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“And are you one of these who supports free love?”
“Ever since they invented the pill, I see no reason why love shouldn’t be free.”
“And do you put this into practice?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The father, seeing they were headed for a confrontation, decided to change the subject.
“Aren’t we here to talk about hippies? You provided an excellent summary of our philosophy. What more do you want to know?”
Our philosophy? A man on the cusp of fifty was talking about “our philosophy”?
“I want to know why you’re going to Nepal by bus. From what I understand, and from what I can tell from the clothes the two of you are wearing, you have enough money to go by airplane.”
“Because the most important thing to me is the journey. It’s meeting people I’d never have the opportunity to meet flying first class on Air France, as I’ve done so often before—no one talks to anyone there, even if they’re sitting next to one another for twelve hours.”
“But there are…”
“Yes, there are buses that are more comfortable than this rickety old school bus with terrible suspension and seats that don’t recline—I imagine that’s what you were wanting to say. It just so happens that in my previous incarnation—in other words, during my career as a director of marketing—I’d already met everyone I needed to know. And, to tell you the truth, each of them was a copy of the others—the same rivalries, the same interests, the same ostentation, a life completely unlike that of my childhood, when I worked at my father’s side in a field near Amiens.”
The journalist began to leaf through her notebook; she was clearly at a disadvantage. It was difficult to provoke these two.
“What are you looking for?”
“The phrase I wrote down about the hippies.”
“But you summed us up so well: sex, drugs, rock, and travel.”
The Frenchman was managing to get deeper under her skin than even he imagined.
“You think that’s all there is to it. But it’s so much more.”
“So much more? Then show us, because when I decided to come on this trip, at my daughter’s invitation, I could see just how unhappy I was. I didn’t have time to exactly figure out the details.”
The journalist said it was all right, she had what she needed—and she thought to h
erself: I could make up whatever I want from this interview, no one would ever know. But Jacques wasn’t about to give up. He asked her if she wanted a coffee or tea (“Coffee, I’m tired of this sweetened mint tea”), Turkish coffee or regular (“Turkish coffee, I’m here in Turkey; it really is ridiculous to filter out the liquid, the grains ought to be there, too”).
“I think that my daughter and I deserve to learn a bit. We aren’t sure, for example, where the word hippie comes from.” He was clearly being ironic, but she pretended not to notice and decided to carry on. She was dying for a coffee.
“Nobody knows. But, if we were to be very French about it and try to find a definition for everything, the idea of sex, vegetarianism, free love, and communal living has its origin in Persia, in a cult founded by a guy named Mazdak. We don’t know much about him. However, as we were finding ourselves forced to write more and more about this movement, a few journalists came upon a different origin: among the Greek philosophers known as the Cynics.”
“Cynics?”
“Cynics. Nothing to do with the meaning we give the word today. Diogenes was the group’s most famous proponent. According to him, we ought to set aside whatever society imposes on us—all of us were raised to have more than we need—and return to primitive values. In other words, be in touch with the laws of nature, depend on little, find joy in each new day, and completely reject all that we grew up with—power, gain, avarice, that sort of thing. The only purpose in life was to free themselves of what they did not need and find joy in each minute, in each breath. Diogenes, by the way, lived in a barrel, according to legend.”
The driver drew closer. The hippie who looked like Rasputin must have spoken French, because he sat on the floor to listen. The coffee arrived. This gave the journalist the energy to continue her lesson. Suddenly the general air of hostility had disappeared, and she was the center of attention.
“The idea spread during Christianity, when monks would walk into the desert in search of the necessary peace to speak with God. And it is with us until today, through well-known philosophers like the American Thoreau or the liberator of India—Gandhi. Keep it simple, they all say. Keep it simple and you shall be happy.”
“But how did this suddenly become a sort of trend, a way of dressing, of being a cynic in the current meaning of the word—not believing in Left or Right, for example?”
“That I couldn’t tell you. Some say it happened with the giant rock concerts, like Woodstock. Others say it was certain musicians, like Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead, or Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, who began to give free shows in San Francisco. That’s why I’m here asking the two of you.”
She looked at her watch and rose to her feet.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. I have two more interviews today.”
