Invisible Love Read Free Page A

Geneviève, in Sainte-Gudule Cathedral, on the afternoon of April 13.
    It was pure chance that had led the two couples to share the service, and their connection would have stopped there if Laurent had not made the romantic gesture of tearing the wedding announcement from the town hall notice board. A few days later, he stuck this paper in their scrapbook, and then made a copy of it, this time celebrating the union of Jean Dae­mens and Laurent Delphin, a fake they both regarded as completely genuine.
    Thanks to its presence in their scrapbook, the surname Grenier became familiar to them. Consequently, when the newspaper
Le Soir
announced the birth of Johnny Grenier, the son of Eddy and Geneviève, they lingered over the paragraph, deeply moved. That morning, they felt—perhaps for the first time—a purely homosexual feeling, the painful realization that their love, however strong it was, would never bear fruit.
    They attended the christening.
    This time, the uncle who had previously landed Sainte-Gudule Cathedral had been unable to find Geneviève and Eddy a more elegant venue than their parish church, Notre-Dame-Immaculée, where a wheezy harmonium stood in for an organ and the priest’s spluttered sermon oozed from ancient gray loudspeakers that looked like lampshades. This did not bother Geneviève, engrossed as she was in the joy of motherhood, or Jean and Laurent, who were overwhelmed by this birth. Only Eddy was upset. There in the middle of the yellowish church with its grimy pews, its rudimentary stained-glass windows, its dark statues of polished wood more overloaded with plastic flowers than a concierge’s lodge, the mechanic had come down to earth: he was twenty-six, and he was bored by marriage. Yes, Geneviève was as lively and passionate as ever, and still in love with him, but married life made him feel guilty about everything: meeting his pals in a bar, drinking too much, talking too much, casually flirting with girls, wolfing down junk—cones of French fries or bags of licorice—rather than the dishes lovingly prepared by Geneviève, lying late in bed with his hands behind his head and the radio blaring away, lounging about the apartment in his shorts, in other words, behaving as he had before. He hated having to watch his step, forcing himself to improve, to become clean and reasonable and responsible and faithful. It was against nature! Did he have to endure all that just so that he could have sex with his wife as often as he liked? It seemed a high price to pay . . . Worse still, when he saw that red-faced brat Johnny screaming in his swaddling clothes, he foresaw that things weren’t going to get any better.
    Although he was making an effort to put on a good show during the ceremony, his moroseness did not pass unnoticed by the two men sitting at the back of the church. Jean and Laurent were shocked. Didn’t the stupid lump realize how lucky he was to be starting a family? What an oaf! They shifted all their sympathy to Geneviève, who was radiant.
    The next day, they had a baby carriage delivered, with a note, supposedly from the local social services, congratulating the new parents.
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    Life resumed for the two couples. Each was moving at its own pace toward its own essential truth.
    Jean and Laurent felt no diminution of their happiness. After conceiving a number of artistic projects that would allow him to work with Laurent in the theater, Jean had resigned himself to the fact that he had no talent. Feeling no bitterness, he had bought a shop with his father’s money and had started selling jewelry. Since he had good taste and women liked him for his good manners and excellent advice, the business soon prospered.
L’Atout coeur
became the place to go for the fashionable ladies of Brussels.
    Jean and Laurent were in the full flower of their love. They did nothing to hide the fact that they lived together, but nor did they