The blind side of the heart - By Julia Franck Page 0,93

Paris. Helene was already lying under the covers on her back, perfectly straight; it looked as if she were asleep. He drew back the covers and lay down beside her.

Don’t be surprised if you hear my heart beating, he said in a voice that wasn’t so dry any more, and he put out the light.

Didn’t you want to read to me?

He propped himself on his elbow, turned the light on again and saw that she had opened her eyes.

Right, I’ll read to you. He picked up Spinoza’s Ethics, lying on the bedside table, and leafed through it. In the days of Greek antiquity, he explained, licence and freedom meant complete indulgence in pleasure and the demand for happiness. But then the Stoics came along and lent God a hand; duty and virtue, all that is spiritual should be elevated above the lower pleasures, the flesh was anathema. The Middle Ages were a vale of woe. For that old moralist Kant there was still nothing but duty – bleakness wherever you look.

Why do you speak so disparagingly? You act as if happiness meant only physical union. Helene propped her own head up; she suspected that while Carl might be condemning Kant’s bleak outlook, he himself gave no more thought, however briefly, to the kiss she had owed him for months.

Carl dismissed her reproach. Not to speak of Schopenhauer, he went on, who saw the notion that we are here to be happy as an innate error in the education of mankind, a malformation, so to speak. But it doesn’t all depend on happiness, Helene, you know that, don’t you? Go on, then, yawn! Carl tapped her gently on the forehead with his bookmark.

Helene took the bookmark away from him. If I could read every book with you I’d be happy, do you believe that? Helene smiled. Most of all I’d like to read books with your eyes, with your voice, with your flexibility of tone.

Flexibility – what are you talking about? Carl laughed.

I like listening to you. Sometimes it’s as if you hurry over to the window while you’re reading, sometimes you crawl under the table.

And I’ll tell you how it seems to me – as if you climb trees and jump on the table when I’ve crawled under it, on principle.

Do I? Helene wondered what he meant. Did he think her annoying, didn’t he enjoy it when they measured up to each other, feeling the tension that sometimes existed between them?

Well, anyway, here we are lying under the same blanket, there’s an angel here with me – how did that happen? Now Carl looked at her so challengingly, with his mouth a whole millimetre closer, that Helene’s courage deserted her and her fear of the kiss was suddenly greater than her desire for it. So it doesn’t depend on happiness? Helene tapped Carl’s book. No lust and boundless licence?

Carl cleared his throat. What do you want, Helene? Do you want to learn to think?

Elbows in front of the book, chin propped on his hands, Carl was laughing into the cup they formed in front of his mouth. Schopenhauer consoles us: intellectual wealth will overcome even pain and tedium – our old friend Lenz obviously wasn’t clever enough there.

Helene put her head back on the pillow, exposing her throat to him; she deliberately turned on her side and watched his mouth as he spoke. His slightly pursed lips moved too much and too fast for her to follow. He noticed her glance and his eyelid began fluttering again, as if expecting her touch, as if it wanted nothing more. Suddenly he lowered his eyes, Helene saw his fingers trembling on the pages of the book, but he bravely read a couple of sentences that he had noted down on the first page: Happiness is not the reward of virtue, virtue is its own reward. We are not glad of it because we rein in our lusts, but because we are glad of it we can rein them in.

That sounds like good advice for future priests.

You’re wrong, Helene. It’s precious advice for all young men. Precious because we study for years to learn it and only when we’ve studied for years do we know a spark of happiness. Carl suddenly held back. He had been on the point of mentioning the importance of knowing there was a girl in bed beside you too, a woman, not just any woman but this one, his Helene. But he was afraid that might scare her.