Page 103 of Where the Snakes Sleep

He becomes quiet.

He told me that our work would stagnate if every scientific advancement waited patiently for bureaucracy to approve it.

He said animals cross borders every day without permission. He said no creature understands customs law.

I laughed. I wish I had not.

I have loved this man for twenty years.

Surely I know the difference between moral compromise and evil.

Surely.

* * *

14 June 2000

A private collector visited today. Henri did not introduce him to most of the staff, but he introduced him to me.

I wish he had not.

The man had too much money and the unsettling confidence of someone accustomed to discovering that everything possesses a price if he waits long enough.

They spoke in Henri’s office for nearly two hours. When the man left, Henri was cheerful.

He kissed me.

There was a transfer recorded this evening without the usual destination information.

I signed it.

I should not have. I knew that while the pen was still in my hand. I signed anyway.

Twenty-two years together and I am still capable of mistaking his confidence for evidence.

* * *

3 February 2002

I bought this cottage sixteen years ago because I needed one place in the world where Henri could not enter merely because he wished to.

He hated it then. He pretends not to hate it now.

There are mornings when I wake here alone and remember who I was before him.

That sounds cruel. Henri did not erase me. I gave things away.

There is a difference, though perhaps not enough of one.

When we met, I thought his certainty was freedom. I followed him because I wanted to become the sort of man who never doubted himself. Now I wonder whether doubt was the thing that might have saved us.

Henri no longer doubts.

That is what frightens me.

Not madness.

I almost wish it were madness.