:16 PM

The terrace outside the bar is packed, and Igor feels proud of his ability to plan things, because even though hes never been to Cannes before, he had foreseen precisely this situation and reserved a table. He orders tea and toast, lights a cigarette, and looks around him at the same scene you might see in any chic place anywhere in the world: women who are either anorexic or use too much Botox; ladies dripping with jewelry and eating ice cream; men with much younger female companions; bored couples; smiling young women sipping low-calorie drinks and pretending to be listening to what their friends are saying when theyre really on the lookout for someone more interesting to hove into view.

There is one exception: three men and a woman are sitting at a table strewn with papers and beer cans, discussing something in low voices and constantly checking figures on a calculator. They appear to be the only ones who are really engaged in some project, but that isnt quite true; everyone there is working hard in a way, in search of one thing: vis-i-bil-i-ty, which, if all goes well, will turn into Fame, which, if all goes well again, will turn into Power, the magic word that transforms any human being into a demigod, a remote, inaccessible icon accus- tomed to having his every desire met and to getting jealous looks when he sweeps past in his limousine with the smoked-glass windows or in his expensive sports car, someone who no longer has mountains to climb or impossible conquests to make.

The people on the terrace have clearly leaped over certain barriers already; they are not outside with the photographers, behind the metal barriers, waiting for someone to come out of the main door and fill their universe with light. They have already made it into the hotel lobby, and now all they need is fame and power, and they really dont mind what form these take. Men know that age isnt a problem, all they need are the right contacts. The young womenwho keep as keen an eye on the terrace as any trained bodyguardknow that theyre reaching a dangerous age, when any chance of achieving something through their beauty alone will suddenly vanish. The older women there would like to be recognized and respected for their gifts and their intelligence, but the diamonds theyre wearing make it unlikely that their talents will be discovered. The men sitting with their wives are waiting for someone to pass by and say hello and for everyone to turn and look and think: He must be well-known, or even famous, who knows?

The celebrity syndrome. It can destroy careers, marriages, and Christian values, and can blind both the wise and the ignorant. A few examples. Great scientists who, on being given an important prize, abandon the research that might have helped humanity and decide in- stead to live off lectures that feed both their ego and their bank bal- ance. The Indian in the Amazon jungle who, on being taken up by a famous singer, decides that hes being exploited for his poverty. The campaigner for justice who works hard defending the rights of the less fortunate, decides to run for public office, wins the election, and subse- quently considers himself above the law, until hes discovered one day in a motel room with a prostitute paid for by the taxpayer.

The celebrity syndrome. When people forget who they are and start to believe what other people say about them. The Superclass, ev- eryones dream, a world without shadows or darkness, where yes is the only possible answer to any request.

Igor is a powerful man. He has fought all his life to get where he is now. To that end, he has sat through boring suppers, endless lectures, and meetings with people he loathed, has bestowed smiles when he would rather have bestowed insults, and insults when he actually felt genuinely sorry for the poor creatures being singled out for punish- ment, as an example to others. He worked day and night and weekends too, deep in discussions with lawyers, administrators, officials, and press officers. He started with nothing just after the fall of the Com- munist regime and he reached the top. He has, moreover, managed to survive all the political and economic storms that swept his country during the first two decades of the new regime. And why? Because he fears God and knows that the road he has traveled in his life is a bless- ing that must be respected; if not, he will lose everything.

There were, of course, moments when something told him he was forgetting about the most important part of that blessing: Ewa; but for many years he persuaded himself that she would understand and accept that it was simply a temporary phase and that soon they would be able to spend as much time together as they wished. They made great plansjourneys, cruises, a remote house in the mountains with a blazing log fire, and the certain knowledge that they could stay there for as long as they wanted, with no need to worry about money, debts, or obligations. They would find a school for the many children they planned to have together; they would spend whole afternoons walk- ing through the surrounding forests; they would have supper at small, cozy local restaurants.

