The Third Lover (L'Œil du Malin)

THE EVIL EYE

I called myself Albin Mercier, but my name is Andre Mercier.

I signed my books and articles with the name of Albin.

I was a modest writer, so much so that I was almost alone to be aware of that fact.

Not so long ago, I was in Germany, near Munich,

sent by a small daily newspaper.

I was to write about everyday life in Germany,

our past enemy and future ally.

It didn't pay well, but I didn't care.

I couldn't afford to be picky.

The rent was taken care of, but I had to pay the maid.

I'd been warned.

Not luxurious but decent.

Sad as death.

I was bitter yet glad.

Maybe...

more bitter than glad.

I spend the first two days strolling about the village.

It was a pleasant microcosm. Some workers, some farmers...

many land owners.

Tourists from Munich.

Nice houses kept open...

to be admired at any time.

I felt lonely.

Nobody would speak or look at me.

It was like being trapped in a desert.

I despised these houses.

I was a prisoner.

I'd had to pretend to speak German to get the job

but it was a lie.

I didn't speak a word of it.

What a looser.

Only one thing caught my attention.

A nice stone wall that protected the intimacy of a couple.

I tried asking the maid to learn more about it.

Behind the wall lived the famous Doctor Hartmann.

Hartmann.

The greatest writer of his generation.

The hope of the new Germany.

I tried to get a glimpse of this rare bird.

He seemed like a nice fellow.

I wondered how I could arrange to meet him.

In the meantime, I had to earn my measly salary.

Everything was a bore, I wrote nonsense.

The maid jabbered on some complaints she had.

Always nagging, always in need of some kitchen tool I couldn't make out.

I had to make a fool of myself in the shops.

Like an endless conversation with the deaf.

Until one day, a stroke of luck...

She spoke French. She was French.

I should have guessed she was the wife of the illustrious Hartmann.

I worked my way into getting invited.

Her name was Helene.

Nice name.

I've been told about you, Monsieur'?

Albin Mercier. But how'?

The arrival of a foreigner in a small village like this...

On the contrary I felt like I was being ignored.

You were being watched. You are the talk of the town.

What an honor. Excuse me.

Wait.

- Here. - Splendid.

I greatly admire your husband.

How nice of you.

I'm sure he'll want to meet you.

Why?

- Aren't you a writer too'? - How do you know'?

Don't tell me you've read my books'?

No but I'm sure they are great.

Join us for a coffee this afternoon.

I'm speechless.

Don't be, if I invite you, that's because it's our pleasure.

If it annoys you, turn it down.

You make me shy.

Of course it'll be a pleasure...

- An honour'? - An honour.

- I don't know how to thank you. - Let's say 2 o'clock.

- Can I drop you somewhere'? - No thanks.

I like to walk. See you later.

Here I was, able to enter their home without difficulties.

Look at them, watch them.

I went there quite naturally, like an old acquaintance,

an old friend.

I felt giddy as a child for I had to improvise.

I had never read any of Hartmann's books.

I instantly liked the house.

I felt comfortable, everything was calm and in harmony.

Everything was in perfect taste.

Andreas Hartmann. I've read one of your books.

Very interesting.

We shared the same first name, but my lie forbade me to tell him.

Andre suggests we have our coffee outside.

Bravo.

The more I stayed with them, the better I felt.

They treated me as an old friend.

It was almost embarrassing.

Andre is glad I found someone to speak French with. He's not very fluent.

- Really'? - Awful!

Thanks.

Cognac, thanks.

French!

I was struck by the masterful way this man and this woman

shared the load of the conversation.

Miracle of intelligence.

They turned langage barrier into a game.

They completed each other and smiled all the time,

happy to live together in this house,

to be here with me, chatting about things they cared about.

They showed me the fine politeness

of letting me make their acquaintance.

This was a real image of happiness so rare and precious

that beneath my pleasure growed an uneasiness,

a state of tension that took over my entire being.

It has come to a point where

I have no idea what I'm writing.

But what matters is that it is all in favour of Europe.

They liked me, it was a fact.

Andre thinks it's the best way to go about it.

We parted later that afternoon, a smile on our faces,

planning future visits.

But the day was ruined by a catastrophe.

The stupid maid didn't think of shutting down the main pipe.

I had to do it myself.

All that was left for her was to mop.

Hello M. Mercier. How are you'?

Hello M. Mercier.

I saw them from afar each day, sometimes her, sometimes him.

We exchanged a few nice words.

They were fond of me.

So they invited me to dinner this time.

I brought an impressive flower bouquet

almost too impressive, but not quite.

Magnificent! Excellent choice.

I must confess I didn't choose them myself.

No, but you chose the one who chose for you.

Andre will tell you it boils down to the same thing.

What a terrible theory.

- He knows it. - What do I know'?

Hartmann insisted upon preparing the diner himself.

No doubt to prove he was a great writer but a simple man.

I found him rather ridicule.

Same thing.

The diner was simple and delicious.

And later on

as we sat in wonderful armchairs

enjoying his wonderful Cognac,

that I first experienced that monstrous feeling

that was to guide me from that moment on.

I may be a looser but

one can't hold it against me not to be aware of it,

to nourish impossible dreams, to deceive myself.

As I experienced it, I was able to analyse that feeling

with a total lucidity.

It wasn't envy, for I didn't feel

any injustice or bitterness.

It was more a kind of craving,

but so full, total, absolute and absorbing

that I knew it would lead to violence.

So I knew perfectly well that my goal was to intrude

this happy couple's universe.

To be part of it, to cling to it like ivy to a wall.

To fill this man's shoes,

to replace the man who shared my first name.

To fully take his place

totally,

to fill in every corner.

I also knew this goal

was impossible to reach,

yet I was going to use all my strength to attain it.

I decided to strengthen the bonds

to see them all the time, make myself irreplaceable.

But how to achieve that

in such a perfect rounded universe'?

So perfect that it was the source of my obsession.

Andreas won the game easily that night.

He was delighted.

From that moment on, I managed to see the regularly

When I wasn't invited, I invited them in return.

I didn't take them to fancy places,

for they knew I wasn't rich.

But I made no effort to appear to be.

I was joyful, simple, open, honest.

Quite the easy guy.

I had never been nicer before in my life.

But I suffered immensly

for I didn't make any progress.

I saw them more and more often, but had no real influence on them.

I merely slipped on the surface of their happiness.

Because of that, I had to fulfill smaller obsessions.

For instance,

I wanted to go to the first floor

to their bedroom and bathroom.

It would have been easy just to ask them.

They would gadly have shown it to me.

But I wanted to go there uninvited,

to deceive them in a way.

So I used a scheme.

You are daydreaming, sad.

- I'm sorry. - It's the rain.

We are mediterraneans, rain makes us sad.