:28 PM

A seagull was flying over a beach, when it saw a mouse. It flew down and asked the mouse:

Where are your wings?

Each animal speaks its own language, and so the mouse didnt under- stand the question, but stared at the two strange, large things attached to the other creatures body.

It must have some illness, thought the mouse. The seagull noticed the mouse staring at its wings and thought: Poor thing. It must have been attacked by monsters that left it deaf and took away its wings. Feeling sorry for the mouse, the seagull picked it up in its beak and took it for a ride in the skies. Its probably homesick, the seagull thought while they were flying. Then, very carefully, it deposited the mouse once more on the ground.

For some months afterward, the mouse was sunk in gloom; it had known the heights and seen a vast and beautiful world. However, in time, it grew accustomed to being just a mouse again and came to believe that the miracle that had occurred in its life was nothing but a dream.

This was a story from her childhood, but right now, shes up in the sky: she can see the turquoise sea, the luxurious yachts, the people small as ants below, the tents on the beach, the hills, the horizon to her left, beyond which lay Africa and all its problems. The ground is approaching fast. Its best to view humankind from on high, she thinks. Only then can we see how very small we are.

Ewa seems bored, either that or nervous. Hamid never really knows whats going on in his wifes head, even though theyve been together for more than two years now. Cannes, its true, is a trial for everyone concerned, but he cant leave the Festival any earlier than planned. Be- sides, she should be used to all this because the life of her ex-husband hadnt been so very different, with suppers to attend, events to organize, and having constantly to change country, continent, and language.

Was she always like this or is it that she doesnt love me as much as she did at first?

A forbidden thought. Concentrate on other things, please.

The noise of the engine doesnt allow for conversation, unless you use the headphones with the microphone attached. Ewa hasnt even picked hers up from the hook beside her seat. Not that theres any point asking her to put them on so that he can tell her for the thousandth time that shes the most important woman in his life and that hell do his best to make sure she enjoys the week at this, her first Cannes Festival. The sound system on board is set up so that every conversation can be overheard by the pilot, and Ewa hates public displays of affection.

There they are, in that glass bubble, just about to touch down. He can see the huge white car, a Maybach, the most expensive and most sophisticated car in the world. Even more exclusive than Rolls-Royce. Soon theyll be sitting inside, listening to some relaxing music, and drinking iced champagne or mineral water.

He consults his platinum watch, which is a certified copy of one of the first models produced in a small workshop in the town of Schaff- hausen. Women can get away with spending a fortune on diamonds, but a watch is the only piece of jewelry allowed to a man of good taste, and only the true cognoscenti knew the significance of that watch, which was rarely advertised in the glossy magazines.

That could be a definition of true sophistication: knowing where to find the very best even if other people have never heard of it, and pro- ducing the very best too, regardless of what others might say.

It was already nearly two oclock in the afternoon, and he needed to talk to his stockbroker in New York before trading opened on the stock exchange. When he arrived, he would make a calljust one with his instructions for the day. Making money at the casino, as he called the investment funds, was not his favorite sport; however, he had to pretend to be keeping an eye on what his managers and financial engineers were up to. He could rely on the protection, support, and vigilance of the sheikh, but nevertheless he had to demonstrate that he was up-to-date on what was happening.

He might, in the end, have to make two phone calls, but give no concrete instructions on what to buy or sell. His energy is focused on something else: that afternoon, at least two actressesone famous and one unknownwill be walking down the red carpet wearing his dresses. Obviously, he has assistants who can take care of everything, but he likes to be personally involved, even if only to remind himself that every detail is important and that he hasnt lost touch with the basis on which he built his empire. Apart from that, he wants to spend the rest of his time in France trying to enjoy Ewas company to the full, introducing her to interesting people, strolling on the beach, lunching together in some small restaurant in a nearby town, or walking along, hand-in-hand, through the vineyards he can see on the horizon.

