Rien ne va Plus

Margarita Karapanou

• Publisher: Clockroot Books
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781623710385
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

The story is simple: a love affair ends badly. A woman and a man marry, then cruelty, infidelity, and divorce. But this novel tells their story twice, from opposing perspectives. Our sympathies are inverted; we don't know whom to trust; the distinction between truth and deception blurs, and then seems simply to dissolve. The novel shifts deftly between endless oppositions: lover and beloved, angel and demon, master and slave, reader and writer. But inevitably both stories must arrive at the point of rien ne va plus: the moment in roulette when all bets are off and you either win or lose—the moment when the game becomes fate. Margarita Karapanou's third novel is an extraordinary experience in fiction: devastating and brave and true.

part one

1.

His eyes were purple, cold, the eyes of a fish. But he was so dazzlingly handsome that his beauty instantly obscured the sense I had of the horror that was to come. All evening, though I found him very attractive, I had the impression that among the guests in the room roamed a reptile with purple eyes, a perfect nose, a handsome mouth, and an exquisite, aggressive sophistication. Alkiviadis talked of nothing but water heaters, how you should leave them off so as not to waste money, and if you do turn them on, it should only be an hour before showering.

—Of course, I always take cold showers, he said, and laughed.

2.

—Why do you suppose I like homosexuality? Alkiviadis asked me.

—Because the people who love you can’t ever follow you to the place where you go with the boys. Homosexuality is a hermetically sealed world that belongs to each of us alone. It’s almost as if you’ve died.

Only years later, after the unspeakable had happened, did this statement take on its full significance.

3.

On our wedding night, Alkiviadis suggested we go to a gay bar. I agreed. I still had rice and flowers in my hair.

—I want to show you something, he insisted, flushed and excited, like a child.

I was the only woman in the bar. When I walked in, the men eyed me aggressively, then with curiosity. But when they saw Alkis, they settled down.

—Watch this, he told me.

A blond boy directly across from us was staring at Alkiviadis. He was young, skinny and shy, not even good-looking.

Alkiviadis, who also had rice and flowers in his hair, took a business card from the pocket of the suit he’d worn to the church and went over to the boy. From a distance I listened to his cool, metallic voice, to the insolence barely disguised by his courteous manner.

—My wife and I—we just got married today— would be very pleased if you would come to see us tomorrow evening. Here, the address is on my card, we live in Glyfada. It would make us very happy.

He gave the boy his card. There was something so bizarre about the formality of the scene. My eyes welled with tears. Alkiviadis in his wedding suit, the boy in jeans.

—Well, goodbye, Alkis said.

He came back over to where I was sitting.

—Did you see that? He looked at me.

The boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

Much later I understood that even then, on the first day of our marriage, Alkiviadis wanted urgently to prove something to me.

—I don’t even like him. He lit a cigarette.

There was something so repulsive, yet so seductive about this exchange. I felt as if I’d eaten something I couldn’t quite digest right away. It was more than I could deal with, so I erased it from my memory even as it was taking place.

And so on the first night of our marriage I loved Alkiviadis absolutely, as if nothing had happened.

It started to snow. Glyfada went completely white. There were no taxis or buses. Alkiviadis’s place didn’t have heat. And the water heater was off, so I couldn’t even take a hot bath.

—Should I turn it on? I asked.

—No. Go and sit by the space heater.

The snowstorm kept up the next day, too. All day long we made love. Around six Alkiviadis decided to read Proust. He was reading Le temps retrouvé when the doorbell rang.

—Who could that be? I asked.

—Must be one of the neighbors. No one would go far in this cold.

I went to answer the door.

The blond boy stood before me, shivering, soaked to the skin.

—I walked for hours. Is your husband home?

It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gone out for anyone in such weather. The boy must have wanted Alkis very badly.

I started to shiver, too.

—I’ll be right there, Alkiviadis called from the bedroom. Keep him company, I’ll be out in a minute.

The boy and I sat down on the sofa. He seemed uncomfortable. I was wearing one of Alkis’s sweaters over my nightgown. We were both shivering.

—What sort of work do you do? I asked.

—I’m training to be a flight attendant.

—You like to fly?

—Yes, he said, and smiled, glancing toward the bedroom.

—Would you care for a drink? I’m the lady of the house here, you know.

—Yes. A little brandy, in one of those tall glasses.

His hands were blue from the cold.

—I’m a writer, I told him.

—And I don’t really like women, he replied. He took a sip of the brandy and lit a cigarette. This time his smile was twice as wide.

—I can’t believe you two got married yesterday.

—Neither can I.

Alkis came into the room wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Barefoot. He sat next to the boy and kissed him on the mouth. The boy embraced him so passionately that I understood why he’d walked so far in the snow. It frightened me.

I rose and started toward the bedroom. The cat, Caesar, jumped up on my back as if to strangle me.

Alkiviadis pushed the boy away and chased after me.

—Stay here, he said. It’s no fun with just him.

I went back and sat in the armchair. They started kissing again.

—I can’t, not with your wife watching.

—But that’s what I want, Alkiviadis answered. If you can’t, then leave.

They undressed. Their bodies twined together, unbelievably beautiful. I watched, smoking. I liked it. But I still cried.

It’s just a bad dream, I thought, I’ll wake up soon. Then my mind started to wander, as if I really were dreaming, or feverish.

