Enough About Love

LOUISE AND ALAIN

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THAT SAME SUMMER, it had not been quite so hot in Oslo. Romain had suggested Louise should go to Norway with him, while he attended an international colloquium: a wealthy foundation was bringing together the world’s top language geneticists for three days.

“The high society of genetics will be there,” Romain whispered to Louise.

He was so proud to be a part of it now.

They were put up at the Radisson Plaza, a luxury hotel close to the city center, where a welcome reception awaited them. The organizers had guessed that the colloquium would not be of much interest to partners: they handed out maps of Oslo, a history of the city, and a guide to its museums.

Romain introduced her to “John Vermont, Nobel Prize winner,” pretending to forget that she knew him. Then Daniel Reynolds, “Nobel winner of tomorrow,” and Janet Bilger and Tomomi Tsukuda, “Nobel winners of the day after tomorrow.”

“You’re the most beautiful,” Romain whispered to Louise.

She agreed.

As they were sitting down for dinner, Romain suggested to a delighted Vermont that he should sit beside her: the Nobel laureate was, as usual, smug and boring, and still had the same terrible bad breath. Louise left the table before dessert, claiming diplomatically to be tired from the trip. Romain took her hand for a moment, adding that he would join her later, and continued his conversation with Reynolds. She was not unhappy to get away. Romain was putting on his overzealous little boy act, and she loathed any dent in the respect she felt for him. The scene reminded her of one evening when they had argued after she watched, disappointed, as he tried like a bewitched child to get close to some obscure movie celebrity.

She changed and took the elevator all the way to the covered pool perched on the hotel roof. The bay windows looked down over Oslo’s lights. The only person in the pool was swimming laps freestyle along one side. He did not pause when Louise dived in. After a few breaststrokes, she felt a bit cold and, with the first shiver, climbed out, settled on a lounge chair, and started reading the guide to Oslo. The swimmer’s rhythm was slow and regular. At the end of the pool, he would exhale noisily and turn around underwater to start the next lap. Another ten minutes and he climbed up the ladder. He had shaved his head the way young balding men do, was probably past forty. His body was hairy, solid, not as muscular as his exercise led her to expect, and he was nearsighted too, because he groped for his glasses. He seemed surprised to see Louise, smiled at her and said a few words in Norwegian. She did not understand so he started again in English.

“Holidays?”

Louise smiled at his pronounced French accent. “Just for three days. And you?”

“I see … My English could do with some improvement. No, I work for Norsk Hydro.” Louise shook her head and he explained: “Oil, aluminum, magnesium. I’m in aluminum. My name’s Alain. Or Al. Like aluminum.”

“Louise. Like Louise. Louise Blum.”

She held out her hand. Alain was not French but Belgian, an engineer supervising the opening of a new manufacturing chain to the south of Oslo. He said a few words about what she should see: the natural history museum, its minerals collection, and the museum of Viking ships at Bygdøy. Then he apologized for leaving, he had to be up very early in the morning.

When Louise went to bed, Romain was still not back. Half a Noctimax helped her get to sleep.

The following morning, she declined the invitation to join the group of partners. She ventured into the city alone, with a few books in her bag, she explored the boutiques, bought herself a scarf. Following Alain’s advice, she went and admired the long ships, then the gemstones and agates, before having elk meat for lunch on the wharf. She strolled through Vigeland Park and cruised along Oslo’s fjord in a tourist boat. She returned to the hotel late in the evening, just in time for dinner, during which she was bored once again. She decided to go home to Paris. There was a flight in the morning, she would take it. Romain tried to dissuade her, but without really insisting. She was resolute: “Just say that Judith’s ill, or Maud, that I was worried. I’m going to pack, I might go for a swim. Take your time, darling.”

She went straight up to the pool. The Belgian engineer was doing his laps. Alain greeted her cheerfully and lay down on the lounge chair next to her. She told him about her day, the long ships and the smoked elk. There was a restful serenity about Alain, they talked for a long time, like old friends. He told her about his life without painting too grim a picture of it nor dressing it up. Recently divorced, a son of nearly twenty, a job that took too much of his time, a sick father — cancer. The separation from his wife had been violent, painful, he had started drinking but stopped in time. Alain was straightforward, strong, he was like his crawl, powerful and regular. His frank gaze lingered on Louise’s legs, her stomach, her breasts. Louise did not dislike the fact that he liked her, even though she was not in the least attracted to him.

He was about to leave the pool, his face brightened: “Look, Louise, tomorrow morning I’m taking a couple of Norwegian friends to visit the factory in Holmestrand. Would you like to come with us and watch aluminum being melted in a furnace? It’s impressive, really it is. We’re leaving at nine-fifteen, it’s only an hour away, and you’ll be back by early afternoon, after lunch in the restaurant on the dam. It’s very pure aluminum, the kind they use for the Airbus.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. In the elevator, even though she did not find him attractive, she suddenly wanted this dumpy man to take her to his room, push her backward onto his bed, and undress her. She would have grasped his thick penis with her hand, her mouth, would probably have begged him to take her, crying out crude words as he drove deep into her. All things that were alien to her usual behavior, but miraculously authorized by the absence of love and the Norwegian night.

She went down to her floor, put herself to bed. She turned out the light and fondled herself in the dark to the point of pleasure. When Romain came in, she was asleep.

The following morning, she embarked on the Norwegian Air Oslo — Paris flight, an Airbus made of Alain’s aluminum. She had left a note for him at reception, apologizing for her hasty departure: Maud was not well. At the end of August, Alain left a message at her office, having found the address: he was in Paris, he wanted to see her again. He called her again twice in early September. She never got back in touch.