refugiado pol\u00edtico de aquellos a\u00f1os, pero al principio le hab\u00eda parecido un individuo despreciable, un bandido de poca monta, expulsado de la bolsa de valores de Par\u00eds tras unos pocos a\u00f1os de trabajo, un explotador de sus correligionarios exiliados, un hombre que viv\u00eda a salto de mata. Herzen ve\u00eda sus defectos personales magnificados por su conducta en el exilio: \u00ab\u00bfPara qu\u00e9 se fue de Rusia? \u00bfQu\u00e9 hace en Europa? [...] Desarraigado de su suelo natal, no pod\u00eda encontrar un centro de gravedad.\u00bb La importancia del car\u00e1cter de Golovin fue magnificado en las reflexiones de Herzen en Londres. \u00abEl car\u00e1cter de Golovin\u00bb, escribi\u00f3 entonces, \u00ablleva el sello de toda una clase de personas\u00bb, aquellas cuyo verdadero deseo de asimilarse las ha llevado a la p\u00e9rdida de s\u00ed mismas, aquellas\n\nque llevan vidas n\u00f3madas, con o sin papeles de identidad, en peque\u00f1os espacios o en grandes ciudades, que comen siempre bien, que todo el mundo conoce y acerca de las cuales se sabe todo, salvo dos cosas, de qu\u00e9 viven y para qu\u00e9 viven. Golovin era un oficial ruso, un petimetre franc\u00e9s, un estafador ingl\u00e9s o un _Junker_ alem\u00e1n, como nuestro compatriota Nozdrev Jlestakov [personaje de G\u00f3gol].\n\nEn el extranjero, estas personas ven que sus nuevos compatriotas no pueden entender c\u00f3mo es el lugar de donde ellas proceden, o bien, lo que es comprensible, no les interesa, puesto que es todo tan lejano en el espacio y en el tiempo; en una palabra, tan extra\u00f1o. As\u00ed, hombres como Golovin, por temor a alejar o aburrir a los dem\u00e1s, act\u00faan como si nada de eso hubiese existido nunca.\n\nHerzen era demasiado civilizado para considerar que esos extranjeros que trataban de asimilarse fueran por necesidad moralmente corruptos. M\u00e1s bien los ve\u00eda como gente que se hab\u00eda embarcado en una especie de amnesia voluntaria, y \u00e9l tem\u00eda que, a partir de esa voluntad de olvido, derivaran otros actos de negaci\u00f3n. En la pintura que el extranjero hace de su vida hay grandes zonas repintadas de blanco.\n\nTal vez, la idea que Herzen se hac\u00eda pensando en Golovin pudiera reformularse de la siguiente manera: el deseo de asimilaci\u00f3n puede vivirse como una fuerza que da lugar a un sentimiento de verg\u00fcenza de uno mismo y que, por tanto, debilita el yo. Por supuesto, la capacidad de asimilaci\u00f3n requiere recursos econ\u00f3micos y ventajas educativas y ocupacionales de los que un aspirante a \u00abnuevo norteamericano\u00bb, pongamos por caso, probablemente no dispone. Pero una persona consumida por el deseo de asimilarse tambi\u00e9n puede ejercer la autocensura y dejar de lado todo su abanico de experiencias y observaciones vividas; la autocensura da por supuesto que en el propio pasado hay algo vergonzoso, inaceptable, que es menester ocultar a los dem\u00e1s. Para el extranjero, este ciclo de autocensura y verg\u00fcenza puede empezar simplemente con su necesidad de inhibir el gesto de tocar a los dem\u00e1s cuando les habla o de eliminar su propio aliento con olor a comidas extranjeras. La verg\u00fcenza por el hecho de tener un aliento distinto debido a las comidas de su antiguo pa\u00eds se ve reforzada por el simple temor de respirar a la cara de personas que no se alimentan de esas comidas. Es probable que sentirse avergonzado de uno mismo conduzca a la p\u00e9rdida de criterio propio, cuando no de la probidad moral, que Herzen observaba en Golovin. Es la raz\u00f3n por la que, a nuestro juicio, el famoso crisol de razas _(melting pot)_ del mito norteamericano encuentra mejor representaci\u00f3n en la imagen de fusi\u00f3n _(meltdown)_ de las facultades \u00e9ticas del yo.\n\nGolovin es una figura importante en el intento de Herzen por comprender qu\u00e9 significa ser ruso fuera de Rusia, es decir, el intento de comprender c\u00f3mo realizar un desplazamiento humano de la nacionalidad propia. En una carta famosa que envi\u00f3 Golovin el 1 de febrero de 1866 desde Par\u00eds al editor del _Moscow News_ , declaraba: \u00abYo era hombre antes de ser ruso.\u00bb Herzen reproduce esta carta al final de su retrato de Golovin y en la primera edici\u00f3n de _Pasado y pensamientos_. Es una iron\u00eda con resonancias, sin duda. En la era de la Ilustraci\u00f3n, una declaraci\u00f3n semejante podr\u00eda haber provenido de Kant; en este caso, su autor era un especulador de bolsa y un artista de la extorsi\u00f3n sin otra preocupaci\u00f3n que caer bien all\u00ed donde se encontrase. Pero las revelaciones del exilio no pueden terminar de esta manera. Para el extranjero, el conocimiento de que viene de otro lugar, m\u00e1s que fuente de verg\u00fcenza, deber\u00eda servir de advertencia.\n\nPara Herzen, el individualismo econ\u00f3mico era el gran peligro de la era de expansi\u00f3n capitalista que \u00e9l ve\u00eda en sus comienzos. Nacionalismo y capitalismo pod\u00edan marchar de consuno, como una y otra vez sostiene Herzen, con su firme convicci\u00f3n socialista, en _The Bell_. Por el contrario, las esperanzas de Herzen en un movimiento socialista se apoyaban en los inmigrantes. Su mero desplazamiento les daba la experiencia, o al menos la posibilidad, de mirar m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de s\u00ed mismos y mantener una relaci\u00f3n de cooperaci\u00f3n con quienes han sufrido un desplazamiento similar.\n\nComo lector de Herzen, es aqu\u00ed donde lo encuentro m\u00e1s convincente. A Herzen le habr\u00eda parecido perfectamente comprensible que los grupos \u00e9tnicos de los Estados Unidos modernos fueran el coraz\u00f3n del liberalismo de tipo norteamericano, versi\u00f3n d\u00e9bil de la socialdemocracia europea. Habr\u00eda explicado esta relaci\u00f3n entre inmigraci\u00f3n y liberalidad, pienso, argumentando que las cicatrices del desplazamiento hab\u00edan creado una disposici\u00f3n liberal en quienes eran conscientes de su condici\u00f3n de extranjeros, a diferencia de los Golovin que s\u00f3lo deseaban olvidar. La creencia de Herzen en que la pr\u00e1ctica del socialismo es m\u00e1s f\u00e1cil para los extranjeros es una idealizaci\u00f3n del desplazamiento, sin duda, pero es un ideal fundado en una duda profunda y profundamente esc\u00e9ptica acerca de que los males del individualismo posesivo pudieran curarse mediante relaciones comunales de tipo nacionalista, homog\u00e9neas, autorreferenciales. S\u00f3lo el conocimiento de la diferencia y la experiencia del desplazamiento pueden interponer una barrera de experiencia a los apetitos del individualismo posesivo.\n\nCuando se lee a Herzen como a un escritor que habla de nuestro tiempo a\u00fan en su per\u00edodo embrionario, es imposible no pensar en la diferencia entre liberalismo y pluralismo. La moderna regla b\u00e1sica de la identidad amenaza constantemente con limitar la libertad personal a la pr\u00e1ctica cultural, lo que quiere decir que las necesidades personales s\u00f3lo se legitiman en la medida en que pueden identificarse con lo que _hacen_ la comunidad mexicana, los ancianos rusos o las j\u00f3venes negras. Con la aplicaci\u00f3n de esta regla, el liberalismo puede verse degradado a mero pluralismo, que se convierte a su vez en una simple cuesti\u00f3n de definici\u00f3n de las fronteras entre comunidades que comparten territorios colindantes; dentro de cada uno de ellos la gente vive como si nunca se hubiera marchado de su pa\u00eds, como si nada hubiera sucedido. Parad\u00f3jicamente, lo necesario para superar este autoencierro pluralista en la etnicidad es la viva conciencia de uno mismo como extranjero. Herzen relata esta an\u00e9cdota, que sit\u00faa en Inglaterra: \u00ab\"Cuando se lo escucha\", me dijo una vez un hombre de gran val\u00eda, \"uno oye hablar a un espectador marginal.\" Pero \u00bfsabe usted?, yo no llegu\u00e9 a Europa como marginal, sino que me he vuelto marginal.\u00bb Y, por esta misma raz\u00f3n, en su reciente libro _Am\u00e9rica inmigrante_ , Alejandro Portes y Ruben Rumbaut declaran lisa y llanamente: \u00abLa asimilaci\u00f3n, entendida como transformaci\u00f3n r\u00e1pida de inmigrantes en norteamericanos \"como los dem\u00e1s\", nunca ha tenido lugar.\u00bb La afirmaci\u00f3n de estos autores va m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de una afirmaci\u00f3n sociol\u00f3gica; es la afirmaci\u00f3n de una conciencia necesaria, ilustrada.\n\nLa nostalgia, el peligro opuesto a la amnesia, parece una condici\u00f3n m\u00e1s simple. En realidad, eso era lo que le parec\u00eda a Herzen en Ginebra en 1850, cuando acababa de dejar Par\u00eds con los otros refugiados de Europa Central. Por primera vez, muchos de ellos comprendieron que se hallaban en exilio permanente, lo cual disparaba los peligros de la nostalgia:\n\nTodos los _\u00e9migr\u00e9s_ , separados del medio al que han pertenecido, cierran los ojos para evitar ver verdades amargas, y se adaptan cada vez m\u00e1s a un cerrado c\u00edrculo fantasmal formado por recuerdos inertes y esperanzas para siempre irrealizables...\n\ny una vez m\u00e1s,\n\nAl abandonar su tierra natal con oculto resentimiento, con el pensamiento constante en el regreso a la ma\u00f1ana siguiente, los hombres no dan un paso adelante, sino que retroceden continuamente al pasado.\n\nDe todo lo cual concluye Herzen que el exiliado pod\u00eda terminar encadenado a su propia capacidad de recordar, esto es, a esas \u00abpreguntas, pensamientos y recuerdos que construyen una tradici\u00f3n opresiva y esclavizante\u00bb.\n\nQuince a\u00f1os despu\u00e9s, en Londres, Herzen vuelve a ocuparse en sus memorias del tema de la nostalgia del emigrado, esta vez alterado por su propia transformaci\u00f3n en el exilio. Herzen habla de sus encuentros con el padre Vlad\u00edmir Pecher\u00edn en un breve retrato digno de Ch\u00e9jov. Pecher\u00edn es una persona acerca de la cual Herzen, como toda persona de su generaci\u00f3n, ten\u00eda noticias. A mediados de la d\u00e9cada de 1830, el joven Pecher\u00edn hab\u00eda obtenido la c\u00e1tedra de griego en la Universidad de Mosc\u00fa y en los a\u00f1os siguientes se sinti\u00f3 asfixiado en su pa\u00eds; en palabras del propio Herzen, \u00abestaba rodeado de silencio y de soledad, todo era muda sumisi\u00f3n sin esperanza ninguna, sin dignidad humana, y al mismo tiempo tremendamente aburrido, est\u00fapido y mezquino\u00bb. Pecher\u00edn, el joven profesor de lenguas cl\u00e1sicas, decidi\u00f3 emigrar, lo cual no sorprendi\u00f3 a ninguno de sus contempor\u00e1neos, que compart\u00edan con \u00e9l la sensaci\u00f3n de ahogo en la Madre Rusia. Pecher\u00edn zarp\u00f3 rumbo a Inglaterra, desembarc\u00f3... y entr\u00f3 repentinamente en un monasterio jesuita. Esto s\u00ed que sorprendi\u00f3 a otros j\u00f3venes de su entorno, que no entend\u00edan c\u00f3mo hab\u00eda podido rebelarse contra un sistema autoritario s\u00f3lo para someterse a otro.\n\nCuando Herzen desembarc\u00f3 en Inglaterra busc\u00f3 a Pecher\u00edn para conocerlo y para preguntarle si pod\u00eda reeditar en _The Bell_ algunos de sus poemas de juventud. Se encontraron en el monasterio jesuita de Saint Mary's, en Clapham. Los dos rusos empiezan hablando en franc\u00e9s y luego, pese a los temores de Pecher\u00edn de no recordar su lengua materna, pasan al ruso; Pecher\u00edn est\u00e1 \u00e1vido de noticias, niega valor a sus poemas rusos, pero ans\u00eda conocer la opini\u00f3n de este hombre m\u00e1s joven. Despu\u00e9s de su encuentro comienzan a mantener correspondencia. El jesuita converso escribe en franc\u00e9s sobre materialismo, ciencia y fe, y lo hace con vehemencia ante este extra\u00f1o, suponiendo que ninguna frontera se interpone en su descubrimiento mutuo, como hubiera hecho cualquier franc\u00e9s, fuera o no devoto.\n\nHerzen nos cuenta todo esto como introducci\u00f3n al relato de un suceso que leer\u00eda en los peri\u00f3dicos dos a\u00f1os despu\u00e9s, en 1855. Un monje jesuita, que la prensa presentaba como el \u00abreverendo padre Wladimir Petcherine, ruso de nacimiento\u00bb, estaba procesado por quemar una Biblia protestante en un mercado de una ciudad irlandesa. He aqu\u00ed el resumen de Herzen de lo que sucedi\u00f3 en el juicio:\n\nEl orgulloso juez brit\u00e1nico, considerando lo absurdo de la acci\u00f3n y el hecho de que el acusado fuese ruso y de que Inglaterra y Rusia estuvieran en guerra [la guerra de Crimea], se limit\u00f3 a una paternal exhortaci\u00f3n a un comportamiento decente en las calles en el futuro.\n\nM\u00e1s fascinante a\u00fan que la historia que Herzen relata es el hecho de que en 1865, cuando escribi\u00f3 esta parte de sus memorias, la hab\u00eda interpretado mal. En realidad, Pecher\u00edn expuso que hab\u00eda quemado literatura pornogr\u00e1fica, no una Biblia, y fue absuelto. La sensaci\u00f3n que se ten\u00eda en el momento era la de un jesuita que emprend\u00eda una \u00abacci\u00f3n directa\u00bb ante el descubrimiento de la obscenidad; al futuro primer ministro Gladstone, muy interesado en las condiciones de prostituci\u00f3n en la Inglaterra moderna, le intrig\u00f3 esta \u00abacci\u00f3n directa\u00bb contra la pornograf\u00eda. Hay una raz\u00f3n para que, al recordar esta historia del proceso a Pecher\u00edn, Herzen la altere (no digo que con intenci\u00f3n de enga\u00f1ar). Para Herzen se trata de una historia de la manera en que los desplazados de su tierra natal permanecen presos del pasado. Para \u00e9l todo era perfectamente coherente. En efecto, llega un mensajero ruso en busca de testimonios de la vida pasada de Pecher\u00edn, la vida de un joven en Mosc\u00fa, cuando el zar Nicol\u00e1s, inducido por el clero, hab\u00eda organizado requisas policiales de escritos her\u00e9ticos en las universidades. Para Herzen, el quid de la cuesti\u00f3n es que Pecher\u00edn sufri\u00f3 algo as\u00ed como un ataque de atavismo. La joven v\u00edctima de la ortodoxia se ha convertido en polic\u00eda de la herej\u00eda.\n\nPecher\u00edn es un ejemplo particularmente representativo de un desastre que Herzen observaba cada vez con mayor temor durante sus a\u00f1os de exilio; es lo que Freud llamar\u00eda m\u00e1s tarde \u00abel retorno de lo reprimido\u00bb. El retorno de lo reprimido es much\u00edsimo m\u00e1s peligroso para el extranjero que el anhelo expl\u00edcito del pasado. Este retorno de lo reprimido tiene lugar en aquellas personas que no hacen nada por transformar la parte de s\u00ed mismas que vive en el recuerdo. El extranjero debe afrontar recuerdos de su pa\u00eds; tiene que desplazar, que deformar la memoria, a fin de no verse repentinamente presa del pasado y volver a sentir, reactivados, los agravios recibidos mucho tiempo antes, que ahora, sin embargo, desempe\u00f1an otro papel en ese antiguo drama. Pero \u00bfc\u00f3mo tiene que darse la transformaci\u00f3n para que el drama vuelva a escribirse?\n\nEl consejo de Herzen al extranjero acerca de c\u00f3mo comportarse en los pa\u00edses en donde vive, que poco a poco va tomando cuerpo en las p\u00e1ginas de sus memorias, es m\u00e1s o menos el siguiente: \u00abParticipar, pero no identificarse.\u00bb Esta advertencia sugiere c\u00f3mo es posible para un extranjero imponerse en el juego de segregaci\u00f3n del pluralismo. El impulso a participar es la reivindicaci\u00f3n de los derechos que se tiene como animal pol\u00edtico, como _z\u00f3on politik\u00f3n_ , dondequiera que se viva. En lugar de la antigua m\u00e1xima \u00abnada humano me es ajeno\u00bb, la de la identidad moderna podr\u00eda ser \u00abnada ajeno a m\u00ed es real\u00bb. El presidente japon\u00e9s Nakasone dijo en cierta ocasi\u00f3n: \u00abS\u00f3lo quienes se entienden pueden tomar decisiones juntos.\u00bb La reivindicaci\u00f3n que un extranjero hace de su derecho a participar m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de lo que corresponde a su identidad nacional, es una manera de forzar a la sociedad dominante a reconocer que hay un dominio p\u00fablico m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de las fronteras de la antropolog\u00eda. Es tambi\u00e9n la \u00fanica manera de sobrevivir si se est\u00e1 personalmente preso en una balcanizada y desigual ciudad de diferencias.\n\nHerzen encontr\u00f3 una manera de crear una imagen tal de \u00abhogar\u00bb que hiciera soportable el anhelo de \u00e9l. Dice que, en Londres, se ha vuelto de pronto italiano:\n\nY ahora estoy en Londres, donde la suerte me ha tra\u00eddo, y aqu\u00ed me quedo porque no s\u00e9 qu\u00e9 hacer conmigo. Una raza extra\u00f1a revolotea confusamente a mi alrededor, envuelta en la pesada respiraci\u00f3n del oc\u00e9ano, un mundo que se disuelve en el caos [...] y esa otra tierra, lavada por el mar de intenso azul bajo el intenso azul del dosel del cielo [...] es la \u00fanica regi\u00f3n luminosa que ha quedado hasta que el lejano lado de la tumba [...] \u00a1Oh, Roma! \u00a1Cu\u00e1nto amo volver a tus enga\u00f1os! \u00a1Con qu\u00e9 anhelo recorro d\u00eda tras d\u00eda el tiempo en que estuve de ti intoxicado\n\n\u00abHogar\u00bb no es aqu\u00ed un lugar f\u00edsico, sino una necesidad desplazable; sea cual fuere el lugar donde uno se encuentre, el hogar se hallar\u00e1 siempre en otro sitio. Como la vida de Herzen se desarrolla en Inglaterra, una tierra sin sol y de gente extremadamente pr\u00e1ctica, aunque afable, el hogar que necesita cambiar\u00e1 de pa\u00eds. Un lugar de nieve por uno de sol, la aldea \u00edntima en las afueras de Mosc\u00fa por los l\u00e1nguidos caf\u00e9s de Roma. Herzen siempre tendr\u00e1 un hogar, en la medida en que pueda cambiar su aspecto. Este conocimiento ir\u00f3nico, y ligeramente amargo, de su necesidad de \u00abhogar\u00bb le lleg\u00f3 a un Herzen ya mayor; \u00e9l mismo reconoci\u00f3 que nunca se sentir\u00eda completo. Finalmente, lleg\u00f3 a avenirse con la insuficiencia, que es permanente; la cicatriz no se cura. Y este mismo poder para desplazar el \u00abhogar\u00bb fue lo que esperaba para los otros que no hicieron las maletas cuando, en marzo de 1848, se abrieron las fronteras, los que no regresaron al amado mundo de su infancia, su lengua, su suelo.\n\nTal vez la modulaci\u00f3n que he introducido en la voz de Herzen, voz de un hombre antes curioso que censor, haya sido injusta; como escritor, Herzen comprendi\u00f3 que lo mejor que se puede hacer con los aspectos morales de los relatos de vidas individuales es dejarlos impl\u00edcitos. Sin embargo, si he cometido con \u00e9l esta injusticia es s\u00f3lo a causa de sus p\u00e1ginas que describen las desastrosas argucias de banqueros emigrados, la rabia de poetas serbios que leen fieles traducciones inglesas de su obra, la lucha de muchos emigrados pol\u00edticos por impedir que los ideales socialistas se disuelvan en el \u00e1cido de la pseudorreligiosidad eslava, todos ellos retratos de extranjeros que luchan por construir una vida fuera de su pa\u00eds que, sin embargo, no los arranca del pasado y que parecen emblem\u00e1ticos de los peligros de otras afirmaciones de identidad racial, sexual o religiosa.\n\nEn la sociedad moderna, la antropolog\u00eda se ha convertido en una amenaza para la libertad. En sentido antropol\u00f3gico, el hombre o la mujer se abstraen de las impurezas y las dificultades anejas a la experiencia de la _diferencia_. Su _nomos_ es la solidaridad racial, la etnicidad, la pr\u00e1ctica sexual, la edad, toda una sociedad de identidades autorreferenciales. Pero el extranjero, consciente de su condici\u00f3n de extranjero, no puede abstraerse tan f\u00e1cilmente de ellas. Esta persona tiene que rescatar, si es posible, algo de su propio viaje. Las palabras de Daniel Stern sobre su observaci\u00f3n de la reticencia de los extranjeros a abandonar Par\u00eds podr\u00eda entenderse como este imperativo: \u00abMirar al espejo y ver a otra persona.\u00bb\n\nLo mismo que Manet, Herzen trat\u00f3 de comprender el desplazamiento no como algo que ha fallado, sino como un proceso con su propia forma y sus propias posibilidades. Sobre todo Herzen vio que su desplazamiento de Rusia hab\u00eda dado lugar a un nuevo tipo de libertad en su vida, una libertad interior independiente del lugar, libertad que \u00e9l sent\u00eda con mucha fuerza, pero como algo tan nuevo, tan moderno, que no acertaba a definir. Lo cierto es que esa misma incapacidad para decir clara y precisamente qui\u00e9n era vino a a\u00f1adirse a su sensaci\u00f3n de libertad. En esto fue tal vez el primero, emblem\u00e1tico y, por las cualidades de su introspecci\u00f3n y del cuestionamiento de su condici\u00f3n, el m\u00e1s grande de los extranjeros.\n\nEn cierto modo, los individuos desplazados siempre tienen la tentaci\u00f3n de idealizar sus ra\u00edces como s\u00f3lidas y seguras, de hacer fotograf\u00edas del pasado mientras el presente se despliega como una pel\u00edcula formada por escenas que cambian abruptamente. No fue casual que la pasi\u00f3n del nacionalismo que se extendi\u00f3 por Europa en 1848 adoptara esa forma antropol\u00f3gica. Ese a\u00f1o marc\u00f3 un punto de inflexi\u00f3n en el que ingentes masas de seres humanos comenzaron a sentir los intranquilizadores efectos de la industrializaci\u00f3n y la rapidez de la migraci\u00f3n urbana. El blanco declarado de los levantamientos nacionales eran las dinast\u00edas del _Ancien R\u00e9gime_ : los Habsburgo (en especial su rama menor de la Casa de Saboya), los Hohenlohe y la penetraci\u00f3n de los Hohenzollern y los Hohenstaufen en la aristocracia rusa. Pero lo que perturbaba a quienes en 1848 apuntaban al pasado era en realidad un presente cuyos horrores pod\u00edan percibir, pero no nombrar con claridad. Los italianos que se sublevaban contra los Habsburgo eran habitantes del norte que viv\u00edan en ciudades como Mil\u00e1n, en las que se estaban dando los primeros pasos importantes de la producci\u00f3n industrial; los polacos, los bohemios y los b\u00e1varos que se rebelaban contra sus respectivos monarcas viv\u00edan en lugares donde, en los a\u00f1os treinta y cuarenta, las peque\u00f1as granjas se cerraban o se incorporaban a grandes fundos, tierras en las que un inmenso n\u00famero de j\u00f3venes abandonaban el campo. Desde el inicio del desarrollo mercantil posterior a 1815, las ciudades a las que llegaban los inmigrantes eran cada vez menos lugares de poblaci\u00f3n \u00abnativa\u00bb establecida, de posici\u00f3n, h\u00e1bitos o domicilios arraigados; la imaginer\u00eda del \u00abnativo\u00bb contra el \u00abforastero\u00bb era utilizada por personas que migraban constantemente dentro de la naci\u00f3n, \u00absin descanso hasta la muerte\u00bb, como las describi\u00f3 Tocqueville.\n\n\u00c9stas eran las condiciones en las que el ideal del _ser_ nacional atra\u00eda a los desplazados. La migraci\u00f3n urbana y su econom\u00eda constitu\u00edan una de las fuerzas creadoras del nacionalismo, imagen de un lugar fijo necesario para los que experimentaban el desplazamiento. \u00abUn mundo que se disuelve en el caos\u00bb: contra \u00e9l, la tierra se erige como medida de permanencia; su ser se opone a las dificultades del devenir personal.\n\nEl \u00abcaos\u00bb de la reorganizaci\u00f3n econ\u00f3mica y la migraci\u00f3n de trabajadores que empez\u00f3 a mediados del siglo XIX dif\u00edcilmente remiten en un mundo globalizado. Los motivos de la idealizaci\u00f3n cultural ser\u00e1n tan poderosos para nosotros como para la gente cuya vida transcurri\u00f3 durante la gran era del capitalismo industrial, o tal vez m\u00e1s. En la \u00e9poca en la que Kant celebraba el \u00abciudadano universal\u00bb resultaba inconcebible la migraci\u00f3n en masa y se pensaba que el capital, invertido en la propiedad rural, se manten\u00eda estable sin dificultad. La \u00e9poca del \u00abciudadano universal\u00bb del siglo XVIII, que produjo ideas constitucionales de an\u00e1loga aplicabilidad dondequiera que fuese \u2013tanto en la adusta y provinciana Am\u00e9rica como en la Francia de las mil reverencias combinadas con sonrientes iron\u00edas\u2013, fue una era que enalteci\u00f3 el equilibrio. La base de su imaginaci\u00f3n social era la estabilidad. En un mundo material desequilibrado, surge en cambio la necesidad de una existencia con una localizaci\u00f3n espec\u00edfica.\n\nEl extranjero es la figura que tiene que capear los peligros que acechan en esta necesidad. Puesto que el extranjero no puede convertirse en ciudadano universal, no puede quitarse de encima el manto del nacionalismo y, en consecuencia, la \u00fanica manera que tiene de tratar ese pesado equipaje cultural es someterlo a cierto tipo de desplazamiento que aligere su carga. Y en este esfuerzo por desplazar la imaginer\u00eda de la cultura y las tradiciones populares, el extranjero se ve envuelto en un trabajo af\u00edn al del artista moderno cuyas energ\u00edas, en el \u00faltimo siglo, no se han dedicado tanto a representar objetos como a desplazarlos.\n\n### _La fractura de \u00abEl gran vidrio\u00bb_\n\nComenc\u00e9 este ensayo con una obra de arte y quisiera terminarlo con otra. En 1926, _El gran vidrio_ de Duchamp se rompi\u00f3 despu\u00e9s de su primera exposici\u00f3n p\u00fablica, en el Brooklyn Museum de Nueva York. Las explicaciones de lo que ocurri\u00f3 var\u00edan; unos dicen que un operario dej\u00f3 caer accidentalmente esta construcci\u00f3n de vidrio, mientras que otros sostienen que un conserje pens\u00f3 que se trataba de un desecho y lo tir\u00f3 al cubo de la basura. En cualquier caso, el resultado fue sorprendente, pues los paneles de vidrios rotos parec\u00edan oportunos a\u00f1adidos al alambre, el polvo, el papel aluminio y la pintura que constitu\u00edan la estructura. En realidad, la ruptura de las placas de vidrio parec\u00eda dar renovada importancia a estos elementos pintados, pegados o espolvoreados sobre ellos.\n\nLa gran pasi\u00f3n de Duchamp era el ajedrez; en 1928 form\u00f3 parte del equipo ol\u00edmpico de ajedrez de Francia y es el inventor de numerosos finales de partida. Esta misma pasi\u00f3n estrat\u00e9gica se manifiesta en sus empe\u00f1os visuales. En la multitud de capas superpuestas de indicios, referencias y falsas aperturas que se imprimen en esta construcci\u00f3n en el curso de diez a\u00f1os, de 1913 a 1923, _El gran vidrio_ ha pretendido ser la imagen de mayor complejidad intelectual de nuestro tiempo. Si bien se trata de significados oscuros, una dificultad creada por la propia decisi\u00f3n que su autor adopt\u00f3 en 1923 de dejar incompleta la obra, Duchamp, lo mismo que en una partida de ajedrez, estaba siempre comprometido en la actividad intencional de moverse por una raz\u00f3n. Lo oscuro y lo incompleto no son lo mismo que el movimiento irreflexivo que significa el jaque mate para el jugador de ajedrez profesional. La ruptura del medio en el que Duchamp produce un movimiento resulta, pues, extraordinariamente notable por su efecto de unir los indicios.\n\nEl t\u00edtulo original completo de la obra es _La mari\u00e9e mise \u00e0 nu par ses c\u00e9libataires, m\u00eame (La novia desnudada por sus solteros, incluso)_ , lo que puede sugerir que los complicados movimientos en los que Duchamp se halla involucrado son tanto er\u00f3ticos como \u00f3pticos. En la \u00e9poca en que Duchamp dej\u00f3 de trabajar en ella, _El gran vidrio_ conten\u00eda un conjunto de moldes m\u00e1licos, molinillos de chocolate, anillos de suspensi\u00f3n, corbatas, toboganes, tijeras, bisagras y otros signos que relacionaban el mundo de la novia, en el panel de vidrio superior, con el mundo de los solteros en el panel inferior (tal como los calific\u00f3 el propio Duchamp).\n\nEsa conexi\u00f3n entre ambos paneles de vidrio ser\u00eda en cierto sentido tan familiar a cualquier ni\u00f1o franc\u00e9s hoy como lo era en la juventud de Duchamp. En las ferias rurales de Francia suele haber una caseta en la que se coloca una mu\u00f1eca novia rodeada de pretendientes, tallados en bolos; la persona que es capaz de derribar todos los bolos con un ligero ovillo de cordel se lleva la mu\u00f1eca novia. En 1916, Duchamp hab\u00eda creado una obra que se titulaba _\u00c0 bruit secret (Con ruido oculto)_ , en la que exactamente ese ovillo de cordel aparece encerrado entre dos planchas de bronce unidas por cuatro bulones. Oculto en este ovillo se halla un objeto peque\u00f1o que cascabelea cuando el ovillo se sacude, a semejanza, otra vez, del que se emplea en una feria rural para derribar a los solteros. Esto, como he dicho, ha sido siempre un juego popular en las ferias rurales, y Duchamp parece haber elegido bien el t\u00edtulo, un juego de conquista sexual que se juega con la misma concentraci\u00f3n, la misma seriedad e incluso el mismo distanciamiento con que se juegan otros juegos.\n\nTal vez la conexi\u00f3n moralizante que viene a la mente al contemplar _El bar del Folies-Berg\u00e8re_ no sea tan importante como la relaci\u00f3n entre el uso del espejo en la pintura de Manet y el empleo del vidrio en la construcci\u00f3n de Duchamp. Sabemos bien, por el propio Duchamp, qu\u00e9 es lo que intentaba con el empleo del vidrio. Duchamp buscaba desafiar \u00abla evidencia sensorial habitual que permite tener una percepci\u00f3n ordinaria de un objeto\u00bb. Con la utilizaci\u00f3n del vidrio pudo otorgar a los objetos una naturaleza subversiva respecto de esta comprensi\u00f3n retiniana. Efectivamente, los objetos ya no existen como experiencia f\u00edsica, puesto que el ojo puede ver a trav\u00e9s de ellos, a trav\u00e9s del vidrio claro; el vidrio ha sido despojado de su sustancialidad. En la realidad establecida por el vidrio, uno entender\u00eda en cambio, \u00abdesde el punto de vista de la masa, un plano (que genera la forma del objeto por medio del paralelismo) compuesto por elementos de luz\u00bb. En otras palabras, el uso del vidrio era la manera en que Duchamp ayudaba a la mente a \u00abver\u00bb \u2013en el sentido en que la expresi\u00f3n \u00abya veo lo que quieres decir\u00bb se refiere a un acto mental\u2013 con independencia de lo que percibe el ojo.\n\nEl vidrio era, pues, el medio a trav\u00e9s del cual Duchamp trataba de obtener poder sobre el mundo f\u00edsico, la ruptura de la dependencia de la mente respecto de la informaci\u00f3n que proporciona la retina. Pero la ruptura del vidrio en 1926 vino repentinamente a desvelar que por esa v\u00eda era imposible ganar poder sobre el mundo f\u00edsico. Lo que quedaba al descubierto no era exactamente el desvanecimiento de una ilusi\u00f3n, sino m\u00e1s bien la cosa f\u00edsica que reivindicaba Duchamp, las grietas y las tablillas de vidrio que reivindicaban la realidad de la experiencia sensorial m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de las estratagemas del artista. De la misma manera, el espejo de Manet recupera la realidad de las botellas y las frutas que se hallan sobre la barra y que, si se las ve en s\u00ed mismas, sin la operaci\u00f3n de desplazamiento, son objetos fantasma sin realidad retiniana.\n\nEs posible que el volver a ver a los dem\u00e1s y a uno mismo como seres humanos concretos, particulares, no como tipos culturales, dependa tambi\u00e9n de esos giros inesperados; no de la destrucci\u00f3n de los marcos de referencia, sino de algo as\u00ed como su fractura. Este giro inesperado, este desplazamiento, es lo que da a un extranjero la posibilidad de convertirse en ruso en cualquier lugar, y a una obra de arte moderno, en moderna. \n\n### NOTAS\n\n### EL GUETO JUD\u00cdO DE VENECIA\n\n. Cita tomada de Brian Pullan, _Rich and Poor in Renaisssance Venice_ , Oxford, Blackwell, 1971, p. 484.