I started to think about my dog Alana. How she sleeps in her very own chair, how she looks at me when she’s hungry or wants to be petted, how she rests her head right at the base of my neck as if in prayer. I’d never loved my dog as much as I did on that night with the snow and the moaning, the cold, the two pairs of jeans tossed on the rug.

The boy seemed to feel more at home when they were done.

—Why’d you get married, man? Are you crazy?

Still out of breath, he lit a cigarette and stroked his naked belly. It was the first time he’d spoken to Alkiviadis so informally, using the singular.

—Man, why’d you get married? Are you nuts?

—Get dressed and get out, Alkiviadis snapped. We did what we had to do. Now I want to be with my wife, whom I adore, and to enjoy Proust with her.

—What’s Proust?

—A brand of ice cream. Now get up, get dressed, and get out. Just close the door behind you, I don’t feel like getting up.

—The jerk went and got married, the boy went on. She’s a lucky lady, your wife. She even gets a free show…

—Beat it, or I’ll beat you.

Alkis’s eyes had gone dark purple, as they always did when he was very angry.

The boy got dressed and left, whistling.

Alkis and I lay down on the bed and began to read Proust.

The answering machine was on, the volume high: This is Alkiviadis… I’ll be back in the office on Monday, January 21st. Until then I’ll be away on my honeymoon. All evening while the blond boy was in the house, and all night after he left, this message kept blaring.

4.

—I love you more than anything, Alkiviadis told me, eyeing the boys around him in the café, who returned his gaze.

—Alkis, are you only attracted to boys?

—Yes, but it’s you I love.

My cup of coffee spilled on the lap of the blond boy at the table next to ours. He was wearing green corduroy pants.

—It’s nothing, he said, catching Alkis’s eye.

5.

—Do you love me? I asked.

—More than anything in the world.

—But you don’t love anything.

—That’s why I love you.

6.

—You should be careful, Alkis told me. You’re the suicidal type. Depression is a sure road to suicide.

I laughed.

—But Alkis, I could never kill myself. It isn’t in my nature, my character; I just don’t have it in me. Besides, I find suicide vulgar and aggressive. People only kill themselves in order to hurt other people. It isn’t heroic, it’s a despicable crime. No, I could never do it. Could you?

Alkis laughed.

—Can you picture me committing suicide?

We both laughed.

—No, I told him. You’re the last person in the world who would destroy yourself. You’re too narcissistic.

Alkis lit a cigarette, deep in thought. Then he burst out laughing again.

—I’d only kill myself on a weekend, when you were here. For the company.

7.

Alkiviadis was a veterinarian. It was strange, because he didn’t like animals. He never petted them. Even my dogs, he’d never petted them, not once.

But during surgery, he handled the animals with infinite tenderness. He was an extraordinary surgeon. I would see such love in his eyes when an animal awoke from anesthesia, an animal he’d saved from death.

It was the same way he looked at me when we’d just made love.

And just as he never touched animals except during surgery, he never touched me unless we were in bed. So, with profound tenderness, I’d come to associate our bed with the operating table.

I never understood Alkiviadis; he was a mystery to the very end. I didn’t understand the end, either. But I worshipped Alkis. I was like a dog being taken to the vet, a dog that both worships and fears its doctor. Now, looking back, I see that in the beginning my love for Alkis was very much like the love of a frightened animal in a veterinarian’s waiting room.

Alkiviadis once operated on his cat, Caesar. He removed the cat’s claws to keep him from ruining the furniture. Like me, Caesar was happy because he loved Alkis. Only one thing scared me: if the cat ever escaped from the house, how would he defend himself against other cats in the street? Me, I let my nails grow.

8.

I watch Caesar jump onto the sofa, the chairs. He scratches at the velvet with his paws. Not a single mark appears, the surfaces remain smooth. Alkis’s face, too, remains smooth.

—He doesn’t know his claws are gone, so he enjoys it just the same, Alkis says.

Caesar looks quizzically at the sofa and chairs, then down at his feet. He licks his paws and runs to hide under the table. This is the last time I’ll see him rush at the furniture with such enthusiasm.

9.

—Alkis, how did you learn to make love like that?

—First with my own body. Then with bodies like mine. And then with you.

—You’ve never been with another woman? Besides me?

—Sure I have. But they bored me. You don’t have to take boys out, or any of that crap. You don’t eat in restaurants. You screw. With them it’s like being alone. And sex with them isn’t at all like making love with a woman.

—What about me?

—You’re different. First of all, we’re friends, like two men. Besides, I’m in love with you precisely because you’re a woman. It’s what I always dreamed of. Male bodies bring me closer to you. And you send me back to them.

—Do you still sleep with men?

I was very jealous.

—Now and then.

He laughed.

—No one should have to break his habits.

10.

—I’m a pathological skinflint.

Alkiviadis himself used to tell me this.

—No amount of money could ever be enough. Even if I had a billion dollars it wouldn’t be enough, it would seem like nothing. Without money I feel naked, exposed. No matter how much I had, I would still feel that way. Without money I simply don’t exist.

—But Alkis, you’re incredibly rich.

—And yet I live in a state of panic. I don’t like to spend. I like to hoard. Even the sight of an ashtray piled with cigarette butts fills me with satisfaction. When I have to open my wallet to pay for ou...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Rien Ne Va Plus
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Thought
• Part One
• Part Two
• Part Three
• Acknowledgments
• Backcover