He had always felt he was incapable of falling in love with anything other than his work, although the list of his conquests includes an en- viable series of relationships with some even more enviable women. The moment Ewa appeared on the scene, though, he was a different man. They have been together for two years and his love is stronger and more intense than ever. In love. Him, Hamid Hussein, one of the most famous designers on the planet, the public face of a gigantic in- ternational conglomerate selling luxury and glamour. The man who had battled against everything and everyone, who had challenged all the Wests preconceived ideas about people from the Middle East and their religion, the man who had used the ancestral knowledge of his tribe to survive, learn, and reach the top. Contrary to rumor, he was not from a rich oil family. His father had been a seller of cloth who, one day, had found favor with a sheikh simply because he refused to do as he was told. Whenever Hamid had doubts about what decision to make, he liked to remember the example he had received in adolescence: Say no to powerful people, even when doing so means taking a great risk. It had almost always worked. And on the few occasions when it hadnt, the consequences were not as grave as he had imagined.

His father had not, alas, lived to see his sons success. When the sheikh started buying up all the available land in that part of the desert in order to build one of the most modern cities in the world, his father had had the courage to say to one of the sheikhs emissaries:

Im not selling. My family has been here for centuries. We buried our dead here. We learned to survive storms and invaders. We cannot sell the place that God charged us to take care of.

The emissaries increased their offer. When he still refused, they got angry and threatened to do whatever was necessary to remove him. The sheikh, too, began to grow impatient. He wanted to start his proj- ect straightaway because he had big plans. The price of oil had risen on the international market, and the money needed to be spent before the oil reserves ran out and any possibility of building an infrastructure to attract foreign investments vanished.

Still old Hussein refused to sell his property, whatever the price. Then the sheikh decided to go and speak to him directly.

I can offer you anything you desire, he said.

Then give my son a good education. Hes sixteen now, and there are no prospects for him here.

Only if you sell me your house.

There was a long silence, then his father, looking straight at the sheikh, said something the latter had never expected to hear.

You, sir, have a duty to educate your subjects, and I cannot ex- change my familys future for its past.

Hamid recalls the look of immense sadness in his fathers eyes as he went on:

But if you can at least give my son a chance in life, then I will accept your offer.

The sheikh left without saying another word. The following day, he asked Hamids father to send his son to him so that they could talk.

After walking down blocked roads, past gigantic cranes, laborers tire- lessly working, and whole quarters in the process of being demolished, Hamid finally reached the palace that had been built beside the old port.

The sheikh came straight to the point.

You know that I want to buy your fathers house. There is very little oil left in our country, and we must wean ourselves off oil and find other paths before the oil wells run dry. We will prove to the world that we can sell not only oil, but our services too. Meanwhile, in order to take those first steps, we need to make some major reforms, like build- ing a good airport, for example. We need land so that foreigners can build on it. My dream is a just one and my intentions are good. One thing were going to need are more experts in the field of finance. Now, you heard the conversation between myself and your father . . .

Hamid tried to disguise his fear, for there were more than a dozen people listening to their conversation. However, his heart had an answer ready for each question he was asked.

. . . so tell me, what do you want to do? asked the sheikh. I want to study haute couture. The other people present looked at each other. They might not even have known what he meant. My father sells much of the cloth he buys to foreigners, who then turn his cloth into designer clothes and earn a hundred times more from it than he does. Im sure we could do the same here. Im convinced that fashion could be one way of breaking down the prejudices the rest of the world has about us. If they could be made to see that we dont dress like barbarians, they would find it easier to accept us.

This time, he heard murmurings in the court. Was he talking about clothes? That was something for Westerners, who were more con- cerned with how people looked on the outside than with what they were like inside.

On the other hand, the price my father is paying is very high. I would prefer to keep our house. I will work with the cloth he has, and if Merciful God so desires it, I will realize my dream. I, like Your Maj- esty, know what I want. The court listened in amazement to hear this boy not only challeng- ing their regions great leader, but refusing to accept his own fathers wishes. The sheikh, however, smiled.

And where does one study haute couture?

In France or Italy, working with the great masters. There are uni- versities where one can study, but theres no substitute for experience. It wont be easy, but if Merciful God so wishes, I will succeed.