They would have time to garden, read, go to the cinema, and do the simple things that everyone dreams of doing, the only things truly ca- pable of filling anyones life. When he got home, his arms full of papers which he would then spread out on the bed, he would ask her to be patient for a little while longer. When his phone rang on the very day theyd chosen to go out to supper together, and he had to interrupt their conversation and spend a long time talking to whoever had called, he would again ask her to be patient. He knew Ewa was doing everything she could to make things easy for him, although she did complain now and then, very sweetly, that they needed to make the most of life while they were still young; after all, they had money enough for the next five generations.

Igor would say: Right, Ill stop today. And Ewa would smile and stroke his cheek, and then he would remember something important hed forgotten to do and go over to the phone to ring someone or to the computer to send an e-mail.

A man in his forties gets up, looks around the terrace, and, brandishing a newspaper, shouts:

Violence and horror in Tokyo says the headline. Seven people killed in a shop selling electronic toys.

Everyone looks at him.

Violence! They dont know what theyre talking about. This is where you get real violence!

A shudder runs down Igors spine.

If some madman stabs to death a few innocent people, the whole world is shocked, but who cares about the intellectual violence being perpetrated in Cannes? Our festival is being killed in the name of a dictatorship. Its not a question of choosing the best film, but of com- mitting crimes against humanity, forcing people to buy products they dont want, putting fashion above art, choosing to go to a lunch or a supper rather than watch a film. Thats disgraceful. Im here to Be quiet, someone says. No one cares why youre here.

Im here to denounce the enslavement of mans desires, for we have stopped using our intelligence to make choices and instead allow ourselves to be manipulated by propaganda and lies! People get all steamed up about these stabbings in Tokyo, but they dont give a damn about the death by a thousand cuts suffered by a whole generation of filmmakers.

The man pauses, expecting a standing ovation, but there isnt even a thoughtful silence. Everyone resumes their conversations, indifferent to his words. He sits down again, trying to look dignified, but with his heart in shreds for making such a fool of himself.

Vis-i-bil-i-ty, thinks Igor. The problem is that no one took any notice. Its his turn to look around. Ewa is staying at the same hotel, and a sixth sense born of many years of marriage tells him that shes sitting not very far away on that same terrace. She will have received his mes- sages and is probably looking for him now, knowing that he, too, must be near.

He cant see her, but neither can he stop thinking about herhis obsession. He remembers one night being driven home in his imported limousine by the chauffeur who doubled as his bodyguardthey had fought together in Afghanistan, but fortune had smiled on them in very different waysand remembers asking the driver to stop outside the Hotel Kempinski. He left his mobile phone and his papers in the car and went up to the terrace bar. Unlike this terrace in Cannes, the place was almost empty and getting ready to close. He gave a generous tip to the waiters and asked them to stay open for another hour, just for him.

And that was when he understood. It wasnt true that he would give up work next month or next year or even next decade. They would never have the house in the country and the children they dreamed of. He asked himself that night why this was impossible and he had only one answer.

On the road to power, theres no turning back. He would be an eternal slave to the road hed chosen, and if he did ever realize his dream of abandoning everything, he would plunge immediately into a deep depression.

Why was he like that? Was it because of the nightmares he had about the trenches, remembering the frightened young man hed been then, fulfilling a duty he hadnt chosen and being forced to kill? Was it because he couldnt forget his first victim, a peasant who had strayed into the line of fire when the Red Army was fighting the Afghan guer- rillas? Was it because of the many people who hadnt believed in him and had humiliated him when he was looking for investors for his mobile phone business? Was it because in the beginning hed had to associate with shadows, with the Russian mafia eager to launder the money they earned through prostitution?

Hed managed to repay those questionable loans without himself being corrupted and without owing any favors. Hed managed to ne- gotiate with the shadows and still keep his own light burning. He knew that the war belonged to the distant past and that he would never again set foot on a battlefield. Hed found the love of his life. He was doing the kind of work hed always wanted to do. He was rich, very rich, and, just in case the Communist regime were to return tomorrow, he kept most of his personal fortune abroad. He was on good terms with all the political parties. Hed met famous people from around the world. Hed set up a foundation to care for the orphans of those soldiers killed during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

But it was only when he was sitting on that terrace cafŽ near Red Square, knowing that he had power and money enough to pay the waiters to work all night if necessary, that he finally understood.

