Happy Life

1
Eric Kherson was afraid of flying. He usually slept quite badly the night before a trip, his mind frantically catastrophizing, picturing everything he would leave behind after his violent death in a plane crash. But in the endless human battle between urges and fears, desire always wins out over fear.

2
Amelie Mortiers, the new chief of staff to the secretary of state for Foreign Trade, needed to recruit a team. As soon as she started work, in May 2017, she targeted Eric as one of her first hires. The people around her were surprised by this left-field choice. They expected her to go for one of the more experienced candidates suggested by headhunters, but Amelie preferred to call upon a former schoolfriend. And yet she and Eric had lost touch completely after the years they spent together in Rennes. Only when Magali Desmoulins came up with the idea of cre- ating a Facebook group for former Chateaubriand students in February 2017 did the two of them get back in touch. And while there may appear to be something a little pathetic about such nostalgic endeavours,1 most of the people involved were thrilled. Of course, they looked through each others’ profiles, eager to compare their former classmates’ lives with theirs, because other people’s failures always offer some consolation for our own. So it was that Amelie Mortiers came across the relatively inactive page belonging to Eric Kherson. There were no personal details listed at all, only a few comments about his career at Decathlon.

Eric had joined the French sporting goods retailer as a mere sales assistant before rising, over the course of twenty years, to become the organization’s commercial director. Whenever he was looking a bit tired, people would quote Decathlon’s slogan to him: ‘So? Are you in great shape?’ He had come to despise that phrase, but he never let his feelings show; he would just offer a detached smile, like a man taking a holiday from himself.

He was more than a little surprised to be contacted by Amelie. In Eric’s memory, she had been a girl so self-confident that she often came across as arrogant, even contemptuous. After finishing school, she had gone to one of the most prestigious universi- ties in Paris before ending up at the elite ENA administration school, where future French government officials were trained. As he reread her message, he decided he must have misjudged her. But then he had never been very good at evaluating other people’s characters. For a woman in such an elevated position to write a personal message on Facebook regarding a profes- sional proposal… surely that suggested someone with a simple, direct nature? Yes, proposal was the word she had used. What did she want? And why him? Well, it wouldn’t hurt to hear what she had to say…

They agreed to meet at eight the next morning in a café on Rue du Bac. Eric thought this way too early to discuss such important matters. He found it easier to envisage a bright future in the evening. He arrived a little early so he could order a double espresso before their meeting. Amelie entered the café dead on time, as if her body moved in perfect sync with her daily schedule. The previous night, Eric had looked at some recent photos of her online, but since he didn’t have an Instagram account he’d been blocked before he’d had the chance to see many. In these pictures, she radiated a sort of solar power, and he was left with the feeling that Amelie was approaching her forties as if she had a date with the zenith of her sensuality. In person, however, he felt differently: as she walked towards him, he couldn’t help sensing something malevolent about her.

‘You haven’t changed,’ she said, taking a seat.

‘I assume you’re just being polite.’

‘Maybe,’ she admitted, smiling to mask her true feelings: she had trouble even recognizing him. At school, Eric had not necessarily been the kind of boy you noticed right away, but he had emanated a kind of tranquillity that could easily pass for charisma. He had, she thought, been discreetly charming. Now, he appeared to be in full retreat from his former appeal. Physically, he looked as though he had given up. For an instant, she found herself wondering why she’d contacted him. It would probably take her a while to understand the reason.

Finally, she said: ‘Thank you for responding so quickly to my message.’

‘I was intrigued.’

‘It’s a shame we lost touch. I mean, I know we were never especially close. And once I left for Paris, I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone.’

Eric said nothing to this.

‘It was a good idea, that Facebook group…’ ‘Yeah.’

‘So, you stayed in Rennes?’

‘Yeah, I started business school, but then—’ He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, before adding: ‘But then my father died.’

From the look on her face, it was clear that Amelie was una- ware of this. Before the age of social media, such events made fewer ripples. Eric managed to continue talking, and quickly summarized his career.

‘It’s stupid, but when I saw everything you’ve accomplished, I couldn’t help feeling proud,’ Amelie remarked.

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes. I don’t know why exactly… Breton solidarity, maybe.’ ‘Hmm, I’ve never looked at things that way.’

‘I mean, we both have the same roots. Although I must admit I hardly ever go back there. My parents moved to Nice, you see…’

Eric could not think of anything to say to this.

‘Anyway, I’d love to talk about the old days, but as I’m sure you can imagine I don’t have a lot of time right now. This whole thing with Macron… there’s so much energy, and people have such high expectations.’

It’s always like that when a president is first elected, Eric thought. What distinguishes a good president from a mediocre one is what happens once the disillusion sets in.

Amelie ordered a cup of coffee that she didn’t drink; she’d already had too much caffeine that morning. She began talking about her own career in a way that she knew was enthralling. She had honed this autobiographical monologue to perfection. All the same, she did need to get to the point. She was in charge of organizing a centre of excellence intended to help France conquer foreign markets while at the same time increasing the country’s attractiveness to investors. Her desk was piled high with the CVs of technocrats, but it seemed obvious to her that she needed to call upon the skills of people beyond Parisian governmental circles. That was what had prompted her to recall images she had seen on Eric Kherson’s Facebook profile, with snapshots of his meteoric rise at Decathlon. She had also read an interview with him in the weekly business magazine Challenges, in which – although he had been at pains not to take all the credit – it was clear how much the company had benefited from his leadership qualities. Finally, she asked him outright what he thought about the prospect of joining her cabinet.

‘Um, I don’t know what to say,’ he replied.

‘I can give you time to think about it, of course. Although… not a lot of time.’

He didn’t say anything to this.

‘I really want someone like you on my team,’ she explained. ‘You’ve risen through the ranks at a major company, so I’m sure there are things that you understand better than I ever could. You can imagine the kind of pressure I’m going to be under. And… there’s something else. I need someone I know, someone who won’t judge me the way a stranger would. I know we weren’t close, but we’re from the same place. We’re both Breton…’

‘That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that.’ ‘I think you know exactly what I mean…’

In a few words, Amelie had shifted the conversation into almost emotional territory. She was definitely a politician, he thought. But then she began talking in more practical terms, describing the hectic, jet-setting lifestyle that would ensue if he took her up on her offer. This whole situation struck Eric as surreal. A former schoolmate suddenly reappearing with a life-changing proposal. Even more strangely, he had no clear recollection of their relationship back then. It seemed to him that the only thing that connected them was the fact of having gone to the same school. Over time, people’s memories could sometimes distort reality, promoting mere extras into the roles of main characters. She seemed so determined to work with him that he felt disorientated. It had been a long time since anyone had expressed such enthusiasm about his career. Hardly anyone gave him compliments or encouragement anymore, to the point that he had started to doubt everything – himself, most of all. Amelie’s words helped to soothe the pains of a wounded ego.