The sheikh asked him to come back later that afternoon. Hamid strolled down to the port and visited the bazaar, where he marveled at the colors, the cloths, and the embroidery. He loved visiting the bazaar and it saddened him to think that it would soon be destroyed because a part of the past and part of tradition would be lost. Was it possible to stop progress? Would it be sensible to try and stop the development of a nation? He remembered the many nights he had sat up late drawing by candlelight, copying the clothes the Bedouin wore, afraid that tribal costumes would also one day be destroyed by the cranes and by foreign investment.

At the appointed hour, he returned to the palace. There were even more people with the sheikh now.

I have made two decisions, said the sheikh. First, I am going to pay your expenses for a year. We have enough boys interested in a career in the financial sector, but you are the first to express a wish to learn sewing. It seems utter madness, but then everyone tells me my dreams are mad too, and yet look where theyve got me. I cannot go against my own example.

On the other hand, none of my assistants has any contacts among the people you mentioned, and so I will be paying you a small monthly allowance to keep you from having to beg in the streets. You will return a winner; you will represent our country, and its important that other nations should learn to respect our culture. Before leaving, you will have to learn the languages of the countries to which you are going. Which languages are they?

English, French, and Italian. I am most grateful to you for your generosity, but what about my father . . .

The sheikh gestured to him to be silent.

My second decision is as follows. Your fathers house will remain where it is. In my dreams it will be surrounded by skyscrapers, no sun will enter its windows, and, in the end, he will have to move. However, the house will stay there forever. In the future, people will remember me and say: He was a great man because he changed his country. And he was just because he respected the rights of a seller of cloth.

The helicopter lands at the very end of the pier, and he leaves aside his memories. He gets out first and then proffers Ewa a helping hand. He touches her skin and looks proudly at this blonde woman, all dressed in white, her clothes glowing in the sunlight, her other hand holding on to the lovely, discreet beige hat she is wearing. They walk past the ranks of yachts moored on either side, toward the car that awaits them and the chauffeur standing with the door already open.

He holds his wifes hand and whispers in her ear:

I hope you enjoyed the lunch. Theyre great collectors of art, and it was very generous of them to provide a helicopter for us.

Yes, I loved it.

But what Ewa really means is: No, I hated it. Worse, Im feeling really frightened. Ive just received a text on my mobile phone and I know who sent it, even though I cant identify the number.

They get into the vast car made for just two people, the rest being empty space. The air-conditioning is set at the ideal temperature, the music is exactly right for such a moment, and no outside noise pen- etrates their perfect isolation. He sits down on the comfortable leather seat, opens the mini-bar in front of them, and asks if Ewa would like some champagne. No, she says, mineral water will be fine.

I saw your ex-husband yesterday in the hotel bar, before we left for supper.

Thats impossible. He has no business in Cannes.

She would like to have said: You may be right. Ive just received a text. We should board the next plane out of here.

Oh, Im quite sure it was him. Hamid notices that his wife is not in the mood to talk. He has been brought up to respect the privacy of those he loves, and so he makes himself think of something else.

Having first asked Ewas permission, he makes the obligatory phone call to his stockbroker in New York. He listens patiently for two or three sentences, then politely interrupts any further news on market trends. The whole call lasts no more than two minutes.

He makes another call to the director he has chosen for his first film. The director is on his way to the boat to meet with the Star, and yes, a young actress has been chosen and should be joining them shortly.

He turns to Ewa again, but she still seems disinclined to talk, her gaze absent, staring out of the limousine windows at nothing. Perhaps shes worried because shell have so little time at the hotel. Shell have to change immediately and go straight to a rather insignificant fashion show by a Belgian designer, where Hamid wants to see for himself the young African model, Jasmine, whom his assistants tell him will be the ideal face for his next collection.

He wants to know how the girl will survive the pressures of an event in Cannes. If everything goes to plan, shell be one of his star models at the Fashion Week in Paris set for October.

Ewa keeps her eyes fixed on the window, not that shes in- terested in whats going on outside. She knows the gentle, creative, determined, well-dressed man by her side very well. She knows that he desires her as no man has ever desired a woman, apart, that is, from the man she left. She can trust him, even though he lives surrounded by some of the most beautiful women in the world. Hes an honest, hard- working man who has met and overcome many challenges in order to be chauffeured around in that limo and to be able to offer her a glass of champagne or her favorite mineral water. He is powerful and capable of protecting her from any danger, except one, the worst of all. Her ex-husband.