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 495.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 486.\n\n. Cita tomada de Benjamin Ravid, \u00abThe Establishment of the Ghetti of Venice\u00bb, en Gaetano Cozzi (ed.), _Gli Ebrei e Venezia_ , Mil\u00e1n, Edizioni di Comunit\u00e0, 1987, p. 215.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem.\n\n. Pietro Aretino, _Ragionamenti_ , cita y traducci\u00f3n en Georgina Masson, _Courtesans of the Italian Renaisssance_ , Nueva York, St. Martin's Press, 1975, p. 24.\n\n. Cita tomada de Masson, _Courtesans_ , p. 152.\n\n. Guido Ruggiero, _The Boundaries of Eros: Sex Crime and Sexuality in Renaissance Venice_ , Nueva York, Oxford University Press, 1985, p. 9.\n\n. Benjamin Ravid, _op. cit_.\n\n. Masson, _Courtesans_ , p. 152.\n\n. V\u00e9ase Elliott Horowitz, \u00abCoffee, Coffeehouses, and the Nocturnal Rituals of Early Modern Jewry\u00bb, _AJS Review_ , 14, 1988, pp. 17-46.\n\n. Arist\u00f3teles, _\u00c9tica a Nic\u00f3maco,_ 1258b.\n\n. Cita tomada de L. C. Knights, _Drama and Society in the Age of Jonson_ , Nueva York, Norton, 1968, p. 165.\n\n. Kenneth R. Stow, \u00abSanctity and the Construction of Space: The Roman Ghetto as Sacred Space\u00bb, en Menachem Mor (ed.), _Jewish Assimilation, Acculturation and Accommodation_ , Lanham, Creighton, 1989, p. 54.\n\n. Frederick Lane, _Venice: A Maritime Republic_ , Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973, p. 147.\n\n. William Shakespeare, _El mercader de Venecia_ , III, 3, trad. de Astrana Mar\u00edn, Madrid, Aguilar, 1974, vol. I.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, IV, 1.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, III, 1.\n\n. Howard Adelman, \u00abLeon Modena: The Autobiography and the Man\u00bb, en Mark R. Cohen (ed.), _The Autobiography of a Seventeenth-Century Venetian Rabbi: Leon Modena's \u00abLife of Judah\u00bb_ , Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1988, p. 28; este art\u00edculo incluye un excelente suplemento biogr\u00e1fico a la autobiograf\u00eda del propio Modena, pp. 19-38.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 31.\n\n. Natalie Z. Davis, \u00abFame and Secrecy: Leon Modena's Life as an Early Modern Autobiography\u00bb, en Cohen (ed.), _The Autobiography of a Seventeenth-Century Venetian Rabbi_ , p. 68.\n\n. Leon Modena, \u00abThe Life of Judah\u00bb, _op. cit_., p. 144.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 14.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 159.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 162.\n\n### EL EXTRANJERO\n\n. Charles de Feir, _Guide du Salon de Paris 1882_ , Par\u00eds, 1882, p. 23; para la lista completa de cr\u00edticas contempor\u00e1neas de esta pintura, v\u00e9ase T. L. Clark, _The Painting of Modern Life: Paris in the Art of Manet and his Followers_ , Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1986, pp. 310-311.\n\n. Jules Compte, cita y traducci\u00f3n en T. J. Clark, _The Painting of Modern Life_ , p. 240.\n\n. Henri Houssaye, \u00abLe Salon de 1882\u00bb, _L'Art fran\u00e7ais depuis dix ans_ , Par\u00eds, 1883, p. 242; he utilizado la traducci\u00f3n de Clark, aunque la expresi\u00f3n del original franc\u00e9s es mucho m\u00e1s enf\u00e1tica; v\u00e9ase Clark, _The Painting of Modern Life_ , p. 243.\n\n. Isaiah Berlin, _Vico and Herder: Two Studies in the History of Ideas_ , Londres, Hogarth Press, 1976, p. xxiii [trad. esp.: _Vico y Herder: dos estudios en la historia de las ideas,_ Madrid, C\u00e1tedra, 2000].\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, pp. 197-198.\n\n. Daniel Stern, _\u0152uvres_ , Par\u00eds, 2.\u00aa ed., 1873, vol. 6, p. 353.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 224.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 466.\n\n. S\u00f3focles, _Edipo Rey_ , 1030, en S\u00f3focles, _Tragedias_ , trad. de Assela Alamillo, Madrid, Gredos, 1981, p. 350.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, 1450, p. 365; _Oedipus Tyraneus_ , 1453.\n\n. En \u00e9sta y en las tres oraciones siguientes me he tomado la libertad de citarme a m\u00ed mismo; todas ellas abren mi libro _The Conscience of the Eye_ , Nueva York, Knopf, 1991 [trad. esp.: _La conciencia del ojo_ , Barcelona, Versal, 1991].\n\n. Harvey Cox, _The Secular City_ , ed. rev., Nueva York, Macmillan, 1966, p. 49 [trad. esp.: _La ciudad secular_ , Barcelona, Pen\u00ednsula, 1973].\n\n. Traducci\u00f3n y cita tomada de Jaroslav Pelikan, _Jesus through the Centuries_ , New Haven, Yale University Press, 1985, pp. 49-50. Traducci\u00f3n castellana en Iglesia viva, n.o 237, p. 125, en http:\/\/www.iglesiaviva.org\/237\/23750-PAGINA.pdf.\n\n. San Agust\u00edn, _La ciudad de Dios_ , libro XV, cap. 1 (final), en http:\/\/www.buscadoresdedios.es\/wp-content\/ uploads\/2008\/01\/la-ciudad-de-dios.pdf.\n\n. S\u00f3focles, _Edipo en Colono_ , 605-610, en S\u00f3focles, _Tragedias_ , ed. cit., p. 535.\n\n. Herzen, _My Past and Thoughts_ , Nueva York, Knopf, 1968, III, p. 1024 [trad. esp.: _Pasado y pensamientos_ , Madrid, Tecnos, 1994].\n\n. Ib\u00eddem.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 1025.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, p. 1399.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem.\n\n. Es una intuici\u00f3n que podr\u00eda apoyarse en un extenso estudio sobre inmigrantes mexicanos y sobre norteamericanos de origen mexicano seg\u00fan el cual \u00ab... a mayor nivel de aculturaci\u00f3n (o \"americanizaci\u00f3n\"), mayor predominio del [...] abuso o dependencia del alcohol o las drogas, fobia y personalidad antisocial\u00bb: Alejandro Portes y Ruben Rumbaut, _Immigrant America: A Portrait_ , Berkeley (CA), University of California Press, 1990, p. 169 [trad. esp.: _Am\u00e9rica inmigrante,_ Rub\u00ed (Barcelona), Anthropos, 2010].\n\n. En Herzen, _My Past and Thoughts_ , III, p. 1418.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, III, p. 1065.\n\n. Portes y Rumbaut, _Immigrant America_ , p. 141.\n\n. Herzen, _My Past and Thoughts_ , II, p. 686.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, III, p. 1386.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem, III, p. 1397.\n\n. Cf. Sigmund Freud, _New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis_.\n\n. Observaci\u00f3n _off-the-record_ en el Council of Foreign Relations (pero \u00bfpor qu\u00e9 tiene que ser as\u00ed?).\n\n. Herzen, _My Past and Thoughts_ , II, p. 655.\n\n. Cita en Gloria Moure, _Marcel Duchamp_ , Nueva York, Rizzoli, 1988, p. 21.\n\n. Ib\u00eddem. \n_T\u00edtulo de la edici\u00f3n original_ :  \nThe Foreigner\n\nEdici\u00f3n en formato digital: diciembre de 2013\n\n\u00a9 de la traducci\u00f3n, Marco Aurelio Galmarini, 2014\n\n\u00a9 Richard Sennett, 2011\n\n\u00a9 EDITORIAL ANAGRAMA, S.A., 2014  \nPedr\u00f3 de la Creu, 58  \n08034 Barcelona\n\nISBN: 978-84-339-3455-0\n\nConversi\u00f3n a formato digital: Newcomlab, S.L.\n\nanagrama@anagrama-ed.es\n\nwww.anagrama-ed.es\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\n**BEHIND  \nENEMY  \nLINES**  \nWorld War II\n\nby Carol Matas\n\n_To the 168 Allied airmen shot down and sent to  \nBuchenwald, and to all the other airmen to whom  \nwe owe our freedom.  \nAnd also to my family who, along with myself,  \nmight not even exist had Hitler prevailed_.\n\n# Table of Contents\n\nCover\n\nTitle Page\n\nDedication\n\nChapter One\n\nChapter Two\n\nChapter Three\n\nChapter Four\n\nChapter Five\n\nChapter Six\n\nChapter Seven\n\nChapter Eight\n\nChapter Nine\n\nChapter Ten\n\nChapter Eleven\n\nChapter Twelve\n\nChapter Thirteen\n\nChapter Fourteen\n\nChapter Fifteen\n\nChapter Sixteen\n\nChapter Seventeen\n\nChapter Eighteen\n\nChapter Nineteen\n\nChapter Twenty\n\nChapter Twenty-One\n\nChapter Twenty-Two\n\nChapter Twenty-Three\n\nChapter Twenty-Four\n\nChapter Twenty-Five\n\nChapter Twenty-Six\n\nChapter Twenty-Seven\n\nChapter Twenty-Eight\n\nEpilogue\n\nHistorical Note\n\nImages and Documents\n\nCredits\n\nAcknowledgments\n\nAbout the Author\n\nOther Books in the I AM CANADA Series\n\nCopyright\n\n# Chapter One\n\n_June 3, 1944_\n\nFrom my rear turret I got a glimpse of our attacker, a twin-engine Ju88, coming in for the kill.\n\n\"Corkscrew port! Go!\" I shouted over the intercom to the skipper.\n\nThere was flak everywhere \u2014 little black cloud bursts all around.\n\nSkipper relayed back, \"Down port!\"\n\nWe dove. I'd say 1,000 feet easy.\n\nI started to fire and kept firing as we corkscrewed.\n\n\"Changing,\" Skipper said. He pulled out of the dive.\n\nThen \"Up port,\" came over my intercom as he climbed as steeply as he could manage with the lumbering Lanc.\n\nI was almost out of ammo when suddenly the Ju broke away. I swung around, straining to see.\n\n\"Rolling.\" Lew was converting the climb to starboard. \"Up starboard.\"\n\nBefore Lew could call \"Changing\" I felt the hit. A starboard engine flared. I couldn't see a thing. I was ready with my Browning but now had to wait for Stan to feather the engine. Sure enough he did and the fire went out. That's when I saw the two fighters, but too late. We took another hit. There was an explosion so loud my ears started to ring.\n\nFor a moment I held my breath, not knowing how bad it was, just that the entire plane had shaken as if we were one of those souvenir snow globes and someone had picked us up and dropped us. But then that unseen hand picked us up again and started to shake us and shake us.\n\nThe skipper said, \"Starboard wing's all lighted up, fellows. Bail out, bail out.\" His voice was calm, as if he were telling us to have a cup of tea.\n\nI decided to get out the rear door \u2014 turning my turret would take too much time \u2014 plus this way the others could follow me out. But the door wouldn't come loose, it was jammed. _\"For fanden, fandens ogsaa!\"_ I muttered in Danish.\n\nThat's when Max appeared with an axe and broke the lock \u2014 he must have been there and come back with the axe, but I'd been trying too hard to open the door to even notice him.\n\nI snapped my parachute pack onto my harness and then Max pushed me out, the bright white lights bursting through the darkness all around me.\n\nThe wind jerked me away from the plane with such force that for a moment I couldn't even think what I had to do next. Then I heard my training sergeant's voice. \"Dreamboy. Hey, Dreamboy. Don't forget to pull your cord when you jump. Dreamboy. Hear me?\" Yup. I heard him. I reached for the rip cord. Panic washed over me. It wasn't there. It wasn't there! I was going to smash into the earth. Any second now. Did I even have time to deploy it? And then I heard another voice, my sister's. \"Sam. Can't you tell right from left? Honestly! Lucky thing they aren't training you as a navigator!\"\n\nI reached for the rip cord on the other side. And there it was! I pulled.\n\nThe parachute deployed. It tugged me back up before I started to float slowly down. I tried to get my bearings. I was high enough up still \u2014 that was good.\n\nThe night was bright. A cloudless sky. The moon almost full.\n\nMy chute began to sway in a circular motion. I couldn't control it. Then I looked down and saw what looked like water. I knew that if I landed there I'd probably drown, pulled down by the weight of the harness and the canopy. The day they'd trained us in parachute control I'd been playing cards in the back of the room with Max, because who wanted to think about the fact that maybe we'd need to bail out. We preferred to ignore what Max liked to call \"negative thoughts.\" Facts, more like it, but too late now.\n\nAs I got closer to the water I realized it wasn't water but a large field of wheat. The noise of the aircraft faded. So did the bursts of anti-aircraft fire. The quiet of the night surrounded me. Time seemed to slow. It almost seemed peaceful. And then with a pretty hard bump, I was on the ground. I rolled and then managed to right myself. I seemed to be in one piece.\n\nI hit the release button on my chute and wriggled out of it. One thing I had paid attention to \u2014 the orders about what to do if you survive a crash. I knew I only had minutes.\n\nI had an escape kit with maps and a compass and a passport photo tucked into one of the large front pockets of my battledress jacket, but I had no time to use any of that now. First thing was to hide the parachute so the enemy wouldn't know there was an airman alive somewhere around here. But there was nowhere to hide it. I pulled off my leather gauntlets and heated gloves and finally the silk gloves, so I could reach into my pants pocket. I grabbed my knife and began to cut up the chute so I could hide it better. It seemed to take forever and the silk was harder to slice than I would have thought, but it didn't help that my hands were shaking. I gave up when I had it in a few pieces. I dug a shallow pit with my hands and then stomped on the chute to flatten it down. I knew I had to get out of there fast. The Germans on the ground would have seen _H Hall_ go down in flames and they'd be out after us even before our kite's position was radioed in by the Ju88 pilot.\n\nI was starting to sweat. And that's when I realized I needed to get out of some of the gear I'd put on before the flight, just to keep from freezing to death in the minus-30 temps we'd get in the turret. I started by getting out of my lined leather flight suit, then stripped off layer after layer, which seemed to take forever, until I was down to my battledress jacket, my trousers, plus my thick cable-knit sweater that I tied around my waist. I had to dig a shallow pocket in the earth all over again and stuff the rest of my gear in as best I could.\n\nIt was still quiet. Too quiet. Where were my crew? Had any made it? There was a huge ball of flame not far off, which had to be our downed kite \u2014 it was bright enough that I could easily see where I was. Hunkering low, I decided to run away from that light. The farther away from the evidence the better. I dashed through the wheat field and suddenly got this overwhelming feeling of strangeness. The air smelled sweet. The stars were shining. And the fact that a war was raging all around seemed almost impossible.\n\nWhen I reached the edge of the field I saw a copse of trees just ahead. I lunged into it. And it was only a few seconds later that the quiet was pierced by the sound of cars travelling along a road somewhere close by. I had no doubt who they were looking for. I decided the best thing to do was to keep moving. That's when I heard the groan. The night was so quiet I couldn't have missed it. I inched cautiously over toward the sound \u2014 after all, it could as easily be a German as one of us. But when I peered around a tree, there was Bill, our navigator. He was trying to get up but couldn't.\n\n\"Need a hand?\" I whispered.\n\nHe broke into a grin when he saw me. That was Bill. It would take more than getting shot down and \u2014 maybe a broken leg? \u2014 to dampen his spirits.\n\n\"I propose we get out of here,\" he said.\n\nBill had been in law school before signing up; sometimes he still talked like a lawyer.\n\n\"Let me look at that,\" I said.\n\nI'd spent a lot of time going on call with Pops over the years, watching him treat people. And picked up a thing or two. I examined Bill's leg as gently as I could.\n\n\"Sprained ankle,\" I said.\n\n\"Lucky for me that it's the football player who found me, then.\"\n\n\"Lucky for you,\" I agreed, as I put my arm under his and shouldered his weight. Still, he couldn't help but put his foot down as we walked \u2014 it must have been excruciating, but he never uttered a peep of protest or cried out or anything.\n\nI could hear Coach's words in my head as I half-carried Bill. \"Someday you'll thank me for this, Fred.\" Coach could never bother to say _Frederiksen_. I always wondered why he didn't just call me Sam. Surely that was short and sweet. But no, it was always, \"Pick it up, Fred!\" Or, \"Are you pretending to push a pram, Fred?\" as we ran round and round the track at the start of football season and then did more push-ups than seemed reasonable.\n\nBill and I staggered on until just before dawn and by then I _was_ thanking Coach. We saw some farmhouses but didn't stop at any of them, since we wanted to get as far away as possible from the crash site. Finally we reached another copse of trees and I decided we needed to stop. I was exhausted. I helped Bill settle on the ground and I sat beside him, each of us resting against a tree.\n\n\"We need to get you to a doctor,\" I said.\n\nBut he was out cold.\n\n# Chapter Two\n\n_June 4, 1944_\n\nI woke with a start. I must have finally dozed off for an hour or so because now it was obviously morning.\n\nStanding over me was a boy of maybe thirteen or fourteen. He had his hands on his hips and was glaring at me. \" _R\u00e9veille-toi_ , _idiot!_ \" he hissed. I'd actually been very good at French in high school. I knew right away that he was saying, \"Wake up, idiot!\"\n\n\"Have some respect for your elders,\" I snapped back in English. All right, maybe eighteen wasn't that much older than he was, but after all I'd been through the night before, I was feeling pretty rough. I guess I should have been worried or maybe even scared that I'd been found, but for some reason I wasn't. I'm not sure the boy understood what I said, but I'm pretty sure he understood the tone.\n\n\"Shhhh,\" he cautioned. \"There are Germans everywhere.\" Or something close to that at any rate. Tenses were always my downfall, so he could have said \"are\" or \"were\" \u2014 I couldn't be sure.\n\nI replied in French. \"Where are we?\"\n\nAnd he obviously didn't mind my accent because he answered right away. Something about Perry?\n\nHe pointed at Bill and said, \"He needs a doctor.\"\n\nI looked over. Bill was out cold and his colour was terrible. I scrambled over to him and saw to my horror that he'd been bleeding. His jacket was thick with blood. Gingerly I peeled back a corner of the jacket and saw that he'd taken a hit from shrapnel on his right side just over his ribs. He must have already lost a lot of blood.\n\n\"Wait here,\" said the boy and then ran off.\n\nWell, I couldn't move Bill now, but could I trust this kid?\n\nI looked around. The spot we'd found wasn't as protected as I'd thought. We were sitting in a copse of about half a dozen trees and were quite near a road \u2014 a small one, but a road nevertheless. As I peered out from behind the tree I could see a village not far away and a small farmhouse just to the south. In fact we were surrounded by people. People who could spot us and turn us in. I'd heard stories from downed airmen of amazing heroics from ordinary Frenchmen and women who had risked their lives to help these fellows get back to England. On the other hand, we had all heard about the collaborators. Established escape routes out of France were compromised time and again by someone who wanted a dozen eggs in exchange for the life of an Allied airman. I scrambled away from the trees toward a high wall. From there perhaps I could see the boy before he saw me and decide whether he was going to turn us in or help us.\n\nQuickly I surveyed my surroundings. The wall I was leaning against was an old village wall. I pulled myself up and peeked over. Just beyond the wall was a road and a main street. Shopkeepers were starting to open up. I ducked back down as fast as I could. I realized that I was far too exposed where I was, so I made a run back into the trees.\n\nI needed to scout the rest of the land around us. As a gunner, my training was mostly honing my skills as a lookout \u2014 in fact, I realized suddenly, last night had been the first time I'd actually shot my guns in combat. My job for the most part was to spot the enemy and tell the skipper and hope he could lose the fighters before I had to shoot. We all knew that a slow Lancaster bomber was no match for a fast German fighter \u2014 and my Browning was no match for their guns.\n\nI could see a rather large farmhouse and barn to the west. I wondered if that was where the boy had come from. But what had he been doing out so early? Had he been looking for survivors of the crash? I thought we'd put a good distance between ourselves and the downed plane, but maybe not far enough.\n\nHe's either gone to get help, I thought, or to get some advantage with the Germans by turning us in.\n\nI watched the large farmhouse for a few minutes but saw no activity. The small farmhouse was equally quiet. I took stock. I was very thirsty. I was hungry. Well, that was normal at least. And Bill was out cold. I needed to make a decision. I thought back to the boy and the look on his face when he spoke to me. He seemed genuinely concerned for our well-being \u2014 and perhaps too young to put on such a convincing act? I decided to risk it.\n\nI sat down against the tree. I'd better be ready for a long day, I thought. And a run, carrying Bill possibly, if need be. I suddenly remembered my first-aid kit and pulled it out of my trouser pocket. There was a dressing I could use on Bill, but I was lucky I had more knowledge about medicine than most because of Pops being a doctor. I realized that if I pulled the material from Bill's jacket away from the wound, it would start the bleeding all over again. A doctor would be able to clean the wound out properly and then bandage it, so I decided to leave it alone.\n\nI took out my escape pack and had a look through it, placing the items on the ground in front of me. There was a map of France; some French money, which might come in quite useful so I slipped it into my back pocket; a small compass and a plastic water bottle which I also put aside for later; tablets for purifying water; a tiny razor and shaving soap; malted-milk tablets \u2014 two of which I ate right then, although I could hardly swallow them I was so thirsty. And of course some pictures of me in civvies so I could use them in a fake passport. I used the razor to cut the insignia off my battledress jacket but would need a regular shirt as soon as I could beg, borrow or steal one.\n\nOut of the corner of my eye I noticed something. I looked up and saw activity from the large farmhouse to the west. A young woman came out and walked over to the barn. Just as that was happening I heard a roar from the road and looked over there. I couldn't see them, but there must have been trucks and cars parked there because I didn't hear the sound of just one car. And the only people who had gas for that many cars and trucks were Germans. Had I stumbled onto some kind of headquarters?\n\nI shoved everything into my pack and put it back in my jacket. And then I saw a German soldier walk out of the front door of the farmhouse. My heart caught in my throat, my breath came in short gasps. It was one thing to see the enemy from a kite. It was quite another to see them up close and real. For a minute I almost thought I'd throw up.\n\nIt seemed that for now we were trapped where we were. If we moved we'd be spotted for sure. I hoped the boy wasn't from that farmhouse.\n\nThat hope didn't last long. The boy walked out just after the soldier did, and then sauntered away toward the road leading to the village. Had he already given us away?\n\nBill moaned and stirred. I had to have a plan. I took out the map and tried to figure out where in France we could be.\n\nAs I studied the map I suddenly remembered where we'd been just before we'd crashed. We'd been flying a typical zigzag route home, hard on us because our instinct was to head straight for the Channel and away from the enemy. Just before the shooting started we were about to turn east toward the coastline and the Channel. I stared at the map. It was full of small villages. I scanned for anything that looked like Perry and then stopped when I noticed a small village called La Perri\u00e8re, just north of Le Mans. If I could get Bill patched up, maybe we could make our way south until we got to Spain, the way they explained it to us in our briefings, and then back to England. I knew there was an invasion coming soon. I wanted to be part of it. And so did Bill.\n\nBut who was I kidding? Bill was in no shape to go anywhere and if we couldn't get him to a doctor so the wound could get cleaned, it could become infected and Bill could die.\n\nThe sound of trucks and cars moving along the road made it clear to me that we were well and truly trapped, with the road on one side of us and the open fields on the other. There was nothing to do but wait. And hope.\n\n# Chapter Three\n\n_June 4, 1944_\n\nIt suddenly occurred to me that Mom would be getting a telegram saying I was missing in action. And if I couldn't get word to anyone soon, after a certain amount of time had passed there would be another telegram saying I was presumed dead. I thought about our house on Scotia Street, and how the telegram would be delivered. It might be a hot day, so maybe Mom would be on the front porch shelling peas, or in the kitchen baking, or maybe not even at home because she was working for the Red Cross every day packing care packages for POWs. And Pops probably wouldn't be there. He'd be at his office or out on a call \u2014 he was extra busy now that so many doctors were in the fight. Mom always said thank goodness for his ulcer! And what would poor Jenny say when she got home from school?\n\nOne big adventure. That's what I'd thought when Air Marshal William Bishop came to our school and talked to us about joining the RCAF as flyers. By the time he was finished I couldn't wait! I guess I never really thought I'd end up like this. Shouldn't I have known? Shouldn't I have had a premonition or something? Instead, just yesterday, everything had seemed normal. Max had been teasing me, as usual. \"Talking to yourself, Sam? Praying?\"\n\nI'd looked up from my camp bed, embarrassed. I'd been muttering aloud. _\"What do we do today, Sam?\" \"Change the world, Pops.\"_\n\n\"Nah,\" I answered quickly. \"Just hummin' a tune.\"\n\nI wasn't going to tell Max that it _was_ a kind of habit, the way we started the day at our house, my dad asking me the same question every morning at breakfast, and me giving the same answer \u2014 the one he'd taught me to give \u2014 change the world, make it a better place.\n\nI started to sing \"Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy\" at the top of my lungs just to prove to Max that I'd been singing, not talking to myself.\n\n\"Hey, cut that out!\" Phil yelled.\n\nSo I toned it down as I threw on my gear and grabbed my kit.\n\nCome to think of it though, I _was_ nervous. And so was most of the crew, because our flight time had been changed at the last minute. I knew I wasn't the only one to worry when that happened. Did it mean good luck or bad? Were we now doomed to be shot down or was the change the thing that was going to save us? And since this was only our fifth sortie into enemy territory, maybe there was no such thing yet as \"usual.\" We knew the invasion was coming soon, but not yet. It was June 4, 1944, and we were part of the vanguard preparing for that invasion, hitting rail yards and roads and making sure the enemy couldn't get to the Front when the invasion came. Our target was the railway yards in Trappes. Our way home was a pretty complicated route and not straight back by any means, which made me even more nervous.\n\nI stood on the tarmac and looked up at _H Hall_ and felt my stomach turn over. I suddenly thought about Jenny, and how she clung to me the last time I left home and how she cried. And how she gave me the little Pooh Bear that I always kept in my pocket for luck. Winnie for Winnipeg.\n\nI reached into my pocket to give the bear a squeeze, the way I always did before an op. It wasn't there! And no time to go back for it. My heart sank. Actually I guess I should have known right then and there that trouble was coming for me, for us.\n\nWhen it was time to go, Lew turned to us and, as he'd done just before every flight, said, \"Tallyho, lads!\"\n\nWe replied in unison, \"Tallyho, Skipper!\"\n\nI winked at Max. We loved the way the British flyers talked, so calm and collected, and the way they acted and reacted too. I had all the confidence in the world in Lew and was happy to put my life in his hands.\n\nEverything last night had seemed as routine as it could be, though, considering we were flying over enemy territory, being shot at and then dropping 16,000 pounds worth of bombs! I mean, after our drop we had no hits by flak, although as usual it was pretty darn scary flying through a blizzard of ack-ack. Still, no fighters on our tail, although there were plenty of them around us. At around 0200 hours it was quiet, and I was beginning to think that we were going to be lucky with our fifth op.\n\nLucky?\n\nAs dad would say, _\"Ikke rigtig\"_ \u2014 not really.\n\n\"Penny for your thoughts.\"\n\nI almost jumped out of my skin. Bill was awake.\n\n\"I was just thinking about how we ended up here \u2014 I had a kind of bad feeling...\" I replied.\n\n\"Me too,\" he said, his voice quite weak. \"But then I do every trip.\" He groaned. \"Where are we?\"\n\nCount on the navigator wanting to know exactly where we were, no matter how weak he was. \"A small village called La Perri\u00e8re,\" I answered.\n\nI hated to worry him, but figured he'd better be prepared. \"A kid found us \u2014 he said he's gone for help, but I saw a German soldier come out of the same farmhouse he did. We might be in for it.\"\n\nBill looked down at his ribs and then over to me.\n\n\"Am I hit bad?\"\n\nI nodded. \"You need a doctor.\"\n\n\"I guess I could turn myself in \u2014 worst case, a prisoner-of-war camp and some medical help.\" He thought for a moment. I didn't say anything. Only he could make this decision.\n\n\"What did you make of the kid?\"\n\n\"Seemed okay.\"\n\n\"I think I'll take my chances,\" Bill said.\n\n# Chapter Four\n\n_June 4, 1944_\n\nIt was only minutes later that the boy turned up again.\n\nI searched for the words. How did I ask him if he'd turned us in? I said, \"Your sister is friends with the Boche?\"\n\nHe actually spat. \"Francine. She is,\" he replied. And then he used some words I didn't recognize and I'm pretty sure they weren't complimentary.\n\nOf course this could have been an act to get us to trust him. I looked at him more closely. He was tall and thin with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. He had an air about him \u2014 like he noticed things, like he was sharp.\n\n\"You need to stay here until night,\" he told us, noting that Bill was awake. \"Then I'll take you to that farmhouse\" \u2014 he pointed to the small one south of us \u2014 \"and get him a doctor.\"\n\nHe noticed my map. \"Ah, excellent!\" he said. And then he tapped where we were \u2014 just as I thought \u2014 the village of La Perri\u00e8re. He moved his finger to a spot on the map just to the north of the village. \"A farmhouse just south of this crossroads,\" he said. \"The Resistance will meet you there.\"\n\n\"No,\" I shot back. \"I'm staying with my friend.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"One man to hide is enough in that place.\"\n\nHe put a small basket down beside us and uncovered it. There was a carafe of wine, a couple of hunks of bread and a large piece of cheese. \"Wait until dark,\" he said.\n\nHe looked around, got up and then sauntered away toward the town.\n\n\"Think it's poisoned?\" I said to Bill.\n\n\"It would be if this were a Bogart movie,\" he replied. I was glad he still had his sense of humour. \"Anyway, I'm not hungry \u2014 you go crazy.