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to be some kind of physical drive … but we work together, and I must say that it was completely inappropriate.”
“You sound like an American. That’s never a good sign.”
She began to laugh. What a strange reply. It was the first time they were talking about anything other than a file. She was discovering a clue to his real personality. She had to get ahold of herself.
“I sound like somebody in charge of a six-person team that you belong to. You walked in just as I was daydreaming, and I didn’t grasp the real situation at that moment.”
“But that moment was the realest of my life,” protested Markus without thinking. It had come right out of his heart.
Things weren’t going to be simple, thought Natalie. It was best to put a stop to the conversation. Which she rapidly did. Somewhat curtly. Markus didn’t seem to understand. He stood stock-still in her office without moving, vainly looking for the strength to leave. The truth was, when she’d called him in ten minutes before, he’d imagined that she might want to kiss him again. He’d wandered into this dream and had just understood once and for all that nothing more was going to happen between them. He’d been crazy to think it would. She’d only kissed him on the spur of the moment. It was difficult to admit. It was like somebody offering you happiness and then immediately taking it back. He wished he’d never known the taste of Natalie’s lips. He wished he’d never experienced that moment, because he was deeply aware that he’d need months to get over those few seconds.
Markus headed for the door. Natalie was surprised to catch a tear forming in his eye. It hadn’t flowed yet, was waiting to come sliding out in the hallway. He wanted to hold it back. Certainly didn’t want to weep in front of Natalie. This was stupid, but the tear he was going to weep was unexpected.
It was the third time he’d wept in front of a woman.

Forty-six

    Thought of a Polish Philosopher
There are incredible people
whom we meet at the wrong moment.
And there are people who are incredible
because we meet them at the right moment.

Forty-seven

    Little Love Story About Markus,
Told Through His Tears
First and foremost, in this case, let’s disregard childhood tears, tears in front of his mother or schoolteacher. This is only about Markus’s romantically motivated tears. And so, before that tear he’d tried to control in front of Natalie, there had already been two other occasions.
The first tear went back to his life in Sweden, with a young girl answering to the sweet name of Marilyn. Not a very Swedish name, but surely, Marilyn Monroe respects no boundaries. Marilyn’s father had fantasized about this myth his entire life and hadn’t found any better idea than naming his daughter after it. Let us say no more about the psychological danger of naming a daughter in honor of one’s erotic fantasies. Marilyn’s family history is rather immaterial for us, isn’t it?
Marilyn belonged to that curious category of women who know their own mind. Regardless of the subject, she could alwayskeep from voicing the slightest uncertain opinion. It was the same when it came to her beauty: every morning, she rose with stardom on her face. Perfectly sure of herself, she always sat in the first row, sometimes trying to undermine male teachers by playfully using her obvious charms to deflect issues of geopolitics. When she entered a room, men fantasized immediately, and women instinctively detested her. She was the subject of every fantasy, which ended up getting on her nerves. Then she came up with a brilliant inspiration for throwing cold water on their enthusiasm: going out with the most insignificant boy. This would unnerve the males, and reassure the girls. Markus was the lucky elect, without understanding why the center of the universe was suddenly taking an interest in him. It was like the United States inviting Liechtenstein to lunch. She showered some compliments on him,