of what I do. One day, someone will come along
wholl recognize their value. Please, go away. Im sure you can find someone else to listen
to what you have to say.
Igor takes a bundle of notes out of his pocket and puts them gently down beside her.
Forgive my rudeness. I only said I wasnt interested in buying anything to see if you would
lower the price. Anyway, my name is Igor Malev. I flew in from Moscow yesterday, and Im
still a little jet- lagged.
My names Olivia, says the young woman, pretending to believe his lie.
Without asking her permission, he sits down on the bench beside her. She shifts up an inch
or so.
What do you want to talk about? First, take the money. Olivia hesitates, then, looking
around, realizes that she has no reason to be afraid. Cars are now driving down the one available lane, young people are
heading for the beach, and an elderly couple are coming toward them down the pavement. She
puts the money in her pocket, not even bothering to count it; she has enough experience of
life to know that its more than enough.
Thank you for accepting my offer, says the Russian. You asked me what I want to talk
about? Well, nothing very important.
You must be here for a reason. You need a reason to visit Cannes at this time of year when
the city is as unbearable for the people who live here as it is for the tourists.
Igor is looking at the sea. He lights a cigarette.
Olivia smiles. This really is an excellent way to start the day, talk- ing about deeper
things than the price of each piece of handiwork or the clothes people are wearing.
And for you?
Yes, love too. But for me it was also important to earn enough money to show my parents
that I was capable of succeeding. I did that, and now theyre proud of me. I met the
perfect woman, we married, and I would like to have had children, to honor and fear God.
The children, alas, never came.
Olivia doesnt like to ask why. The man, in his forties, continues in his perfect French:
We thought of adopting a child. Indeed, we spent two or three years thinking about it, but
then life began to get too busy what with business trips and parties, meetings and deals.
When you sat down here to talk, I thought you were just another eccentric millionaire in
search of an adventure, but Im enjoying talk- ing about these things.
Do you think about the future?
Yes, I do, and I think my dreams are much the same as yours. Ob- viously, Id like to have
children as well . . .
She pauses. She doesnt want to hurt the feelings of this unexpected new companion.
. . . if, of course, I can. Sometimes, God has other plans. He appears not to have heard
her answer. Do only millionaires come to the Festival? Millionaires and people who think
theyre millionaires or want to become millionaires. While the Festival is on, this part of the city is like a madhouse.
Everyone behaves as if they were terribly important, apart from the people who really are
important; theyre much politer; they dont need to prove anything to anyone. They dont
always buy what I have to sell, but at least they smile, make some pleasant remark, and treat me with
respect. What are you doing here?
God made the world in six days, but what is the world? Its what you or I see. Whenever
someone dies, a part of the universe dies too. Everything a person felt, experienced, and
saw dies with them, like tears in the rain.
Like tears in the rain . . . I saw a film once that used that phrase. I cant remember now
what it was.
I didnt come here to cry. I came to send messages to the woman I love, and in order to do
that, I need to destroy a few universes or worlds.
Instead of feeling alarmed by this last statement, Olivia laughs. This handsome,
well-dressed man, speaking fluent French, doesnt seem like a madman at all. She was fed up
with always hearing the same things: youre very pretty, you could be doing better for
your- self, how much