Hello
Madame Safagi?
Yes

Voice on phone: I am calling from the hospital for your father. He is –
I don’t have a father.
Voice: Everybody has one and yours is here.

In a coma.

Beep
Below the panel:
I’m 39 years old.

I’ve never had a father.

Until today.

Mama! Yoo hoo!

Below:
The first few days, I pretended nothing had happened.

Mama, can you stop singing like that?

It makes me a little afraid.

Mama: So then children…
Laurence: Yes but Félix is bothering me!
M:...in quarter of an hour…
Félix: Not at all! Laurence, she’s pulling on my arm.
M: ...you have to be…
L: Ah no! Félix, he’s doing that to me!
M: ...in pyjamas.
F or L: Ow!

M: I’m finishing the washing up and then I’ll find you in bed in the arms of Morpheus.
In the sheets [bras (arms) sounds similar to draps (sheets)] of who?
And dry yoursves, it’s all wet on the floor.

Hi, it’s me.
Yeah, I’m fine.
They’re well, they’re sleeping.
And you, all okay?
When are you coming back?

Ah good. Not before?
Uh-huh, but you could stay?
Good.
Yes – yes they’re full of beans. You miss them.

No.
No.
Well no.
I don’t know what he’s like! [Think this is a bit idiomatic]
But no! It’s too late, he’s in a coma.

Yes, okay, a semi-coma.
You are quibbling
No, it doesn’t mean that he might understand, it means that he’s not quite dead.
To try to be what?
[t’en asde bennestoi]
Right, I’ll let you go now. [J’entends très mal]. I hug you!
below:
Try to be calm.

below:
I’ll try to be more calmly scared to death.

Finally I go there. Like a good little soldier.

Let’s hope he doesn’t wake up.

For pity’s sake, he doesn’t open an eye

like in horror films

when the zombie that you think is dead isn’t dead.

It takes me 10 long minutes to remember how to breath.

I leave the hospital with my senses completely topsy-turvy.

When I arrive at the theatre I feel all dirty.

Hi! How are you?
below:
Sweating. My feet stick to my shoes.

I don’t know…
You’re not okay? Your knee is bleeding
Yeah, I’m going to wash.
Get a move on – there’s a fitting in 10 minutes.

And I have the breath of a desert jackal.

That hasn’t drunk for 10 days.

Hello.
I am Carmen.
I’ve come to try my dress for Doña Rosina.

Hello.
Come in then.
below:
With our designer’s eyes, we quickly see that we will not manage to shove it all into the fabric.

I’ll find the dress.
I’ll take the scissors.

And as [with the eyes of] a woman with small boobs, I have the urge for her to squeeze me in her arms.

We’re going to loosen it
[below:]
Later when I spoke to Nina she told me that she would love to live one day with huge breasts.

Whatever you do will follow you but just a little later…
like a hesitation, like they were independent, you see?
you must feel less alone with such tits…

Nina was already working in the studio when I started.

She practically didn’t say a word to me for two months.

Nina: What do you think?
[below:]
She confessed to me later that it was my hairdo that was really irritating.

I responded: “Aaaahhh oooookkkkaaaayyy!”. Although I still don’t really understand what she meant.

Safagi: It’s not going well.
Nina: It’s not going well?
S: No
N: Where?
S: There
N: There?
S: Not here, there and there
N: What’s there
S: It gapes and worse it wrinkles
N: The wrinkles are fine, but not the gaping
S: It’s there, it gapes [bit unsure of this!]
N: Okay
[below:]
Since then my hair’s stayed the same, but we talk a lot.

I approach very, very slowly

I feel precisely how each of my clothes is positioned on my body

How each step moves the fabric on my skin

How each toe rises when the foot comes off [the floor] and the knee bends and the

hip pivots and the arms balance and the shoulder moves forward…...........

All of a sudden I am next to the bed.

A very skinny man.

The veins very blue; the nose very big. Pulsing. Living.

His nostriles breathe me in, watch me, judge me.

I’ve no more breath, I’ve no more saliva. It’s all blocked in there.

There’s a water-fountain just over there…

Normal or iced?

Cheers
Hem… yes…

You okay?
Er yes… well not so good, it is er…. difficult…
Someone in your family?

My father. ... [enfin] an old scrawny body and in a coma and they tell me it’s my father but I don’t know if it’s true, me, I’ve never seen him before and suddenly it’s all up to me [literally “to walk all the way”] because he is dying, but had to reappear early so he can tell me why I was so uninteresting huh in any case, for me, it’s finished, I’m not coming back anymore. That’s enough.

Uh-huh. This is what I suggest: I’ll put a chair and a bottle of water next to his bed, that will be easier to speak to him about all that. Next time.

