The pitiless voice fell silent, leaving me with the implacable realization of my mistake. Yes, this trip was a calamitous idea, I was fully aware of that now. What could I do? There was no going back. How could I stop the plane from reaching its destination? How could I get out of the airport through a different gate from the one where Melvin Mapple would be waiting for me? It was impossible!
The flight attendant was handing out the pale green forms that are mandatory for anyone about to step onto American soil, even for three hours. When people see these forms for the first time, they never fail to be astonished by the questionnaire they have to answer: “Have you ever been or are you now involved in terrorist activities?”; “Do you have any chemical or nuclear weapons in your possession?” and other astonishing questions, with boxes for ticking yes or no. These neophytes burst out laughing and say to their traveling companions: “What will happen if I tick yes?” There is always someone who will firmly dissuade them: “You don’t mess around with security in the United States.” Which means that in the end, even the most foolhardy resist the temptation.
I knew these green forms by heart and I was ready to fill them out as usual when I had a sudden idea: “Amélie, the only way for you to avoid meeting Melvin Mapple is to tick the wrong boxes. You will be handed over to the American justice system. Which do you prefer? The train from Washington to Baltimore with an obese inveterate liar, or major hassles with the American legal system?”
Never in my life have I set myself such an ultimatum. I looked out the window at the haunted sky, which already knew the answer. I had made my decision, it was beyond reflection. Ecstatic, I committed the insane deed. To the question, “Have you ever been involved in terrorist activities?” I ticked yes. A whirling impression. To the question, “Do you have any chemical or nuclear weapons in your possession?” I ticked yes. Profound stupefaction. And so on. In a trance, my mind wide open, I ticked yes yes yes, each tick more suicidal than the next. I signed a deed of self-incrimination which transformed me into global public enemy number one and I slipped it into my passport.
At this stage nothing was irreversible. I could still call the flight attendant and ask for a new green questionnaire, the way people do when they have crossed things out. All I had to do was tear up the insane deposition and it would have no further consequences.
But I knew that I would do no such thing. I knew I would give my demented document to the customs official. What would happen after that, I didn’t exactly know, other than that I would have awe-inspiring problems. The authorities would send me to Guantánamo. There are rumors that this Gehenna is being closed down, but Americans are nothing if not efficient: you can be sure they have built another one just like it somewhere else. I would be stuck in prison until the end of my days.
All this just to avoid meeting Melvin Mapple? Fiddlesticks! Amélie, you are following your destiny, something you have always wanted. Punishment for your numerous sins? There’s some of that there, too. But that’s not half of it.
What has your quest been, ever since you started writing? What have you been lusting after for so long, with such irrepressible determination? What exactly is writing for you?
You know what it is: if every day of your life you write like a woman possessed, it is because you need an emergency exit. For you, being a writer means desperately seeking the way out. An adventure that was the fault of your recklessness has brought you to that way out. Stay on the plane, wait until you get there. You’ll hand your documents over to customs. And your impossible life will be over. You will be delivered from your biggest problem, which is yourself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amélie Nothomb’s books have been translated into thirty-nine languages. She is the winner of countless literary prizes, including the 2008 Grand Prix Giono.
She was born in Japan of Belgian parents in 1967 and now lives in Paris.
Amélie Nothomb, Life Form
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