The Winner Stands Alone (2 page)

Ever since groups of men and women first started living together in caves, fashion has
been the only language everyone can understand, even complete strangers. We dress in the
same way. I belong to your tribe. Lets gang up on the weaklings as a way of surviving.

But some people believe that fashion is everything. Every six months, they spend a fortune
changing some tiny detail in order to keep up their membership in the very exclusive tribe
of the rich. If they were to visit Silicon Valley, where the billionaires of the IT
industry wear plastic watches and beat-up jeans, they would understand that the world has
changed; everyone now seems to belong to the same social class; no one cares anymore about
the size of a diamond or the make of a tie or a leather briefcase. In fact, ties and
leather briefcases dont even exist in that part of the world; nearby, however, is
Hollywood, a rela- tively more powerful machinealbeit in declinewhich still manages to
convince the innocent to believe in haute-couture dresses, emerald necklaces, and stretch
limos. And since this is what still appears in all the magazines, who would dare destroy a
billion-dollar industry in- volving advertisements, the sale of useless objects, the
invention of en- tirely unnecessary new trends, and the creation of identical face creams
all bearing different labels?

How ridiculous! Igor cannot conceal his loathing for those whose decisions affect the
lives of millions of honest, hardworking men and women leading dignified lives and glad to
have their health, a home, and the love of their family.

How perverse! Just when everything seems to be in order and as families gather round the
table to have supper, the phantom of the Su- perclass appears, selling impossible dreams:
luxury, beauty, power. And the family falls apart.

The father works overtime to be able to buy his son the latest sneak- ers because if his
son doesnt have a pair, hell be ostracized at school. The wife weeps in silence because
her friends have designer clothes and she has no money. Their adolescent children, instead
of learning the real values of faith and hope, dream only of becoming singers or movie
stars. Girls in provincial towns lose any real sense of themselves and start to think of
going to the big city, prepared to do anything, absolutely anything, to get a particular
piece of jewelry. A world that should be directed toward justice begins instead to focus
on material things, which, in six months time, will be worthless and have to be replaced,
and that is how the whole circus ensures that the despicable creatures gathered together
in Cannes remain at the top of the heap.

Igor is untouched by this destructive power, for he has one of the most enviable jobs in
the world. He continues to earn more money in a day than he could spend in a year, even if
he were to indulge in all possible pleasures, legal and illegal. He has no difficulty in
finding women, regardless of whether they know how much money he has hes tested it out on
more than one occasion and never failed yet. He has just turned forty, is in good physical
shape, and, according to his annual checkup, has no health problems. He has no debts
either. He doesnt have to wear a particular designer label, go to a particular res-
taurant, spend his holidays at a beach where everyone goes, or buy a watch just because
some successful sportsman is promoting it. He can sign major contracts with a cheap
ballpoint pen, wear comfortable, elegant jackets, handmade by a tailor who has a small
shop next to his office, and which carry no label at all. He can do as he likes and doesnt have to prove to anyone that hes rich; he has an interesting job and loves what he does.

Perhaps thats the problem: he
still loves what he does. Hes sure that this is why the woman who came into the bar some
hours earlier is not sitting at his table with him.

He tries to keep thinking, to pass the time. He asks Kristelle for an- other drinkhe knows
the waitresss name because an hour ago, when the bar was emptier (people were having
supper), he asked for a glass of whisky, and she said that he looked sad and should eat
something to cheer himself up. He thanked her for her concern, and was glad that someone
should care about his state of mind.

He is perhaps the only one who knows the name of the waitress serving him, the others only
want to know the namesand, if pos- sible, the job titlesof the people sitting at the
tables and in the arm- chairs.

He tries to keep thinking, but its gone three oclock in the morn- ing, and the beautiful
woman and her courteous companionwho, by the way, looks remarkably like himhave not
reappeared. Maybe they went straight up to their room where they are now making love, or
perhaps theyre still drinking champagne on one of the yachts where the parties only begin
when the other parties are all coming to an end. Perhaps theyre lying in bed, reading
magazines, ignoring each other.

Not that it matters. Igor is alone and tired and needs to sleep.

He wakes up at 7:22
a.m.
, much earlier than his body would like, but he hasnt yet adapted to the time difference
between Moscow and Paris. If he was at work, he would already have held two or three
meetings with his subordinates and be preparing to have lunch with some new client.

He has another task to fulfill here: he must find someone he can sacrifice in the name of
love. He needs a victim, so that Ewa will get his message that very morning.

He has a bath, goes downstairs to have a coffee in an almost de- serted restaurant, then
sets off along the Boulevard de la Croisette on which nearly all the major luxury hotels
are located. There is no traffic because one lane is blocked off and only cars with
official permission are being allowed through. The other lane is empty because even the
people who live in the city are still only just getting ready to go to work.

