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by what happened between
my thighs . The diaper
overflowed with warm liquid
and oozed over my legs. The
underpants became so heavy
and prohibited movement.
Rushing to the bathrooms
of a café, taking off the old
and replacing it with the
new, changing underwear,
throwing it all in the trash,
washing your hands, drying
yourself, and trying to leave
looking tidy; all of that takes
at least a few hours. One
time, seated at a table on the
top floor of La Défense, I had
been tempted to jump into
the void but the windows
were obviously bolted. In
fact, I had not really decided.
Ki l l ing yoursel f because
power changed hands,
this exists. You slide into a
depression whose only way
out is death. It is a question
of dignity, of self love, and
of pride. The word “non-
powerful” is violent, strong,
dramatic. Painfully, I think of
a Mauro Bolognini film, “Le
Bel Antonio” (1960). In the
film, Marcello Mastroianni is
unable to know intimately the
beautiful Claudia Cardinale.
I also see again parts of
“The Sun Also Rises” (1957)
based on the book by Ernest
Hemingway. Tyrone Power,
following a battle wound, is
reduced to nothing in front
of the sublime Ava Gardner.
He abandons this woman
whom he loves and tends to
his painful love life…
Evenings at my house, I
thought about di f ferent
ways to kill myself. I thought
of famous authors who
killed themselves: Ernest
Hemingway and Romain
Gary. A bullet in the mouth.
I don’t have a gun, so that
idea is out; also, it takes a