\"\n\n\"What about the kid?\" I asked. \"Do we trust him?\"\n\n\"He could have handed us in by now,\" Bill said. \"Unless he wants us to lead him to other downed airmen. But with me injured there's not much chance of that, so all in all I'd say, yeah, probably.\"\n\nI wished the kid had brought us some water. I was so thirsty that after I forced Bill to take a few sips of wine I drank the whole carafe in a few gulps. Then I devoured most of the food after making sure Bill got some small bits down him.\n\nIt was hot, and with that and the wine, I guess I must have dozed off a few times, and so did Bill before night finally fell. In between I planned my route so that once it was night I'd know where I was going after I got Bill to the farmhouse.\n\nFinally it was dark enough to move. I helped Bill up and put his arm round my shoulder. This time he was even weaker than last night, and heavier. We staggered through the field until I found a rough path that led to the farmhouse. We got there and knocked. The door flew open and an elderly man and his wife welcomed us in. She spoke mostly in French, but I was able to make out the gist of it.\n\n\"Please, please,\" she said. \"You are our guests now. Up the stairs a room is ready.\" She was very short and thin and her white hair so wispy it stood almost straight up. Her husband was small too. The woman led the way.\n\nIt wasn't easy getting Bill up those stairs and he couldn't help but let out a few small groans as he put too much weight on his ankle. I eased him onto the bed. Right away a young man I assumed was a doctor slipped into the room. \"Let's have a look,\" he said.\n\nHe shooed us all out and I went downstairs to share a glass of beer with the older man. His wife brought me some bread and sausage. It was pretty greasy but I was way too hungry to care.\n\nThey watched me eat with pleasure and then the doctor called down for help. I wanted to go but the wife wouldn't let me. \"A woman's job,\" she said. Her husband and I sat silently together until she returned.\n\n\"The doctor has cleaned the wound out,\" she said. \"We'll take care of him. You go now.\"\n\nI wasn't leaving without saying goodbye so I went up the stairs two at a time and entered the room. Bill was shirtless, his ribs bandaged, his ankle bandaged, looking pretty pale.\n\n\"It appears I have landed a cushy assignment here,\" he said to me.\n\n\"Looks like it,\" I said.\n\n\"I'll be drinking wine and telling war stories in no time,\" he added. \"My only wish would be a glass of cold water.\"\n\nI grinned. \"Looks like you'll have to make do with beer.\" I paused. \"Take it easy.\"\n\n\"You too.\"\n\nI left the room, thanked my hosts, and slipped out into the dark.\n\nI'd never felt so alone as I did at that moment, standing there in the night without Bill. But I had no choice. So far the kid had been as good as his word. Now I had to find the Resistance.\n\nI made my way north, giving a wide berth to the nearby farmhouse and the German's car parked outside. I kept off the roads and travelled across the fields. It was slow going and different than my panicked run of the night before, but I'd made it through the crash without injuries so I sure didn't want to break a leg now. I heard the planes overhead about an hour into my walk, the crack of anti-aircraft fire and the sounds of cars and trucks on the road nearby. I wondered how the fight was going and when the Allied invasion would start. I took note that it was now June 4 and reminded myself to keep track of the date.\n\nIt was another beautiful night, warm and clear, without any chill in the air at all. I must have been walking for a few hours when I spotted a farmhouse just south of a crossroads, as the boy had described. Of course, I couldn't be positive it was _the_ farmhouse, but it was in about the right place. There were no lights on. The house was surrounded by a ring of trees and I stood behind one of them so I could observe any movement.\n\n\" _Arr\u00eatez-vous!_ \" said a voice behind me, low and quiet. I spun around. The moon and the stars gave enough light for me to see that a man was pointing a gun at my chest. I threw up my hands, just like in the movies, and said, \"Don't shoot!\"\n\n# Chapter Five\n\n_June 4, 1944_\n\n\"Come with me,\" the fellow said, changing from French to perfect English \u2014 English with a very upper-class British accent.\n\nI really had little choice. He motioned me toward the barn beside the house. I hoped against hope that he was part of the Resistance, or another downed flyer, and that I was about to find help. Or be able to offer help.\n\nWe moved quietly to the barn and as we got there the door opened and another man let us in. I could see that there was a small light on, a hand-held lamp near the centre of the barn, and that's where we headed. The man with the gun asked me my name and my rank. He was as tall as me, over six feet but thinner, and had a hat pulled well over his eyes. He spoke softly so that his voice wouldn't carry. I had been instructed that I could freely give out the information he'd requested, but nothing else unless I was certain I was with friends.\n\n\"Sergeant Sam Frederiksen,\" I said. I also spoke quietly.\n\nAnd then the other fellow spoke. He looked to be older than me but not old \u2014 maybe twenty-five or so? He had red hair and blue eyes and freckles and a round pleasant face. But his expression was grim when he looked at me. He was stocky and quite a bit shorter than me, but something about him made it clear he was not to be trifled with. He had a distinct American accent, and asked me such a crazy question that for a minute I thought he must be joking.\n\n\"Who's the best player on the Yankees?\"\n\n\"What?\" I said.\n\n\"You heard me.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I answered honestly.\n\n\"A plant,\" he said to the British fellow with the gun. \"Shoot him.\"\n\nI heard the gun being cocked. \"Wait a minute, wait a minute,\" I gasped, heart pounding. \"Just because I don't follow baseball doesn't mean I'm a plant! I'm Canadian! Ask me anything about hockey \u2014 anything!\"\n\nThe Yank looked thoughtful for a moment. \"Who's the best player on the Boston Bruins?\"\n\n\"Bill Cowley,\" I answered without a moment's hesitation.\n\nThe Yank scowled at me.\n\nMy heart sank. Was this it? Would I be killed by my own people?\n\n\"And the Montreal Canadiens won the Stanley Cup over the Chicago Black Hawks, four to zero,\" I said.\n\n\"Anyone knows that,\" said the Yank.\n\n\"Maurice Richard, nicknamed The Rocket, scored five goals in the first round, and in game two of the finals, a hat trick,\" I said. And for good luck I added something that I doubted any double agent would know. \"And the Winnipeg RCAF Bombers lost the Grey Cup to the Hamilton Flying Wildcats, twenty-three to fourteen, last fall.\"\n\nThe Yank nodded. \"Okay,\" he said, \"but as for who's the top player on the Bruins \u2014 it's obviously Herb Cain, not Cowley.\"\n\n\"That,\" I replied with some dignity, \"is a matter of opinion.\"\n\nThe Yank winked at the other fellow and put out his hand to me. \"Ben Webber,\" he said.\n\n\"Flight Lieutenant John Thompson,\" said the Brit as he put his gun away. \"The others won't be telling you their names. Best that way. And no titles between us, just first names.\" And as he said that, out of the gloom appeared six or seven more men.\n\n\"He's all right,\" John said to them in French.\n\nThe meeting didn't last long. And it took place in French spoken far too quickly for me to catch all of it. When the men left I was introduced to the fellow whose barn we were in, Raymonde.\n\nJohn pointed to a bale of hay, indicating that was where I'd be sleeping. I lay down, but although I was tired I was far too revved up to sleep.\n\nAnd there was one more thing keeping me awake. I was hungry. Really hungry. Pops used to tease me that one day he was going to submit me to medical researchers. He said no normal kid could eat the volume of food that I did and stay so fit. He thought if we could bottle my metabolism, we'd all make a fortune. In fact one of the best things about my gunner training was that I was able to take it in Manitoba, so I was often able to take my leave at home, and even to bring my pals along with me. Mom loved it when I brought friends home and she was able to cook up great big Danish dinners of _frikadeller_ and parsley sauce and potatoes, and for dessert, cream cakes, which she'd manage by saving up all the cream from the milk and never letting Pops drink it in his coffee. Sometimes she would even make a _wienerbroed_.\n\nThinking about food made me think about Max. Danes and Jews had one thing in common for sure \u2014 food! Max used to go on and on about Montreal smoked meat sandwiches and bagels and kosher dills and something called brisket, which he swore would outmatch _frikadeller_ any day. \"Fried meatballs?\" he'd scoff. \"Try a hunk of meat cooked slow all day in sauce. Or if you want meatballs, try our sweet and sour.\"\n\nThinking about Max, I hoped against hope he hadn't been caught. Or killed. But for him caught might be worse. He'd told me some pretty gruesome stories about the Germans and how there were rumours that they were taking Jewish people to some kind of camps and killing them, but I told him over and over that no officer would ever condone such a thing. They're soldiers like we are, after all. And we soldiers have a code of honour that is never broken.\n\nI must have finally drifted off or that blasted rooster couldn't have scared the heck out of me as dawn broke. Being a city boy, I had no idea just how loud the darn things were when they crowed in the morning, but I found out. I leaped up, staring around me wildly, until I realized where I was and what that awful noise was. Then I sank back into the hay.\n\nWe were brought breakfast soon after by a girl who looked to be around my age. She had her hair under a scarf and her cheeks were pale in the morning light, but she looked so pretty, and she smiled at me, and well, that picked me up.\n\nI gobbled up the eggs and fresh bread and jam and boy oh boy did it taste good. It was gone in no time, though, and there were no seconds on offer. And my stomach was still rumbling.\n\nJohn brought out a radio and placed it in front of Ben. \"This was dropped by our chaps about a week ago along with some guns and explosives,\" he explained to me. \"We're lucky Ben's been able to contact home and get some instructions. We're just waiting for our marching orders.\"\n\n\"Have you heard about any of my crew?\" I asked.\n\n\"The plane went up in flames when it hit the ground,\" said John, \"and by the time we got people there everyone was gone \u2014 except for two bodies \u2014 chaps that didn't make it out.\"\n\nI nodded. I knew who one of them would be \u2014 Lew, who would have stayed with the kite to give the rest of us a fighting chance.\n\nI suddenly realized I didn't even know if Lew had a sweetheart or brothers and sisters. Our talk had always been about the ops, the plane, the crew. I hoped that whoever else had escaped wasn't already in some French prison.\n\nWhile I'd been lost in thought, Ben had been using the radio. He got up, hid it back in the hay and then said, \"We have our work cut out for us. Starting tonight.\"\n\n# Chapter Six\n\n_June 5, 1944_\n\nIt was then that the young boy who had first found me made an appearance. John spoke to him quickly, and he nodded and left. \"A very good courier,\" John commented.\n\nHe and Ben got down to some serious planning for the night to come. I listened and tried to learn something.\n\nAfter a very small lunch of some bread and cheese, and finally some water, which I was thankful for, I was put to work \u2014 making explosives!\n\nI worked separating the material that the boy had brought with him into 5-inch pieces that looked like sausages as much as anything, but made me a lot more nervous than a sausage would have. I didn't know when one would blow up and take my hand off... or my arm. Ben noticed how carefully I was handling the stuff and assured me I didn't have to worry. To prove his point he picked up a handful of it and threw it against the barn door. I almost had a heart attack! But nothing happened. He explained that it was a chemical reaction that would set it off. Tonight when we used it we would pinch the aluminum cover over it and that would begin the reaction.\n\nAs soon as the sun went down we headed out. It was warm and I figured that was why I was sweating, but in reality I was feeling pretty shaky. Yes, I'd had nerves before a flight, but this was different. I had no idea at all what to expect and no training to fall back on.\n\nWe had to pick our way forward because of the blackout, moving through the countryside without any light. As we continued we gained more members. I carried the explosives in a bag over my right arm. It seemed there was to be no apprenticeship. I was still in the fight, more Army now than Air Force, that was all.\n\nWe travelled for about an hour in the pale light of the moon, until we began to see more farmhouses and even some small villages. I could hear the sound of guns and then the sound of the planes, too, and anti-aircraft fire. I could even see some explosions off in the distance. More kites downed, no doubt. And then I saw the trains ahead and could hear one just leaving the yard. John was obviously in command, along with Raymonde, who was directing his men to certain areas. John pointed right at me and Ben and motioned for us to move ahead and place the explosives. I suppose the other men were covering us.\n\nWe got to the tracks. Trains loomed around us in the dark like monsters from my dreams when I was little. We could hear their engines chugging in the distance. I emptied the bag of explosives, still scared that the stuff would blow up right under us.\n\nJohn and Ben, now joined by Raymonde, quickly placed the small devices along the tracks. It seemed to take them forever, and I kept thinking, just drop it and run! Finally they motioned for me to follow them and we headed away from the tracks. I could hear a train getting closer and closer and I wondered if some poor Frenchmen were going to die tonight because of my work.\n\nWe were running down a small gravel road when the first explosion went off. I could hear brakes grinding and then the sounds of metal crashing into metal and then some screams of pain and the angry sound of men shouting. I glanced back anxiously as we sprinted away, expecting to be surrounded any moment by Germans, but the sounds faded and no others took their place. Slowly the French fighters melted away into the countryside, and finally we arrived safely back at the same farmhouse we had started from. We hustled into the barn.\n\nBen contacted headquarters and reported in. Then I was ordered to get some rest. That was a welcome order and easy to follow. I fell into a deep sleep.\n\nI dreamed my sister Jenny was crying because her best friend Liz had said something mean to her. I tried to console Jenny, telling her that she should tell Liz straight not to talk that way, and that they should make up, but Jenny cried harder and harder and then suddenly I woke up and realized that there really was someone crying nearby. The barn was still in darkness. I got up and followed the sound, which I finally realized was coming from the hayloft. Slowly I climbed the small ladder and then immediately stumbled over someone's legs.\n\n\"Ouch!\" she protested.\n\n\"Sorry, sorry,\" I said. By then I had fallen over and was sitting beside her and could see it was the girl my age, from the farmhouse, the same one who had brought us breakfast yesterday morning.\n\n\"I heard you crying,\" I said. Or tried to say in French.\n\n\"My fianc\u00e9,\" she replied, sobs catching in her throat. \"He's been arrested. Michel just ran over from the village to tell us. My fianc\u00e9 and nine others.\" She paused. And with a definite edge to her voice she added, \"Did you think no one would suffer for your little outing last night?\"\n\n\"I'm... I'm sorry,\" I said to her.\n\n\"Sorry!\" She gave a kind if snort, as if my apology was no use to her at all.\n\n\"Now wait a minute,\" I replied. \"I ended up here because the Boche shot down my plane and there were six other men in it and two of them are dead for sure and maybe more. Do you want us to leave the Boche alone? You want us to leave them here so that they can pick up your fianc\u00e9 or you or your family and do whatever they like to you at any time? Don't you want to be free?\" I'm sure my French wasn't very good, but she seemed to understand me just fine.\n\n\"But he's innocent!\" she cried.\n\n\"You're all in this war,\" I said. \"There's the enemy and there's the rest and no one is just a bystander.\" I paused. \"Well, I guess there are some who like the Germans, like the way they run things. Is your fianc\u00e9 like that?\"\n\n\"No!\" she answered.\n\n\"Well then, he'll see it as being at war, won't he? Like being a soldier.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she said.\n\nIt was getting light in the barn. The rooster crowed then and I could hear the others getting up.\n\n\"I'd best go fetch your breakfast,\" she said. She brushed away her tears and hurried off.\n\nAs soon as she had climbed down the ladder I followed her.\n\nBen saw me and gave me a wink, but I had something other than romance on my mind.\n\n\"We need to think about getting out of here,\" I said to Ben and John.\n\n\"Oh?\" said John.\n\n\"The girl.\" I tilted my head toward where she'd gone.\n\n\"Marie-Claire,\" John said.\n\n\"I guess. Her fianc\u00e9 has been taken hostage by the Germans. She's mad as all get-out. I'm pretty sure she blames us, and \u2014\"\n\n\"And if she gives _us_ up,\" said Ben, finishing my thought, \"in return maybe they'll let _him_ go.\"\n\n\"That _is_ one of the main reasons they take hostages,\" John confirmed. \"It often works. I agree with young Sam here. It's time we moved along.\"\n\nJohn told me to leave my battledress jacket behind and gave me a shirt he had scrounged from somewhere. He passed me some twine to tie my escape pack around my waist. After the girl had brought us our breakfast \u2014 which I made sure to wolf down \u2014 and she was back in her house, we simply walked off, Ben with the radio packed in a burlap sack.\n\nBut where could we go now?\n\n# Chapter Seven\n\n_June 6, 1944_\n\nWe were only down the road a few hundred yards when Raymonde rode up to us on his bicycle and told us to follow him. After a ten-minute walk he turned down a rutted country lane \u2014 a good thing because the roads were starting to get busy. We could see a horse and wagon coming toward us and soon I had no doubt we would be seeing Germans too. All over the roads were the long metallic strips we called window that we dropped from our planes to confuse the enemy's radar. It was everywhere! You couldn't walk a foot without stepping on it. I wondered how the people even farmed without it getting tangled up in everything.\n\nAfter half an hour we found ourselves at another farmhouse, this one with a large greenhouse. Raymonde motioned us to go inside. It was full of flowers \u2014 orchids and roses and even some cactus plants. We sat on the floor and waited. A tiny green lizard scampered down one of the wooden slats and along an irrigation pipe.\n\nSoon Raymonde came in with an older man, maybe my _farfar_ 's age, with a shock of white hair and bright blue eyes. He said, \"Welcome. It will be my honour to be your host.\" I felt like I was at some fancy dinner party or something and could just picture him in a tuxedo looking like Cary Grant would if he were a grandfather.\n\nRaymonde said, \"I'll be sending the boy over with instructions for tonight's raid.\"\n\n\"Will he be safe?\" I asked. \"Your daughter knows all the men by sight, and most by name.\"\n\nWith a pained look, he answered, \"He has temporarily left home to live with some relatives \u2014 my daughter has not been informed of this or where anyone else has been moved. You did the correct thing to leave \u2014 she is very distraught and not thinking straight.\"\n\nWell, I figured there were worse places to be stuck. For a little while I just imagined I was on vacation in France, lounging around in a beautiful, colourful little oasis, a peaceful paradise far away from any danger. Of course I had to block out the sound of Ben's radio as he conferred with London about where we were and what our next op would be.\n\nBen looked up from his radio with a look on his face like a kid whose hockey team had just won the Stanley Cup. \"It's started. The invasion. Normandy!\"\n\nI almost let out a whoop of joy but contented myself with shaking hands with everyone there. The rest of the day flew by as we discussed strategy and what they might be doing and how the battle might go.\n\nCary Grant's wife brought us a small supper of vegetable stew and fresh bread. As we ate, John told me how lucky we were to be fed so well, because the Germans had gutted the country, taking all the food and sending it to the Front for their soldiers or back to their homeland. Starvation or near starvation was everywhere. I hadn't understood that every bite we took was food right out of our hosts' own mouths.\n\nThen, before I knew it, the boy \u2014 I knew his name was Michel because the girl had let it slip \u2014 arrived and told us he'd be taking us to the rendezvous, because he knew the area so well. As soon as it got dark enough we were going to collect a drop of supplies from the RAF.\n\nBen told Michel the coordinates of the drop and then we followed him, walking for almost an hour to a clearing in the woods. By the time we arrived at the rendezvous, the same men from the night before had constructed a makeshift landing strip using small fires. I hadn't been able to see it at all from the road, and I hoped the Germans couldn't see it either.\n\nWe heard the drone of a plane. I knew right away it was a Lysander, just from the sound, and sure enough it soon roared in for a perfect landing. The men rushed over to the plane, heaved a number of containers out and began lugging them into the woods. As I heard the engine rev up for takeoff I helped unpack one of the boxes. There were lots of guns. I was actually nervous about having to use one. It would be completely different from firing a Browning while in our kite. This time it would be up close, at a man I could actually see. I wondered if I would freeze up. Then there was another worry \u2014 though I'd had some basic training, I hoped I wouldn't shoot off my own foot or anything.\n\nI thought we'd be going right back to the greenhouse but we didn't. We headed instead toward Raymonde's house, which I figured out because I had made sure to always keep a keen eye on where we were going, and I had a pretty good sense already of the countryside around. I caught up with John and asked him what was happening.\n\n\"Our worst fears \u2014 at least Raymonde's. His daughter, Marie-Claire, went to the local mayor to plead for her fianc\u00e9's life. The mayor turned her right over to the Germans and it wasn't long before she gave up her father and mother. Raymonde thinks the blasted Hun have sent her back home as _bait_ in order to catch him. He wants help getting her away from the farm.\"\n\n\"But if we take her with us she'll just escape and hand us in,\" I protested.\n\n\"He thinks she must have learned the hard way that you can't trust the Hun. Anyway she's his daughter \u2014 he's not thinking clearly.\" He paused. \"I figure we'd better help him. Others in the Resistance won't be as kind to her.\"\n\n\"They'd kill her?\" I asked.\n\n\"In a minute,\" he answered. \"About a week ago they caught a collaborator, beat him in front of the whole town, then executed him.\" He shrugged. \"I wish I could have stopped them. Rather not see that again.\"\n\n\"But Raymonde got away,\" I said. \"How?\"\n\n\"He has a contact in the mayor's office,\" John answered. \"The fellow managed to get word to Raymonde, but his wife was picked up in town before he could reach her. One of his sons is working in Germany \u2014 slave labour \u2014 and the other is off fighting with the Resistance somewhere. Right now Marie-Claire is the only family he has left.\"\n\nI thought about the pale young girl only my age and how she probably was so desperate to save her fianc\u00e9 that she'd put everyone else she loved at risk. Enough to break a person, I thought. How could you live with a choice like that?\n\n\"Hurry! Hurry!\" I heard from Raymonde just ahead of us. I smelled the fire before I saw it. We reached the trees that edged his property and saw that the entire place was up in flames. Two Germans stood beside a big black car. In front of the farmhouse door stood Marie-Claire. She was screaming for help. But the Germans had guns pointed at her. They were going to force her to run into a bullet or burn alive!\n\nRaymonde was about to rush ahead when John grabbed him and held him back. He told one of the other men to hold Raymonde there. Then quickly he gave everyone a job. Three of the men were to draw the enemy's fire from the trees just to the west. They moved off to take their positions. John and Ben would take the Germans down. I was to run to the house and rescue Marie-Claire. For a split second I wondered if she deserved to be rescued and why we were all risking our lives for a traitor.\n\n\"Want to end up like those blockheads?\" Ben said to me, pointing at the Germans.\n\nShame washed over me. I knew right away what he meant. And I knew the answer. A young girl was about to die and we could save her. That was all there was to consider.\n\n\"No,\" I answered.\n\n\"Me neither,\" he said. \"Let's get going.\"\n\n# Chapter Eight\n\n_June 6, 1944_\n\nQuick as I could I made my way along the trees and got as close to the house as possible. I wasn't quite set when a low whistle from John signalled the others to begin. Gunfire erupted from the trees. The Germans turned west to return fire. At that moment I saw John and Ben step out from behind the trees in order to get the best shots they could, even though it made them easy targets for the Germans' gunfire. I dashed out from the bushes and ran straight for the house. I felt completely exposed \u2014 which I was. Marie-Claire had stopped screaming and was watching, her back against the door, unsure what was happening.\n\n\"Your father's waiting,\" I screamed to her. _\"Viens ici! Viens ici!\"_ I held out my hand to her as I ran forward. Shots rang out but I had no idea whether any of them were aimed at me or at her. I kept running. _\"Maintenant!!\"_ I screamed.\n\nFinally she seemed to realize that this was her only chance to escape and she staggered toward me. She seemed too weak to run at speed \u2014 she might already be suffering from smoke inhalation, I thought. I'd sometimes gone with Pops on house calls to fires, and knew how easy it was to be overcome by the smoke and even to die from it before the flames ever got close enough to burn a person. She fell into my arms so I picked her up and carried her back to the trees. As soon as we had some cover I put her down. I could feel something wet as I did. Blood. Had she been shot? Had I? With all the adrenaline coursing through my body, I might not even feel it.\n\n\"Can you walk?\" I asked her in French.\n\nShe was coughing but she managed a yes. I put her arm around my neck and half-carried, half-dragged her to the spot where we'd gathered before. Raymonde grabbed her from me and hugged her tight.\n\n\"I think she might be wounded,\" I cautioned.\n\nThe gunfire had stopped. Everyone else had made it back.\n\nBen nodded to me. \"That's it for them,\" he said with satisfaction, clearly meaning that the Germans were dead.\n\n\"Let's get her back to the greenhouse,\" John said.\n\nRaymonde and another of the men half-carried Marie-Claire as we hurried as fast as possible back to some sort of safety.\n\nBen walked beside me as we went. \"We might need to move out of this area altogether now,\" he said. \"The Krauts are nothing if not efficient. They'll flood this place with troops right away, looking for the fighters who did this. The greenhouse is quite a ways from the farmhouse, but probably not far enough. I bet there'll be a search of every single house in this area.\"\n\n\"And all the men they'll use for that won't be at the Front fighting our guys,\" I said.\n\nI couldn't see his face in the dark, but I heard a smile in his voice.\n\n\"We might not be able to be at the Front or in the skies, but we're still doing what we can.\" He slapped me on the shoulder. \"Good work tonight.\"\n\n\"I'm just glad I didn't have to use a gun,\" I confessed.\n\n\"I'm sure your buddies are too,\" he chuckled.\n\nWhen we arrived at the greenhouse, Marie-Claire was gently settled on the floor. Her father tried to comfort her but had no idea what to do \u2014 and it seemed the others didn't either.\n\n\"May I have a look?\" I asked.\n\nI bent over her. She had been shot, all right. In the arm. From what I could tell it looked like the bullet had gone right through, so all that was needed was to stop the bleeding. I asked if we could get a clean cloth and some alcohol to clean the wound. Soon the man who owned the house appeared, along with his wife. She helped Marie-Claire up and declared that the girl would be spending the night in the house, not out here on a cold floor, and that she would tend to the girl's wound. John was about to object, worried for the older couple's safety, but shut his mouth when he saw the look on the woman's face. I suspected he knew when he was about to lose an argument.\n\nOnce Marie-Claire was taken away, we sat with Raymonde and the others and discussed what the next move should be. After some back and forth, the group decided to move farther south, away from this immediate area. Ben checked in with London and was told where we would be most useful.\n\n\"Let's be off, lads,\" John said.\n\nIt was around midnight. I began to think of sleep as something as precious as food, but something I'd be even less likely to get.\n\nWe followed Raymonde down a small country road. We could hear traffic on the main road \u2014 possibly the enemy was out looking for us already \u2014 as well as planes in the distance. More of ours, I hoped.\n\nWe walked all night. Just before dawn we arrived in a small village and there Raymonde split us up. Ben and John and I were taken to a house; the other men, he said, would go to a farm just on the outskirts. We were to meet that night in the woods due east.\n\nJohn knocked at the door and a boy of about twelve opened it. He nodded and waved us in. His grandmother was already up, brewing the chicory they used instead of coffee. She motioned for us to sit at the table, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Maybe it was! We sat down and she fed us hot chicory and warm bread and butter and jam. I was starving and ate every last bite, even scooping up the crumbs with my fingers. Then she motioned for us to go into a back room, which was a bedroom with two twin beds. John and Ben took one look and each claimed a bed, just taking the time to remove their boots. That was seniority, I thought to myself, but I was so tired all I wanted to do was lie down. I collapsed onto the floor and was asleep in minutes.