Submission (23 page)

Authors: Michel Houellebecq

Tags: #Fiction, #Classics

BOOK: Submission

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He had shown me, you might say, new horizons, and I found myself wondering whether Loiseleur had used a matchmaker, but the question answered itself. Could I imagine my old colleague
hitting on
his students? In a case like his, arranged marriage was clearly the only option.

The reception was winding down, and the night was surprisingly balmy; I walked home without really thinking, in a sort of reverie. Yes, my intellectual life was finished, though I could still participate in vague colloquia and live on my savings and my pension; but I started to realise – and this was a real novelty – that life might actually have more to offer.

A few more weeks would go by, like a sort of pretend waiting period, and in those weeks the weather would grow milder day by day, and it would be spring in Paris; and then, of course, I’d call Rediger.

He’d play up his own joy, mainly out of tact, because he’d want to seem surprised, to let me feel that I was a
free agent
; his happiness would be genuine, I knew that, but I also knew that he already took my acceptance for granted. No doubt this had been true for a long time, maybe even since the afternoon I’d spent at his house in the rue des Arènes. I had made no effort to hide how impressed I was by Aïcha’s physical charms, or by Malika’s canapés. Muslim women were devoted and submissive, that much I could count on, it’s how they were raised; they aimed to please. As for cooking, in the end I didn’t really give a fuck; on that score I was less discriminating than Huysmans; but in any case, they’d received the necessary training, and you’d be hard-pressed to find one who didn’t know her way around the kitchen.

The conversion ceremony itself would be very simple. Most likely it would take place at the Paris Mosque, since that was easiest for all involved. Given my relative importance, the dean would be there, or at least one of his senior staff. Rediger would be there, too, of course. The number of guests was entirely up to me; no doubt there would be a few ordinary worshippers as well: the mosque wouldn’t close for the occasion. The idea was that I should bear witness in front of my new Muslim brothers, my equals in the sight of God.

That morning I would be specially allowed inside the hammam, which was ordinarily closed to men. Wrapped in a bathrobe, I would walk the long corridors with their archtopped colonnades, their walls covered in the finest mosaics; then, in a smaller room, also covered in mosaics of great refinement, bathed in a bluish light, I would let the warm water wash over my body for a long, a very long time, until my body was purified. Then I’d get dressed in the new clothes I’d brought with me; and I would enter into the great hall of worship.

Silence would reign all around me. Images of constellations, supernovas, spiral nebulas would pass through my mind, and also images of springs, of untouched mineral deserts, of vast, nearly virgin forests. Little by little, I would penetrate the grandeur of the cosmic order. Then, in a calm voice, I would pronounce the following words, which I’d have learned phonetically:
Ašhadu an lā ilāha illā lahu, wa ašhadu anna mu
ammadan rasūluhu
: I testify that there is no God but God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God. And then it would be over; from then on I’d be a Muslim.

The reception at the Sorbonne would be a much longer affair. Rediger was increasingly taken up with his political career, and had just been named foreign minister. He hadn’t much time to devote to his duties as president of the university; all the same, he’d taken it on himself to give the speech for my induction (and I knew, I was positive, that it would be an excellent speech, and that he’d enjoy giving it). All my colleagues would be there – the news of my Pléiade edition had spread in academic circles and now everybody knew. I certainly wasn’t the sort of acquaintance you’d neglect. And everyone would be in gowns, the Saudi authorities having recently re-established the wearing of ceremonial dress.

Before I delivered my acceptance speech (by tradition, these were very brief), I’d certainly give a last thought to Myriam. She’d live her own life, I knew, in circumstances much more difficult than mine. I sincerely hoped she would have a happy life – though that struck me as unlikely.

The cocktail party would be festive, and would last into the night.

A few months later there would be new classes and new students – pretty, veiled, shy. I don’t know how students find out which teachers are famous, but they always, inevitably, did, and I didn’t think things could be so different now. Each of these girls, no matter how pretty, would be happy and proud if I chose her, and would feel honoured to share my bed. They would be worthy of love; and I, for my part, would come to love them.

Rather like my father a few years before, I’d be given another chance; and it would be the chance at a second life, with very little connection to the old one.

I would have nothing to mourn.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I did not attend university, and everything I know about academic life I learned from Agathe Novak-Lechevalier,
maître de conférences
at the University of Paris X-Nanterre. If the backdrop to these inventions of mine is at all credible, it is entirely thanks to her.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Epub ISBN 9781473535077
Version 1.0

Published by William Heinemann 2015

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Michel Houellebecq has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by William Heinemann
First published in France in 2015 by Flammarion under the title
Soumission

This novel is a work of fiction. In some cases true life figures appear but their actions and conversations are entirely fictitious. All other characters, and all names of places and descriptions of events, are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons or places is entirely coincidental.

The translator wishes to acknowledge the good counsel of Antonin Baudry, Paul Elie, Stephen Andrew Hiltner, Violaine Huisman, Mark Lilla, John McGhee, Marco Roth, Sadie Stein, John Jeremiah Sullivan and especially his editor, Mitzi Angel. Any errors remaining are his own.

William Heinemann
The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA

www.randomhouse.co.uk