I’ve gotta go. Good-bye.

Good-bye.
What’s your name?
Who are you?

There won’t be a next time.

I say to myself in a high voice in my head.

But there is that famous little voice of shit that murmurs behind it

“But if you come back”. And I only hear thhat.

Then I see that I am late to go to pick up [literally “find”] the children at school. That hits me with some welcome stress.

Some good old stress like: “I am late”. Rather than: “Am I going to accept I have a father?”

Mama!

Mama, I’m going to play!
Hey Ma
[below:]
My son greets me halh-heartedly. At 8 years a mother starts becoming an inconvenience in front of friends.

Hello!
Hi!
Hi!

Apparently vaseline kills headlice and nits.
It’s true but you have to leave it on all night!
So?

Well, can you imagine the state of the sheets and pillowcases in the morning?!
You just throw them out! There you go.

Throw them away? Come on –
Well I have to be going. See you.
See you.
See you.

Just throw everything away. The sheets, the pillowcases, the kids, the headlice, and me too.
Ah
I can’t take any more, Claire. I don’t know where I am anymore.
Come, let’s sit down.

I run my errands, I make dinner, I clear up, I tidy away, I dress, I undress, I cry, I console, I hug, I look after…

I sit down, I get up to bring a glass of water, I reassure, I say good night my … , and when finally he’s asleep, I find myself there, all alone…
All empty inside.

I need something else for… heuheu… That fulfils me… So I’m not down when I’m alone.
But I don’t know…

I’m desperate for something else. But I don’t know what.

We don’t know each other well. I would like to take one of her hands between mine like a soft sandwich, but we don’t know each other well

So I stay there like that. As if all was said.

Her son’s called Rico. “He’s the apple of my eye”, she said to me as we leave.

I go to bed at a good hour. Exhausted. Full of emotions.

Hi.
Hi.

Mama.

When’s Dad coming back?

[Muffled noises]

When’s Dad coming back?

Straight away I see the chair and the bottle of water.

I see him straight away too.

He is very agitated. He moves his left hand back and forth on his left leg.

A nurse told me later that after his brain haemmorage all his right side was paralysed.

Sometimes he suddenly stops moving and puts his hand on his knee, then puts it back where it was.

I try to sense if this coming and going indicates anxiety or contentment.

All of a sudden I am overcome by a vision of my daughter.

What you’re doing is pointless.
[below:]
In the morning she measures herself in “hands”. The result varies depening on the way she positions her hands.

Totally pointless.

32! Woo Hoo!
Er, you can do me too?
[below:]
On the morning when she makes it less than 20 she is all deflated and vulnerable. But as soon as she makes it more than 30 she is ready to scoff the whole world.

Hello. I am the nurse. I’m here for the treatments.

Ah yes.
Er, hello.

He’s been doing that all the time.
Does it indicate something?

Mr Zarou, it’s Nicole.
Doesyour leg hurt?
Hmm?
Yes, the muscle is all tense. Let it go down Mr Zarou.
Let it lie flat on the bed.

A cramp.

A cramp! I never though of that!
You have to touch it.
It’s the only way to know what’s going on.

Touch!

That takes the biscuit.

Touch.

So perhaps the shoulder. Some bit where there are pyjamas.

Oh! excuse me!
No no, it was me…
I was lost…
...in my thoughts.

Rather the elbow. The bone of the elbow. Something very hard.

Hi Nina!

[Mumbled] Hi Claire.

Hi
But you’re here?
I’m here
Then it’s Thursdsay
Then it is
Bizarre. It seemed like another day to me.
Which?
Doesn’t matter which, but not Thursday!

[Opération hou-hou] gets the nasty dessert jackal to leave my body.

That pulls there?

No, no that doesn’t pull.
But if I go…

GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE
[Paraphrasing – _Au Diable Vauvert seems to mean ‘miles from anywhere’, ‘middle of nowhere’...]_

That pulls.
Yes. I see where.

[clockwise from top]
Turn to the left.
Really go for it.
Higher.
Lower.
Come back.
Face me.
Ok
Yes, that way.
Stretch. Yes. More.
More towards there.
Here, here.

Good.

It’s a guy

Who has a huge field.

Packed with rabbits

dozens and dozens.

How does he get them all together

with a single motion?
Eh?

He goes like this

Hello, hello. Calling all rabbits.

I repeat: all rabbits.
[laughter]

Not for one second did I think of cramp.
Not for one second did I ask myself how he was doing.

I feel ashamed and guilty. No matter. One and the other are swallowed immediately in my anger.