He understood because he saw the same thing happening to his wife. Ewa was also constantly traveling, and even when she was in Moscow, she would arrive home late and go straight to her computer as soon as she walked in the door. He understood that, contrary to what most people think, total power means total slavery. When you get that far, you dont ever want to give it up. Theres always a new mountain to climb. Theres always a competitor to be convinced or crushed. Along with two thousand other people, he formed part of the most exclusive club in the world, which met only once a year in Davos in Switzerland, at the World Economic Forum. All the members were millionaires, and they all worked from dawn until late at night, always wanting to go further, never changing tackacquisitions, stock markets, market trends, money, money, money. They worked not because they needed to, but because they judged themselves to be necessary; they felt that thousands of families depended on them and that they had a huge re- sponsibility to their governments and their associates. They genuinely thought they were helping the world, which might be true, but they had to pay for this with their own lives.

The following day, he did something he hated having to do: he went to a psychiatrist. Something must be wrong. He discov- ered then that he was suffering from an illness that was fairly common among those who had achieved something beyond the grasp of ordi- nary folk. He was a compulsive worker, a workaholic. According to the psychiatrist, workaholics run the risk of becoming depressed when not immersed in the challenges and problems of running a company.

We dont yet know the origin of the disorder, but its associated with insecurity, childhood fears, and a desire to block out reality. Its as serious an addiction as drugs. Unlike drugs, however, which diminish productivity, the workaholic makes a great contribution to the wealth of his country. So its in no ones interests to seek a cure.

And what are the consequences?

You should know, because thats presumably why youve come to see me. The gravest consequence is the damage it causes to family life. In Japan, one of the countries where the illness is most common and where the consequences are sometimes fatal, theyve developed vari- ous ways of controlling the obsession.

Igor couldnt remember listening to anyone in the last two years with the respect and attention he was paying that bespectacled, musta- chioed man before him.

So there is a way out, then?

When a workaholic seeks help from a psychiatrist that means hes ready to be cured. Only about one in every thousand cases realizes that he needs help.

Oh, I need help, and I have enough money . . .

Thats what all workaholics say. Yes, I know you have enough money, you all do. I know who you are as well. Ive seen photos of you at charity balls, at congresses, in private audience with our presi- dent, who, by the way, shows the same symptoms. Money isnt enough. What I want to know is this: do you really want to change?

Igor thought of Ewa, of the house in the mountains, the family hed like to have, the hundreds of millions of dollars he had in the bank. He thought of his position in society and of the power he possessed and how difficult it would be to give all that up.

Im not saying you should abandon what youre doing, said the psychiatrist, as if hed read his thoughts. Im simply suggesting that you use work as a source of happiness and not as a compulsion.

Yes, I can do that.

And what would be your main motive for doing so? All workahol- ics think theyre happy doing what theyre doing, and none of their friends, who are in the same position, will see why they should seek help.

Igor lowered his eyes.

Shall I tell you what your main motive is? As I said before, youre destroying your family.

No, its worse than that. My wife is starting to show the same symptoms. Shes been distancing herself from me ever since a trip we made to Lake Baikal. And if theres anyone in the world I would be capable of killing again for . . .

Igor realized hed said too much, but the psychiatrist seemed en- tirely unmoved.

If theres anyone in the world for whom I would do anything, ab- solutely anything, that person is my wife.

The psychiatrist summoned his assistant and asked her to make a series of appointments. He didnt consult his patient to see if he would be available on those dates; it was part of the treatment to make it quite clear that any other commitment, however important, could be post- poned.

May I ask a question? The psychiatrist nodded. Couldnt overwork also be considered rather noble? A proof of my deep respect for the opportunities God has given me in this life? A way of putting society to rights, even if sometimes I have to use methods thatarealittle...