\n\n# Chapter Nine\n\n_June 7, 1944_\n\nScreams coming from the front of the cottage woke me. I looked around, groggy and not quite alert, when Ben hissed, \"Grab your gun!\" Then he strode over to the door, gun raised, John right behind him. Ben opened the door a crack and peeked out. He seemed to pause for a moment as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, then shook his head and whispered, \"The old girl is crazy!\"\n\nJohn pushed him aside to look. I could hear the boy yelling to his grandmother to be quiet. After a few moments she stopped and the young boy came into the back room. He was very apologetic.\n\n\"She hates the Boche,\" he said. \"She can't help herself.\"\n\n\"She was yelling at the Boche?\" I asked in disbelief.\n\n\"Yes,\" the boy said. \"The good thing is, she does it all the time. Whenever they come into the village, she stands at the window and screams at them, and shakes her fists, so they don't pay her any mind. Maybe it's even safer here \u2014 they'd never imagine she would draw so much attention to herself if she were hiding the Resistance.\"\n\nJohn laughed. \"What a cover!\"\n\nWe were invited into the front room to eat, the boy assuring us that the Boche had left. Soon a very pretty young woman appeared. She informed us that we were now on orders to disrupt the Boche's communications, so we'd be disabling telephone wires. She left to spread the word to the other Resistance groups, then came back to be our guide. Ben told me that it was often young women who were the couriers between various Resistance groups, because the Krauts found it harder to pin anything on them.\n\nOur guide walked us through the fields and onto a narrow country lane. We travelled for a half-hour in a light drizzle, so by the time we reached the small clearing we were damp and cold. Still, all my discomfort was forgotten when I saw that we were joining a much larger group of about ten young men. Our guide murmured to me, \"The Jewish Resistance.\" I was surprised that they had their own group, but when I thought about it, it made sense. Especially if what Max had told me had any truth to it \u2014 the Germans were out to hurt them and the best defence is always a good offence.\n\nJohn had the details of the strike ordered by London, so he briefed the leader of the other group. Raymonde and his men then made an appearance too. I could see that this was to be a very large operation. When the men had finished conferring, John told me and Ben that we'd be working with the Jewish group to cut the wires, while Raymonde and his men kept watch. I ended up walking along with a fellow about my age who spoke excellent English. I asked him how his group came about.\n\n\"My friends were all joining the Resistance,\" he said, \"which was a good thing, so...\"\n\n\"But you and your friends could only have been \u2014 what?\" I interrupted, looking at him. \"Fourteen or fifteen?\"\n\n\"Hah!\" he replied. \"Many joined at thirteen! After all, as soon as the Germans marched into Paris they started passing anti-Jewish laws, first taking away the rights of Jews who were foreign nationals, then \u2014\"\n\nAgain, I interrupted. \"What do you mean taking away rights?\"\n\nHe looked at me as if I were some sort of idiot who knew nothing. \"Rights. Citizenship! Jews became non-people and then they were sent to the camps. After the Germans finished with the foreign Jews, they started with the naturalized Jews. And not with the lesser known, you know, so people might not take notice. It's as if they wanted to shout it out: 'We can do whatever we want with you, and no one \u2014 especially your French brothers \u2014 will stop us.' How right they were.\"\n\nHe paused for a moment, so lost in thought I wasn't sure he was going to continue, but eventually he did.\n\n\"The Jewish judges and lawyers and businessmen were taken first. And then the government started passing laws so that Jews were forbidden to go to a theatre or a restaurant or a swimming pool or a park. We could shop between three and four in the afternoon and we all had to wear a yellow star on our clothes.\"\n\n\"But why did anyone put up with it? I can tell you, if anyone had tried to do that at home \u2014 in Canada \u2014 we would have made their life a misery!\"\n\n\"Really?\" he said. \"Then I wonder why your country won't take in any Jewish children with visas. We tried to get a large group out of a camp. They had visas for Canada, the Germans said they could go, and Canada refused to take them.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you!\" I said. \"We're here fighting _beside_ you.\" I wanted to take a swipe at him. Everything he was saying seemed so crazy.\n\n\"I don't deny you are here and fighting and I'm pretty damn happy about that,\" he said. \"But you asked why I joined a Jewish group instead of a regular group, and I'm trying to tell you. There are special reasons for us. We're always on the lookout, for instance, for Jewish children that can be saved or hidden.\"\n\n\"And have you been able to do that?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, but the less you know about it the better,\" he said. \"If you're ever caught, I don't need you spilling any secrets.\"\n\n\"I would never do that!\" I protested.\n\n\"Anyone will if tortured long enough.\"\n\n\"Abe!\" called their leader. \"Up here.\"\n\nHe tipped his hat to me then and wished me luck.\n\nThe rest of the operation that night, I just did as I was told and tried not to get in anyone's way, but all I could think about was what Abe had told me. If it were true, I'd been living in some kind of dream world and things were so much worse than I could ever have imagined.\n\nWe had a couple of close calls with patrols. Abe and his fighters took out some Germans who got too close to us while I was atop a telephone pole! I was helpless up there and if they hadn't been such good shots I probably would have bought it right then. On the other hand, I got so good at scrambling up the telephone poles that by night's end I was nicknamed \" _Grand Singe_.\"\n\n# Chapter Ten\n\n_June 29, 1944_\n\nIt was a little after sunrise when the pretty girl, Louisa, came to the house quite breathless, and said, \"We need to move you.\"\n\nMy heart sank. Grandmama and her grandson Alain had become like a second family to us. We ate with them, told stories to the young boy, who doted on every word and wished he were old enough to go with us every night as we cut telephone wires, blew up bridges and set explosives on rail lines. I felt safe here in a strange way, and didn't want to go anywhere \u2014 except straight back to England \u2014 and I doubted that was in the cards. We'd been at their house for weeks now and somehow I had got used to it.\n\n\"What's happened?\" John asked.\n\n\"The Boche are doing a massive sweep in this area,\" Louisa said. \"House by house. Ripping out floorboards, going into attics. They seem determined to find every last downed flyer and every last Resistance fighter.\"\n\n\"Desperation,\" John said, with satisfaction. \"The Allies are getting closer and closer. The Hun can sense they're losing.\"\n\n\"Desperation or not,\" Louisa said, \"you need to move.\"\n\nShe explained that they were going to try to send us on the escape line through Spain. I felt uneasy. At least we knew we could trust Grandmama and Louisa and Alain. But once we were sent along the escape line, who knew who we'd run into. I hoped at least I'd be able to stay with John and Ben. I didn't like the idea of being on my own again, perhaps wandering from stranger's house to stranger's house.\n\n\"Now!\" she urged.\n\nI think we had all assumed that we'd be waiting for nightfall, but she meant that we needed to go immediately! Ben ran and packed up his radio. I had nothing to pack except my small escape kit, which I quickly tucked into my jacket pocket \u2014 a jacket Louisa had given me, in fact, in exchange for my cable-knit sweater.\n\n\"You don't want anything on you that shows you're an RCAF airman,\" John instructed me.\n\nOn the other hand, I didn't want to leave my ID tags in the house to be discovered.\n\nLouisa said, \"Leave them. The boy will bury everything.\"\n\nWe went outside to find four bicycles waiting for us. \"You'll follow me,\" she said.\n\nAnd off we went in full daylight. But we didn't go down any main roads, instead sticking to back roads \u2014 which made for a very bumpy ride. My teeth were rattling and my head felt like it might shake off from my neck at any moment. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of being out in the open for anyone to see. I hoped we just looked like three ordinary farm workers. Luckily, we ran into no Germans, although we did pass some farmers who glanced at us and then quickly went back to work.\n\nThe day was becoming hotter and hotter and it must have been late morning by the time we pedalled up to a farmhouse near a small village. Suddenly it all seemed familiar to me and I realized it was the same village where I had met the young boy I now knew as Michel, who had sent me on my way that first day. And before I knew it we were driving up to his barn.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" I called to Louisa. \"I know this place. His sister is far too friendly with the Boche.\"\n\n\"You'll only be here one night,\" she said. \"And this is the one place they won't search.\"\n\nI supposed that might be true. Why should they when one of their own could just walk into the barn and discover us!\n\nThe barn door opened and Michel stood there grinning. When he saw me his grin widened.\n\n\"Idiot!\" he exclaimed.\n\nBen laughed. \"Your reputation precedes you!\"\n\n\"Very funny!\" I said. \"Can't say I like the idea of hiding in the place of a known collaborator.\"\n\nThe boy understood the word \"collaborator\" and spat, the same thing he'd done when first talking about his sister. \"Francine is afraid now,\" he said in French. \"She begs me for my protection when the Boche leave. I pretend I will help her. But there is no help for her once we have our country back.\"\n\nI could see in his eyes that there would be no mercy for his sister, not even from her own family.\n\n\"Tomorrow after the Boche leave, a car will come and pick you up,\" he said. \"You'll be driven into Paris.\"\n\nAt that Louisa wished us luck and got back on her bike. Michel closed the door but reappeared a short time later with lunch. Ben contacted London and, in a very quick transmission that he hoped wouldn't be traced, told them that we were on our way to the Comet Line, the code word for the Spanish route. Then he buried the radio in the hay at the back of the barn.\n\nJohn had managed to pick up a deck of cards at some point over the last couple weeks and we spent the rest of the day playing poker, using hay as money. It passed the time and kept our minds off the uncertainty to come.\n\nWe all heard the German's car drive up to the farm just after dinner. To be on the safe side we retreated to the back of the barn, out of sight, just in case he did a cursory search. He didn't though. That didn't mean I slept well. I doubt any of us did. I lay there with my eyes open, my gun at the ready.\n\n# Chapter Eleven\n\n_June 30, 1944_\n\nI guess I drifted off again because I awoke with a start to the sound of a car's engine revving up. I gripped my gun so hard it's a miracle I didn't shoot someone by accident. But the car drove off and soon after, Michel arrived with breakfast. We'd just finished eating when another car arrived. It was a big black Opel like the ones the Nazis drove. We all piled into the back and then off we went.\n\nNow I was even more nervous. Here we were in plain sight of the Germans. None of us had fake papers. No ID at all in fact. The driver was a middle-aged man who was well dressed but seemed to have little interest in talking to us \u2014 perhaps because he was very nervous too. I hoped that was the reason and that we hadn't just gotten into a car that was taking us right into the enemy's hands.\n\nWe finally drove off the small gravel road and onto the main highway. Immediately we encountered the Germans \u2014 mostly trucks with soldiers standing up in the open cargo areas. Rows and rows of trucks as far as the eye could see. Anti-aircraft guns were positioned all along the road, just waiting for our fellows. It seemed they must be expecting an attack. And then we saw the Tiger tanks! I'd heard of them of course, these formidable weapons, but to see them this close was unbelievable! We could almost touch them! And by their black uniforms I could see the troops belonged to the Panzer divisions.\n\nI couldn't understand why our driver was taking this route.\n\n\"I say, old boy,\" John said to the driver. \"Do you really think this is wise?\"\n\nThe fellow didn't reply so John repeated his question in French.\n\n\"No other way into the city,\" the driver replied. \"Do they look interested in us?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not especially,\" John answered.\n\n\"They aren't in the least,\" the fellow answered. \"They're heading west to fight. They couldn't care less about a car with a few men in it. On the other hand, the Boche in the area we just left, the ones searching for Resistance fighters, they would be _very_ interested. We have more to fear from a bombing raid courtesy of _your_ fellows right now.\"\n\nI supposed that was true. And not long after, I did hear the drone of planes. Must be the Yanks, I thought. They did the daylight raids. I saw that Ben was thinking the same thing as I was when a slow grin lit up his face. He didn't care if we were caught in a raid \u2014 he just wanted these Germans stopped.\n\nBut before any bombs started to fall and the anti-aircraft fire began, we finally made it into Versailles. Not far from there we entered a suburb and came to an old stone house set in a few acres of land. A middle-aged woman met us at the door and ushered us in. It turned out to be the home of the driver of the car. I wondered how he had managed to get fuel and keep his car, and even how he'd kept the house out of the hands of the Germans.\n\nI found out quickly.\n\n\"You have an urgent message from the hospital,\" his wife said.\n\nHe nodded. Then he turned around and left once again.\n\nSo he was most likely an important doctor, a surgeon even. Someone the Germans had more use for alive than dead. And in his spare time he helped out the Resistance. Or, I thought, he could be a collaborator and soon we'd be picked up by a few Gestapo agents. That thought made my blood run even colder than it had in the car.\n\nBut for the moment we were certainly treated well. His wife invited us to share a late dinner with her and then showed us to our rooms as if we were house guests. We were even each offered a bath! The water was lukewarm but the luxury of a bath was something I had not even dreamed of.\n\nA bit later the doctor returned and offered us some red wine. John was very circumspect with his conversation, never really giving anything away, just talking in generalities about the war.\n\nAnd for the first time since being shot down I slept in a real bed. At first it felt so wonderful \u2014 the clean sheets bringing back memories of home \u2014 that I couldn't sleep. When I finally did, I dreamed of eating Mother's chocolate cake and of her hanging sheets out to dry in the backyard while the weeping birch swayed in the wind and the warm air surrounded me like a baby in a warm blanket.\n\n# Chapter Twelve\n\n_July 1, 1944_\n\nAt breakfast, the doctor told us that it was too dangerous to keep us all together in one spot and we were to be separated. He would be taking me to a different safe house immediately. I didn't want to go off on my own. But I had no choice. We were at their mercy for good or ill and I had to hope it was for good.\n\nJohn shook my hand and said, \"Good luck, old chap.\"\n\nBen also shook my hand and, with a wink, said, \"Take it easy, kid.\"\n\nI saluted my two friends and left with the doctor.\n\nHe drove me right into the heart of Paris. I sat in the front seat with him this time. And perhaps I looked as miserable as I felt because he broke his stony silence and talked to me.\n\n\"You really are safer apart from each other,\" he said.\n\nI nodded, but was still unconvinced.\n\n\"The Boche are getting more desperate, you see,\" he explained. \"They know it's almost over. The dream of a thousand-year Reich will never happen. But they hope at least for good terms. They hope to salvage something.\"\n\n\"Or maybe,\" I said, \"Hitler _doesn't_ think it's over. And they are fighting so hard because he says they have to. Whenever I've seen him in the newsreels he looks crazy.\"\n\n\"Crazy?\" The doctor thought for a moment. \"All murderers are crazy,\" he agreed, \"otherwise they couldn't murder. But clinically insane? I'm not so sure. And do not forget, Hitler is a murderer who has the support of millions. And there are so many who murder on his orders. Mass insanity? Perhaps. But I fear it is something much worse.\"\n\nNow that he was talking he was really talking!\n\n\"What?\" I asked, very curious.\n\n\"I suspect that Hitler has learned to prey on people's primal instinct \u2014 fear \u2014 and that even if we defeat _him_ there will always be others who will do the same.\"\n\nI really didn't know what to say. I don't think he actually expected an answer. It was almost as if he were thinking aloud.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"make people afraid enough and they will follow you and do almost anything.\"\n\n\"What were Germans so afraid of?\" I asked.\n\nThe doctor shook his head. \"That's the irony. They were afraid of the riots and the turmoil, the messiness of democracy. Hitler took a yearning for simplicity and order and turned it into a force that could not be stopped. It was easy, no? Orderly, no? No more mess. Democracy, my young friend, will always be at the mercy of those who say things run much easier and smoother without it! Just let us do our jobs, they say, without all this turmoil.\"\n\n\"But,\" I replied, \"after this, if we win, who would say that?\"\n\nHe glanced over at me then, and almost smiled. \"Ah,\" he said, \"to be young! Now, enough of my ramblings. Look about you. We are driving into Paris. When you get home you can tell your family about seeing the most beautiful city in the world.\"\n\nWe stopped outside a large apartment building on the Champs \u00c9lys\u00e9es. The street was beautiful, broad and tree lined. The building we stopped at looked pretty grand. As I stepped out of the car, for one brief moment I felt like a tourist \u2014 until a German convoy drove past us and the doctor motioned me to hurry along. As he took me up four flights of stairs he told me that the plans had changed. We were not to be smuggled out through Spain, but taken to an airfield outside the city and picked up by a British plane. I wondered why we had to come into the city at all, but remembered that the countryside where we had been had become too dangerous. I was just relieved that there was a plan for us at all.\n\nThe doctor knocked three times on a door when we reached the fourth floor. I almost laughed. It really was like a Bogart movie.\n\nThere was an anxious couple of minutes before the door opened. When it did I couldn't believe my own eyes. Max! Max was standing there, leaning heavily on a cane. I almost toppled him when I grabbed him in a big bear hug. He returned the hug. Then we just stood there for a moment beaming at each other.\n\n\"Get in, get in,\" urged the doctor, looking nervously down the hallway.\n\nI hurried inside and the doctor shut the door. \"I see you two know each other,\" he said.\n\n\"We were in the same crew!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Well, then, you won't be bored waiting for the next step,\" he said. \"Someone will bring you food. Don't go outside for any reason \u2014 none. Do as you're instructed by whoever contacts you next. Someone else will be by eventually to take you to the rendezvous site.\" And before I could properly thank him he had left.\n\nI quickly took in my surroundings. We were in a small flat with a window at the back of the building. There appeared to be at least one bedroom \u2014 and our own bathroom, which was good, as sharing one down the hall would only increase our chances of being caught.\n\nI grinned at Max. \"So? What happened to your leg?\"\n\n\"Want the whole story?\"\n\n\"I bet we'll have enough time for the whole story and thirty more like it,\" I said. \"Looks like I'm stuck here with you for days!\"\n\n\"Looks like that.\" Max grinned back. He settled down on the couch and I took a chair opposite. Slowly he raised his leg and put it up on the couch. He looked thin. The crew used to call us Mutt and Jeff. Where I'm tall, big and muscled, he's short, thin and wiry. Where I'm blond and blue-eyed \u2014 a Viking, according to him \u2014 he's got dark curly hair and brown eyes. So when we'd go to London on leave together you'd think I'd be the one to get the girls! But it was always the other way round. They'd crowd around Max as if he were a honey pot and they were the bees.\n\n\"Did anyone else make it?\" I asked before he started.\n\n\"I know for sure that Stan and James made it,\" he said, \"and now you and me. Well, that's four out of seven. I saw the two of them run for it, but they didn't see me and I didn't want to call to them and maybe alert the Germans. I broke my ankle when I hit the ground. I saw some other chutes too \u2014 so maybe everyone got out. But I also heard gunfire and wonder if the skipper got away in time or...\"\n\nI shook my head. \"He didn't make it,\" I told him. \"I was told they'd recovered two bodies. But Bill made it out and we stayed together until we found him a doctor and some help.\"\n\nThere was a pause for a moment as Max took that news in, both the good about Bill and the bad about Lew. It sounded like Phil must have been the other one who didn't make it. Still, five out of a crew of seven surviving a crash \u2014 I guess that was more than we could have hoped for.\n\nThen I asked, \"How on earth did you get away after breaking your ankle?\"\n\n\"I knew I couldn't stay there so I just had to move. Wasn't pretty.\" He grimaced. \"I basically crawled on all fours all that night and even then I only reached some woods by morning. The next night I crawled again. I found a stream, though, so that saved me. I decided to stay near the stream. On the third day an old granny saw me \u2014 she was out picking berries. She told me to stay put. Well, I didn't know if she would come back with the enemy or with the Resistance so I crawled again and tried to hide. Some men came that night but I was afraid to show myself. Anyway, the next morning I could see a farmhouse not too far away and that afternoon one of the farmer's sons came down to the stream for water. But I soon realized that he was looking for something \u2014 someone \u2014 and I figured I'd best take a chance. I can tell you that by then my ankle was throbbing and aching something fierce. So this boy helped me into the barn and called a doc and, you know, that doctor came every single day after he set my ankle and checked on me. And not long after, a few fellows from the Resistance showed up and I starting helping out, making bombs. Have you seen those little ones, like sausages?\"\n\nI nodded. \"I made some too.\"\n\n\"So that was my job for weeks and then suddenly they said they had to move me and I got here just before you did! I was pretty nervous, I can tell you,\" he said. \"Didn't know if this fellow was to be trusted. Talk about a cold fish.\"\n\n\"I had the same reaction when I first met him,\" I agreed, \"but he grows on you.\"\n\n\"Tell me how you got here,\" he said.\n\nI filled him in as briefly as I could about what had happened to me since the plane had been downed.\n\nWhen I was finished he said, \"So just showing off then, eh?\"\n\nI smiled. \"Danes _never_ show off,\" I said.\n\n\"Danish Canadians obviously do,\" he countered.\n\nI paused before asking the next question. \"Did anyone find out about...\"\n\n\"Me being Jewish?\" he said, finishing my sentence. \"I decided that might be a good thing to keep to myself.\" He paused. \"But you know how you feel like a fish in a fish pond just waiting to be scooped up?\"\n\nI nodded. \"That's the way I've been feeling most of the time.\"\n\n\"I feel more like a walking target,\" he said, \"with a big bull's eye on my back.\"\n\n# Chapter Thirteen\n\n_July 2, 1944_\n\n\"Montreal smoked meat!\" Max said.\n\n\"Danish meatballs!\" I countered.\n\nWe had been occupying ourselves with the game, \"Who makes better food, Danes or Jews?\" for over an hour. We really shouldn't have been talking about food \u2014 it was just making us hungrier. There was no food in the apartment and no one had arrived with any.\n\n\"I thought maybe that doctor was going to take me straight to the Germans,\" Max said, finally changing the subject.\n\n\"I wondered too,\" I admitted, \"until he started talking. No, I'm pretty sure he's okay.\"\n\nAnd it was just then that we heard the three knocks on the door. My heart started pounding. Was this it? Were we going to the rendezvous already? And why was it always in broad daylight?\n\nI went to the door and cautiously opened it a crack.\n\n\"The doctor sent us,\" said a lady, maybe in her thirties. She had blond hair and wore a little black hat on her head. She slipped into the apartment. \"Time to go.\"\n\nThere was no point in questioning her. How would we know whether she was on the up and up or not? And surely the only people who knew about us were the doctor and his contacts.... Of course I also knew that those contacts could go rotten at any point. Max and I exchanged a look.\n\n\"Both of us?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh yes, both,\" she answered. \"Come now, we must hurry.\"\n\nMaybe it was because she had knocked just when Max had been wondering whether or not we could trust the doctor, but I suddenly had a funny feeling in my gut. I looked at Max. He just shrugged. I'm not sure whether the shrug meant \"What choice do we have?\" or \"I think she's okay.\" We only had two choices \u2014 go along or run for it. But how long could we last in Paris, with no papers? My French was passable and had certainly improved over the last few weeks. Max's was excellent since he was from Montreal, but his accent would certainly give him away.\n\nWe grabbed our jackets and followed her down the stairs. When we got to the street she told us to stick near her. She walked just ahead of us for a number of blocks and then turned into a small apartment building. She hurried up the stairs to the second floor and opened one of the doors. \"I'll bring you some food later,\" she said. \"Don't go out unless you need to use the loo, end of the corridor.\"\n\nAnd she was gone.\n\n\"Whew,\" I said to Max. \"I was suddenly sure she was going to turn us in!\"\n\nWe looked around. It was a very small flat with an old couch, a rickety old chair and seemingly nothing else.\n\n\"Not exactly the Ritz,\" Max said.\n\nI went to the small sink in the kitchen for some water, but there was none. \"And no running water,\" I sighed. \"We've certainly come down in the world, Max.\"\n\nHe sat down slowly on the couch and put up his leg.\n\n\"You kept up pretty well,\" I said to him.\n\n\"Not much choice,\" he replied, but I could see that now he was paying the price. His face looked a bit green.\n\nIt was hours later that the woman returned with a basket of bread, cheese and wine. She rushed off again before we could ask her anything.\n\n\"Have they never heard of water?\" I said to Max grumpily as I drank some of the wine, which did very little for my thirst, as the day had just gotten hotter and hotter and the small room almost unbearable.\n\nIt was mid-afternoon when a knock at the door sounded and a different woman altogether came into the room. She was quite a bit older, stout and had a grim nod for both of us. \"Come on,\" she said. \"We're on our way out of the city.\"\n\nNow this was the news we'd been waiting for! My spirits rose and I forgot all about being hot and tired and thirsty. I figured that maybe by tonight I could be back at base being debriefed.\n\nI could see Max thought it was pretty swell too.\n\nWe followed her down the stairs into a waiting car. Our guide got into the front passenger side. A young man was driving but he had his cap pulled over his eyes and I couldn't get a clear view of him. The car screeched away from the curb and I thought that perhaps the driver could be a little more discreet, but he didn't seem to worry about that. In fact, he careened from street to street as if drunk, and that feeling I'd had in my gut earlier came back full force. This couldn't be right.\n\nI had just had that thought when three large black cars pulled up around us. Our driver slammed on the brakes. A feeling of dread washed over me.\n\n\"We're for it,\" I murmured to Max.\n\n# Chapter Fourteen\n\n_July 2, 1944_\n\nThe back doors were thrown open and I was roughly pulled out on my side as Max was on his. Two huge men patted me down and searched me while two others held machine guns on me. Of course I had no gun, no weapon of any kind \u2014 why were they so scared of me? What could I do to them?\n\nThey pushed Max and me back into the car. It jerked ahead again, except now the woman had a gun pointed at us.\n\n\"Traitors!\" Max said in disgust.\n\nShe didn't answer.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" I asked.\n\nShe didn't answer that either.\n\nI felt so disappointed and so scared that for a moment tears burned at my eyes. And then I got mad. We had been _this_ close to getting away...\n\nDid the doctor know he had a breach in his cell \u2014 or worse, was he part of that breach? Somehow I still didn't think it was him. But now I wished I'd listened to my gut. However, at least I'd had a chance to do some damage to the Germans before getting caught.\n\nMax was silent. I'm sure he was wondering how long he could keep his secret. And would they even believe us when we told them we should be treated as prisoners of war? We had no identity tags. They could say we were spies and just have us shot.\n\nIt was a long drive. I don't think I really saw a thing as we moved through the city. Finally we entered a courtyard and the car stopped. Armed guards dragged us out of the car. I could see we were at a prison, a very large one. The windows were covered in heavy bars and more armed guards marched along the walkways above us.\n\n\"This is Fresnes Prison, I bet,\" Max said quietly to me.\n\nThe words were barely out of his mouth when the guard standing beside him hit him on the back of the head with his rifle butt. Max lurched forward. I managed to catch him before he fell. Then both of us were pushed from behind. One of the guards yanked open a huge steel door and then we were inside. A small entry gave way to another steel door. When that one slammed shut behind us I was quite sure there would be no escape from this place.\n\nWe were marched up a flight of stairs into a small room with only one chair and a small desk. An empty chair. The guards stayed with us, guns trained on us at all times. I glanced over at Max. His head was bleeding.\n\nA Gestapo agent sauntered into the room and sat down behind the desk. He looked at me. Then he spoke in English. Quite perfect English.\n\n\"Name?\"\n\n\"Sam Frederiksen.\"\n\n\"Rank?