Soyez bien, pas trop seule: on my chance meeting with Peter Handke

It was drizzling in Chaville, a sleepy southwestern suburb of Paris, when I got off the train from Montparnasse Bienvenue. I am not entirely sure why but this morning, after having read that Peter Handke lives there somewhere near the Meudon forest, I decided to take the train to Chaville and walk around — ballader — in the banlieu. I had been reading Handke for a long time and his monstre sacré status has always somewhat fascinated me. Besides, I often think about Peter Handke’s breathtaking description of horror in A Sorrow Beyond Dreams: “Horror is something perfectly natural: the mind’s emptiness. A thought is taking shape, then suddenly it notices that there is nothing more to think. Whereupon it crashes to the ground like a figure in a comic strip who suddenly realises that he has been walking on air.”

There is a café in the centre of the town, La Rotonde, where Handke sometimes comes for a drink or two. After having spent the night drinking some vodka and beer, I thought at least I could have a coffee there. The walk to the cafe couldn’t have been more banal: quiet silent houses, overgrown bushes, a funeral shop, lines of parked cars, a Carrefour, a boulangerie, closed shops. The cafe itself, probably named after the more famous La Rotonde in Montparnasse, was decidedly not Parisian. There were a few  plastic chairs and tables strewn carelessly outside, two umbrellas to shield from the rain and sun, and few chairs, tables, and bar stools inside. There was no hot food, only buffet froid. I went inside and asked for an espresso, even though I usually order an allongé, and came back outside. I’d planned on staying there for half an hour or so but a quick search on Google Maps showed that the town basically closed down for the afternoon, with shops opening back up only at 3 pm or later. I wanted to at least buy a Handke book from Chaville, so decided that it might be better just to sit and wait for the next two hours, like the French. There was a man on the next table, scribbling something in his diary, who said a quick bonjour to me and then went back to writing. It was quite obvious that everyone knew each other in the town, as most people stared at me while going in, having never before seen me there. There were a few people inside the cafe who had probably been there since the morning and others who only stayed for a few minutes. The train station right next to it had closed for the summer, so there were a few kids playing around. One could hear a constant smattering of French and Arabic. In the centre of the town was a madman asking people for money. When he first approached me, I refused but after having spent almost an hour seeing everyone else also refuse him, I finally gave him some money after which he disappeared. There were people driving worn, broken cars and a black cat that kept crossing and uncrossing the streets. I sat there, outside, just watching the silent quotidian madness.

After almost two hours, I decided I’d spent enough time in the cafe and thought I could walk around the town a little more before going to the bookshop. I went inside again, paid, and walked straight out. After crossing the closed train station, I was about to take a right when Handke appeared right in front of me, like a spectre. Dressed in a casual black suit, with a hat in one of his hands, he looked at me. Not quite sure what to do, I quickly blurted out bonjour. He said bonjour back and walked past me, to go to the cafe I’d just left. At first, I thought I should leave him alone and having seen him was enough but then I thought I might never see him again, and I should at least go over and say something. Having mustered up the courage to walk towards him, I remained frozen for a few moments unsure about how to approach him. He was drinking a glass of white wine and studying a train map. I finally said to him, in my inelegant and ungrammatical French, “Could I please disturb you for one moment, monsieur?” 

He looked at me, hesitated for a few seconds, probably unsure why I was talking to him at all. He then seemed disarmed, smiled a very faint smile and said, “of course.” 

“I just wanted to tell you that I am a great fan of your books.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, and in fact, I came to Chaville just because it’s your town and it’s really a grand chance for me to see you here.” 

“Well … sometimes it’s strange for me too to see myself … which books have you read?” 

“I remember the title in English, A Sorrow Beyond Dreams and your book on your travels to Serbia.” 

“Ah, yes … is this the first time you are here?” 

“Yes, the first time.” 

“It’s strange because I thought I saw you here yesterday …” 

“No, it’s my first time here. I live in Paris there …” 

“Paris is in the other direction …” 

“Oh yes, I am not very good with directions.” 

“You are from which country?” 

“India.” 

“Ah, and what is your name?” 

“Saudamini”. 

“Your prénom?” 

“Yes, that’s my prénom.” 

“And what does it mean?” 

“I can tell you the meaning in English: lightning. I don’t know the word in French. It’s of Sanskrit origin.” 

“Oh that’s beautiful … maybe the word is l’ éclair … maybe not?” 

“If I am more specific, it means lightning that doesn’t hurt anyone.” 

“That’s even more beautiful. Where exactly are you from in India?” 

“Do you know Jaipur?” 

“No, in fact I was just thinking yesterday that I’ve never been to India. I have been to Japan, countries in Africa, but not India …” 

“It’s a complicated country but quite beautiful …” 

“But I really like the films of Satyajit Ray.” 

“Ah yes, he is Bengali, I am half Bengali too. I really like his film Charulata …” 

“Oh yes, Charulata … I remember … what does it mean?”

“It’s just a name. I am not sure, maybe it means a flower?” 

“How long are you in Paris for?”

“For the next three years …”

“And where do you live in Paris?” 

“I live in xxxxxxx” 

“The station here is closed?” 

“Yes, it’s closed for the entire summer for construction. I have to take the train to Montparnasse.”

“You can go to the other station: Chaville Rive Gauche. Montparnasse is far.”

“Yes … a little bit.”

“I am glad that you made the voyage to Chaville …” 

“Me too, it really is an honour for me …” 

“Well …  maybe we will meet again. Today it’s quite calm here … maybe we will see each other again. Let’s see.” 

“Yes … maybe. It will be a great pleasure for me.” 

“Well … soyez bien, pas trop seule.” (Stay well, don’t be too alone.)