She doesnt want to arouse suspicions now by picking up her phone again to reread the message; she knows the message by heart.

I have destroyed a world for you, Katyusha.

She has no idea what these words mean, but no one else would call her by that name.

She has taught herself to love Hamid, although she detests the life he leads, the parties they go to, and his friends. She doesnt know yet if she has succeeded in making herself love him; there are moments when she feels almost suicidal with despair. All she knows is that he was her salvation at a time when she thought she was lost forever, incapable of escaping the trap of her marriage.

Many years before, she had fallen in love with an angel with a sad childhood, who had been called up into the Soviet army to fight in an absurd war in Afghanistan only to return to a country verging on collapse. Despite this, he had overcome all difficulties to succeed. He began to work very hard, getting loans from some very shady people, then lying awake at night, worrying about the risk he was taking and wondering how he could ever repay those loans. He put up uncomplainingly with the endemic corruption, accepting that he would have to bribe a government official each time he needed a new license for a product that would improve the quality of life of his own people. He was idealistic and affectionate. By day, his leadership went unquestioned because life had taught him how to lead, and military service had helped him understand exactly how hierarchies work. At night, he would cling to her and ask her to protect and advise him, to pray for everything to go well and for him to avoid the many traps that lay in his path each day.

Ewa would stroke his hair and assure him that everything was fine, that he was a good man, and that God always rewarded the just.

Gradually, the difficulties gave way to opportunities. The small business he had startedafter almost begging people to sign con- tractsbegan to grow because he was one of the few to have invested in something that no one believed could work in a country still plagued by near-obsolete communication networks. The government changed and corruption diminished. Money began to come in, slowly at first, then in vast quantities. However, they never forgot the difficult times they had been through and never wasted a penny. They made contri- butions to charities and to associations for ex-soldiers; they lived un- ostentatiously, dreaming of the day when they could put it all behind them and go and live in a house away from the world. When that hap- pened, they would forget that they had once been obliged to have deal- ings with people who had no ethics and no dignity. They spent much of their time in airports, planes, and hotels; they worked eighteen hours a day, and for years never managed to take a months holiday together.

They nurtured the same dream: the moment would come when that frenetic pace of life would be but a distant memory. The scars from that period would be like medals won in a war waged in the name of faith and dreams. After all, each human beingor so she believed then had been born to love and to live with their beloved.

The whole process of finding work was suddenly turned on its head. Instead of them having to hunt down contracts, they began to appear spontaneously. Her husband was featured on the front cover of an im- portant business magazine, and the local bigwigs started sending them invitations to parties and events. They began to be treated like royalty, and ever greater quantities of money flowed in.

They had to adapt to these changed circumstances: they bought a beautiful house in Moscow, a house with every possible comfort. For reasons she didnt and preferred not to know, her husbands old associ- ates ended up in prison. (These were the same associates who had made those initial loans, of which, despite the exorbitant interest rates, Igor had paid back every penny.) From then on, Igor began to be accom- panied everywhere by bodyguards, only two at firstfellow veterans and friends from the Afghan warbut they were later joined by others as the small company grew into a multinational giant with branches in several countries in seven different time zones, making ever more and ever more diverse investments.

Ewa spent her days in shopping malls or having tea with friends, who always talked about the same things. Igor, of course, wanted to go further . . . and further. After all, he had only got where he was by dint of ambition and hard work. Whenever she asked if they had not gone far beyond what they had planned and if it wasnt time to realize their dream of living only on the love they felt for each other, he always asked for a little more time. And he began to drink more heavily. One night, he came home after a long supper with friends during which much wine and vodka had been drunk, and she could contain her feel- ings no longer. She said she couldnt stand the empty existence she was leading; if she didnt do something soon, she would go mad. Wasnt she satisfied with what she had, asked Igor.

Yes, Im satisfied, but the problem is youre not, and never will be. Youre insecure, afraid of losing everything youve achieved; you dont know how to quit once youre ahead. Youll end up destroying your- self. Youre killing our marriage and my love.

