English followed by une version en français y una versión en español. A Five-Pointed Notes section, in English, goes off on (another) tangent.

This is the latest in a series of explorations of absurdist, “un-well-made” stories. Some readers may wish to visit the explication that appears after “The Dip.”

Election year schmear

If our party wins, tout va changer. (I saw this on a pre-election poster. Everything’s going to change.) This could, of course, be a disaster, and particularly if the need for physical contact is overlooked.

My landlord is a child, a lawyer. He’s happy to understand nothing except that he is doing quite well thanks to the law and his mother-in-law’s generosity, and he’s happy (didn’t I already say that?) when he’s on vacation with his family or at his office with colleagues who know better than he does whether the documents he’s supposed to review pass muster.

Last night, at the apartment across the airshaft from mine, two strapping young women arrived from another country. After turning on all the lights they took off all their clothes, including their floral lace strings.

This morning, when I was reviewing the terminology – string, tanga, romper, gusset – my second wife texted me from yet another country to say that texting is not the best way to have a conversation.

One thing I’m sure of is that my landlord is not interested either in how complicated my life is, nor in how cold it can get (in the winter, for example).

Let’s just say there are, above all, persons A, B, C, D and E. We’re linked or “related,” the term could be. And my policy is that any favors I, E, do for one of the other four—or that one of those four does for me (we must also imagine this)—these should not obligate any of the other people to do anything.

And, yes, I know, I already said something—more than one thing, I think—about how cold it can get.

And in any case, along with Sartre, I believe that our acts make values spring up like partridges. That neither A, B, C gets this or wants to . . . And that D . . .

My first wife used to say self-mockingly: It’s lonely on this pinnacle.

I believe I’ve touched lightly here on several other problems, including my apartment’s decrepit, possibly toxic heating system.

Could the worst be that I have never been allowed to vote in another country?

Français

Epidurale électorale

Si notre parti gagne, tout va changer. (J’ai vu cela sur une affiche pré-électorale.)

Tout va changer. Cela pourrait, bien sûr, être un désastre, surtout si le besoin de contact physique est négligé.

Mon propriétaire est un enfant, un avocat. Il est heureux de ne rien comprendre, sauf qu’il s’en sort bien grâce à la loi et à la générosité de sa belle-mère, et il est heureux (ne l’ai-je pas déjà dit ?) quand il est en vacances avec sa famille ou à son bureau avec des collègues qui savent mieux que lui si les documents qu’il est censé examiner sont acceptables.

Hier soir, dans l’appartement situé en face du mien, deux jeunes femmes costaudes sont arrivées d’un autre pays. Après avoir allumé toutes les lumières, elles ont enlevé tous leurs vêtements, y compris leurs slips tanga en dentelle florale.

Ce matin, alors que je vérifiais la terminologie – string, tanga, barboteuse, gousset – ma seconde épouse m’a envoyé un texto depuis encore un autre pays pour me dire que les textos n’étaient pas la meilleure façon d’avoir une conversation.

Une chose dont je suis sûr, c’est que mon propriétaire n’est intéressé ni par la complexité de ma vie, ni par la froideur (en hiver, par exemple).

Disons qu’avant tout il y a des personnes A, B, C, D et E. Nous sommes liés ou « apparentés » pourrait être le terme précis. Ma politique est que les faveurs que moi, E, je fais à l’un des quatre autres – ou que l’un des quatre fait à moi (il faut aussi imaginer cette possibilité) – ne doivent obliger aucune des autres personnes à faire quoi que ce soit.

Et, oui, je sais, j’ai déjà dit quelque chose – plus d’une chose, je pense – sur le froid qui peut régner.

De toute façon, avec Sartre, je crois que nos actes font lever des valeurs comme des perdrix. Que ni A, ni B, ni C ne le comprennent ou ne veuillent le comprendre… Et que D…

Ma première femme se moquait en disant : On se sent seul sur ce pinacle.

Je crois que j’ai légèrement abordé ici plusieurs autres problèmes, y compris le système de chauffage vétuste et peut-être toxique de mon appartement.

Le pire serait-il que je n’ai jamais eu le droit de voter dans un autre pays ?