He feels no resentment. He has passed the really difficult phase, when he couldnt sleep
because he was so filled with pain and hatred. Now he can understand Ewas feelings: after
all, monogamy is a myth that has been rammed down peoples throats for far too long. He has
read a lot on the subject. The inability to be monogamous isnt just a matter of excess
hormones or vanity, but, as all the research indicates, a genetic configuration found in
almost all animals. Paternity tests given to birds, monkeys, and foxes revealed that simply because these
species had developed a social relationship very similar to marriage did not necessarily
mean that they had been faith- ful to each other. In seventy percent of cases, their
offspring turn out to have been fathered by males other than their partners. Igor remem-
bered something written by David Barash, professor of psychology at the University of
Washington in Seattle, in which he said that the only species in nature that doesnt commit
adultery and in which there seems to be one hundred percent monogamy is a flatworm,
Diplozoon paradoxum. The male and female worms meet as adolescents, and their bodies
literally fuse together.

This is why he cannot accuse Ewa of anything; she was merely fol- lowing her human
instincts. However, she had been brought up to be- lieve in those unnatural social
conventions and must be feeling guilty, thinking that he doesnt love her anymore and will
never forgive her.

He is, in fact, prepared to do anything, even to send messages that will mean he has
destroyed someones world, just so that shell know that not only is he willing to welcome
her back, he will gladly bury the past and ask no questions.

He sees a young woman
setting out her wares on the pave- mentvarious bits of craftwork and jewelry of rather
dubious taste.

Yes, she will be the sacrifice. She is the message he must send, a message that will be
understood as soon as it reaches its destination. Before going over to her, he observes
her tenderly; she doesnt know that in a little while, if all goes well, her soul will be
wandering the clouds, free forever from an idiotic job that will never take her where her
dreams would like her to go.

How much? he asks in perfect French. Which piece do you want, sir? All of them. The young
womanwho must be twenty at mostsmiles. This isnt the first time someone has asked to buy
everything. The next step is usually: Would you like to go for a walk? Youre far too pretty to be here
selling these things. Im . . .

No, Im not. I dont work in the movies, nor am I going to make you an actress and change
your life. Im not interested in the things youre selling either. I just need to talk, and
we can do that right here.

The young woman averts her gaze.

My parents make these things, and Im proud of what I do. One day, someone will come along
wholl recognize their value. Please, go away. Im sure you can find someone else to listen
to what you have to say.

Igor takes a bundle of notes out of his pocket and puts them gently down beside her.

Forgive my rudeness. I only said I wasnt interested in buying anything to see if you would
lower the price. Anyway, my name is Igor Malev. I flew in from Moscow yesterday, and Im
still a little jet- lagged.

My names Olivia, says the young woman, pretending to believe his lie.

Without asking her permission, he sits down on the bench beside her. She shifts up an inch
or so.

What do you want to talk about? First, take the money. Olivia hesitates, then, looking
around, realizes that she has no reason to be afraid. Cars are now driving down the one available lane, young people are
heading for the beach, and an elderly couple are coming toward them down the pavement. She
puts the money in her pocket, not even bothering to count it; she has enough experience of
life to know that its more than enough.

Thank you for accepting my offer, says the Russian. You asked me what I want to talk
about? Well, nothing very important.

You must be here for a reason. You need a reason to visit Cannes at this time of year when
the city is as unbearable for the people who live here as it is for the tourists.

Igor is looking at the sea. He lights a cigarette.

Olivia smiles. This really is an excellent way to start the day, talk- ing about deeper
things than the price of each piece of handiwork or the clothes people are wearing.

And for you?

Yes, love too. But for me it was also important to earn enough money to show my parents
that I was capable of succeeding. I did that, and now theyre proud of me. I met the
perfect woman, we married, and I would like to have had children, to honor and fear God.
The children, alas, never came.

Olivia doesnt like to ask why. The man, in his forties, continues in his perfect French:

We thought of adopting a child. Indeed, we spent two or three years thinking about it, but
then life began to get too busy what with business trips and parties, meetings and deals.

When you sat down here to talk, I thought you were just another eccentric millionaire in
search of an adventure, but Im enjoying talk- ing about these things.

Do you think about the future?

Yes, I do, and I think my dreams are much the same as yours. Ob- viously, Id like to have
children as well . . .

She pauses. She doesnt want to hurt the feelings of this unexpected new companion.

. . . if, of course, I can. Sometimes, God has other plans. He appears not to have heard
her answer. Do only millionaires come to the Festival? Millionaires and people who think
theyre millionaires or want to become millionaires. While the Festival is on, this part of the city is like a madhouse.
Everyone behaves as if they were terribly important, apart from the people who really are
important; theyre much politer; they dont need to prove anything to anyone. They dont
always buy what I have to sell, but at least they smile, make some pleasant remark, and treat me with
respect. What are you doing here?

God made the world in six days, but what is the world? Its what you or I see. Whenever
someone dies, a part of the universe dies too. Everything a person felt, experienced, and
saw dies with them, like tears in the rain.

Like tears in the rain . . . I saw a film once that used that phrase. I cant remember now
what it was.

I didnt come here to cry. I came to send messages to the woman I love, and in order to do
that, I need to destroy a few universes or worlds.

Instead of feeling alarmed by this last statement, Olivia laughs. This handsome,
well-dressed man, speaking fluent French, doesnt seem like a madman at all. She was fed up
with always hearing the same things: youre very pretty, you could be doing better for
your- self, how much is this, how much is that, its awfully expensive, Ill go away and
think about it and come back later (which they never do, of course), etc. At least this
Russian has a sense of humor.

