Au verso du monde (Outdide Looking In) with Blaise Pascal, Jeanne Moreau and my friends 1997

À la fois texte de fiction et de réflexion, Au verso du monde parle des contradictions profondes et riches qui nous constituent.
—

Dans By the Skin of Their Tongues, dirigé par Nelson Henricks et Steve Reinke (p.201-208)

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[...]

“We cannot leave in this state”, cries Jeanne Moreau. “Raymonde, tell us your fog stories!”

***

“We left in panic : they announced that a blizzard would sweep through our region during the night. We haphazardly threw everything into the car while yelling, “Leave St-Urbain forerver!” Damned January rain... The road was already a skating rink. I gripped the wheel tightly. At the top of the mountains, the fog banks whipped the car to and fro, sending it into a slight waltz. We knew that if this dance increased in tempo, we'd leave this world forever.”

***

“The windshield wipers struggled in vain. The rain fell in thick sheets, so thick that on Sainte-Anne-des-Monts the road disappeared completely. But it was impossible to stop: a truck would have hit us from behind. Paralysed with fear, our eyes wide open, we advanced into the void. We went upwards into an Absolute fog. There we passed an angel on a bicycle.”

***

“Untiring, we crossed border, countries. That day, we stopped only once - for ten minutes - on an embarkment that reeked of urine where we found the courage to swallow our sandwiches. Our watches had not been on time for awhile. Hypnotized by the Serbo-Croatian songs coming from the radio, we did not see the night fall nor feel sleep creeping over us. We were almost dreaming when we left the highway to look for a hotel in the extraordinary darkness of a road so bumpy that the beams of our headlights leapt crazily about. Donkeys, carts, women in black, children, chickens, dogs, men carrying heavy loads - they came and went, brushing nonchalantly against our pathetic little car.”

***

Jeann Moreau opens the door. I take a last look at Pascal to wave a good-bye. I see his lips move, but no sound emerges. He looks abnormally pale. I raise my hands, he waves in return. As I turn away, I hear him murmur : Man does not know in what rank to place himself; he has clearly lost his true place, and has not the power to regain it. He seeks it everywhere, with worry and without success, in impenetrable darkness.