Serves himself right. His unknown self.
[This is literally “Well done to his mouth. His unknown mouth.”]

Yes?
Oh, hi! How are you?
I dreamt about you last night.
Well, how to explain… rather about a shadow of you…
Yes… a huge animal
A sort of mix between a panther and a boxer… Like the dog we had when I was a teen.

Oh, right?
[multiple mm-hmms]

[mm-hmm x 3]
Huh? who’’s that?
Aah! Me! Yes, alright, I’m doing okay.
I would really like it if you came to see him.
Yes, but for something in the past that’s disappeared he’s damn-well reappeared.

You could do it for me.
Do it for you then.
Then for the children.
No they are not too small, age changes nothing in this…
You know what Félix answered when his friend asked what he wanted to do when he grew up?

He said he wanted be an investigator to discover where his mother’s father was living.
You see… I never spoke of that in front of him…
It’s just that it’s ingrained in him… in me…

If you meet him…... In a couple of words – it can be your secret….... so he’s released, you know, so he can…........ to choose an occupation just for him…..... the good choice for…..... to be happy….... Hello? Hello?

You still there?
Ah right… You want to talk more?
You remember when he wanted to record whale music?..... Hello?....
Right. Then one more thing: can you look after the children Tuesday night? I have a meal to go to.

I could lie down on the ground right there and go to sleep. I feel like a big bag of bones that I have to drag around.

Don’t want to go in.

Mrs Safagi!

Hello.
Dr Barsikune. Hello.
We already met…
I remember.

I’d like to talk to you about your father.
Yes?
We can go to my office if you like.

So…

For some time your father’s brain activity…
indicates that he could wake up at any moment.

But as you already know, his condition is very serious. His days are numbered.
The opinion of the team that are treating him is divided… Anyway the final decision comes back to you.

The question is: in view of the physial and mental suffering that he would endure if he woke up…
isn’t it better to maintain your father in an artificial coma?

No! It’s not! Better! It’s not better!
I have waited a long time!
He has to tell me things… his reasons…
He has to tell me why.
It’s so long, he must be full of questions to ask me… all the answers I want to tell him.
I want him to talk to me and particularly I want to speak and that he sees me and he knows…
and I’m waiting there, sitting, and I want expectations – no – explanations with words and…. I’m waiting.

Okay. I understand.

I leave without going to see him. I will touch your elbow another day Mr Zarou.

Oops.
Sorry.
Excuse me.

It’s nothing. That happens all the time to me, you know! That’s the third time this week.
Oh right. Fine then.

But no! You mean to say… Three times this week?!!
Uh huh.
Shall we get a drink?
Well… Yes. Okay.

What would you like to drink?
A coffee.

Two coffees please.
Brazil, Colombian, Guadalajara or Acapulco?

Err…
The strongest.

Brazil?
It’s the strongest?
No – no.

Listen, make us two coffees. Strong. Okay?

Right. Then two Brazilians.
But you have to like coarse coffee, eh?
Although it’s not the strongest that we have…
But I’ve already told you.

I’m Laurence.
Really! Like my daughter. I’m Claire.

I was coming from the hospital. I went to see my faterh. I didn’t even go into his room today.

But… why?

I don’t know him.
Ah.
He is in a coma.
Ah.

I have never seen him in my life and then Bam! He’s there.

Although, without being really there.

I’m all entangled up in it…

Here you go…
Thank you.

You eat ants?

Does that bother you?
Are the insects your friends?

Er… no.
No, because… I do that… it’s for you, eh?

How did they know at the hospital that it was your father?

He had an Acknowledgement of Paternity on him. All folded up in his wallet.
Incredible!
[An “Acte de Reconnaissance” (“Acknowledgement of Paternity”) seems to be a legal document in France]

That must mean that he’s taken steps to show officially you’re father and daughter…
Yes.

That also must mean that all his life he’s kept you close to his heart…
One could see it like that.

Actually, when I say the heart… where men’s wallets are kept, it’s rather on their ass!

Would you show me the form? I know it’s very personal but –
But I don’t have it!
What?!

I.. I didn’t even see it! I didn’t think to ask!
Shame…

In the end, actually it’s a really good story!
You think?

Yes! Truly.
Thank you.

Let’s go! Let’s drink! To the health of fathers who acknowledge their daughters.

I wish that he’d known me.
[Originally I’d translated that as “I would have preferred him to have known me”, which I think is probably closer, but it wouldn’t work with the next panel, where the other woman echoes her words]

You know Claire…
We can use tu-toi, okay?
Okay.
[“tutoi” means to use the familiar conjugation of verbs, not the more formal “vous” form]

I wish I’d not cheated on my husband, I wish he’d never learned of it, and I wish he’s not leaving to live in Montreal.