\"\n\n\"Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Serial number? Service number?\"\n\nI gave him my service number.\n\n\"Place of birth?\"\n\n\"According to the Geneva Convention governing captured prisoners,\" I said, \"I am only required to give you my name, rank and service number, all of which I have done.\"\n\n\"Squadron number?\"\n\n\"According to the Geneva Convention,\" I repeated, \"I am only required to give you my name, rank and service number.\"\n\nOne of the guards jabbed me so hard in the lower back, just over my kidneys, that I fell forward. Max made a grab for me but I waved him away.\n\nThe guard came in front of me then and hit me so hard across the face that I reeled away in the other direction toward the door. \"You'll be dead soon anyway,\" he growled, \"so it doesn't matter.\"\n\nThen they turned their attention to Max. He got the same questions and gave them the same answers.\n\n\"You've been working with the Resistance,\" the Gestapo agent said quietly. He had a long face and a hawk nose and a perfect English accent. I suspected he was not German, but had no idea what his nationality was \u2014 perhaps French? And perhaps someone who had attended Oxford or Cambridge, because his accent was very like John's.\n\n\"I was shot down over France and have tried to evade capture as per my orders,\" I countered. I suddenly realized that if I admitted we had anything to do with the Resistance I'd be shot! I'd lose my status as a POW. Max took my lead and repeated what I had said.\n\n\"Bridges blown up, rail yards, roads, you know nothing of this?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" I replied. And then I added, \"And from now on I will only give you my name, rank and service number.\" I said that because I remembered in our briefings we were told that if we were captured, not to get tangled up in trying to be clever during an interrogation. The interrogators were experts at getting information, even information you didn't realize you might be giving away. Best to stick to the basics.\n\nThe man behind the desk then said, \"We want to know how you got to Paris. Just tell us that and we won't bother asking you about anything else.\"\n\nSo they didn't know about the doctor! I vowed right then that I would die before I gave him away. And I gave them my name, my rank and my service number.\n\n# Chapter Fifteen\n\n_July 2, 1944_\n\nA guard knocked Max's cane out from under him and forced him to stand straight on his bad leg. Whenever Max faltered the guard hit Max's leg with the butt of his gun. But Max just picked himself up, stood up straight and stared at the man behind the desk.\n\nThe Gestapo agent asked me and Max the same questions over and over and we each gave the same answer over and over and in between we were hit or punched. I started to lose track of time. My main reaction, outside of the pain, was disbelief. We were prisoners of war, after all. We were flyers. How on earth could they justify treating us in this brutal manner? I'm not even sure I really felt the pain, in fact, I was just so shocked.\n\nFinally the Gestapo agent nodded to the guards and we were led away, Max without his cane and compass, both of us without our watches and our jackets. We were marched through corridor after long corridor and steel door after steel door until we were put into a cell with two other men. Both were French \u2014 one very young, perhaps my age, the other quite old, maybe in his sixties. The older one looked rough. His face was a mess of dried blood and he was hunched over in pain. The younger one, seeing my reaction to the state of the older fellow, said, \"He's just returned from his daily interrogation. He gets taken over to Gestapo headquarters every day. My turn tomorrow, I think.\"\n\nI introduced myself and Max but our two roommates didn't seem inclined to tell us much. I guessed why immediately. They might think we were spies. So Max and I huddled together and tried to figure out what had happened.\n\n\"Obviously a serious breach in the Resistance,\" he said.\n\n\"But probably not the good doctor,\" I replied.\n\n\"Probably not,\" Max agreed. \"I suppose we'll never know for sure.\" He paused. \"I think it was the last lot. The first woman seemed okay to me, and she must be a more direct contact of the doctor. I bet it was the last two who turned us in \u2014 and if they keep doing that, no one will ever be able to tell the doctor his contacts are compromised, and he'll keep sending people right into the Nazis' hands.\"\n\n\"But I bet he has other routes,\" I said. \"Maybe Ben and John went another way altogether. In fact, maybe that's why the doctor split us up \u2014 he suspected there was a breach somewhere. I mean, when we don't turn up for the flight it's bound to get back to him, right? Then he'll know something is up.\"\n\nMax sighed. \"Doesn't look like there's any way out of here. I just hope we'll be on our way to a POW camp today or tomorrow.\"\n\nOnly minutes after Max said that, another team of guards opened the cell door, took us out and marched us through still more corridors. We entered a large room. At the front of it were many tables, and seated behind the tables were men with mounds of papers surrounding them. I was pushed into a small cubicle at the back of the room and locked up. As I sat there I suddenly felt the pain of the interrogation. My face started to burn. My lower back, where I'd been punched, started to ache. I was thirsty and hungry and felt sick all at the same time. I wondered if I was going to throw up and if so, whether anyone would let me out of the tiny cubicle. I had a pretty strong hunch that they wouldn't so I took lots of deep breaths \u2014 my mom's recipe for avoiding vomiting. It worked, and by the time I was let out of the cell and marched up to the desk I was feeling a bit less woozy.\n\n\"Name.\"\n\nI gave my name. And my rank and my service number and that seemed to be all the fellow wanted. I saw Max being shoved toward a desk as I was pushed by a guard and marched out of the room. I was taken through more hallways. After a very long walk I was thrown into a tiny cell, empty of anyone else, and the door was slammed shut behind me. The walls were a dirty white. There was a small table and chair and a cot, all bolted into the floor, and a toilet in the corner, but there was no washstand or other running water. At the end of the cell was a window. It was barred, and on the inside of the bars was frosted glass. Quickly I checked the door to hear if there was anyone outside the cell. The door had a peephole, but only so they could see in, not so I could see out. It sounded all clear.\n\nThe glass was framed with putty. The only moveable objects in the room were a spoon and a bowl. I pried away at the putty using the spoon until the frosted piece finally came out. Heaven! Fresh air flowed in. And on top of that I could hear voices! Men and women calling to each other!\n\nI peered out the window. I was on the ground floor and could ony see a courtyard, empty at present, and on the other side the high walls and windows of the prison.\n\nI tried to catch what the voices were saying. Much of it was in French but I heard some English right off the bat. \"A cobra is a deadly snake.\" Then laughter. The voice was American. Was that a code name for a new offensive? I hoped so. The rumour was that Canadians were taking heavy casualties in and around Caen. I heard men shout their names and then others shout back if they knew them.\n\nI kept waiting for Max to be thrown in with me but that didn't happen. Finally I heard movement outside. Quickly I shut the window and sat on my bunk. The door didn't open, but a tray was pushed in through a narrow opening at the bottom. The only thing on the tray was a small bowl of fake coffee. No bread, no water, no anything!\n\nI slurped it up and after a while there was a rap on the door and the clattering of a cart. I put the bowl back on the tray and shoved it through the slit. I suppose that was correct because I heard nothing after that.\n\nI went back to the window then and opened it up. I heard men shout their names and others shout back if they recognized them. That's when I heard, \"Max from Canada.\"\n\nI yelled out, \"Sam from Canada!\"\n\n\"You okay?\" Max yelled.\n\n\"Sure!\" I yelled back. \"You?\"\n\n\"Never better!\" he yelled.\n\nAnd then others took up the messages and the banter.\n\nIt was getting dark and it had been a long day. I was aching all over. And thirsty. The fact that I wasn't hungry at all said everything about the shape I was in.\n\nI thought maybe it was time to lie down. I looked warily at the bed, wondering if there were lice and such in the mattress. After all, there was no running water, there was no way to stay clean. Probably the bed was the dirtiest place in the cell. I decided not to risk it. When I was in Grade Five, head lice had gone around my school. What a nightmare. I thought I would scratch my head off. I certainly didn't want to get infested \u2014 and these were the only clothes I had too. So I decided that the cold floor would probably be a better choice than the mattress. But the floor was so cold that after about a half hour I was chilled through. So I sat on the chair with my legs up on the table and drifted off that way.\n\nI don't know how long I'd been asleep when I woke with a start and cried out in pain. I had the most awful cramp in my calf. I leaped up and for a moment I didn't know where I was. I felt a fear so deep and so intense I cried out. After a few moments I came to myself. And then I heard the knocking through the wall in Morse code.\n\n\"All right?\"\n\n\"All right,\" I answered back.\n\nBut I wasn't. Would I be dragged out for interrogation at any minute? How much pain could I endure? What would they do to me? It was said that every man had a breaking point. What would mine be?\n\nFinally morning dawned and with relief I realized that I had made it through my first night with no one coming for me and with no torture.\n\nA tray was passed through to me. It was the same meal as the night before \u2014 fake coffee and nothing else. And then the day began to drag along. I could only live in dread of being tortured for so long. I needed to take my mind off it, so I decided to do something with my time. After all, what if they actually did beat me to death or simply shot me? No one would ever know what had happened to me.\n\nI noticed that there was an old rusty nail in the corner of the cell. I decided to use it to carve a message in the wall beside the bed.\n\n_Sam Frederiksen  \nWinnipeg  \nJuly 3, 1944_\n\nI had just finished my masterpiece when lunch arrived. It was a small bowl of something \u2014 some sort of soup, which tasted like water, and a piece of black bread. I ate it in practically one gulp. I wondered if they would just starve us all to death. It occurred to me that being this hungry was actually painful. It hurt. Of course everything hurt \u2014 and sleeping that way hadn't helped. I wondered if I would need to take a chance on the mattress after all.\n\nI paced up and down the little cell... up and down... up and down. Surely they would move me soon. I decided to throw the question out to the rest.\n\nI shouted out the window. \"Are they taking us to POW camps? Anyone know?\"\n\n\"We see fellows taken away,\" someone shouted, \"but no idea where to. We hear shots. Could be taken to firing squads.\"\n\nI wished I hadn't asked.\n\nI paced again. I definitely needed to take my mind off all this. I thought about my father's anatomy book I'd been studying. I decided to see if I could name all the body parts \u2014 or how many I could name. I thought I'd start with skeletal and then go to muscular.\n\nAnd after that I could try to name all the players on every single NHL team.\n\nBut before I forgot, I needed to mark the date. I needed to keep track of the time somehow. Underneath my name I placed a scratch with the nail and put a line through it and then another, since this was my second day.\n\nI peered out the window. The day was grey and there was a light rain falling. It reminded me of my very first operation with my crew in _H Hall_. The weather had been exactly like this that day, and I remember tilting my face into the rain while I waited on the tarmac. I remember wondering if that would be the last time I would feel the rain on my cheeks. I had pictured dying in a flaming wreck, but I never pictured this!\n\nWe had flown to France on that first operation and encountered no problems until we dropped our load, but fighters were all around us. And that's when a Halifax, trying to avoid a fighter on its tail, dipped and pitched and ended up underneath us and then rose right under us and into us. Boy oh boy, when I saw it coming up toward us I figured we were done, but it just kind of bumped us right under my turret and then dove again.\n\nSkipper wasn't sure what damage had been done to _H Hall_ but he knew we couldn't land at Skipton when we got back. We couldn't take the chance that we were going to crash, and runways had to be kept clear, so we landed at Woodbridge and taxied in right past a Halifax that was in flames. We learned right afterward that the whole crew of the Halifax had made it out, and sure enough, it was the same plane that had nipped us. The thing I remember most about the whole thing was how calm Lew was the whole time and how it made the rest of us calm too. Lew. If I wasn't careful I was going to start to cry. Well, why not? No one could see me or hear me. So I did. I had a good bawl and actually felt a bit better after.\n\nAs I breathed in the smell of the fresh rain I thought, \"One day I'll stand in the rain a free man.\" It wasn't so much a prayer, because my father didn't believe in any of that and brought us up the same way. But it was definitely a wish. And just in case my father was wrong, I said a short prayer. \"If you do exist, God, I'd love a little help.\"\n\nI figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.\n\n# Chapter Sixteen\n\n_August 15, 1944_\n\nI had just finished marking off the date \u2014 44 marks, which made it August 15 \u2014 when my cell door opened and I was ordered out the door. I felt a wash of mixed emotions. I was thrilled just to be out of that cell. I'd gone over all my anatomy charts in my head, the NHL lists, every song I could remember, done multiplication in my head, division, calculus even. I'd pretended to eat every single meal my mom ever cooked for me \u2014 but that became too painful so I stopped that game. I listed all the girls I'd liked over the last three years and made imaginary columns of good traits and bad and then had given each a score. The best part of my days, though, was listening and participating in the chatter. Mostly it was rumours that every day got more and more hopeful. The Allies were getting closer and closer to Paris and then soon we'd be free. Sometimes it was arguments over baseball teams or hockey players, and those were great too. But we had only so much energy for yelling back and forth, and often there was just silence.\n\nI'd look out the window at the concrete and try to imagine what I would do the day I got back to England. And the day I got back to Winnipeg. I had to stop those daydreams though, because they all seemed to be about food. Being alone was the worst thing I think I'd ever experienced.\n\nSo when they took me out of the cell, somewhere in my mind I knew I might be going to a firing squad, but I almost didn't care. When they pushed me into a large cell with four others, I almost cried like a baby \u2014 especially when right away I saw that one of them was Max! I grabbed him in a huge hug until he almost had to push me off. \"Where have you been hiding?\" he asked.\n\n\"All alone in a cell,\" I replied. \"What about you?\"\n\n\"Right here. Allow me to introduce,\" he said, nodding toward the other three men in the cell. \"Lester Wiebe, also RCAF.\"\n\nWe shook hands. \"Just call me Les,\" the fellow said. I was pretty sure I recognized him from the Mess back at Skipton.\n\n\"Trent Fox, RCAF,\" Max continued.\n\nI did know Trent. He was from Calgary. \"How are you?\" I asked.\n\nHe shrugged. \"Seeing you must mean that things are changing \u2014 but for better or for worse, we don't know.\"\n\n\"Louis Meyer,\" Max said, and then muttered, \"Jewish and a Frenchman too.\"\n\nI nodded and shook his hand. He was a thin tall man in his twenties. His face was puffed up black and blue.\n\n\"I see they're treating you well.\"\n\n\"Well as can be expected,\" he answered in French. \"At least I'm still alive.\"\n\n\"And finally...\" Max said, and from behind Trent, James, our wireless operator, stepped out!\n\nI couldn't believe my eyes and ended up giving him a big hug too.\n\n\"Don't know why you're so happy to see me,\" he complained. \"I'm stuck in this rotten place with you!\"\n\nJames was a character. He had been studying English at the University of Toronto before he'd signed up and he always had a quote to throw into the conversation, or some interesting story about Oscar Wilde. I remember when I first met him he said to me, \"I suppose you're familiar with the most famous playwright of our day, George Bernard Shaw, who wrote _Arms and the Man_?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I studied him at school.\"\n\n\"Did you know,\" he replied, \"that he is working on a sequel called _Legs and a Woman_?\"\n\nI smiled as I thought of that and grinned at him.\n\n\"James, I'm certainly not happy about you being stuck here,\" I said. \"Not at all. But I'm very happy you're alive! What happened to you after we were shot down?\"\n\n\"This and that,\" he said.\n\nAnd suddenly I realized that although the fellow called Louis was probably just who he said he was, none of us could openly admit to being with the Resistance, just in case there was a plant listening. Or in case someone was tortured and then gave us away.\n\n\"There's a lot of that going around,\" I answered him.\n\nI turned to Max. \"So you've been here the whole time,\" I said, just confirming what I already knew from our shouts back and forth to each other.\n\nMax nodded grimly. \"We've had the privilege of being in a cell next to one where they've been torturing both men and women. We hear them scream morning, noon and night. Every day they've taken each of us out for 'questioning.'\"\n\nThat's when I looked at them more closely. They all looked bad. Max had bruises on his arms and I could see now that all the men were bruised and probably black and blue under their clothes.\n\nI shook my head. What could you say? I wondered why they had been treated like that and I had been left alone.\n\n\"Have you heard the news?\" Max asked.\n\nI knew what he meant right away. I'd heard the news too, called out over the yard from cell to cell.\n\n\"The Allies are about to surround Paris,\" I said.\n\n\"And soon we will be liberated,\" said Louis with feeling.\n\n\"Where does all this information come from?\" I asked.\n\n\"Some from the French guards,\" Louis said. \"But we have friends who know the tunnels underneath this prison. They get in just long enough to tell us the latest and then they get out.\"\n\n\"And what's the scuttlebutt on what's going to happen to us?\" I asked, thinking that it certainly didn't sound like Louis was a spy.\n\n\"That's all we've been discussing,\" James said. \"Trouble is, the Germans won't want to just leave us behind so we can be freed to fight against them. Seems there's quite a lot of airmen stuck here as well as Resistance fighters,\" he explained. \"This prison can hold thousands \u2014 Louis here says perhaps there are as many as thirty-five hundred prisoners in here right now.\n\n\"So, that leaves two possibilities. Either they shoot us and that takes care of that, or they take us out of here and ship us east into Germany. But can they spare enough men to do that?\"\n\n\"See, we've already fulfilled part of our job,\" said Max. \"After all, every man they use to guard us is one less that goes to the Front.\"\n\n\"In which case, if I were them I'd shoot us,\" I said.\n\n\"Ah, but there's one problem with that,\" said James. \"I think they know they're going to lose. And if they shoot such a lot of prisoners with so many witnesses, they will certainly be found guilty of a terrible crime. Or if they try to shoot so many in the Resistance, maybe the city will rise up against them.\"\n\n\"Hah!\" exclaimed Louis. \"As if those cretins care about that!\"\n\n\"Maybe some do and some don't,\" said James. \"At any rate, I suspect we'll find out soon enough. There may not be much time left before Paris is taken from them.\"\n\nShortly after that we were given our so-called lunch, and a bit later the door to the cell was thrown open and we were told it was time to go. We straggled out, hoping for the best.\n\nWe were led back through more corridors and one steel door after another, through the inner courtyard that had been my \"view\" and finally into the outer courtyard where we'd first arrived. There were already at least a hundred men standing there and a large group of women was herded in behind us. We were watched over not by the soldiers who had been guarding us, but by a new group in grey uniforms with what looked like side-by-side lightning bolts stitched onto their collars \u2014 SS! They carried machine guns over their shoulders, grenades on their belts, pistols in their holsters. Most of them were under thirty, fit and mean-looking. They shoved the women in behind us with no mercy and then made us stand there as the courtyard filled up with more and more prisoners, until there were at least a few hundred and more coming in every minute.\n\nMax was beside me the whole time. We made sure to stick close together, along with James and the others.\n\n\"At least they aren't going to shoot us,\" said Max. \"Way too many here for that.\"\n\n\"So?\" I said. \"Are we headed to Germany?\"\n\n\"I'll never make it out of Germany alive,\" Max whispered to me. \"I'll have to try to escape.\"\n\n\"I'm with you,\" I said.\n\n# Chapter Seventeen\n\n_August 15, 1944_\n\nWe were put on a bus and driven through the city with a young Gestapo officer as our \"tour guide.\" If it hadn't been so clearly sickening, I think I would have laughed. He talked away, showing us the sites, with no idea how disgusting it was for us to listen to him gab on as if he and his gang owned the city and could talk about it as if they belonged there and weren't occupiers and thugs! And this just after telling us \u2014 with a smile \u2014 that if anyone tried to escape they would be shot on the spot. I reminded him that we were RCAF flyers and should be treated as such, and he just said, \"You are sounding very foolish. You were in a prison with Resistance fighters, therefore you are Resistance fighters and we are treating you exactly the way we treat them.\"\n\nMax and I exchanged glances then, and my heart sank. Did that mean we were not on our way to a POW camp? That's what we had been hoping for, after all. That's the way we _should_ be treated, no matter how we were caught or what their suspicions. We were still flyers! I looked at the Gestapo officer and his steely demeanour and was sure that he had no mercy in him at all.\n\nWe were lucky, I suppose, to be on a bus. The rest of the transport consisted mostly of large trucks with no windows, so those men had no idea where they were headed. I followed where we were going quite closely and figured we were moving into the eastern part of Paris, and then we were driven into a rail yard, a very large rail yard. We pulled up along a siding and were yelled at to _\"Raus! Raus!\"_ which by then I knew meant \"Get out.\" In front of us were cattle cars \u2014 not passenger trains but cattle cars! On the outside of each one was written _40 Hommes \u2013 8 Chevaux_. They were small old boxcars made of wood. The sinking sensation I'd felt when the SS guard said we were to be treated the same as the Resistance got worse when the Germans screamed at us to get in. For a moment I wondered whether or not I should step up and demand we be treated with the respect we deserved, but those guards looked positively crazed, screaming and yelling at everyone, and by then there must have been the entire prison emptying out onto the siding.\n\nThat's when I heard it. The sound of thunder. I looked at the sky. It was around midday by then and I couldn't see a cloud anywhere. In fact it was getting hotter by the minute. That sound could be only one thing then. Artillery fire! That's how close the Allies were! No wonder the Germans were so frantic to get us away. I suppose we were lucky they hadn't just shot us.\n\nI noticed the Germans starting to swing themselves up into the boxcars on either side of us. Max and I were two of the last to be shoved into the cattle car and I swear there must have been almost a hundred men in there already. It was so packed that once in we couldn't move from our spot near the door and almost fell out again. And then the huge door was pulled shut and bolted and immediately it felt like there was no air at all. So many unwashed bodies in such close quarters.\n\nIt wasn't long afterward that the train started with a jolt and everyone fell against everyone else. I said I was sorry to a poor fellow whose toe I stepped on and then realized it was James when he said, \"'I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.'\"\n\nDespite the terror of what was happening, I had to smile. I remembered that quote from _Hamlet_ when we'd studied it at school. And for one split second I was back at St. John's High, sitting at my desk behind Sadie Kobrinsky, her dark hair curling down her back, and me wondering if I had any chance at all of her saying yes if I asked her to go skating with me over the weekend. And how she had said yes, and less than two years later when she heard I was going overseas, she came to the house and kissed me right on the lips and wished me good luck. Right then I decided that if I made it home I was going to look up Sadie and see if she was free for a skate on the river.\n\nThe train jolted again, this time coming to a stop. And then it started again. I was taller than most and could see over everyone's heads. There was a bit of air coming in from windows beside the doors on either side. I suppose you could call them windows. They were really rough openings covered by steel bars and barbed wire. Still, at least some air got through \u2014 not enough to kill the smell, but enough to keep us alive.\n\nIt was barely possible to sit, let alone lie down, but at first there was lively chatter as friends who hadn't seen each other in weeks or months got caught up on what had happened to them, how they had been betrayed, or what had happened in Fresnes. But as the day wore on the chatter wound down. The ride started to take on the feel of a waking nightmare. For a bathroom there was one bucket at the end of the car and soon the smell was overwhelming \u2014 and when anyone had to get there it was almost impossible to move through the packed bodies. I was so tired that at times I almost fell asleep standing right there, but was always jostled awake by another stop or start.\n\n\"It must be all that bridge and rail work we did,\" Max said proudly. \"We've blown up so much they can hardly make any headway.\"\n\nI was pretty sure he was right. We were going so slowly, in fact, I wondered if there was someone walking ahead of the train looking for missing tracks or blown-up sections. That speculation turned out to be justified when the train screeched to a halt in a tunnel and didn't start up again. Smoke from the engine started to fill up the car. I began to cough. So did everyone around me. As the air became more difficult to breathe I started to panic and wondered if we would all suffocate right there and then. The air turned black. Tears streamed down my face. It occurred to me that we should get low, the way you do in a fire, but there was no room to sit. There seemed nothing to do but bang on the doors and yell for them to be opened, which those of us close enough to the doors did.\n\nFinally, well over an hour later, the doors were thrown open and we were screamed at to get out. We staggered onto the dirt track, still in the dark tunnel, gasping for air.\n\n_\"Raus! Raus!\"_\n\n\"I'll _raus_ them,\" I muttered.\n\nThe guards grabbed their kit from their boxcars and gave it to us to carry. I had to shoulder a bag that must have weighed 50 pounds, as did Max. James was pushed to an outside line and in English we were told that if anyone tried to escape, those on the outside line would be shot first. And then we started to walk.\n\nIn a few minutes we were out of the tunnel and could see that we were in the countryside with a river on one side and above us, hills. People were riding bikes along our route. I suspected they were Resistance fighters \u2014 especially since many were women and I thought they might be looking for relatives in the group. That's when Max whispered to me, \"I heard that the head of the Paris Resistance was in Fresnes when we were. Maybe he's on this transport. Maybe the Resistance is going to try to free us.\"\n\n\"If that means we don't have to go back into those trains again I'd risk anything,\" I said. \"Even a firefight.\"\n\n\"Quiet!\" screamed a guard.\n\nThey loved to scream. I wanted to tell them they sounded like little children with all their screaming \u2014 Allied servicemen would never stoop so low \u2014 but I decided to keep my mouth shut.\n\nIt was a long walk and I was getting weak from the lack of food and the heat and the coughing that still racked my body. When we finally reached a town and another train station and saw another train waiting for us, it turned out to be more cattle cars. I wasn't sure I could get inside one of them again, but what choice did I have? If I ran for it, even if I made it, someone else would die for me.\n\nBut that's when I saw something I hadn't expected. On the platform was a small group of women wearing Red Cross armbands. They were giving out both food and water. I was handed a piece of bread with some jam on it, and water to drink. It was great \u2014 even if the bread tasted more like sawdust than actual bread. And the water really helped calm down my cough.\n\nI looked up to the hills. Quite a lot of locals were standing there watching us, but we were shoved back into the cattle cars, so it seemed that there was to be no rescue. Had the Resistance not been able to muster enough men that fast? I suspected that was the case. After all, we were guarded by elite troops, and lots of them. What would be the point of a bloodbath?\n\nThe day dragged on as the train stopped and started. As night drew on James told me that he'd had an idea. He suggested that if everyone sat with their knees up we might all be able to sleep. Since I was one of the tallest I was best able to convey the message, so I yelled at the top of my voice and we got a very good response. Soon everyone was seated and we did manage to finally get some sleep.