Silence. A little what? Oh, nothing. Igor left the consulting room feeling both confused and relieved.

Perhaps the psychiatrist had failed to understand the essence of what he did. Life has its reasons. We are all of us linked, and often its neces- sary to cut out the malignant tumors so that the rest of the body can remain healthy. People are locked up in their selfish little worlds; they make plans that dont include their fellow man; they believe the planet is simply land to be exploited; they follow their instincts and desires and care nothing for the collective well-being of society.

He wasnt destroying his family, he simply wanted to leave the world a better place for the children he dreamed of having, a world without drugs or wars or people trafficking, a world in which love would be the great force uniting all couples, peoples, nations, and reli- gions. Ewa would understand this, even if their marriage was currently going through a crisis, a crisis doubtless sent by the Evil One.

The following day, he asked his secretary to cancel all subsequent appointments with the psychiatrist; he had more important things to do. He was drawing up a great plan to purify the world, a plan for which he would need help; indeed, hed already contacted a group pre- pared to work with him.

Two months later, the wife he loved left himbecause of the Evil that had possessed her, because he hadnt been able to understand her feelings.

Th e s o u n d o f a c h a i r being shifted returns him to the reality of Cannes. Before him sits a woman holding a glass of whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Shes well-dressed but visibly drunk.

May I sit here? All the other tables are occupied. You already are sitting here. Its just not possible, says the woman, as if shed known him for years. Its simply not possible. The police made me leave the hospital. And the man for whose sake I traveled by train for almost a whole day, for whom I rented a hotel room at twice the normal price, is now hov- ering between life and death. Damn!

Is she from the police? Or does what shes saying have nothing to do with what he thinks it does?

Anyway, what are you doing here, if you dont mind my asking?

Arent you hot? Wouldnt you be cooler without your jacket on, or are you trying to impress everyone with your elegance?

As usual, people choose their own destiny, and this woman is doing just that.

I always wear a jacket regardless of the temperature. Are you an actress?

The woman gives an almost hysterical laugh.

Yes, lets say Im an actress, yes I am. Im playing the part of someone who has had the same dream since she was an adolescent, has grown up with it, battled seven miserable years of her life to make it a reality, whos mortgaged her house, worked ceaselessly . . .

Oh, I know what thats like.

No, you dont. It means thinking about just one thing day and night, going to places uninvited, shaking hands with people you de- spise, phoning once, twice, ten times until you get the attention of people who arent worth half what you are, who dont have half your courage, but whove reached a certain position and are determined to take out on you all their domestic frustrations by making your life im- possible . . .

. . . it means only finding pleasure in pursuing your dream, having no other diversions, finding everything else deadly dull, and ending up destroying your family.

The woman looks at him, taken aback. She no longer seems drunk.

Who are you? How do you know what Im thinking?

I was thinking about exactly the same thing when you arrived. And I dont in the least mind you asking me what Im doing here. I think I can help you.

No one can help me. The only person who could is now in the intensive care unit. And from what I could glean before the police ar- rived, he probably wont survive. Oh God!

She drinks the remaining whisky in her glass. Igor signals to the waiter, who ignores him and goes to serve another table.

Ive always preferred a cynical compliment to a bit of constructive criticism. Please, tell me Im beautiful and that Ive got what it takes. Igor laughs. How do you know I cant help you? Are you by any chance a film distributor? Do you have contacts and a chain of cinemas around the world? They were perhaps referring to the same person. If so and if this was a trap, it was too late to run away. Hes obviously being watched, and as soon as he stands up, hell be arrested. He feels his stomach contract, but why should he be afraid? Only a short time ago, hed tried, without success, to hand himself over to the police. Hed chosen martyrdom, offered up his freedom as a sacrifice, but that gift had been rejected by God. Now, however, the heavens had obviously reconsid- ered their decision.

