"So, it's all going well with the whore? "Vasile asked the next morning. I didn't answer. Actually, I wanted to slap him! but how could I be upset with him? Appearances were against me. I suddenly decided to phone my wife in Paris.
"How are you?" she asked. "You sound strange."
I affirmed in vain that the travel and the long car trip had tired me out. She was not easily deceived.
"Don't worry, I'm fine! It's just that I've felt a little strange since I arrived."
I soon hung up, after having asked about the children.
The day went by. Unrelentingly. However, in the arts centre with the other French writers, I had temporarily forgotten Marika. Vasile had introduced me cordially to the audience. I read some short stories. The students' questions were interesting. I will not see her today, I thought to myself... I decided to present my excuses to Vasile who had done so much, but how could I explain the real situation? Vasile willingly accepted my excuses, nevertheless informing me that the Romanian editors were not at my orders, and that it was up to me to set up another meeting as soon as possible. I agreed. My friend looked at me curiously. We had known each other for a long time, but I could not see a way of revealing the situation to him: Marika interested me as someone to talk to, not as... Not believing me, Vasile would probably laugh and then tell me, using one of the typically French expressions he relished in, that "he would not set the bomb ablaze and that I was in any case a big boy..."