Inseparable

by Simone de Beauvoir

A bon mot here, a slapping away of a wandering hand there, an insouciant affair, or two, or twenty, followed by cigarettes, as in films . . . I never would have been up to it, struggling as I was with the lesser demands of the college debating club. In addition to which, smoking made me cough.

I didn’t understand. You don’t believe what you believe on purpose: could you be punished because certain ideas come into your mind?

Never had anything as interesting happened to me. I suddenly had the impression that nothing had ever happened to me at all.

I would look at the enormous wardrobe and the hand-carved wooden clock that held within it two copper pinecones and the obscurity of time.

No, our friendship did not have the same importance to Andrée as it did to me, but I admired her far too much to suffer because of it.

How was it possible to believe in God and deliberately choose to disobey Him? I sat stunned for a moment by this revelation: I did not believe.

Neither Papa nor the writers I admired were believers; and while the world probably could not be explained without God, God really didn’t explain that much, and besides, no one understood anything about Him.

At the end of the table, the twin girls were throwing bits of bread at each other; Madame Gallard smiled and did nothing. For the first time, I clearly realized that her smile hid a trap.

“It’s funny,” said Andrée, “we’ve been inseparable for so many years, and I now realize that I don’t know you well at all!

“Oh!” said Andrée. “Sometimes, no matter what you do, everything is bad.”

Perhaps Madame Gallard did love Andrée in her own way: but in which way? That was the question. We all loved her in our own way.

“There’s still time to fight,” I said. “Do I have to spend my life fighting with the people I love?”

“Happiness, unhappiness, they’re above all a question of one’s tendencies.”

“It’s true that I always exaggerate things,” she said. “I think I have no strength left; but people always do.”

She was so weak that she could barely speak. She said the same thing several times: “I’m going to ruin the celebration! I ruin everything! I’ve never given you anything but trouble!”

Later on, she squeezed her mother’s hands. “Don’t be sad,” she said. “There’s a problem child in every family: and that’s me.”