\n\n# Chapter Eighteen\n\n_August 16, 1944_\n\nBy morning nothing had changed. We received no food until late in the day. When the train stopped and the doors were finally opened we saw the Red Cross on the platform again. This time we weren't allowed out. Food and water was passed in to us. The water came in a large metal can and we had to pass it from person to person until everyone had a drink. But when it came back empty a Frenchman near me grabbed it and then crouched down with it. Intrigued, I bent over to see what he was going to do. He took the metal top and used it to lever up the nails that were holding down the wooden planks on the floor of the car. That's when the guards started calling for the water, which was okay because the fellow was done. There was a plank that was now off, but could be put back as needed, so if the guards checked from below it would look like the plank was in place. We passed the can back out and then the guards shut the doors.\n\nA group of Resistance fighters had gathered together and had begun to discuss the best way to use the escape hatch.\n\n\"We need to be careful about when to go,\" one said. \"If we jump when the train is stopped they'll catch us. If the train is going too fast, we die. It needs to be just as the train is picking up steam, leaving the station.\"\n\n\"Can we send one of ours?\" I asked the fellow who had just spoken.\n\nHe consulted with his friends and then said, \"First five of us go, then you can choose five, then us five and so on.\"\n\nI turned to Max. \"You need to be the first of us.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\nMy heart was pounding as we waited to get to another station and the first escape.\n\nIt was full dark when the train screeched to a halt. We were stopped for a few minutes, which felt like hours to me, the Frenchman poised over the opening on the floor. Finally the train lurched forward. The man waited about a half minute and then dropped. He was gone. We replaced the plank.\n\nThe train picked up too much speed right after the drop for anyone else to attempt an escape. So we waited. But happily we didn't come to a screeching halt followed by rapid gunfire! I hoped that the fellow had made a successful escape.\n\nIt was hours later before our next stop. Every minute seemed like an age to me, especially because there were many others in the line ahead of Max and then, hopefully, me. Most of the men in the car didn't even realize what was happening, which was just as well, I thought, since the lineup would be immense and fights might even break out about who was to go next. Although we had all followed the same pattern as the night before, sitting with knees up, those of us around the escape hatch, by staying low and just shuffling positions with each other, managed to keep what was happening secret.\n\nThe train started to slow and came to another stop. The second Frenchman got into place and we took the plank off for him. We were stopped for about ten minutes and then started again. He waited until we had picked up some speed and then he dropped through.\n\nThree more went with no problem as the night wore on, and finally it was Max's turn. The train was stopped, Max was poised and ready to go when flashlights combed the outside of our car, the light beaming through the windows near the two doors on either side. This went on for a few minutes.\n\n\"Do you think they found the last guy?\" I asked James, who was in line to go after me.\n\n\"No chance,\" he replied. \"They'd be tearing apart the cars if they had. But maybe they noticed something \u2014 a shadow \u2014 and they didn't know whether it was a man or an animal or a tree...\"\n\n\"Should we keep going?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'm going,\" Max said. \"It's my only chance. Otherwise I'm a dead man.\"\n\nI certainly wasn't going to argue with him. He had to make that life-or-death decision himself.\n\nMax shook my hand.\n\n\"I'll be right behind you,\" I assured him. \"But don't wait around for me. Just get out of here and find our guys. And then do some damage to those Nazis.\"\n\n\"I'll do my best,\" he said.\n\nThe flashlights were turned off and shortly after, the train lurched forward.\n\n\"Ready?\" I said.\n\n\"Ready!\"\n\nAnd then he was gone.\n\nWe put the plank back in place and I waited for my turn. I started thinking about what to do when I dropped. Should I stay on the track until the train was far away, or roll and run the minute it passed over me? From what I could see out our windows, every time the train stopped the SS dropped from their cars and surrounded each prisoner car so that no one could escape through a door or one of the windows. Then as the train started they grabbed the rails and leaped onto their cars. If they were looking back they might see me get up, so staying put until the train was out of sight would be the ticket.\n\nAnd then I vowed to avoid all farmhouses, all help and to somehow make it to the Allied lines.\n\nFinally the train came to a stop. And that's when someone near one of the windows called, \"They're looking underneath the cars with flashlights!\"\n\nI looked at our plank. We'd be fine. It was in place and no daylight would show when they beamed their flashlights on it.\n\nBut then James said, \"Sam. Sam! Look.\"\n\nHe was pointing to the edge of the plank. It was sticking slightly up.\n\n\"We need to take it out and put it back in again,\" I hissed.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"If they're underneath they'll see it right away. Press down on it, just try to push it back.\"\n\nI pressed down on it and so did James and some others, most of us getting up, not caring who saw us at that point and practically jumping on it to make it fit back in properly.\n\nSuddenly we heard, _\"Ach! Ja!\"_ from below us.\n\n_\"For fanden,\"_ I swore.\n\n\"Damn and blast!\" James echoed.\n\nAnd then there was nothing left to do but wait.\n\nMinutes later the door to our car was pushed open and about ten SS with machine guns pointed at us pushed us out of their way until they found the loose plank. They had brought boards and nails and within minutes they had put down a new plank. Then screaming words like _Schweinehund_ and shoving their way through the men, they exited the car and rammed the doors shut behind them. We sat back down. I could hardly breathe, but whether that was from the fear of discovery or the horrible disappointment, I wasn't sure.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said James. \"Another time.\"\n\nI nodded, but couldn't even manage an answer, I was so overcome.\n\n# Chapter Nineteen\n\n_August 17, 1944_\n\nMorning came and went. We didn't stop at any more stations and were given no food or water. Finally \u2014 it must have been about noon \u2014 the train stopped and the doors opened. We weren't at a train station though. We were ordered out.\n\nWe straggled out, almost too stiff to manage the jump to the ground. Once we were all gathered in front of the boxcar, we could see that we were in the middle of a forest and that we were the only prisoners who had been \"allowed\" out. SS troops formed a line in front of us, then raised their submachine guns and pointed them at us.\n\nThis is it, I thought. Punishment for last night.\n\nAs if he could read my thoughts, James said, \"It's our duty to escape. We have been ordered to try to escape at every opportunity despite the repercussions. Chin up. We die proud.\"\n\nI stood straight then and thought, He's right. None of this is my fault. It's those Germans right there who started all this and none of us would be here if not for them. Damn it, but I'm not going to die shaking in my boots.\n\n_\"Ausziehen! Ausziehen!\"_ they started to scream at us.\n\nOne of our fellows called out, \"They want us to take our clothes off.\"\n\nFor a moment no one complied. Then an SS guard shoved a man to the ground, kicked him and started pulling his jacket off.\n\nSo, reluctantly, we started to take our clothes off. Once we were down to our skivvies the guards kept yelling \u2014 they obviously wanted us naked. Now I was sure we were about to get shot, and instead of feeling embarrassed I got mad. Really, really mad. It wasn't enough for them to kill us, they had to humiliate us first.\n\nI started to hum \"You Are My Sunshine.\" My mom had sung that song while making dinner the last time I was home for leave before I shipped out. It made me think of home and family and love and hot food and cozy fires, and if these were my last moments, that's what I wanted to think about, not the hate-filled monsters in front of me. Somehow I felt my anger seep away and I stood there, naked like the rest, but ready.\n\nAnd then something shocking happened. The Germans ordered us back into the train. Still naked.\n\nWe scrambled back into the boxcar. Once we were inside they shut the doors and the train started up again. As before, we were stuffed together, but this time with no clothes. Now I _was_ embarrassed! Still, there was nothing for it. Everyone started talking at once and soon the reason for the punishment made its way through the car until all the prisoners knew about the escapes. From what I could gather, most of the men were happy that at least some had got away, and didn't begrudge the attempt. It was our duty, after all, to make an escape if at all possible.\n\nJames and I were discussing all this when the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot ripped through the car just as the train came to another stop. The doors were opened and the guards once again pushed their way on board. It didn't take them long to find the person who had been shot. The word went through the car quickly. He'd been leaning up against the window, using the bar to hold himself up so he wouldn't bump into others \u2014 maybe he was more conscious of that now we were all naked \u2014 and the guards had seen his hand up against the opening and shot him! As he was dragged out past me I was sure I knew him. And then it came to me. It was the young boy who had first called me an idiot. Michel! He was covered in dirt, his hair awry, and he was thin, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. No wonder I hadn't recognized him earlier. He must have been swept up in the raids somehow and put in Fresnes prison as well. He was just a kid! How could they throw him in prison? And now what?\n\nI squeezed myself in between the men to get to the opening of the cattle car and see what was happening to him. The guards yelled at him, accusing him of trying to escape. Because he had his hand on the window opening? Perhaps this was just another way to punish us or to demonstrate that no more escape attempts would be tolerated?\n\nA guard ordered him to walk ahead. Maybe they were actually going to get him help for his injury. Everything was quiet. The forest even seemed still. No birds sang and no wind blew through the trees. It was as if the world held its breath.\n\nI watched as the young boy, so thin I could have counted his ribs, staggered forward. And then the silence was shattered by machine-gun fire. Michel's arms flung out wildly and then he crumpled to the ground, shot in the back.\n\n\"You!\" a voice said in English. A guard was pointing at me.\n\nI pointed to myself.\n\n\"Yes, you. And beside you, that guy. Get down.\"\n\nI leaped down onto the ground. James, who had been standing next to me, jumped down as well. I thought of taking a run at the guards, who stood with machine guns still raised \u2014 the murderers of a boy. I thought it would be worth it if I could take out one or two. But I knew that I'd be cut down before I took a step toward them.\n\nI remembered that Max had told me the Germans were murdering Jews. I hadn't believed it. But what I'd just seen was evil in its purest form. And it made me feel something I'd never before felt. Despair. I despaired for the entire human race.\n\nWe stood there stark naked. One of the guards handed me a shovel and pointed to a spot beside the railroad track and motioned for me to dig. He did the same to James. We were to dig a grave.\n\nI was surprised they were even bothering to bury Michel. I thought about his poor mother and how she would never even know what had happened to him. I wondered what had happened to his sister Francine, or what would happen to her after the war, and thought again about the mother whose daughter was a collaborator and whose missing son was a hero. I felt tears burning at my eyes, but didn't want to show any weakness to the Hun.\n\nI was standing on wood chips and stones because we were near the tracks. Somewhere in my head I knew I was feeling pain and yet I wasn't really feeling it. I just dug and dug and then when there was a shallow grave the guard motioned for us to throw Michel in. Gently James and I picked up his bullet-riddled body and placed it in the ground. I wanted to say a prayer, but I didn't know any except the one we said in school, the Lord's Prayer, so I said that in my head as we began to cover the body with dirt. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Not a sound came from the open car. Not a person spoke. The guards puffed away on cigarettes and sat on tree stumps as we worked.\n\nAnd when we were done James murmured, \"The rest is silence.\"\n\nI put the shovel down on the ground, looked at James, and we walked back to the train car. We lifted ourselves in and shortly afterward the doors were yanked shut. The train started up.\n\nSlowly the men started to talk again, more than likely about the murder they had just witnessed. I began to feel a stinging on my feet and looked down to see they were bleeding, as were James's. There was nothing to do about it though \u2014 we didn't even have clothes to use to wrap the wounds.\n\n\"The usual rules don't apply to these men,\" James said. \"I doubt they've even been taught about the Geneva Convention, unless it was to be mocked as weak, something to ignore. If we cannot somehow become prisoners of the Luftwaffe, I fear for us all.\"\n\nI could only nod in agreement. The train chugged along and we did stop finally for some bread and water and then somehow got into sitting positions for the night. That's when I noticed that the train was picking up speed. Somehow I just knew we had crossed the border and were out of France. And any chance for the Resistance to free us was gone.\n\nI felt numb. Hungry and dirty and surrounded by the rank smell of unwashed bodies and the open-bucket latrine, I was lost in despair.\n\n\"They win if we give up,\" James said, sensing my mood.\n\n\"I know,\" I said. \"But what does it say about the human race?\"\n\n\"It says that we are capable of that kind of brutality \u2014 worse than animals, really, who don't kill out of malice. But we are also capable of great good and even heroism. 'What a piece of work is man!'\"\n\n\"I suppose it would be easier,\" I said, \"if I believed in God. I could believe that it was all His will and maybe I could accept it.\"\n\n\"I believe in God,\" said James, \"and you know, it doesn't make this any easier. I just wonder how He could allow such things. But perhaps He doesn't get involved \u2014 just watches from on high and hopes for the best.\"\n\nHe thought for a moment. \"I feel closest to Him when studying Shakespeare. When I see a spirit that can describe the human condition the way Shakespeare does, then I see God.\"\n\n\"Can you recite any of the speeches from his plays?\" I asked.\n\n\"I know most of _Hamlet_ by heart,\" he said.\n\n\"Really? Can you say it for me?\"\n\n\"I can,\" he said, and he started to recite the play. Soon the men beside me stopped talking and started to listen, then the men beside them and the men beside them, until the entire car was transfixed.\n\nWe all listened more intently when he got to Hamlet's famous speech, \"To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?\"\n\nI'd always wondered about that speech, so I asked, \"Does that mean to kill yourself?\"\n\n\"Well, that's where the debate begins,\" James said. \"I personally don't believe this is only, or even, about suicide, but about how we approach life. What happens when you take arms against a sea? Isn't that hopeless? But even if it is, perhaps what's important is the effort? We need to try.\"\n\n\"But doesn't he go on to say that he fears death more than he fears life?\" someone piped up.\n\n\"Well, yes,\" James agreed and then went on with his recitation, but with many interruptions as we stopped to discuss the words and the meaning.\n\nIt was such a welcome break in the horror \u2014 I might have gone crazy if he hadn't taken my mind off things in that way.\n\n# Chapter Twenty\n\n_August 20, 1944_\n\nIt was the sixth day when the train stopped at a station and someone peered out the window and called out, \"Weimar.\"\n\nSuddenly the door was opened and our clothes were tossed into the car. It took quite a while to find whose clothes were whose, but we finally sorted out one filthy pair of pants from another and most of us got our own clothes and got dressed. I began to hope that we were on our way to a POW camp and that they didn't want us to arrive naked \u2014 a clear violation of the Geneva Convention. We peered out the windows and saw a barbed-wire fence with men behind it dressed in blue and white striped pyjamas. They were surrounded by guards and looked so emaciated that I was amazed that they could even stand. I remember being told of millions of French men who had been dragged into Germany as slave labour and I wondered if that was what we were seeing and if these men would be able to hold on a little while longer until the war was over.\n\nThe train started again and chugged slowly up a hill. About a half-hour later we stopped and the doors were opened. We were herded out of the train, thousands of us, it seemed. We stood together just outside the main gate to \u2014 where?\n\nIn front of us was a high barbed-wire fence. Guards were screaming orders and dogs on leashes were snarling at us. Inside the gates I saw more prisoners in striped pyjamas, so emaciated they were little more than skeletons. What was even more disturbing was that they didn't seem to notice or care that a new group had arrived. They hardly glanced at us, and when they did their eyes looked dull and devoid of any curiosity at all.\n\nThere were guard towers spaced about a hundred yards apart, and behind us I saw woods filled with SS and their dogs, leading men in pyjamas \u2014 perhaps work parties? How would we ever escape from here? It looked impossible.\n\nThe steel gates were opened then and we were shouted at and screamed at to move inside. We had to walk a gauntlet down the tracks, between two lines of SS, their guard dogs snarling and growling at us. We immediately found ourselves in a large open area and the first thing I noticed was that there were few SS once we were inside. That could only mean one thing \u2014 the security was so tight that they didn't need to waste manpower on us once we were there.\n\nWe were marched past a huge building with a chimney that billowed smoke and gave out a sickly sweet stench. I wondered if the kitchen was situated there, and hoped that at least it meant we'd eat now, although the smell was really vile. There was a grapevine of news that started up right away, and before long I heard that we were in a place called Buchenwald. Then as we were walking, a guard came up beside me and said, \"The only way out of here is through that chimney.\" When he saw the look on my face he laughed. I thought I might be sick, even though I had no food in my stomach to throw up. Was that smell _human flesh?_ What kind of nightmare was this?\n\nWe were taken to a large grey building and split into groups of about fifty. I was in the second group. We were herded into a big room and told to strip. I had just gotten my clothes back! We were pushed into a line and I heard groans and moans coming from the front \u2014 I wondered if this was the beginning of an interrogation or even torture. As I got to the front, though, I saw a barber who was shaving heads. From the cries coming from big strong men, I figured this was not going to be any fun at all.\n\nWhen it was my turn the \"barber\" didn't so much shave my head as tear the hair out from the roots. I too cried out despite my determination not to.\n\nFrom there we went straight into a shower room. Although the water was freezing cold and hurt my head where I was raw from the shave, still, it was the first time I'd had any water on me since the doctor's house and it felt wonderful, even with no soap. I made sure to scrub my feet because I was worried that with the open wounds I might get an infection that could turn deadly very quickly.\n\nThen I was shoved into another line, where I heard more cries and groans. When I reached the front I was confronted by a guard who was seated with a tub between his knees. He took a brush, dipped it in the tub and covered me with something orange, which burned as if ants were biting me. From the smell I figured it was some kind of disinfectant. I suddenly remembered jumping into a pile of leaves when I was about ten years old, not realizing it was filled with ants, and the agony that had caused. This was about a hundred times worse.\n\nThen I was handed a shirt and pants and clogs. I noticed that I was one of the lucky ones, because only a few men were given shoes. I didn't turn them down though, because of the cuts on my feet. No one was given clothes that fit and since I was taller than most I looked around and found a fellow who was swimming in his. We switched both tops and bottoms, and I felt that at least I could manage.\n\nA tin bowl was then shoved into my hands and I was told to get in line. I did. I noticed that our group was now much smaller. We were then taken to a desk where I gave my name, rank and service number.\n\n\"I demand to be recognized under the rules of the Geneva Convention.\"\n\nThe man behind the desk didn't even bother looking up.\n\nHe said, \"You are a _Terrorflieger_ and will be held in a _kleines Lager_. You will have no access to the Red Cross and no recognition as a prisoner of war.\" Then he waved me away.\n\nDespite the terrors of the train ride, I had held on to the hope that we were on our way to a POW camp. Now we appeared to be in one of the dreaded concentration camps we'd heard so many horrible rumours about and perhaps no one even knew we were here! If the Red Cross didn't know about us, there would be no parcels. If the Luftwaffe didn't know, we'd never be treated as POWs. We could die in this camp and there would be no help for us. I thought about the German POWs at home who were being treated honourably, with three hot meals a day and books to read and clean clothes and water and soap and clean bathrooms! And this was how we were to be treated!\n\nThe worst was the feeling of total and complete helplessness.\n\nI followed the others out of the building and could see that it might be the downed air crews who were being herded together. We were taken past more and more long, low grey buildings and through two more gates until the guards stopped us in an open area surrounded by barbed wire and left us there. Lester, Trent and James joined me and they had picked up some news.\n\nTrent spoke German well. He pointed to some men who were in the middle of an argument and told me that one of them was called a _Kapo_ , a prisoner who acted as a guard for the Nazis, and that the other two men were high-ranking Allied officers. \"I hear that one,\" he said, pointing, \"is a squadron leader from New Zealand, and that one,\" he pointed to the other fellow, \"is a colonel from the States.\"\n\nWhat a relief! I couldn't believe our luck to have high-ranking officers here who were used to command and who could take charge, and who could hopefully lead us through and then out of this mess we were in.\n\nIt seemed that our new leaders weren't winning _this_ argument, though. Word soon spread that we had missed the evening meal, that there were no barracks for us, and we were to sleep outside. We were apparently being held in a quarantine camp before being placed in a hut. The area we were in was called \"Little Camp\" in English \u2014 I suppose that's what _kleines Lager_ meant. There were five big tents, but we weren't allowed into those, so I guessed they must be full. It looked like we had one option and that was to drop right where we were onto the rocky ground. There were already what looked like thousands gathered on the ground all around us, with more arriving every minute. Soon the Resistance fighters who'd been on the train with us were marched in. They huddled together beside us.\n\nBlankets were given out but there was only one for about every three men. I lay down but there was no way to get comfortable. The ground was made up of hard, lumpy rock and stones. It was a warm night at least. I hoped we wouldn't still be here in a month when the fall weather would make it impossible to be outside.\n\nI tried not to think too far ahead. Just get through tonight, I told myself. One thing at a time. Pretend you're camping at Winnipeg Beach. In the morning you'll get up and go for a swim in the lake and in the afternoon you'll eat hot dogs and french fries. And somehow I drifted off.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-One\n\n_August 21, 1944_\n\nWhen I woke up it was still dark and I expected to see a tent over my head and to have Jenny kicking at me through her sleeping bag, the way she always did. Was it possible to awake from a dream into a nightmare? Because instead of Jenny I looked up to see James shaking me to get up, saying we had to go to something called an _Appell_ or roll call. I followed the others to a large square where we, along with the rest of the camp, had to line up and be counted. It was just becoming light. The _Kapo_ s counted us once, but apparently the numbers didn't fit so they counted us again. The sun came up and began to beat down on our heads. At first I was thankful for the heat, because the damp from sleeping on the rocks had seeped into my bones. But by the time they had counted us three more times I began to feel dizzy. And there were thousands of emaciated prisoners to be counted.\n\nAfter about the third count, a prisoner was pushed onto a block of wood, which was set up in front of the rest of us. His shirt was taken off, and he was whipped! Whipped! I couldn't believe it. Each time I thought I'd seen the worst, I'd witness something else that I just couldn't credit. And then we were counted again and once more again. If anyone fell out of line they were kicked hard.\n\nFinally we were allowed to leave and were herded back to our enclosure. Once there the squadron leader called us to order.\n\n\"Attention!\"\n\nI stood to attention, as did the rest of the men who'd been milling about hoping for some food.\n\nThe squadron leader then went on to make an impassioned speech, telling us that we were in a fine fix and that the \"goons\" \u2014 a term that seemed to fit the Germans perfectly, I thought \u2014 had completely violated the Geneva Convention and were determined to treat us like common thieves and criminals. He told us that we would conduct ourselves as befitted our training and as representatives of our countries. He ordered us to march to all roll calls as a unit. Then he directed us to get organized by reporting to a commanding officer for each country and to give our names and details to that officer.\n\nQuickly I gathered with the other Canadians and was very happy to recognize some faces I hadn't seen yet. As I gave my home address in Winnipeg and my other particulars, my spirits started to improve. At least we would be under military command now and would work together for the best outcome for all of us. It seemed we were twenty-six Canadians in a group of one hundred and sixty-eight Allied airmen.\n\nIt was shortly afterward that \"lunch\" appeared. Not quite the hot dogs and french fries I'd been dreaming of the night before. We put our bowls out and the _Kapos_ slopped some liquid into them. I looked at it and gagged. Worms were swimming all over the top. James actually laughed out loud.\n\n\"Well, well,\" he said, \"at least they've given us some protein. Must be a mistake. Don't let them see or they'll take it away!\"\n\nI had to smile, despite myself.\n\n\"Drink up,\" he said. \"Beggars can't be choosers.\"\n\nI remembered eating a worm when I was a kid, as a dare. This couldn't be worse, could it?\n\nI drank it down. I gagged once or twice but managed not to throw it back up again. Then I was given a piece of bread \u2014 more sawdust than bread, it turned out. But I choked that down too, although later on my stomach didn't thank me.\n\n\"Have you heard?\" James said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The goons\" \u2014 that term seemed to be catching on quickly \u2014 \"have ordered us all to work in the factories here. Apparently they're making parts for the German planes and guns and such.\"\n\n\"I imagine we say yes or we die,\" I said. \"I think I might rather die. I couldn't in good conscience help the Nazis in their war effort.\"\n\n\"Easy to say,\" said Les, \"until you're standing in front of a firing squad.\"\n\n\"I want to see what's really happening in that place with the chimneys. I heard someone call it the crematorium,\" I said. \"Anyone else?\"\n\n\"Why?\" Trent asked.\n\n\"A guard told me that was the smell of human flesh. He said the only way out of here was up those chimneys,\" I answered. \"But I can't believe it. I want to know what kind of a place this is. My dad always said, 'Knowledge is power, ignorance is never bliss.'\"\n\n\"I'm up for a little trip,\" James said.\n\n\"Me too,\" agreed Trent.\n\nLes said he was going to help finish up the lists that needed to be made.\n\nThe three of us started out. It was quite easy to get back to the building we wanted to find out about.\n\nThere was a small brick building attached to the larger building with the chimney. We looked through a window. That's when I saw at least fifty naked bodies piled one on top of each other.\n\nI turned away, retching.\n\n\"We're in hell,\" I muttered aloud. \"This must be hell.\"\n\nA man who looked exactly like a walking skeleton hobbled up and stood in front of us. He had a green triangle attached to his pyjama top over a yellow triangle, so together it made a six-pointed star. He spoke German, but Trent translated for us.\n\n\"New here?\" he asked.\n\n\"We're Canadian airmen,\" I answered. \"We shouldn't be here!\"\n\n\"None of us should be here,\" he replied.\n\n\"What is that? What happened to them?\" I asked, pointing to the dead bodies.\n\nHe shrugged. \"Murder, starvation, beaten to death, worked to death in the factories where we're forced to help the German war machine. Maybe one of the experiments in the medical block \u2014 injected with experimental vaccine, or killed for their tattoos. The commandant's wife likes to use decorated skins to make lampshades and book covers.\"\n\nWas he joking with me? Some sort of horrible sick joke? Maybe he'd been driven mad.\n\nI wondered if the star on his shirt meant something. I'd noticed all prisoners at the roll call wore different triangles. \"What does that mean?\" I asked him, pointing to his star.\n\n\"Jewish,\" he said, \"and the other one \u2014 green \u2014 criminal.\"\n\nWere we talking to a murderer? I guess he read my mind because he almost smiled. He said, \"All Jews are criminals or political or something else \u2014 and that way, with one triangle on top of the other... well, it's ironic, but we end up with a Jewish star.\" He paused. \"I come every day to see if I recognize any bodies. It's the only way to find out who's been killed or who's died. You'll do the same pretty soon.