He must think how best to deal with what will ensue: the suspect is identified, a woman pretending to be drunk is sent on ahead to confirm the facts. Then, very discreetly, a man will walk over and ask him to come with him for a little chat. That man will be a policeman. Igor has what looks like a pen in his jacket pocket, but that will arouse no suspicions; the Beretta though will give him away. He sees his whole life flash before him.

Could he use the gun to defend himself? The policeman who is sure to appear as soon as he has been identified will have colleagues watch- ing the scene, and Igor will be dead before he can make so much as a move. On the other hand, he didnt come here to kill innocent people in a barbarous, indiscriminate way; he has a mission, and his victims or martyrs for love as he prefers to call themare serving a greater purpose.

No, Im not a distributor, he says. I have absolutely nothing to do with the world of cinema, fashion, or glamour. I work in telecom- munications.

Good, says the woman. So you must have money. You must have had dreams in your life, so you know what Im talking about.

Hes beginning to lose the thread of the conversation. He signals to another waiter. This time the waiter comes over and Igor orders two cups of tea.

Cant you see Im drinking whisky?

Yes, but as I said, I think I can help you. To do that, however, you need to be sober and aware of what youre doing.

Maureen feels a change come over her. Ever since this stranger proved himself able to read her thoughts, she feels as if she were being restored to reality. Perhaps he really can help her. Its been years since anyone tried to seduce her with that most clichŽd of chat-up lines in the film business: I have some very influential friends. Theres nothing more guaranteed to change a womans state of mind than knowing that someone of the opposite sex desires her. She feels tempted to get up and go to the restroom and check her makeup in the mirror. That can wait. First, she needs to send out some clear signals that shes interested.

Yes, she needs company, shes open to whatever surprises fate may hold in store; when God closes a door, he opens a window. Why, of all the tables on that terrace, was this the only table occupied by just one person? There was a meaning in this, a hidden sign: the two of them were meant to meet.

She laughs at herself. In her current despairing state anything is a sign, a way out, a piece of good news.

Firstly, tell me what you need, says the man.

I need help. I have a movie with a top-line cast ready and waiting; it was going to be distributed by one of the few people in the industry who still has faith in the talent of people outside the studio system. I was going to meet him tomorrow. I was even at the same lunch as him today, when suddenly I noticed he was feeling unwell.

Igor starts to relax. Perhaps its true, reality really is stranger than fiction.

I left the lunch, found out which hospital hed been taken to, and went there. On the way, I imagined what I was going to say, about how I was his friend and we were going to be working together. Ive never even spoken to him, but I think anyone in a situation like that feels more comfortable knowing that someone, anyone, is near.

In other words, turning someone elses tragedy to your own ad- vantage, thinks Igor.

People are all the same. And what exactly is a top-line cast? he asks. Will you excuse me? I need to go to the bathroom.

Igor politely stands up, puts on his dark glasses, and, as she walks away, tries to look as calm as possible. He drinks his tea, all the while scanning the terrace. At first sight, there appears to be no immediate threat, but it would still be wise to leave that terrace as soon as the woman comes back.

Maureen is impressed by her new friends gentlemanly behavior. Its been years since shes seen anyone behave according to the rules of etiquette taught them by their mothers and fathers. As she leaves the terrace, she notices that some pretty young women at the next table, who have doubtless heard part of their conversation, are looking at him and smiling. She notices, too, that hes put on his dark glasses, possibly to be able to observe the young women without them knowing. Per- haps, by the time she gets back, theyll all be drinking tea together.

But then life is like that: dont complain and dont expect too much either.

She looks at her face in the mirror. Why would a man be interested in her? She really does need to get to grips with reality again, as he suggested. Her eyes look empty and tired; shes exhausted like every- one else taking part in the Festival, but she knows that she has to carry on fighting. Cannes isnt over yet, Javits might recover, or someone representing his company might turn up. She has tickets to see other peoples films, an invitation to a party held by Galaone of the most prestigious magazines in Franceand she can use the time available to see how independent European producers and directors go about distributing their films. She needs to bounce back quickly.