This wasnt the first time she had spoken thus to her husband; they had always been very honest with each other, but she felt she was reach- ing a limit. She had had enough of the shopping and the tea parties and the ghastly television programs that she watched while waiting for him to come home from work.

Dont say that, dont say Im killing our love. I promise that soon well leave all this behind us, just be patient. Perhaps you should start some project of your own because your life at the moment really must be pretty hellish.

At least he recognized that. What would you like to do? he asked. Yes, she thought, perhaps that would be a way out. Id like to work with fashion. Thats always been my dream. Her husband immediately granted her wish. The following week, he turned up with the keys to a shop in one of the best shopping malls in Moscow. Ewa was thrilled. Her life took on new meaning; the long days and nights spent waiting would be over for good. She borrowed money, and Igor invested enough in the business for her to have a good chance of success.

Suppers and partieswhere she had always felt like an outsider took on a new interest for her. In just two years, thanks to contacts made at such social events, she was running the most successful haute- couture shop in Moscow. Although she had a joint account with her husband, and he never questioned how much she spent, she made a point of paying back the money he had lent her. She started going off on business trips alone, looking for new designs and exclusive brands. She took on staff, got to grips with the accounts, and becameto her own surprisean excellent businesswoman.

Igor had taught her everything. He was a great role model, an ex- ample to be followed. And just as everything was going so well and her life had taken on new meaning, the Angel of Light that had lit her path began to waver.

They were in a restaurant inIrkutsk,afterspendingaweek- end in a fishing village on the shores of Lake Baikal. By that stage, the company owned two planes and a helicopter, so that they could travel as far as they liked and be back on Monday to start all over again. Nei- ther of them complained about spending so little time together, but it was clear that the many years of struggle were beginning to take their toll. Still, they knew that their love was stronger than everything else, and, as long as they were together, they would be all right.

In the middle of a candlelit supper, a drunken beggar came into the restaurant, walked over to their table, sat down, and began to talk, interrupting their precious moment alone, far from the hustle and bustle of Moscow. A minute later, the owner offered to remove him, but Igor said he would take care of it. The beggar grew animated, picked up their bottle of vodka and drank from it; then he started asking questions (Who are you? How come youve got so much money, when we all live in such poverty here?) and generally complaining about life and about the government. Igor put up with this for a few more minutes.

Then he got to his feet, took the man by the arm, and led him out- side (the restaurant was in an unpaved street). His two bodyguards were waiting for him. Ewa saw through the window that her husband barely spoke to them, apart from issuing some order along the lines of Keep an eye on my wife and headed off toward a small side street. He came back a few minutes later, smiling.

Well, he wont bother anyone again, he said.

Ewa noticed a different light in his eyes; they seemed filled by an immense joy, far greater than any joy he had shown during the week- end they had spent together.

What did you do?

Igor did not reply, but simply called for more vodka. They both drank steadily into the nighthe happy and smiling and she choos- ing to understand only what she wanted to understand. He had always been so generous with those less fortunate than himself, so perhaps he had given the man money to help him out of his poverty.

When they went back to the hotel, he said:

Its something I learned in my youth, when I was fighting in an unjust war for an ideal I didnt believe in. Theres always a way of put- ting an end to poverty.

No, Igor cant be here in Cannes. Hamid must have made a mistake. The two men had only met once before, in the foyer of the building where they lived in London, when Igor had found out their address and gone there to beg Ewa to come back. Hamid had spoken to him, but hadnt allowed him to come in, threatening to call the police. For a whole week, she had refused to leave their apartment, claiming to have a headache, but knowing that the Angel of Light had turned into Absolute Evil.

She looks at her phone again and rereads the message.

Katyusha. Only one person would call her by that name. The person who lives in her past and will terrorize her present for the rest of her life, however protected she feels, however far away she lives, and even though she inhabits a world to which he has no access. The same person who, on their return from Irkutskas if he had sloughed off an enormous weighthad begun to speak more freely about the shadows that inhabited his soul.

