I visit J.L., who has just moved and now lives near the outskirts of Paris, across from a métro station. At first glance, the house seems to be just an ordinary building; it’s next to an inn, whose sign says in Gothic letters:
The apartment is actually a real three-story house (a triplex). The third floor is absolutely amazing. It’s a living room with a grand piano; gradually you realize it’s a very large room, a very, very large room: it goes on forever, its floor is a lawn that opens onto a horizon of wooded countryside.
The view is spectacular. We rave about it:
“What luck that you found this!”
“Too bad they’ll eventually wise up and begin building housing projects on it!”
From the outside, the house looks like a property surrounded by high walls, whose perspectives have been drawn such that no one could imagine an infinite space contained therein.
I move in indefinitely, to this house where many other people also seem to live already.
One day, I meet a girl on the street. She asks if I can put her up for a while. I say yes, without specifying that there’s nowhere for her to stay besides my room (which seems self-evident to me).
The house looks like Dampierre.
Each morning there is an assembly, like for a flag-raising ceremony.
From my window I see S.B. arriving in a car. She raises her eyes to me and smiles (but maybe there’s something dangerous in her smile).
Later: I’m leaving P.’s and going home by way of rue des Écoles. It seems clear to me that I will meet up with a girlfriend who will spend the night.
I do run into many people I know, but they either don’t see me at all, or too late …