Español

Oh años peldaños electorales

Si nuestro partido gana, tout va changer. (Lo vi en un cartel preelectoral. Todo va a cambiar). Por supuesto podría ser un desastre, ¿sobre todo si se pasa por alto la necesidad del contacto físico.

Mi casero es un niño, un abogado. Es feliz de no entender nada, salvo que le va bastante bien gracias a la ley y a la generosidad de su suegra, y es feliz (¿no lo he dicho ya?) cuando está de vacaciones con su familia o en su despacho con colegas que saben mejor que él si los documentos que debe revisar pasan el examen.

Anoche, en el apartamento situado frente al mío, llegaron dos jóvenes fornidas de otro país. Después de encender todas las luces, se quitaron toda la ropa, incluidas las tangas de encaje floral.

Esta mañana, cuando revisaba la terminología -tanga, brasileña, fuelle, pijamita- mi segunda esposa me envió un mensaje desde un país más diciendo que los mensajes no son la mejor manera de tener una conversación.

Una cosa de la que estoy seguro es que a mi casero no le interesa ni lo complicada que es mi vida ni el frío que puede llegar a hacer (en invierno, por ejemplo).

Digamos que hay, sobre todo, personas A, B, C, D y E. Estamos vinculados o “emparentados”, podría ser el término. Y mi política es que cualquier favor que yo, E, haga a uno de los otros cuatro -o que uno de esos cuatro me haga a mí (también debemos imaginarlo)- no debería obligar a ninguna de las otras personas a hacer nada.

Y, sí, lo sé, ya he dicho algo -más de una cosa, creo- sobre el frío que puede entrar.

Y en cualquier caso, junto con Sartre, creo que nuestras acciones elevan los valores como perdices. Que ni A, ni B, ni C lo entienden o lo quieren entender… Y que D…

Mi primera esposa solía decir burlándose de sí misma: Es solitario en este pináculo.

Creo que he tocado aquí otros problemas, incluido el decrépito y posiblemente tóxico sistema de calefacción de mi apartamento.

¿Podría ser lo peor que nunca se me haya permitido votar en otro país?

Five-pointed notes

Comments from a reader of the first draft of this piece led me to reflect on what was in the heads, or parts of the heads, of the two naked two young women (who deserve to be considered fictional characters).

My first thought was nothing; that is, like so many people these days, these two were unaware that there was anyone else around them. They lay down on the couches, switched on their phones, and continued their lives in hyperspace.

Another might say that, as with people on a clothing-optional beach, the women were simply pleased by the opportunity not to be burdened with clothes and particularly given that they had it in mind to eventually take a shower.

But, thirdly, switching on all the lights . . . ? Myself, with energy conservation, among other things, in my mind, I rarely switch on more than a light or two, and this after turning down my shades. Many people these days—and with their hair dyes, tattoos and styles of dress and undress—go to some lengths to stand out in the crowd, among the billions. We might say that it has long been thought, and observed, that immodesty is one “good” way of achieving this objective. (And, I should add: there’s an immodesty in publishing one’s writing!)

And then fourthly, one morning prior to the publication of this piece, I found a duo at the table just to my right in a Latin Quarter café. The man was about my (advanced) age and the woman perhaps 10 years younger (late fifties), and she—at times on the verge of tears—was speaking to the man as if he were her psychoanalyst, and he was listening carefully and speaking little and softly as if he indeed were her psychoanalyst.

I have wondered if, in fact, my first guess as to their roles was correct. Perhaps it was a woman and her mentor (and perhaps ex-lover, from her student days?). But to have a confidential and at times emotional conversation in a public place . . . ? It’s perhaps less audacious to turn on all the lights in your apartment before taking off your tanga?

But then fifthly, before I got around to publishing this post I was woken up in the middle of the night by the sounds of a woman in the fury of sexual intercourse. The two foreign women were long gone from the neighboring apartment/illegal short-term rental, and the latest short-termers, a man and this impassioned woman, were going at it with all the windows open. Less was seen than heard—or broadcast. Une fessée inclus.

— Text(s) and artworks by William Eaton.