dresses, emerald necklaces, and stretch
limos. And since this is what still appears in all the magazines, who would dare destroy a
billion-dollar industry in- volving advertisements, the sale of useless objects, the
invention of en- tirely unnecessary new trends, and the creation of identical face creams
all bearing different labels?
How ridiculous! Igor cannot conceal his loathing for those whose decisions affect the
lives of millions of honest, hardworking men and women leading dignified lives and glad to
have their health, a home, and the love of their family.
How perverse! Just when everything seems to be in order and as families gather round the
table to have supper, the phantom of the Su- perclass appears, selling impossible dreams:
luxury, beauty, power. And the family falls apart.
The father works overtime to be able to buy his son the latest sneak- ers because if his
son doesnt have a pair, hell be ostracized at school. The wife weeps in silence because
her friends have designer clothes and she has no money. Their adolescent children, instead
of learning the real values of faith and hope, dream only of becoming singers or movie
stars. Girls in provincial towns lose any real sense of themselves and start to think of
going to the big city, prepared to do anything, absolutely anything, to get a particular
piece of jewelry. A world that should be directed toward justice begins instead to focus
on material things, which, in six months time, will be worthless and have to be replaced,
and that is how the whole circus ensures that the despicable creatures gathered together
in Cannes remain at the top of the heap.
Igor is untouched by this destructive power, for he has one of the most enviable jobs in
the world. He continues to earn more money in a day than he could spend in a year, even if
he were to indulge in all possible pleasures, legal and illegal. He has no difficulty in
finding women, regardless of whether they know how much money he has hes tested it out on
more than one occasion and never failed yet. He has just turned forty, is in good physical
shape, and, according to his annual checkup, has no health problems. He has no debts
either. He doesnt have to wear a particular designer label, go to a particular res-
taurant, spend his holidays at a beach where everyone goes, or buy a watch just because
some successful sportsman is promoting it. He can sign major contracts with a cheap
ballpoint pen, wear comfortable, elegant jackets, handmade by a tailor who has a small
shop next to his office, and which carry no label at all. He can do as he likes and doesnt have to prove to anyone that hes rich; he has an interesting job and loves what he does.
Perhaps thats the problem: he
still loves what he does. Hes sure that this is why the woman who came into the bar some
hours earlier is not sitting at his table with him.
He tries to keep thinking, to pass the time. He asks Kristelle for an- other drinkhe knows
the waitresss name because an hour ago, when the bar was emptier (people were having
supper), he asked for a glass of whisky, and she said that he looked sad and should eat
something to cheer himself up. He thanked her for her concern, and was glad that someone
should care about his state of mind.
He is perhaps the only one who knows the name of the waitress serving him, the others only
want to know the namesand, if pos- sible, the job titlesof the people sitting at the
tables and in the arm- chairs.
He tries to keep thinking, but its gone three oclock in the morn- ing, and the beautiful
woman and her courteous companionwho, by the way, looks remarkably like himhave not
reappeared. Maybe they went straight up to their room where they are now making love, or
perhaps theyre still drinking champagne on one of the yachts where the parties only begin
when the other parties are all coming to an end.