II

The change in Antonym’s marital life had an immediate effect on his work. He was unable to come up with enough witty ideas to maintain a good flow of opinionated articles, and his reporting became substandard — even for the third-rate newspaper he worked on, he was forced to admit. His lack of productivity allowed the editor to start detecting lumps in his velvety style, which up until then had been a source of pride for the editor, who believed he had ‘discovered the kid’. Whenever he heard him trot out this phrase, it struck Antonym that editors-in-chief were like pimps — always keen to find new talent. It was a shame that that was a cow he couldn’t milk any more.

‘An article in the first person, Antonym? That’s not done in contemporary journalism.’

‘Antonym, please go lighter on the “howevers”. Your texts are full of crutches.’

‘Listen, Antonym. Why don’t you use the first person? It’s more contemporary.’

‘A crutch wouldn’t be so bad here, Antonym.’

‘I think you should have some time off to reflect on life, Antonym. No hard feelings, OK?’

Antonym was out of the game. Since he’d made countless enemies on all the other newspapers and magazines, he wasn’t likely to find work again on a big publication.

Well, at least a lot of people will be happy now, he murmured to himself, as he closed his car window in the face of a kid begging for money. No self-indulgence, no indulging others. No hard feelings, OK? That was how he had to be.

In theory, it’s possible to love thy neighbour. But from a distance. Close up, it’s almost impossible. He remembered that this was what Bernadette had always said whenever she saw him cursing the vagrants that had taken over the city.

Before he went home, it occurred to him to call someone who could keep him company during his first dinner as an unemployed person. And it was only then, and not without some perplexity, that Antonym understood in reality (which is quite different to understanding in theory) that he had been isolated for years. He had delegated the job of making contact with the outside world to Bernadette, which had meant only going out with her friends and workmates. His own social life was restricted to his work, which gave the term ‘social life’ far too narrow a meaning. All he had left was enemies. But even they were distant rather than close. Because there were bosom enemies (with whom one could seek reconciliation any time, given the fact that they used to be friends before the fight that caused the falling out), and there were distant enemies. With these, the confrontation generally took place before there could be any kind of friendly exchange or recognition of like-mindedness. Underpinning them might be a quick comment to a third party, a funny look, or a difference of opinion of little relevance on an equally unimportant subject. Since the animosity was established right at the outset, distant enemies were eternal. You couldn’t reunite what had never been united.

Without company, Antonym ended up at the refuge of the solitary: a luncheonette. At a luncheonette, even one with tables instead of a counter, you could eat alone without attracting the pity of those who were accompanied — which wasn’t possible in a restaurant. Solitude in a luncheonette always seemed circumstantial, or even preferable for clients who came alone. Quick and bland, like the meals served in such places. This image of being in a state of desired solitude could also be emphasised by reading a magazine.

From that night on, Antonym started spending a considerable amount of money on magazines that really didn’t interest him. However, it wouldn’t be long before he missed the time when he didn’t have friends — or when his enemies were distant.