MARCEL IS SLEEPING with me now. He takes up position on Myriam’s pillow, and when Madeleine comes, he goes and nests at the foot of the bed, patiently awaiting the end of our amorous theatrics. He reclaims his spot as soon as she leaves. I have a friend at last. I’m not a person with a heroic streak. Not that I’m afraid—I just don’t have enough imagination about myself. Neither hero nor lover, an amputee from ordinary life, one of life’s casualties.