As for the handsome stranger, she mustnt have any illusions in that regard. She returns to the table convinced that shell find two of the young women sitting there, but hes still alone. Again he rises politely to his feet and draws back her chair so that she can sit down.

Sorry, I havent introduced myself. My names Maureen.

Im Igor. Pleased to meet you. You were saying that you had the ideal cast.

She decides to get a dig in at the girls at the next table. She speaks slightly more loudly than usual.

Here in Cannes, or indeed at any other festival, new actresses are discovered every year, and every year really great actresses lose out on getting a great role because the industry thinks theyre too old, even if, in fact, theyre still young and full of enthusiasm. Among the new discoveries (and, she thinks: I just hope the girls next to us are listen- ing), some choose the path of pure glamour. They dont earn much on the movies they makeall directors know this and take full advan- tageand so they invest in the one thing they shouldnt invest in.

Namely . . .

Their own beauty. They become celebrities, start to charge for at- tending parties, theyre asked to appear in advertisements, promoting various products. They end up meeting the most powerful men and the sexiest actors in the world. They earn a vast amount of money because theyre young and pretty and their agents get them loads of contracts.

In fact, they allow themselves to be entirely guided by their agents, who constantly feed their vanity. An actress of this type becomes the dream of housewives, of adolescent girls and would-be actresses who dont even have enough money to travel to the nearest town, but who consider her a friend, someone whos having the kind of experiences they would like to have. She continues making movies and earns a little more, although her press agent always puts it about that shes earning an enormous salary, which is a complete lie that not even the journalists believe, but which they publish anyway because they know the public prefers news to information.

Whats the difference? asks Igor, whos feeling more relaxed now, while still keeping a close eye on whats going on around him.

Lets say you were to buy a gold-plated computer in an auction in Dubai and decided to write a new book using that technological marvel. When a journalist finds out about the computer, hell phone you up and ask: So hows your gold-plated computer? Thats news. The informationthe nature of the new book youre writingis of no importance whatsoever.

Perhaps Ewa is receiving news rather than information, thinks Igor. The idea had never occurred to him before.

Go on. Time passes, or, rather, seven or eight years pass. Suddenly, the film offers dry up. The revenue from parties and advertisements begins to dwindle. Her agent seems suddenly much busier than before and doesnt always call her back. The big star rebels: how can they do this to her, the great sex symbol, the great icon of glamour? She blames her agent and decides to find another one; to her surprise, he doesnt appear to mind at all. On the contrary, he asks her to sign a statement saying how well they have always got on together; then he wishes her good luck, and thats the end of their relationship.

Maureen looks around the terrace to see if she can find an example of what shes describing: people who are still famous, but who have vanished from the scene and are desperately seeking some new oppor- tunity. They still behave like divas, they still have the same distant air, but their hearts are full of bitterness, their skin full of Botox and cov- ered with the invisible scars left by plastic surgery. She could see plenty of evidence of Botox and plastic surgery, but no celebrities from the previous decade. Perhaps they didnt even have enough money now to attend a festival like this, but were instead appearing as a special guest at dances in provincial towns or fronting the launch of some new brand of chocolate or beer, still behaving as if they were the person they once were, but knowing that they werent.

You mentioned two types of people.

Yes. The second group of actresses have exactly the same prob- lem, but theres one important difference. Again her voice grows louder because now the girls at the next table are clearly interested to hear what someone in the know has to say. They know that beauty is a transient thing. They dont appear in ads or on magazine covers because theyre busy honing their art. They keep studying and making contacts that will be useful in the future. They lend their name and ap- pearance to certain products, not as models, but as partners. They earn less, of course, but it means a lifelong income.

And then along comes someone like me, with a good script and enough money, plus I want them to be in my film. They accept and have enough talent to play the parts I give them and enough intelli- gence to know that even if the film doesnt turn out to be a huge suc-

cess, at least they will still have a presence on the screen and be seen to be working as mature actresses, and who knows, that might spark the interest of another producer.

