I warned her in one of our first conversations, though she didn’t take me seriously: “I’m invisible.” Not that I reproached her for her skepticism. To be honest, I don’t usually talk about it; people aren’t prepared to face the extraordinary. Which, if you are a part of what is considered “extraordinary,” can be wearisome.
I knew almost everything about Gala. I knew about the desires she had never confessed to anyone, and about her boring years of marriage. I had a precise notion of how insupportable the last years had been, since she had expressed her wish to have a child and had met with her husband’s flat, nonnegotiable refusal.
“It’s as if he wanted to freeze time. As if he were happy, permanently installed in this unbearable present,” she said.