\"\n\nHe pointed over to another building. \"That's where they do the experiments. They shrink heads. But I wouldn't advise going over there to look. You can come here, no problem, but that's a place I'd stay away from.\"\n\nI wanted to ask him something but didn't know how. Finally I said, \"A good friend of mine is Jewish and he told me that Jews were being rounded up. He told me there was torture, even murder.\"\n\n\"But you didn't believe it?\"\n\n\"I don't know what to believe, now, after seeing that,\" I said, jerking my head toward the bodies.\n\n\"We didn't believe it either,\" the man said sadly. \"My name is Leo. I'm from Frankfurt. All the Jews were rounded up there and shipped east. In Poland they were either killed on the spot or sent to extermination camps.\"\n\n\"Extermination camps?\" I said.\n\n\"Camps built just to kill Jews. I've heard they use gas because they can kill faster that way than by shooting them.\" He paused. \"It's my birthday today. I'm twenty-two years old.\"\n\n\"But... you're close to _my_ age?\" That didn't seem possible to me.\n\n\"I look ninety, I'm sure,\" he said. \"We're slave labour here \u2014 Jews, Poles, Russians, Czechs \u2014 and when we're done and can't work and fall down on the way to the rock quarry, or slump over in the factory, then they shoot us or hang us because we're no more use to them. I think I might last another week.\"\n\nAll the time Trent had been translating, and when he said that his voice dropped and it looked like he could hardly get the words out.\n\n\"Is there anything we can do for you?\" James asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"if you would.\"\n\n\"What?\" James said.\n\n\"Remember me.\"\n\n\"What is your full name?\" asked James.\n\n\"Leo Cohen.\" And then he shook each of our hands and added, \"Maybe there will be no Jews left in Europe when the war is over. Before we are liberated we will all be killed. So it would be nice to be remembered.\"\n\nAnd with that he drifted away and we walked back to our part of the camp.\n\n\"Maybe ignorance _is_ bliss,\" James said.\n\nTrent looked shaken. \"I'd rather not have seen that.\"\n\n\"Or heard what he had to say,\" added James.\n\n\"But there are millions of Jews in Europe, aren't there?\" I asked. \"How could they kill them all? It's not possible! And why? Why?\"\n\nNo one answered me. And I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand anything at all, it seemed.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Two\n\n_August 24, 1944_\n\nIt was our fourth day in Buchenwald and certain things had been established. We were under strict orders by our commanders to always behave in a way that would bring credit to our uniforms \u2014 even if we weren't wearing them. We were to stay together in this area, only leaving to fetch food rations or visit the latrines (that word didn't describe the horror and filth of what we were forced to use). We were to avoid the SS, could meet with other prisoners, but only if we didn't talk politics, and no one was to attempt an escape for the moment. In the meantime, every day at noon the two commanders would march off in military form and try to get a meeting with the Camp Commandant, to insist we be recognized as POWs. But so far, no luck. Every day they came back with nothing to report.\n\nStill, the grapevine at the camp was better than a telephone system and soon it was well known that our group of flyers had arrived. We began to get visits from other prisoners. We quickly learned what all the different triangles meant that were stitched to men's tops, such as red for political prisoners, pink for homosexuals, purple for Jehovah's Witnesses. Alongside the triangle was the letter signifying their country, _F_ for France and so on. It seemed that there were prisoners from all over the world. We also learned what and who the _Kapos_ were. Just regular prisoners, but given special privileges \u2014 more food, parcels from home, a separate room \u2014 as rewards for taking control over the other men. It was these _Kapos_ who advised our leaders to keep a low profile and not make too big a fuss. They promised that they would try to find us indoor accommodations as soon as something opened up.\n\nOur commanders were absolutely firm on one point. We would not work in the factories, no matter what. We were not slave labour, but prisoners of war, period.\n\nMy spirits were pretty darn low. I had barely slept, was always hungry and yet my gut was a mess. The frequent trips to the _Abort_ \u2014 the latrine \u2014 were the stuff of horror. I was itchy and filthy, and finding it harder and harder to believe in the good world out there with people in it like Mom and Pops and Jenny.\n\nI stared up at the clear blue sky and imagined that it was the same blue sky over Winnipeg and that I was out walking by the Red River, looking into its muddy waters, dreaming about nothing in particular. That's what I missed so much. The days when there was nothing much to worry about, days when I thought I was bored. What I'd give to be bored like that again!\n\nI heard the sirens before I could see anything. I hoped this wasn't a false alarm and that I'd actually get to see some kites in the air \u2014 some of our boys! More sirens went off and the din was amazing. And then I saw them.\n\nIt had to be the Yanks! They were fearless. They always flew the daylight missions. Probably Forts. I judged the bombers to be about 30 miles away. I also counted hundreds! And knowing my directions well, plus remembering the route we took to reach Buchenwald, I figured they were heading for Weimar and the rail yards. It was beautiful, and yet we could hear no noise at all from them. I saw orange and yellow bursts of flame and black puffs of smoke. Then ack-ack fire and two planes went down right away.\n\nI found myself glued to the spot, thrilled that we were not alone, that almost above us were flyers ready to destroy the Germans! And that's when I saw about sixty or so planes break away from the formation and head straight for us! I looked around, ready to run, and quickly realized that there was absolutely nowhere _to_ run! But I didn't care! I yelled at the top of my lungs, \"Come on, fellows! Do your best! Wipe this place to the ground!\"\n\n\"Hold on there,\" James said, coming up beside me. \"I'd rather not be bombed to smithereens by a bunch of cowboys.\" At that he pulled me down to the ground. There was no cover for us, not even the flimsy barracks, so we just lay there and waited. It wasn't long before we saw the smoke flare from the lead plane that told the others where to drop their load. We heard the sound of the bombs, a whistle, a screech, then a rumble like a train and then the earth shook and then shook again and shook again.\n\nI risked a look up to see another large group of planes break off and head our way. And suddenly I worried that I'd left my name in those markings on the wall of Fresnes prison. What if someone saw that and had contacted my parents? What if they now hoped I was alive and then never knew I'd died here. After all, no one knew we were here, outside of the goons in charge. Like Michel on the train, I'd be missing in action forever.\n\nAnd yet, despite all that, I didn't care! After what I'd seen in the last few days I was happy they were going after the camp. And it was a good target for sure. Those factories were using slave labour to pump out guns and armaments and airplane parts. And those poor prisoners wouldn't have to work in the plants if there were no plants to work in.\n\nThat's when the second wave hit, first the white puff of smoke and then the thud, whistle, screech and rumble of a train. The ground shook more and more until black smoke started to rise up and the air seemed to heat up as if we were in some kind of hot-air bath. I could feel stuff hitting me, nothing big enough to really hurt me, but there was debris flying everywhere. I wondered if this would be what it felt like to be in a hurricane or maybe in a tornado with things whipped all around you and the very earth beneath you shaking. And of course at any second something very big could land on you or crush you and that would be that. But slowly the sound of the bombs faded and another sound took its place \u2014 the whooshing sound of a wind that had probably risen from the heat of the blast and from fire, which now seemed to be everywhere. From the way things had gone up in flames, I could tell that the Yanks had dropped incendiaries.\n\nI sat up and looked around. I couldn't see the sky anymore, the air was so black, but I couldn't hear any more planes or the telltale _whoosh_ of the bombs coming down either. It was most likely over. Quickly everyone checked, and outside of one fellow who'd caught a piece of shrapnel in the shoulder, we seemed all right.\n\n\"See,\" I said to James, \"Now that was a fine piece of flying!\"\n\nBefore we had a chance to celebrate that we'd made it through alive, guards rushed into our compound and shouted at us. \"Follow. _Raus! Raus!\"_\n\nMy heart sank. Were they going to make examples of us? It would make sense \u2014 if you thought the way the Nazis thought. We were flyers. Flyers had just destroyed a good part of the camp. We should die.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Three\n\n_August 24, 1944_\n\nJames, Trent, me and some other flyers I didn't know too well fell in and followed one of the guards \u2014 in formation, though, as we'd been ordered by our commanders. Others in our group were also being rushed out.\n\nThere was an inferno in the section of the camp where the factories had been. We were told that we were to help put out the fires, and that we'd been chosen because we were used to acting as a unit and could work together quickly. So someone _had_ noticed that we were acting like POWs, not regular prisoners. And at least they weren't about to shoot us.\n\nThere was no water to be had, so one of our men suggested that we pull down the building next to the one on fire, to create a firewall. The guards seemed pleased with that idea and, using our hands, we pulled at the hot wood and literally broke apart the building next to the fire. I was one of the lucky ones because I had my clogs \u2014 most of the others had to work in their bare feet.\n\nI wasn't sure we should even be helping at all, but decided that if our leaders were all right with it, so was I. And the guards seemed so frantic that I had no doubt we would have been shot if we'd said no. We must have worked for hours until the fire seemed ready to burn itself out. Word spread that most of the factories had been levelled, the SS barracks had been destroyed and the commandant's wife was dead. That was all good. Not as good was that when the factories were levelled, we knew that they'd been filled with workers and there must have been a huge loss of life.\n\n\"Come!\" said a voice in front of me.\n\nI looked up to see a guard pointing to the small group of us \u2014 five, including Trent and James \u2014 that had been working right near the edge of the fire, pulling down boards. My heart started beating hard again, wondering if _this_ was it \u2014 were we going to be killed now? We followed him into a small hut and the guard motioned to a rough wood table \u2014 on it was a loaf of white bread and some jars of jam. He pointed to the benches and we sat down. Then he cut thick slices off the bread, passed them to us and invited us to spread them with preserves. I took as big a scoop as I could. It looked like apple and when I bit into it I realized it was. It was the best thing I'd tasted in months. And then he poured hot coffee for us into mugs \u2014 real coffee, not the acorn water we were given every morning for breakfast.\n\nSilently I thanked the Yanks again. A beautiful bombing run and to top it off, a real meal. What a day!\n\nWe slept outside again as usual that night, but for the first time since arriving I was able to get some rest despite the rocks sticking into me and the cold seeping into my bones. Except, when I fell asleep I dreamed. And I dreamed about Max. I dreamed that he was Leo Cohen and that Leo Cohen was Max and that they both ended up on that pile of corpses. But neither of them was really dead. And Max kept calling, \"I'm not dead! I'm not dead! Sam! Get me out of here!\" I woke up in a sweat despite the cold night air.\n\nWhat if Max had been caught? What if they had discovered he was a Jew? What if he had been thrown in with the Jewish prisoners instead of being recognized as an Allied airman? Somehow I had to find out if he was in the camp. But how? There were tens of thousands of inmates. And we were now under strict orders not to wander around the camp, so how could I do reconnaissance? And to make my search even more difficult, because our few meagre possessions had started to disappear at night when we slept, the leaders decided that our area would be out of bounds for anyone outside of Air Force, so we mounted a guard each night. I didn't want to slip past our own men.\n\nI sat up shivering the rest of the night and watched the sun peek over the horizon the next morning. Right after our morning cup of acorn coffee, the _Kapos_ herded us into another compound. We marched in formation again and that reminded me that yes, I was RCAF!\n\nA guard began to question us about what our non-military jobs were, because the camp needed men to help them rebuild. They wanted builders and electricians and anyone who could work. The squadron leader stepped forward and set the example, followed by the colonel. He gave his name, rank and service number and refused to offer any more information about himself and what he could do. When it was my turn, the guard stood over me, glaring. I stared back and calmly gave my name, rank and service number. I was not going to work for them no matter what!\n\nAn SS officer arrived then and started to yell and scream and threaten our leaders. They stood firm and stared ahead, perfectly calm. Eventually the Nazi spat in disgust and stalked off. And we marched back to our rocky, miserable home.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Four\n\n_August 29, 1944_\n\nTen days. Ten days out in the open when James came up to me with an actual smile on his face.\n\n\"We're getting into a hut,\" he said.\n\nAnd that actually made me smile too.\n\nBy some miracle it hadn't rained the whole time we'd been outside, but today the clouds were gathering. I'd been staring at the sky all morning, transfixed, sure that our luck was about to run out and that in no time we'd all be soaked through. I was getting weak from lack of food and there were the sores on the bottom of my feet that just wouldn't heal. Others in our group had bad coughs, and some gruesome infections. I was lucky that so far I'd been spared the worst. My Viking constitution, James joked.\n\nWhen we got inside I looked around. Row after row of bunks or shelves lined both sides of the hut. There was a large wash basin at the front, big enough for about six to wash at a time, three tables with benches, and in the middle of the barracks, or _Lager_ as they called it, a wood stove. There was a notice board at the front door, stating that there were 757 prisoners, and we added 168. We soon learned that there were 400 boys aged eight to fourteen, and the rest were Poles.\n\nAt least, I thought, we were out of the elements. It wasn't long after we got inside that the rain began to pelt down.\n\nWithin an hour of being inside, a young boy struck up a conversation with me. Or tried \u2014 he spoke no English. Although I kept telling myself that nothing should surprise me, I wondered why on earth children were being held as prisoners.\n\nHe spoke German rapidly and pointed to his brown triangle. I called Trent over and he translated for us. It turned out that these boys were Romani \u2014 what we called Gypsies. They were treated the same as the Jews \u2014 not considered pure of race \u2014 and had been rounded up just as the Jews had. They had been working as slave labour but were afraid that any day they would be shipped off to be murdered. Thrown away like garbage. The boy had large brown eyes and would grow up to be a dashing young man. But now he wouldn't get that chance unless a miracle happened.\n\nAs we spoke I started to scratch. And scratch. The boy laughed. He pointed to my pants and motioned for me to take them off. I did. He showed me the little critters already hiding inside the seams. I was really revolted. Bedbugs! I guess there had been one good thing about being outside. He taught me how to go through the seams and crunch the little beggars between my fingernails.\n\n\"What's your name?\" I asked, Trent translating for me.\n\n\"Luca,\" he answered.\n\n\"Where are your parents?\" I asked.\n\n\"Don't know where my mother and sister are,\" he said. \"Many were taken by train somewhere if they couldn't work. My papa worked for a few months, but he died.\"\n\nLuca stayed with me and Trent for the rest of the day and the day after that, and showed us the ropes. He seemed to enjoy being the one in the know, the one who could tell us what was what. Those first days consisted mostly of trying to control the bedbugs and the lice. We threw out all the straw and bedding and washed everything down over and over and over again. Luca showed us his pants, the pockets turned out so that bugs couldn't live there, and we all quickly caught on until everyone was wearing their pants with the pockets inside out.\n\nI was trying to teach Luca some English on our third morning in the barracks when the SS stormed in and started screaming at the Romani boys.\n\n_\"Raus! Raus!\"_\n\nI stood in front of Luca, thinking that maybe I could push him under a bunk and then hide him with the other prisoners later \u2014 maybe the Russians would take him \u2014 but an SS guard shoved me aside, picked Luca up by the collar and threw him into the crowd of other boys. I watched them go and felt such despair and disgust, I wondered if it was even worth carrying on.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Five\n\n_September 30, 1944_\n\nJames came up to me as I was playing cards with Trent and some others, and said, \"I have some news that might cheer you up. Some Danish policemen have just arrived. You should go see them.\"\n\n\"Cheer me up? I can't be happy that anyone has been captured and sent _here_ of all places,\" I replied.\n\n\"I understand,\" he said. \"And you know I didn't mean I was happy about it either. Still, go see them.\"\n\nAs I made my way over to the new group clustered together on the rocks, I couldn't help but realize just how long we'd already been stuck in this hellhole. Weeks, not days as we had hoped. And the brutality and horror of what we saw every day seemed to worsen as time went on, not lessen. Just that morning we had seen a _Kapo_ beaten to death right in front of our hut.\n\nI tried to put the image of that out of my mind as I approached some of the newcomers and spoke to a few of them. It _was_ good to hear the language my grandfather had taught me when I was young. Also they didn't arrive like us \u2014 with nothing. They were wearing their own clothes, carrying suitcases, just like normal people! They even had Red Cross packages under their arms. There must have been a thousand of them. I was able to speak to a few fellows in Danish, but soon found it was unnecessary, as many of them spoke excellent English.\n\nA fellow called Lars told me how they had been captured.\n\n\"There was an air raid,\" he said, \"so of course we all responded. When we were at our posts the SS popped up out of nowhere, and we were arrested.\"\n\n\"The French _gendarmes_ weren't ever arrested,\" I said. \"So why were you?\"\n\nLars chuckled. \"I suppose we weren't as good at carrying out the Germans' orders,\" he answered. \"We would forget to arrest people. We were very slow carrying out their orders. When they held their rallies no one would show up, including the police. Finally they said we were part of the Resistance. Some were, I'm sure, but most of us just tried to do our best for our people.\"\n\n\"So no one came to the rallies the Nazis held?\" I asked.\n\n\"Maybe a few Nazi sympathizers. That's it. I suppose the Nazis were a little angry about the strikes, too,\" he added.\n\n\"Strikes?\"\n\n\"Yes, and how we scuttled our navy so they couldn't use it and how we managed to get so many of our Jewish neighbours out of the country and safely to Sweden.\" He paused then added, \"Anyway, we just did what anyone would have done under the same circumstances.\"\n\nBut was that true? From my own experience and my own betrayal, it seemed that some of the French had not behaved that way at all.\n\nI wandered back to my group. Trent asked me if I had heard anything about Max, as everyone knew I was always on the lookout for him. I said I hadn't and Trent assured me that was a good thing. I hoped so. I was beginning to believe that Max, at least, had escaped.\n\nJust after our so-called dinner we were told by our leaders that we were going to the movies! We marched into a real theatre that had about five hundred seats. Once I had sat down between Trent and James, for one brief moment it felt like everything was normal and we were on leave together at the movies. In a way, that made the nightmare quality of being in the camp even worse though.\n\nWe were then forced to sit through a newsreel about how well the enemy was doing, with lots of bloody shots of our troops being slaughtered. It was sickening. There was a movie after the newsreel, all in German of course, but Trent kept up a running commentary, making up silly things that the actors never would have said and keeping me and James in stitches. When the two leads kissed passionately, Trent had the actress say, \"My, you have bad breath.\" And in return, the actor said, \"That's nothing compared to your B.O.\" And Trent hardly stopped for breath, managing to write an entire movie script in the moment.\n\nThat night I slept \u2014 after meeting the Danes and going to the movies, I felt more human than I had in ages.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Six\n\n_October 19, 1944_\n\nIt was too crowded to be in the hut so we stayed outside on the rocks during the day. We'd sleep inside at night, squashed together on the shelves. We had so little space that if one person had to turn over, everyone had to turn over. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so uncomfortable. But it's all what you are used to \u2014 compared to the hard rocks outside, it was far better.\n\nThe days grew monotonous, the routine only interrupted by bursts of brutality we were forced to witness. Sometimes we'd play cards, created from pieces of scrap paper someone had gathered and marked up well enough to do the trick. Sometimes we'd relive old hockey games, arguing about our teams and who would win the next cup.\n\nAlex, a Russian who had made friends with us shortly after we'd arrived, came up to me while I was sitting on the rock pile, my face turned into the sun. He had been one of the prisoners who had helped us get more blankets, extra food and shoes when we flyers first arrived.\n\nHe sat down wearily and said, matter of factly, \"Five hundred a day \u2014 that's how many of us Russians they are killing. Over the other end of the camp \u2014 just outside at the west? Used to be a horse stable there. Now they use it as a killing factory. The crematorium is going full steam ahead again \u2014 all fixed up after the Allies' raid.\" He shook his head sadly. \"October twenty-fourth. That's your time.\" He patted my shoulder. \"Sorry. But better you know.\"\n\nI knew he meant that was the day we were to be executed. I also knew that today was the nineteenth. So, less than a week left?\n\nI thought back to a week ago. One morning we had been woken by \"Ten hut!\" and saw it was the American colonel.\n\nOf course we were all squashed together on the bunks, so getting up and scrambling into formation was quite a feat, but we finally managed. Our leaders instructed us to speak to some officers that had appeared out of nowhere \u2014 officers we realized were from the Luftwaffe. I was afraid I was going to be asked about the Resistance and I vowed that I wouldn't give up any information even at this late date, when hopefully no one in France would be in danger. But when it was my turn I was just asked my name, rank and service number and where I'd been captured. I looked at the Luftwaffe officers and a small hope started to grow \u2014 perhaps we would make it out alive. Now I wondered if that hope was to be dashed completely.\n\nI wanted to find Lars and ask him if he had heard anything, but first I had to go to the infirmary and visit Les. The open wound in his arm had become so infected that you could see the bone.\n\nI sat on his cot and asked him how he was doing.\n\n\"Every day an SS goon walks through checking the patients,\" he said to me. \"If you look too weak and he points at you, you'll get a needle and be dead in a couple hours. The doctor has been moving me from bed to bed so the goon doesn't realize I've been here so long.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say so I waited for him to go on.\n\n\"Yesterday I saw them wrap a guy in a wet rubber blanket and in a few hours his pneumonia got worse and he suffocated to death.\"\n\nI thought to myself that only a few months ago, if someone had told me that one man would do that to another, I would have laughed at him. Now I knew better. Now I didn't doubt for a moment that what Les was telling me was the truth.\n\n\"But there's hope,\" I said. \"The Luftwaffe has been here. Someone at least knows about us now. Don't give up.\"\n\n\"Canadians don't give up,\" he said, but his words said one thing, his eyes another.\n\nI certainly wasn't going to tell him what Alex had just told me. I hurried over to the Danes and searched out Lars.\n\n\"Ah, my friend!\" he said when he spotted me heading toward him. \"Just the person I wanted to see. Look, I have some clean cloths here and some antiseptic! Let me have a look at your feet. Plus we all just got more packages from the Red Cross and I want you to take some.\"\n\nI'd been hobbling around for days. The sores that I got when James and I had to dig Michel's grave had never healed, and no wonder \u2014 we were living in pure filth.\n\nLars had managed to scrounge some clean water and he bathed my wounds, cleaned them up and wrapped them in clean cloths. It reminded me of my mother and how she would take care of me when I was little and how much sweetness and goodness there was in the world \u2014 even here in this hell. Then he gave me a clean pair of pants and a clean shirt.\n\n\"You want to be a doctor, correct?\" he asked me.\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Have you heard this one? A waiter walks over to Dr. Jensen's table. He says, 'I have saut\u00e9ed liver, frog's legs and boiled tongue.'\n\n\"The doctor answers, 'I'm here to eat, not to listen to your problems!'\"\n\nIt was so silly I had to laugh. How could Lars keep his sense of humour in the midst of all this?\n\nI asked him something else though. \"How is it that you're receiving Red Cross packages and food and clothes, and no one else has such luck?\"\n\n\"Luck?\" he said. \"I don't think it is luck, my friend. From the moment we were arrested, the Danish Red Cross has kept track of us, insisted on visits, insisted on knowing where we were. They are a real thorn in the Germans' side!\"\n\n\"The hardest thing for most of us,\" I said, \"is that no one knows where we are, that our parents have no idea what's happened to us and might never know. Every day our commanders try to get a message to the Luftwaffe, and it seemed as if maybe we'd made progress because some of them actually came to see us.\" I paused, barely able to get the words out. \"But now I hear we're to be executed.\"\n\n\"I've heard that too,\" Lars said quietly. \"But where there's life, there's hope. And without hope we have nothing. So don't give up.\"\n\nWhen I didn't answer he said, \"Besides, Danes don't give up. We're very stubborn!\"\n\nI felt so downhearted that for a few moments I didn't speak. I guess I'd been hoping he'd tell me that he'd heard we were going to be saved and sent to a POW camp! When I did speak it was difficult to express to him what I'd been dwelling on lately.\n\n\"There's something I've been worried about,\" I said.\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\nI wasn't sure exactly how to say it or even what I meant, so I struggled to put this feeling into words. \"I was brought up to always see the best in people. And I worry... well, I worry that maybe if I'd been a German, I would have supported Hitler because he promised to make everyone's life better, and maybe I would have trusted him. I mean, could I have ended up being a Nazi? Or supporting them like so many Germans did?\"\n\nLars thought about what I had said before he replied.\n\n\"I think that there is one very simple way to discover whether someone deserves your trust or not \u2014 like a leader or someone in power, or even a friend. 'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.' Would you want to be treated the way Hitler treated his political rivals? Rounded up? Sent away? Beaten. Murdered. Would you want to be treated the way he treated the Jewish people? And I don't think that you would have followed him. Because seeing the best in people doesn't mean you go blind!\"\n\n\"No, I guess it doesn't.\"\n\nAnd to make me feel better he gave me some cheese. Real cheese! Along with chocolate and biscuits. And despite the terror, eating some real food did actually make me feel better.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Seven\n\n_October 20, 1944_\n\nSomehow I had managed to drop into a deep sleep, so it was a shock to be abruptly woken up by SS troopers storming into our hut and ordering us to follow them. What was going to happen? Was the Russian right? Were we going straight to the execution hut outside the gates?\n\nThe first thing I noticed was that Les and about a dozen others weren't there, maybe too sick to go, so there were only about a hundred and fifty of us moving out. At that point I didn't know whether Les and the others were the lucky ones or we were. We formed up as a unit and, as we did every day going to the roll call, marched in military formation to a building used as a storehouse. I was handed the clothes I wore when I'd arrived here \u2014 they had actually been cleaned and disinfected, so they weren't too bad. And anyway, why give them to me if they were just going to shoot me? On the other hand, anything was possible with the SS, so I still wasn't sure that we were safe.\n\nWe then marched to roll call. There we were separated from the others and counted over and over again. It was raining and I was soaked through but I barely felt it. All I could feel was my heart beating. It was so loud I thought the entire camp could hear it. Was it possible that our leaders had pulled off a miracle and had us declared POWs? Or was it another Nazi ploy and the goons were hoping that was what we'd think and then we'd go quietly to our deaths? Oh yes. I think I knew them well by now, how they thought. They wouldn't want to bother fighting us, or troubling with a group who might still put up a show if we discovered that we were to be slaughtered. No, they would lie to us. They would tell us we were going to a POW camp. And when we were pacified they would mow us down the way they did Michel.