Why do you need to destroy the world? So that I can rebuild my own world. Olivia would
like to try and console him, but shes afraid of hear-

ing the famous words: I think you could give meaning to my life, at which point the
conversation would come to an abrupt halt because she has other plans for her future.
Besides, it would be absurd on her part to try and teach someone older and more successful
how to overcome his difficulties.

One way out would be to learn more about his life. After all, hes paid herand paid her
wellfor her time.

How do you intend to do that? Do you know anything about frogs? Frogs? Yes, various
biological studies have shown that if a frog is placed in a container along with water from its own pond, it will remain there, utterly still,
while the water is slowly heated up. The frog doesnt react to the gradual increase in temperature, to the changes in its environment, and when the water
reaches the boiling point, the frog dies, fat and happy.

On the other hand, if a frog is thrown into a container full of already boiling water, it
will jump straight out again, scalded, but alive!

Olivia doesnt quite see what this has to do with the destruction of the world. Igor goes
on:

I was like that boiled frog. I didnt notice the changes. I thought everything was fine,
that the bad things would just go away, that it was just a matter of time. I was ready to
die because I lost the most important thing in my life, but, instead of reacting, I sat
there bobbing apathetically about in water that was getting hotter by the minute.

Olivia plucks up the courage to ask: What did you lose? The truth is I didnt lose
anything. Life sometimes separates people so that they can realize how much they mean to each other. For example, last night,
I saw my wife with another man. I know she wants to come back to me, that she still loves
me, but shes not brave enough to take the first step. Some boiled frogs still think its
obedience that counts, not ability: those who can, lead, and those with any sense, obey.
So wheres the truth in all this? Its better to emerge from a situ- ation slightly scalded,
but alive and ready to act. And I think you can help me in that task.

Olivia tries to imagine what is going through the mind of the man beside her. How could
anyone leave such an interesting person, some- one who can talk about things she has never
even thought about? Then again, theres no logic to love. Despite her youth, she knows
that. Her boyfriend, for example, can be quite brutal and sometimes hits her for no
reason, and yet she cant bear to be apart from him even for a day.

What exactly were they talking
about?Aboutfrogsand about how she could help him. She cant help him, of course, so shed
better change the subject.

And how do you intend to set about destroying the world? Igor points to the one free lane
on the Boulevard de la Croisette.

Lets say that I dont want you to go to a party, but I darent say so openly. If I wait for
the rush hour to begin and stop my car in the middle of the road, within ten minutes, the
whole of the Boulevard opposite the beach will have come to a standstill. Drivers will
think: There must have been an accident and will wait patiently. In fifteen minutes, the
police will arrive with a truck to tow the car away.

That kind of thing is always happening.

Ah, yes, but Ivery carefully and without anyone noticingwill have got out of my car and
scattered nails and other sharp objects on the road in front of it. And I will have
carefully painted all of these objects black, so that they blend in with the asphalt. As
the tow truck approaches, its tires will be punctured. Now we have two problems, and the
tailback of traffic will have reached the suburbs of this small city, the very suburbs
where you perhaps live.

You clearly have a very vivid imagination, but you would still only have managed to delay
me by about an hour.

It was Igors turn to smile.

Oh, I could come up with all kinds of ways of making the situa- tion worse. When people
started gathering round to help, for example, I would throw something like a small smoke
bomb under the truck. This would frighten everyone. I would get into my car, feigning de-
spair, and start the engine. At the same time, though, I would empty a bit of lighter
fluid on the floor of the car and it would ignite. I would then jump out of the car in
time to observe the scene: the car gradually going up in flames, the flames reaching the
fuel tank, the explosion that would affect the car behind as well, and so on in a chain
reaction. And I could achieve all that with a car, a few nails, a smoke bomb that you can
buy in a shop, and a small amount of lighter fluid . . .

Igor takes from his pocket a small flask containing some kind of liquid.

. . . about this much. I should have done that when I realized Ewa was about to leave me,
to make her postpone her decision and reflect a little and consider the consequences. When
people start to reflect on decisions theyre trying to make, they usually change their
mindit requires a lot of courage to take certain steps. But I was too proud. I thought it was just a temporary move and that she would soon
realize her mistake. Im sure she regrets leaving me and, as I said, wants to come back.
But for that to happen I need to destroy a few worlds.

The expression on his face has changed, and Olivia is no longer amused by the story. She
gets up.

Well, I need to do some work.

But I paid you to listen to me. I paid enough to cover your whole working day.

She puts her hand in her pocket to give him back the money, but at that moment, she sees
the pistol pointing at her face.

Sit down.

Her first impulse is to run. The elderly couple are still slowly ap- proaching.

Dont run away, he says, as if he could read her thoughts. I havent the slightest intention
of firing the gun if youll just sit down again and hear me out. If you dont try anything
and do as I say, then I swear I wont shoot.

A series of options pass rapidly through Olivias head, the first being to run, zigzagging
her way across the street, but she realizes that her legs have gone weak.