Igor is also aware that the girls are listening to their conversation.

Perhaps we should go for a walk, he says quietly. Theres no privacy here. I know a place where we can be alone and watch the sun go down; its beautiful.

Thats precisely what she needs at this momentan invitation to go for a walk! To see the sunset, even though itll be quite some time before the sun goes down! Hes not one of those vulgar types who says: Lets go up to my room for a moment, I need to change my shoes and Nothing will happen, I promise, and who, once theyre in his room, will say as he tries to make a grab for her: I have contacts and I know just the people you need to talk to.

To be honest, she wouldnt mind being kissed by this seemingly charming man. She knows absolutely nothing about him, of course, but the elegance with which hes seducing her is something she wont forget in a long time.

They get up from the table, and he asks for the drinks to be put on his tab (so, she thinks, hes staying at the Martinez!). When they reach the Boulevard de la Croisette, he suggests they turn to the left.

There are fewer people in that direction; besides, the view should be even better, with the sun setting behind the hills.

Igor, who are you?

A good question, he says. Id like to know the answer to that one myself.

Another point in his favor. He doesnt immediately launch into some spiel about how rich and intelligent and talented he is. He simply wants to watch the sunset with her, thats all. They walk to the end of the beach in silence, passing all kinds of different peopleolder couples who seem to inhabit another world, quite oblivious to the Fes- tival; young people on roller skates, wearing tight clothes and listening to iPods; street vendors with their merchandise set out on a mat, the ends of which have string looped through them so that at the first sign of a policeman, they can transform their shop window into a bag; theres even an area that seems to have been cordoned off by the police for some reasonafter all, its only a bench. She notices that her com- panion keeps looking behind him, as if he were expecting someone, but hes probably just spotted an acquaintance.

They walk along a pier where the boats partially conceal the beach from view, and they finally find an isolated spot. They sit down on a comfortable bench with a backrest. Theyre completely alone. Well, why would anyone else come to a place where theres nothing to do? Shes in an excellent mood.

Its lovely here! Do you know why God decided to rest on the seventh day?

Igor doesnt understand the question, but she proceeds to explain anyway:

Because on the seventh day, before hed finished work and left the world in a perfect state for human beings, a group of producers from Hollywood came over to him and said: Dont you worry about the rest! Well take care of providing the Technicolor sunset, the special storm effects, the perfect lighting, and the right sound equipment so that whenever Man hears the waves, hell think its the real sea!

She laughs to herself. The man beside her is looking more serious now.

You asked me who I am, he says.

Ive no idea who you are, but you obviously know the city well. And I have to say, it was real luck meeting you like that. In just one day, Ive experienced, hope, despair, loneliness, and the pleasure of finding a new companion. Thats a lot of emotions.

He takes something out of his pocket; it looks like a wooden tube less than six inches long.

The worlds a dangerous place, he says. It doesnt matter where you are, youre always at risk of being approached by people who have no scruples about attacking, destroying, killing. And we never learn how to defend ourselves. Were all in the hands of those more powerful than us.

Youre right. I suppose that wooden tube is your way of fending them off.

He twists the upper part of the tube. As delicately as a painter put- ting the final touch to a masterpiece, he removes the lid. It isnt in fact a lid, but the head of what looks like a long nail. The sun glitters on the metal blade.

You wouldnt get through airport security carrying that in your case, she says, and laughs.

No, I wouldnt.

Maureen feels that shes with a man who is polite, handsome, doubt- less wealthy, but who is also capable of protecting her from all dangers. She has no idea what the crime statistics are for Cannes, but its as well to think of everything. Thats what men are for: to think of every- thing.

Of course, you need to know exactly how to use it. It may be made of steel, but because its so thin its also very fragile and too small to cause any real damage. If you dont use it with great precision, it wont work.

He places the blade level with Maureens ear. Her initial reaction is one of fear, soon replaced by excitement.