\n\nRumours swirled from one man to the next \u2014 some said we were going to a POW camp near the Austrian border. Others said we were being sent to another concentration camp. Still others said we were going straight to a firing squad.\n\nAn hour went by. Then another hour, then another hour, then another hour and on and on until we'd been standing in the rain for six hours. I remembered that one day we'd stood for five hours in the sun and some of the men had fainted and we'd had to hold them up and pretend they were fine so they weren't taken away. No one fainted today but that was because we refused. We refused to give in!\n\nSometime in the afternoon SS troops appeared. They had machine guns and dogs and grenades. And then the huge gate opened. Opened. This was it.\n\nWe marched out the main gate and were herded to a railway siding. We were yelled at to stop once we reached a train and the train's boxcars.\n\nAnd that's when something happened that was totally unexpected. The SS guards just marched off, and in their place, men in the blue uniforms of the Luftwaffe took their place!\n\nFor the first time I felt that maybe, just maybe, we were not going to be shot.\n\nThe doors to the cattle cars were pulled open. About thirty of us were told to get in. We did. And so did two guards. By this time I was shaking so hard from excitement, fear and cold that I thought my teeth would rattle out. The cattle car was freezing and we huddled together for warmth. Finally the train jerked and began to move. Could this be true? Were we really leaving this nightmare behind?\n\nThe conditions on the cattle car were the exact ones as before, but at least there was plenty of room. James and Trent were on board with me and after a while going over and over what might be happening to us, we got bored and looked for something to occupy our minds and keep ourselves from going crazy wondering about the possibilities.\n\nI was talking hockey to James when the rest of the men got involved and we decided to make hockey teams. We were too weak to actually get up and move about, so we talked ourselves through an entire game. There might have been an unrealistic number of, \"He shoots, he scores!\" shouted out, but our guards left us alone and at that point we were happy for small miracles.\n\n# Chapter Twenty-Eight\n\n_October 22, 1944_\n\nIt was around noon when the train screeched to a halt. We'd been travelling for two and a half days. I looked out the opening and saw the word _Sagan_ but couldn't remember having seen it on any of my maps. I wasn't sure if we were still in Germany or if we were now in Poland. The guards were packing up their gear and we were told to get off the train.\n\nWe jumped out, formed up and then began a march down a small path beside the train. I looked around. There was a pine forest on one side, the train on the other. The sun was shining, but it was cool. I had just a shirt and pants on, and since I had no fat left at all, or muscle either for that matter, it was only minutes before I started to shiver. Also I still wasn't quite convinced we were going to a camp. At that I almost laughed out loud. What other Allied airmen would be so happy to get to a POW camp?\n\nIt must have been about a half-mile when we turned a corner and there it was, the camp! It was a series of long low buildings behind barbed-wire fencing. There were watchtowers all around with guards whose rifles were pointed right at us. There was an outer platform with machine guns affixed to it and searchlights as well. At one time I might have found the sight intimidating, frightening even. Now there was almost something comforting in it because it was the way I expected a POW camp to look.\n\nThe guards counted us at least three times before finally opening the gate and letting us in. We heard right away that we were, in fact, in Stalag Luft III. We were told by an officer that we would be admitted and then sent into a building where we would get rid of our clothes and be taken to the showers.\n\nA shower! Heaven! The water wasn't hot but it was warm, and there was a sliver of soap. I scrubbed and scrubbed until I felt like I must be shining. I couldn't help but notice all the open sores I had all over my body, things I'd tried to ignore while in Buchenwald.\n\nI was then issued military kit, but it was a mix of Army and Air Force. I didn't care. It was clean. I was given my own boots back! Imagine \u2014 they had kept track of them from our arrival at Buchenwald. Now _that_ was organization. And a coat. A warm winter coat! And a new towel and a new toothbrush!\n\nWe were split up then and assigned to quarters, depending on what was available. James and I were sent with eight others to a central barracks. As we walked I saw men playing football! That they had the energy for it said everything to me. And sure enough, the other inmates we saw looked almost healthy and well fed, at least compared to the prisoners of Buchenwald. They were smoking! They had full heads of hair! Some even had moustaches! Still, if you compared them to the way we all were before being captured, then you could see how they too had suffered at the hands of the goons.\n\nWe still had more paperwork to do \u2014 the goons took our pictures and wrote down our details. Then a fellow called Larry took us for a tour \u2014 there was even a music room. We were now separated from the Americans, which I thought was a shame as I'd grown quite close to them all during our two months in Buchenwald.\n\nWe were split up again. James and I said we'd meet up later and Larry took me to my living quarters. When I walked in I felt like I'd landed in heaven. I saw books, playing cards \u2014 real ones \u2014 a chess board, pipes, wash basins, water and soap. Someone had just made tea and offered me a cup. Real tea? As I drank, I was peppered with questions about where we'd come from. But when I answered them I was met with looks that said what I was telling them was hardly to be believed. And yet, it's not that they thought I was a liar, I don't think \u2014 maybe they just didn't want to believe it. I assured them that I hadn't wanted to believe it either, but that they should check with the others, especially our squadron leader, and they would see that it was true.\n\nThere was one thing and one thing alone that I wanted to do, and that was to write a letter home. I asked one of the fellows and he gave me a form and a pencil. The form was only 6 inches wide and 10 inches long. It had twenty-four ruled lines. There was so much to say. But in reality I knew the censors would read it and that I couldn't write anything about France because I wouldn't want to give anything away. I couldn't write anything about Buchenwald because they would just censor it. I couldn't even write anything about my ops. I sat there and thought about what I wished I could say, and some of it surprised even me.\n\nThinking back over the last few months, I realized that everything I thought I had known was wrong. I wondered how these Nazis \u2014 thugs, really \u2014 were able to not only take over in Germany, but almost take over the world. Was it because we couldn't imagine the evil they represented? I thought that might be it. I simply hadn't believed that the actions and deeds of the Germans were possible. Even after witnessing it myself I found it hard to believe! The world could not imagine such evil. And because we denied it, we weren't ready... and before we knew it \u2014 well, it was almost too late.\n\nSomeone gave me a second cup of tea. I began to write:\n\n_October 22, 1944_\n\n_Dear Mother, Pops and Jenny:_\n\n_I am in a POW camp. It's been a hard time. There is one thing I know for certain \u2014 this was all worth it. All I want now, though, is to come home. I dream of_ frikadeller _and_ wienerbroed _and hot dogs and french fries and swimming at the beach and tobogganing in the winter and going to school_.\n\n_I just want to come home_.\n\n_With love_ ,\n\n_Sam_\n\n# Epilogue\n\nSam's parents had remained hopeful that he was still alive because they'd received a letter from Max, who had managed to evade the Germans and had eventually reached the Allied lines. That had kept their hopes alive until Sam himself was able to write them. He endured many more hardships, including a forced march from Stalag Luft III in January 1945, in which some of the POWs died. Sam had other close calls before he made it safely back to England \u2014 just two days before Victory in Europe (VE) Day, May 8, 1945. On that day, while all around him people celebrated, Sam could think only of those who had perished.\n\nWhen Sam finally returned home to his family \u2014 who were delirious with joy \u2014 they believed his story, of course, but so many others didn't that he soon stopped telling people he had been in a concentration camp.\n\nIt was hard for Sam that people didn't believe him. But he had other things on his mind. He wanted to go to university and study medicine. And he wanted to go out with Sadie Kobrinsky, so he asked her and she said yes right away. The two were never parted again. When their first son was born they named him Leo after Leo Cohen, the young man Sam had met in Buchenwald, so that Leo would be remembered, just as Sam had promised.\n\nAlthough Max returned to Montreal after the war, he and Sam remained fast friends for the rest of their lives.\n\n# Historical Note\n\n**Canada's Contribution to the Air War**\n\nCanada entered the Second World War on September 10, 1939, one week after Britain and a full two years before the United States. During the First World War, many flyers had been recruited and trained in Canada for Britain. Similarly, when the Second World War broke out, Canada became a training ground for all Commonwealth flyers, under the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan (BCATP).\n\nCanada played a major role in the training of aircrew for the Royal Air Force (RAF), the Royal Australian Air Force, and the Royal New Zealand Air Force, as well as for its own Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF). It had the open spaces that enabled it to train pilots and other aircrew far away from the range of German aircraft, something Britain lacked.\n\nThe Royal Canadian Air Force ran the training program, in conjunction with the Canadian Flying Clubs Association, aviation companies and the Department of Transport. Though there were limited aircraft, trainers and airfields, training began on April 29, 1940. Aircrew candidates were transferred to Canada for training. Eventually, over one hundred and thirty-one thousand pilots, navigators, bomb aimers, wireless (radio) operators, air gunners and flight engineers graduated from the BCATP. Almost seventy-three thousand of these were Canadians.\n\nBCATP graduates went where they were most needed for the war effort, with the RAF having the key say in this. Most squadrons had a mix of Commonwealth air forces represented, both aircrew and especially ground crew. No. 6 RCAF Bomber Group, established in January 1943, was still part of RAF Bomber Command.\n\nStatistics from the Bomber Command Museum of Canada website indicate just how dangerous it was to be part of an aircrew fighting for the Allies. Only German U-boat forces and Allied Merchant Navy sailors had a lower chance of surviving the war than RAF Bomber Command aircrew:\n\n  * For every 100 men who joined, 45 were killed, 6 were wounded and 8 became prisoners of war.\n  * 120,000 airmen served; over 55,000 died.\n  * Over 10,000 Canadians were killed.\n  * A pilot's average lifespan was 6 weeks. Pilots who started flying at the start of the war had only a 10 percent chance of surviving.\n  * Between March of 1943 and February 1944 there was only a 16 percent survival rate for the crews of Halifax bombers.\n\nSir Arthur Harris of the RAF, the person who sent the men to battle, said this: \"There are no words with which I can do justice to the aircrew who fought under my command. There is no parallel in warfare to such courage and determination in the face of danger over so prolonged a period.\"\n\nHe described them as having \"a clear and highly conscious courage, by which the risk was taken with calm forethought.... It was, furthermore, the courage of the small hours, of men virtually alone, for at his battle station the airman is virtually alone. It was the courage of men with long-drawn apprehensions of daily 'going over the top.' Such devotion must never be forgotten!\"\n\n**The French Resistance**\n\nThe French Resistance is a term that encompasses all the anti-German movements in France during the Second World War. There were as many as nine major Resistance networks by the time Sam and his crew were shot down in the summer of 1944.\n\nResistance to the German forces began with individuals rejecting their own government's collaboration with the Germans who occupied France after the invasion on May 10, 1940. The prime minister of France, Marshal P\u00e9tain, negotiated France's surrender to Germany and authorized the French delegation to sign an armistice on June 22, 1940. Part of the agreement allowed an \"independent\" French government headquartered in Vichy, which came to be known as Vichy France (versus Occupied France in the north, which included Paris). The government of Vichy, with P\u00e9tain as Chief of State, collaborated with the Germans.\n\nAt first Resistance fighters did what they could with the few resources they had \u2014 they cut telephone lines, derailed trains or sent them to the wrong locations, killed or kidnapped German officers or soldiers when they could, and published underground newspapers. But soon many of these individuals joined together and formed all sorts of different groups, from the Communists to Jewish groups to the Maquis. The latter were fighters who hid in the forests and around the countryside, especially in the mountainous regions of France. Many had originally been conscripted to work in German factories and were to be sent away to Germany or further east to Poland, but instead joined a Resistance group.\n\nBy 1943 some of these Resistance groups had joined together under the leadership of Charles de Gaulle, a French officer who had fled to London and had begun working with the British government. The Resistance managed to send vital intelligence to the Allies about German troop movements. It went on the attack whenever possible, and it was the main reason so many Allied airmen survived after their planes were shot down.\n\nThe Resistance set up a number of escape routes to help return Allied flyers to Britain so that they could carry on the fight. An estimated three thousand American flyers and twenty-five hundred British flyers were sent to freedom along these escape routes. According to Don Lawson's _The French Resistance_ , for every man who escaped, a Resistance operator lost his or her life.\n\nSecrecy was of the utmost importance in the Resistance. Members of the small groups \u2014 cells \u2014 often used false names so that any member who was captured could not give away the identities of the others under torture.\n\nGerman reprisals for the Resistance's guerilla tactics were harsh. Successful raids against German targets sometimes meant that local civilians would be punished or killed by the German forces, to instill fear in the population and undercut local support for the Resistance.\n\nAfter the Allied landing of June 6, 1944, in Normandy, the Resistance played a large role in the war effort, moving from sabotage, guerilla actions and maintaining escape routes to actual fighting alongside the Allied forces and supporting their advance against the Germans. But there were also French men and women who worked diligently for P\u00e9tain's Vichy government, especially after 1942 when the entire country was occupied by German forces. These \"Vichyites\" would infiltrate the Resistance, sabotage their efforts, and betray them to the German authorities.\n\nThe men and women of the Resistance endured hardship, possessed great courage, and made a great impact with often-limited resources. American General Dwight D. Eisenhower said that the Resistance had been \"of inestimable value in the campaign.\"\n\n**The Holocaust**\n\nThe United States Holocaust Memorial Museum defines the Holocaust as the \"systematic, bureaucratic, state-sponsored persecution and murder of approximately six million Jews by the Nazi regime and its collaborators.\"\n\nAdolf Hitler was voted into office by the German people. Once in the Reichstag (parliament), he cleverly manoeuvred and orchestrated events so that he could gain more power. He had his men set fire to the parliament buildings and then blamed the fire on the party he considered his main enemy, the Communists. He made people so afraid of the Communists that he easily took power, manoeuvring to have himself named Chancellor, with the promise to \"save\" the people from the Communists.\n\nOften leaders will use fear of others to gain power for themselves \u2014 blaming others and depicting their opponents as evil and dangerous. Hitler did this not only with Communists, but also with Jews. Jews became the scapegoats for all that was wrong in Germany. A bad economy? It must be the Jews' fault. Germany seen as weak by other countries? The Jews' fault. Jews, of course, had no more effect on the economy than any other Germans. But because of long-standing anti-Semitism (prejudice against or hatred of Jews), Hitler was able to perpetuate this lie.\n\nHitler took this foundation of anti-Semitism and expanded on it. He passed laws that restricted Jews from teaching and from professions such as medicine and law. He passed further laws declaring that Jews could not own businesses; that they could not shop in most places; that they could not walk in a park, swim in a pool, attend school. The courts failed to strike down these laws. Judges upheld them and lawyers argued that they were legal. When no one stood up for the Jews, Hitler began to round them up and to send them to concentration camps. He told the world that he wanted to be rid of Jews and offered to give them away to other countries. But no one wanted them. Canada took in only five thousand during the whole of the Second World War.\n\nFinally Hitler decided to be done with Jews once and for all. He devised the final solution to what he called \"the Jewish problem.\" The final solution was simple. He would exterminate them all.\n\nDeath camps, as they came to be known, were places where those who had been rounded up by the Nazi regime were sent to be murdered. At first the locations were work camps, and then often work and death camps, where people were separated on arrival \u2014 some sent to do work, some sent to death in the gas chambers, some worked to death.\n\nBuchenwald concentration camp was established in 1937. It was built in Germany near the city of Weimar. When it first opened, political prisoners were sent there, but in 1938 ten thousand Jews were imprisoned, hundreds dying almost immediately due to the harsh treatment they received. As well as Jews and political prisoners, others were also sent there \u2014 Jehovah's Witnesses, Roma and Sinti (groups that some people used to call \"Gypsies\"), and later, prisoners of war, resistance fighters, foreign forced labour and those deemed criminals by the state.\n\nBy 1945 one hundred and twelve thousand prisoners were incarcerated. Many were forced to work for the German war machine and Buchenwald became important for its factories, which churned out munitions and other material for the war effort, using forced labour.\n\n**168 Allied Airmen**\n\nEach of the 168 Allied airmen who ended up in Buchenwald had a different story, in that each was shot down on a different day, at a different time, and had different experiences while hiding in France, trying to evade the enemy. But each was somehow betrayed, or captured by the Germans, and sent to Fresnes Prison in Paris. Even in prison each had a different experience: some were isolated, some were tortured, some were with friends. Some were there for days, others for weeks, even months. From the moment they were put on the train to Buchenwald, their stories intertwined. According to the Geneva Convention, captured Allied airmen should never have been sent to a concentration camp but directly to a prisoner-of-war camp. However, they suffered the same fate as the Resistance fighters.\n\nOn October 20, the airmen were removed from Buchenwald and on October 22 they were interned in POW camp Stalag Luft III. On January 28, 1945, Stalag Luft III was evacuated and ten thousand Allied airmen were forced to march away from their liberators, the Russian and American troops that were drawing near. The POWs, or as they called themselves, _Kriegies_ (short for _Kriegsgefangener_ , or war prisoner in German) had no ability to hold off the evacuation, since they were at the mercy of their German guards. Still, the _Kriegies_ walked as slowly as they could and delayed as much as possible, following orders from their group captain, in the hope of being overtaken by the Allies.\n\nAt one point RAF fighters mistook the column for retreating German soldiers and strafed them. Some had the presence of mind to dive into a ditch when they saw the planes coming, but others stayed on the road to wave at their liberators. Because of that, some of the _Kriegies_ were killed by their own side.\n\nOn April 23 some of the airmen found themselves at a large country estate where they were allowed to wait until Allied troops could reach them. They were liberated on May 2 by General Montgomery's 11th Armoured Division. Their war was over!\n\nOn May 6 they boarded a transport to England and landed in an airfield north of London. Some of the men were then assigned transport to Bournemouth, and a billet in a hotel where they could clean up and get into new clothes. Then they went out to celebrate Victory in Europe (VE) Day on May 8.\n\nThis book is inspired by the true story of the flyers who were shot down, evaded the Germans, were captured and imprisoned in Paris, sent to Buchenwald, and then at the last moment \u2014 just before they were to be executed \u2014 sent to a POW camp. The flyers were from all the Allied countries.\n\nCanada's National Film Board created a documentary about these men: _The Lucky Ones: Allied Airmen of Buchenwald_. A more recent documentary film by Mike Dorsey titled _Lost Airmen of Buchenwald_ uses archival and often secret footage of the plight of these airmen. It held its premiere in 2011, sixty-five years after the captured Allied airmen marched out of Stalag Luft III.\n\n# Images and Documents\n\n_**Image 1.** RCAF training prepared students for deadly combat. This photo, taken upon graduation from a school in Mossbank, Saskatchewan, indicates with an \"X\" those young men who were killed overseas during the war_.\n\n_**Image 2.** Smoke billows below this Lancaster on a bombing run over its target_.\n\n_**Image 3.** An RAF first-aid kit such as this was given to each flyer. It contained items like burn cream, wound dressings and morphine capsules for pain_.\n\n_**Image 4.** Members of the French Jewish Resistance group Arm\u00e9e Juive stand in their military uniforms_.\n\n_**Image 5.** The small and light Type A MK III suitcase radio was used by operatives of the British Strategic Operations Executive (SOE) to help resistance efforts in Nazi-occupied countries. Its transmission range was approximately 800 km_.\n\n_**Image 6.** SS and police officials during a roll call of Polish concentration camp prisoners_.\n\n_**Image 7.** Concentration camp prisoners stand during roll call. Each wears a striped hat and uniform bearing coloured, triangular badges and identification numbers_.\n\n_**Image 8.** Former prisoners of the \"little camp\" in Buchenwald stare out from the wooden bunks in which they slept three to a bed. Elie Wiesel, Nobel Peace Prize winner and writer of dozens of books about the Holocaust, is in the second row of bunks from the bottom, seventh from the left, next to the vertical beam_.\n\n_**Image 9.** American troops discovered human remains in Buchenwald's crematoria_.\n\n_**Image 10.** Northeastern Europe in 1943\u20131944_.\n\n# Credits\n\nGrateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint the following:\n\nCover cameo (detail): _Pte. John Lewis, 1_ _st_ _Royal Canadian Regiment_ , Paul E. Tomelin \/ Canada, Ministry of National Defence, Library and Archives Canada, PA-146992.\n\nCover scene: _Lancaster MK II flying on one engine;_ Charles. E. Brown, \u00a9 Royal Air Force Museum, 5981-6.\n\nCover details: (front cover) Aged journal \u00a9 Shutterstock\/Bruce Amos; aged paper \u00a9 Shutterstock\/Filipchuck Oleg Vasilovich; Tape \u00a9 Phase4Photography; belly band \u00a9 ranplett\/istockphoto; (back cover) label \u00a9 Shutterstock\/Thomas Bethge.\n\n**Image 1** : _RCAF Air Gunners' School, 1941_ , George Metcalf Archival Collection, Canadian War Museum, 19870036-002.\n\n**Image 2** : _A Lancaster over its target_ , Collections Canada, PL-144407.\n\n**Image 3** : RAF Air Crew Personnel, First-Aid Kit, courtesy of Richard Archer, Mons Military Antiques.\n\n**Image 4** : _Group portrait of members of the French Jewish Resistance group Arm\u00e9e Juive dressed in their military uniforms_ , United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Arnold Einhorn, #49171.\n\n**Image 5** : Type A MK III suitcase radio, courtesy of Richard Brisson, Collector, Ottawa, Ontario.\n\n**Image 6** : _SS and police officials speak among themselves during a roll call of Polish prisoners_ , United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Robert A. Schmuhl, #13129.\n\n**Image 7** : _Prisoners standing during a roll call_ , United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Robert A. Schmuhl, #10105.\n\n**Image 8** : _Former prisoners of the \"little camp\" in Buchenwald stare out from the wooden bunks in which they slept three to a \"bed,\"_ United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, #74607.\n\n**Image 9** : _Human remains found by American troops in the crematoria ovens of Buchenwald_ , United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Harold Royall, #82856.\n\n**Image 10** : Map by Paul Heersink\/Paperglyphs.\n\n# Acknowledgments\n\nMy heartfelt thanks to the veterans who helped me with this manuscript, first and foremost John Harvie, Lancaster navigator, one of the 168 airmen shot down over France and later incarcerated in Buchenwald. His book _Missing in Action_ was an inspiration, as was his tireless help through many phone calls and emails. I'm sorry to say that he has since passed away. The book _A Fighter Pilot in Buchenwald_ by Joe Moser, as told by Gerald R. Baron, is also a wonderful memoir. I listened to a podcast by Harold Bastable, who grew up in Winnipeg and gave talks to students about his wartime experiences. I was also able to read his personal memoir thanks to the generosity of his family. Ed Carter-Edwards answered a question no one else could. Finally, the book _168 Jump into Hell_ by Arthur Kinnis and Stanley Booker was written because after the war many did not believe that Allied airmen were actually imprisoned in Buchenwald. So the airmen banded together once again and set out to put the record straight.\n\nI would be remiss to leave out the experts who read the manuscript and helped me correct mistakes and pointed me in the right direction \u2014 many thanks to Carl Christie and all his Air Force contacts, and to Professor Robert Young, Trish McNorgan and fact-checker extraordinaire Barb Hehner. I also thank the following airmen who so kindly emailed me with answers to some of my questions: Andrew Christie, Stu Beaton, Robert Vincent, Ernest Cable, Jim Buckland, Jim Bell, William Carr, Fred Aldworth, Jim Shilliday, Cal Shermerhorn, Ernie Drouin, E.V. \"Dusty\" Titheridge, James Popplow. If there are any mistakes they are mine and mine alone.\n\nAnd a big thank you to my editor, Sandy Bogart Johnston, for her calm and cool and her tireless attention; my husband Per Brask; and my friend Perry Nodelman for reading the manuscript and for all his suggestions. I also thank the Manitoba Arts Council for the grant, which helped tremendously, giving me the time to research this large project.\n\nLastly, a word to my readers. This is a book of fiction, although it is based on the story of 168 airmen who were shot down in France in World War II. My character Sam is a fictional character inserted into this group, as are his friends, Max, James, Trent, etc. On the night that Sam is shot down, a Lancaster bomber was actually lost in an op over Trappes, France, but Sam Frederiksen's crew is not based on that one.\n\n# About the Author\n\nCarol Matas's parents were born in Canada, but her grandparents and great-grandparents immigrated here from various eastern European countries, thus escaping some of the horrifying events of World War II. Carol's father-in-law, Olaf Brask, was a fighter in the Danish Resistance during that war. Her book _Jesper_ is inspired by his story.\n\nCarol is perhaps best known for her Holocaust novels, such as _Daniel's Story_ (shortlisted for the Governor General's Award and winner of the Silver Birch Award), _After the War_ and _The Garden_ (both winners of the Jewish Book Award), _Lisa_ (a Geoffrey Bilson Award winner), _Jesper, Greater Than Angels_ and _In My Enemy's House_. She has written two Dear Canada books, _Footsteps in the Snow_ , about Winnipeg's Red River Settlement, and _Turned Away_ , which received the Margaret McWilliams Award from the Manitoba Historical Society. That story highlights Canada's refusal to allow any Jews from Europe into the country during World War II, as well as the actions of Canadian soldiers who fought at Hong Kong and were either killed or made prisoners of war by the Japanese.\n\nCarol interviewed several of the 168 Allied airmen whose story was the springboard for this novel. When one of the few remaining Lancaster bombers that are still flying landed in Winnipeg in spring 2011, she climbed right inside it, to see what it might have been like for Sam Frederiksen in his position as a gunner.\n\nCarol lives with her family in Winnipeg, Manitoba.\n\n# Other Books in the\n\n#   Series\n\n_Prisoner of Dieppe_  \n _World War II_  \nHugh Brewster\n\n_Blood and Iron_  \n _Building the Railway_  \nPaul Yee\n\n_Shot at Dawn_  \n _World War I_  \nJohn Wilson\n\n_Deadly Voyage_  \n _RMS_ Titanic  \nHugh Brewster\n\nFor more information please see the I AM CANADA  \nwebsite: www.scholastic.ca\/iamcanada\nWhile the events described and some of the characters in this book  \nmay be based on actual historical events and real people,  \nSam Frederiksen is a fictional character created by the author,  \nand his journal is a work of fiction.\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2012 by Carol Matas. All rights reserved.\n\nA Dear Canada Book. Published by Scholastic Canada Ltd.  \nSCHOLASTIC and I AM CANADA and logos are trademarks  \nand\/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.\n\nAll rights reserved under International and Pan\u2013American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read this e-book on-screen. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Scholastic Canada Ltd., 604 King Street West, Toronto, Ontario M5V 1E1, Canada.\n\nISBN 978-1-4431-1925-2\n\nFirst eBook edition: January 2012\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}