No one, absolutely no one, can threaten our privacy. Weve spent long enough creating a fairer, more humane society. Anyone who fails to respect our moments of freedom should be removed in such a way that theyll never even consider coming back. Ewa was afraid to ask what in such a way meant. She had thought she knew her husband, but from one moment to the next, it seemed that a submerged volcano had begun to roar, and the shock waves were getting stronger and stronger. She remembered certain late-night con- versations with him when he was still a young man and how he had told her that, during the war in Afghanistan, he had sometimes been forced to kill in self-defense. She had never seen regret or remorse in his eyes.

I survived, and thats what matters. My life could have ended one sunny afternoon, or at dawn in the snow-covered mountains, or one night when we were playing cards in our tent, confident that the situa- tion was under control. And if I had died, nothing would have changed in the world. I would have been just another statistic for the army and another medal for my family.

But Jesus helped me, and I was blessed with quick reactions. And because I survived the hardest tests a man can face, fate has given me the two most important things in life: success at work and the person I love.

It was one thing killing in order to save your own life, but quite another to remove for good some poor drunk who had interrupted their supper and who could easily have been shepherded away by the restaurant owner. She couldnt get the idea out of her head. She started going ever earlier to the shop and, when she came home, sitting at her computer until late into the night. There was a question she wanted to avoid. She managed to carry on like this for some months, follow- ing the usual routine: business trips, parties, suppers, meetings, char- ity auctions. She even wondered if she had misunderstood what her husband had said in Irkutsk and blamed herself for making such a snap judgment.

Time passed, and the question became less important, until the night they attended a gala suppercumcharity auction at one of the most expensive restaurants in Milan. They were both there for differ- ent reasons: Igor in order to firm up the details of a contract with an Italian firm, and Ewa in order to attend the Fashion Week, where she intended to make a few purchases for her Moscow shop.

And what had happened in the middle of Siberia was repeated in one of the most sophisticated cities in the world. This time, a friend of theirs, rather the worse for wear, sat down at their table uninvited and started joking and making inappropriate remarks. Ewa saw Igors hand grip the handle of his knife more tightly. As tactfully and politely as possible, she asked the friend to go away. By then, she had already drunk several glasses of Asti Spumante, as the Italians refer to what used to be called champagne because the use of the word champagne was banned under the so-called Protected Designation of Origin. Champagne simply means a white wine made using a particular bacte- ria which, when rigorously controlled, begins to generate gases inside the bottle as the wine ages over a period of at least fifteen months. The name refers to the region where its produced. Spumante is exactly the same thing, but European law doesnt allow it to be known by the French name, since the vineyards are in Italy and not in the Cham- pagne region of France.

They started talking about champagne and about the laws govern- ing names, while she tried to drive from her head the question she had tried to suppress and which was now returning in full force. While they were talking, she kept drinking, until there came a moment when she could hold back no longer.

What does it matter if someone gets a little drunk and comes over to talk to us?

When he answered, Igors voice had changed.

Because we so rarely travel together. Besides, you know what I think about the world we live in: that were being suffocated by lies, encouraged to put our faith in science rather than in spiritual values and to feed our souls with the things society tells us are important, when, in reality, were slowly dying because we know whats going on around us, that were being forced to do things we never planned to do, and yet even so, are incapable of giving it all up and devoting our days and nights to true happiness, to family, nature, love. And why is that? Because we feel obliged to finish what we started, so that we can achieve the financial stability we need in order to enjoy the rest of our lives devoting ourselves to each other because were responsible people. I know you sometimes think I work too much, but its not true. Im building our future and soon well be free to dream and to live out our dreams.

Financial stability was hardly something they lacked. They had no debts and they could have got up from that table there and then with just their credit cards and simply left behind them the world Igor ap- parently hated and start all over again, and never have to worry about money. She had often spoken to him about this, and Igor always said the same thing: It wont be much longer. Besides, this wasnt the moment to discuss their future as a couple.

God thought of everything, he went on. We are together be- cause he decided we should be. You may not fully appreciate your im- portance in my life, but without you, I would never have got where I am today. He placed us side by side and lent me his power to defend you whenever necessary. He taught me that everything is part of a plan, and I must respect that plan down to the last detail. If hadnt done so, I would either be dead in Kabul or living in poverty in Moscow.

