The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides [67]
“England,” Madeleine said. “Originally.”
“You look like Candice Bergen.”
She wheeled around to grin at Leonard. “And you’re 007!”
“Sean Connery,” Leonard said. “That’s me.”
“You look like 007 gone all to hell!” the woman said. There was an edge to her tone. Leonard and Madeleine, playing it safe, said nothing until she moved on.
The woman in the bathrobe belonged in here. Leonard, in Madeleine’s opinion, didn’t. He was here only because of his intensity. Had she known from the outset about his manic depression, his messed-up family, his shrink habit, Madeleine would never have allowed herself to get so passionately involved. But now that she was passionately involved, she found little to regret. To feel so much was its own justification.
“What about Pilgrim Lake Lab?” she said.
“I don’t know.” Leonard shook his head.
“Do they know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s not until September,” Madeleine said. “That’s a long time from now.”
The TV jabbered on its hooks and chains. Leonard sucked his upper lip in the weird new way.
Madeleine took his hand.
“I’ll still go with you, if you want,” she said.
“You will?”
“You can finish your incompletes in here. We can stay in Providence for the summer and then move out there in September.”
Leonard was quiet, taking this in.
Madeleine asked, “Do you think you can handle it? Or would it be better to just rest awhile?”
“I think I can handle it,” Leonard said. “I want to get back to work.”
They were silent, looking at each other.
Leonard leaned closer.
“‘Once the first avowal has been made,’” he said, quoting Barthes from memory, “‘“I love you” has no meaning whatever.’”
Madeleine frowned. “Are you going to start that again?”
“No, but—think about it. That means the first avowal does have meaning.”
Light came into Madeleine’s eyes. “I’m done then, I guess,” she said.
“Not me,” Leonard said, holding her hand. “Not me.”
Pilgrims
Mitchell and Larry reached Paris in late August after a summer of boredom and desperate employment.
At Orly, lifting his backpack from the luggage carousel, Mitchell found that his arms were sore from the inoculations he’d gotten in New York two days earlier: cholera in the right, typhus in the left. He’d felt feverish on the flight over. Their low-priority seats were in the last row, across from the malodorous lavatories. Mitchell had dozed fitfully through the long transatlantic night until the cabin lights blazed on and a flight attendant shoved a half-frozen croissant in front of his face, which he nevertheless nibbled as the huge passenger jet made its descent over the capital.
Among mostly French nationals (tourist season was drawing to a close), they boarded an un-air-conditioned bus and glided noiselessly along smooth highways into the city. Getting off near the Pont de l’Alma, they retrieved their backpacks from the undercarriage and began trudging up the brightening avenue. Larry, who spoke French, walked ahead, looking for Claire’s apartment, while Mitchell, who didn’t have a girlfriend in France or anywhere else, expended no effort in trying to get them where they were going.
Jet lag added to his slight delirium. It was morning by the clock but deepest nighttime in his body. The rising sun forced him to squint. It seemed unkind somehow. And yet, at street level, everything had been arranged to please the eye. The trees were thick with late-summer leaves. They wore iron grilles around their trunks, like aprons. The broadness of the sidewalk accommodated newspaper kiosks, dog walkers, chic ten-year-old girls on their way to the park. A sharp scent of tobacco arose from the curbside, which was the way Mitchell had thought Europe would smell, earthy, sophisticated, and unhealthy, all at once.
Mitchell hadn’t wanted to start their trip in Paris. Mitchell had wanted to go to London, where he could visit the Globe Theatre, drink Bass ale, and understand what people were saying. But Larry had found two extremely cheap tickets on a charter flight to Orly, and since their money had to last the next nine months, Mitchell didn’t see