This would be one of the ideal places, for example. Any higher, and the cranial bones would block the blow, any lower, and the vein in the neck would be cut; the person might die, but would also be able to fight back. If he was armed, he could shoot me, especially at such close range.

The blade slides slowly down her body. It passes over her breast, and Maureen realizes that hes trying both to shock and to arouse her.

I had no idea someone working in telecommunications could know so much about killing, but from what you say, killing someone with that blade is quite a complicated business.

This is her way of saying: Im interested in what youre telling me. I find you really fascinating. But please, just take my hand and lets go and watch the sunset together.

The blade slides over her breast, but does not stop there. Neverthe- less, its enough to make her feel aroused. It stops just under her arm.

Here Im on a level with your heart. Its protected by a natural barrier, the rib cage. In a fight, it would be impossible to injure some- one with this blade. It would almost certainly hit a rib, and even if it did penetrate the body, the wound wouldnt bleed enough to weaken your enemy. He might not even feel the blow. But right here, it would be fatal.

What is she doing in this isolated spot with a complete stranger talking about such a macabre subject? Just then, she feels a kind of electric shock that leaves her paralyzed. His hand has driven the blade inside her body. She feels at first as if she were suffocating and tries to breathe, but then immediately loses consciousness.

Igor puts his arms around her, as he had with his first victim. This time, though, he positions her body so that she remains sitting. He then puts on some gloves and makes her head drop forward onto her chest.

If anyone ventures into that corner of the beach, all they will see is a woman sleeping, exhausted perhaps from chasing after producers and distributors at the Festival.

The boy lurking behind the oldwarehousewhereheoften hides so as to masturbate while he watches canoodling couplesis now furiously phoning the police. He saw everything. At first, he thought it was some kind of joke, but the man really did stick that blade into the woman! Hell have to wait for the police to arrive before leaving his hiding place. That madman could return at any moment and then he would be lost.

Igor throws the blade into the sea and walks back to the hotel. This time, his victim had chosen death. When she joined him, hed been sitting alone on the terrace, wondering what to do next and thinking about the past. He never imagined she would agree to go for a walk to such an isolated spot with a complete stranger, but she did. She could have run away when he started showing her the different places where the blade would cause a mortal wound, but she didnt.

A police car passes, driving along the side of the road closed to the public. He decides to watch where it goes and, to his surprise, he sees it drive onto the pier where no one seems to go during the Festival period. It had been as empty that morning as it had this afternoon, even though it was the best place from which to see the sunset. A few seconds later, an ambulance passes with its deafening siren blaring and its lights flashing. It, too, heads for the pier.

He keeps walking, sure of one thing: someone must have witnessed the murder. But how would that someone describe him? A man with grayish hair, wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a black jacket. That pos- sible witness would help the police make an Identi-Kit picture, a pro- cess that would not only take time, but lead them to the conclusion that there are tens or maybe thousands of men who look just like him.

Ever since he tried to give himself up to that policeman and was sent back to his hotel, he has felt sure that no one would be able to in- terrupt his mission. The doubts he feels now are of a different nature: is Ewa worth the sacrifices hes offering up to the universe? When he arrived in Cannes, he had felt sure she was; now, though, something else is filling his soul: the spirit of the little street vendor with her dark eyebrows and innocent smile.

We are all part of the divine spark, she seems to be saying. We all have a purpose in creation and that purpose is called Love. That love, however, shouldnt be concentrated in just one person, it should be scattered throughout the world, waiting to be discovered. Wake up to that love. What is gone cannot return. What is about to arrive needs to be recognized.

He struggles against the idea that perhaps we only discover that a plan is wrong when we take it to its ultimate consequences, or when all-merciful God leads us in another direction.

He looks at his watch: he still has another twelve hours in Cannes, time enough before he gets on the plane with the woman he loves and goesbackto...

. . . goes back to what? To his work in Moscow after everything he has experienced, suffered, thought, planned? Or to find rebirth through his victims and choose absolute freedom and discover the person he didnt know he was, and from then on do all the things he had dreamed of doing when he was still with Ewa?