And it was then that the Spumante or champagne revealed what it was capable of, regardless of what it was called.

What happened to that beggar in Siberia? she asked.

Igor didnt at first know what she was talking about. Ewa reminded him of what had happened in the restaurant there.

Id like to know what you did. I saved him. She gave a sigh of relief. I saved him from a filthy, hopeless life in those freezing winters, with his body being slowly destroyed by booze. I let his soul depart toward the light because the moment he came into that restaurant to destroy our happiness, I knew that his spirit was inhabited by the Evil One.

Ewa felt her heart begin to pound. She didnt need him to say out- right: I killed him. It was clear that he had.

Without you I dont exist. Anything and anyone who tries to sepa- rate us or to destroy the little time we have together at this particular moment of our lives gets the treatment they deserve.

Meaning perhaps that they deserved to be killed? Could such a thing have happened before without her noticing? She drank and drank some more, and Igor began to relax again. Since he never opened his heart to anyone else, he loved their conversations.

We speak the same language, he went on. We see the world in the same way. We complete each other with a perfection that is granted only to those who put love above all else. As I said, without you I dont exist.

Look at the Superclass around us. They think theyre so impor- tant, so socially aware, because theyre willing to pay a fortune for some useless item at a charity auction or to attend a supper organized to raise funds to help the homeless in Rwanda or to save the pandas in China. Pandas and the homeless are all one to them. They feel spe- cial, superior to the average person, because theyre doing something useful. Have they ever fought in a war? No. They create wars, but they dont fight in them. If the war turns out well, they get all the credit. If not, others get the blame. Theyre in love with themselves.

My love, Id like to ask you something else . . .

At that point, a presenter climbed onto the stage and thanked ev- eryone for being there that night. The money raised would go toward buying medicine for refugee camps in Africa.

What he doesnt say, Igor went on, as if he hadnt heard her, is that only ten percent of the total amount raised will reach its destina- tion. The rest will be used to pay for this event, for the cost of this supper, for the publicity and the organizers, in short, for the people who had the brilliant idea in the first place, and all at an exorbitant price. They use poverty as a way to get even richer.

So why are we here?

Because we need to be. Its part of my work. I have no intention of saving Rwanda or sending medicine to refugees, but at least I know that I dont. The other guests here tonight are using their money to wash their consciences and their souls clean of guilt. When the geno- cide was going on in Rwanda, I financed a small army of friends, who prevented more than two thousand deaths. Did you know that?

No, you never told me. I didnt need to. You know that I care about other people.

The auction began with a small Louis Vuitton travel bag. It sold for ten times its retail price. Igor watched the auction impassively, while she drank another glass of Spumante and wondered whether she should or shouldnt ask that question.

An artist danced to a soundtrack provided by Marilyn Monroe and simultaneously painted a picture. The bids for the finished work of art were sky-highthe price of a small apartment in Moscow.

Another glass of wine. Another item sold. For an equally absurd price.

She drank so much that night that she had to be carried back to the hotel. Before he put her into bed and before she fell asleep, she finally got up the courage to ask:

And what if I were to leave you? Drink less next time. Answer me. That could never happen. Our marriage is perfect. Common sense returned, but she knew she had an excuse now and so pretended to be drunker than she was. Yes, but what if I did? Id make you come back, and Im good at getting what I want, even if that means destroying whole worlds. And what if I met another man? He looked at her without rancor, almost benevolently. Even if you slept with every man on Earth, my love would still survive.

And since then, what had seemed a blessing began to turn into a nightmare. She was married to a monster, an assassin. What was that story about financing an army of mercenaries to intervene in a tribal war? How many other men had he killed to keep them from troubling their marital peace? She could blame the war, the traumas he had suffered, the hard times he had been through, but many other men had endured the same experiences, without emerging from them convinced that they were the instrument of Divine Justice, carrying out some Grand Plan.

Im not jealous, Igor used to say whenever he or she set off on a business trip, because you know how much I love you, and I know how much you love me. Nothing will ever happen to destabilize our marriage.

She was more convinced than ever that this was not love. It was something sick and morbid, which she would either have to accept and live the rest of her life a prisoner to fear, or else free herself as soon as possible, at the first opportunity.

Several opportunities arose, but the most insistent, the most per- sistent was the very last man with whom she would have imagined building a real relationship: the couturier who was dazzling the fash- ion world, growing ever more famous, and receiving a vast amount of money from his own country so that the world would understand that the nomadic tribes had solid moral values that were completely at odds with the reign of terror imposed by a religious minority. He was a man who, increasingly, had the world at his feet.

Whenever they met at fashion shows, he would drop whatever other commitments he had, cancel lunches and suppers, just so that they could spend some time together in peace, locked in a hotel room, often without even making love. They would watch television, eat, drink (although he never touched a drop of alcohol), go for walks in parks, visit bookshops, talk to strangers, speak very little of the past, never of the future, and a great deal about the present.

She resisted for as long as she could, and, although she was never in love with him, when he proposed that she leave everything and move to London, she accepted at once. It was the only possible way out of her private hell.

Another message appears on her phone. It cant be; they havent been in touch for two years.

Were nearly there. Remember, we havent got much time.

The limousine has to maneuver its way toward the entrance of the Hotel Martinez. On both sides, behind the metal barriers erected by the police, people of all ages spend the whole day hoping to get a close-up look at some celebrity. They take photos with their digital cameras, tell their friends whom theyve seen, and send messages over the Internet to the virtual communities they belong to. They would feel the long wait was justified for that one moment of glory: catching a glimpse of an actress, an actor, or even a TV presenter!

Although its only thanks to them that the celebrity industry keeps going, they are kept at a safe distance; strategically positioned body- guards ask anyone going into the hotel for proof that they are stay- ing there or meeting someone. Then you either have to get out the magnetic card that serves as your room key or else be turned away in full view of the public. If youre having a business meeting or have been invited for a drink at the bar, they give your name to the security people and, with everyone watching, wait to see if what you say is true or false. The bodyguard uses his radio to call reception, and you wait there for what seems like an eternity, and then, finally, after that very public humiliation, youre allowed in. Those who arrive in limousines, of course, are treated quite differently.

The two doors of the Maybach are opened, one by the chauffeur and the other by the hotel porter. The cameras turn on Ewa and start to shoot; even though no one knows who she is, if shes staying at the Martinez and has arrived in a fancy car, she must be important. Perhaps shes the mistress of the man shes with, and if she is and hes having an extramarital affair, theres always a chance they can send the photos to some scandal rag. Or perhaps the beautiful blonde is a famous foreign celebrity as yet unknown in France. Later, theyll find her name in the so-called people magazines and be glad that they were once only four or five yards from her.

Hamid looks at the small crowd pressed up against the metal barri- ers. He has never understood this phenomenon, having been brought up in a place where such things simply dont happen. Once he asked a friend why there was so much interest in celebrities.

Dont assume theyre all fans, said his friend. Since time imme- morial, men have believed that being close to something unattainable and mysterious can bring blessings. Thats why people make pilgrim- ages to visit gurus and sacred places.

But Cannes?!

It can be anywhere they might catch a distant glimpse of some elusive celebrity. For the adoring crowd, a wave from a celebrity is like being scattered with ambrosia dust or manna from heaven.

Its the same everywhere. Take, for example, those massive pop concerts that seem more like religious meetings, or the way people are willing to wait outside some sell-out performance at a theater just to see the Superclass entering and leaving. Take the crowds who go to foot- ball stadiums to watch a bunch of men chasing after a ball. Celebrities are idols, icons if you like, after all, they do resemble the paintings you see in churches and can become cult images in the bedrooms of ado- lescents or housewives, and even in the offices of industrial magnates, who, despite their own enormous wealth, envy their celebrity.

Theres just one difference: in this case, the public is the supreme judge, and while they may applaud today, tomorrow theyll be equally happy to read some scandalous revelation about their idol in a gossip magazine. Then they can say: Poor thing. Im so glad Im not like him. They may adore their idol today, but tomorrow theyll stone and crucify him without a twinge of conscience.