And my children would really prefer that none of all this had happened.

Who can really boast of having nothing to reproach themselves for?

Mmm-hmm
But I have so many….

Let all that drop!
You don’t have any more time.
Make yourself light.

This coffee is nasty stuff.

MAMAAAA! I’m super hungry!
It’ll be ready in five minutes.

Laurence knocks over her glass three times. With each roar of laughter Félix spits rice right onto my plate.

The stupid cat rubs herself against our feet so that we don’t forget her.

I seem to be the only civilised person around this table. Shame. Another lost opportunity to find that life is beautiful, by God.

I SAY, CHILDREN!

When I say play quietly, this isn’t what I see.

No but Mama, it’s the game where there’s a Tyranosaurus Rex which we didn’t see at first and then we walk super quietly and then suddenly WAAAAAH he jumps out of a dark corner and then –
It’s really cool Mama it’s totally scary!
Right.

Félix: Tyranooooo
Laurence: Help!!
[below:]
I was sure not going to miss two opportunities in the same evening.

Mama, will you do a scary dinosaur tomorrow night?
No, never again.

A Tyranosaurus Rex always lies when it comes to the time or place of his next attack.

I am sick to say it… yet that’s how it’s left.
I’m going to go there tomorrow and tell them that I’ve changed my mind.

I will tell them to keep him asleep.
There it is.
What.
Yes. Well yes. I had said that, and today I say something else.
Hello? Hello? Dimitri?
We were cut off. A monkey must have been walking on the line.

I always said that they thing I missed most was not knowing the colour of my father’s eyes.

But it isn’t true. What I missed most was is that he hadn’t carried me on his shoulders whinnying while I hung onto his ears.

So they keep him in a coma….....

And for the famous eye-colour, I can always open his eyelids with my hideous little fingers, all twisted by bitterness and resentment.

I must have been 3 or 4 years. I heard my grandmother said to my mother: “She has her father’s eyes”. And my mother replied: “It’s true”.

It’s then that I invented this story about the colour of my father’s eyes blah blah blah.

My secret desire was that my mother, through hearing it so much, would tell me one day that I had the eyes of my father. Like a present.

She never said anything.

Hello.
Hello. All okay?
Yes. He is very calm today.

I was thinking to myself… the Ackowledgement of Paternity, you know the document… could I see it?

Oh! Of course!
All the things he was carrying at the time of the attack are at your disposal.
Excuse me, I thought that you were aware of that.

Everything’s here.

Laurence, the coffee drinker, was right. I am very moved in the face of this bit of paper. My hands tremble like the sheets.

I glance over the sheet from time to time to check that his eyes are well closed. I have the vague impression that I am clumsily being very dishonest.

At the end of a long moment, I replace the paper. I am still trembling as much.

Just before sliding it into the wallet I see more words written by hand.

Water.
Fire.
Eat.
Sleep.
To be content.
 
Water.
Fire.
Eat.
Sleep.
To be content.
 
Water.
Fire.
Eat.
Sleep.
To be content.
 
[below:]
I repeat them many times. A little poem. My hands stop trembling.

Seven little handwritten words. They’ve always been waiting for me. Like a magic formula, they give me access to my father.
[Eight words in the original French!]

As if it were him who had started the conversation.

I take his left hand. There, I can feel his heart beating far away. It’s a bit too faint.

It’s me.
It’s Claire.
[below:]
Holding it, it is like a sparrow whose fragile skeleton can be felt through its feathers.

I hold his hand for four hours. I speak to him for four hours. Of my life, my children, Dimitri, my friends, my work, the films of Cassavetes, water, fire, everything.

In the evening I am going to eat round my friends’, who live far from the town.

Hi!
Hello!

All alright? How’re you going?
All alright!
Yes – yes, great.
And you?

So, Dimitri? Still in Indonesia?
Yes, still.
And what’s he doing there?
A dam.
When’s he coming back?

We talk about work, holidays, kids, houses, cash, oh the Americans…... All the usual.

Once we’ve covered the bases we talk of us. And then we start laughing at everything and anything. And there – like that! – I feel that everything’s going to be okay.

Oh no.

Oh nooooo…

Shit. A little fox. Oh shit.

I lay him gently in the forest. I sit against a tree. A calm and still scent.

That night I sleep very badly.

I have bad dreams.

I brush my teeth all wrong, without making the little circles.

My hair makes me crazy.

We are late for school.

A good morning, in perspective.

I hit a little fox yesterday evening. I killed it. It was so beautiful. With huge ears.

Hello.

Ah, Hello Nicole!
I was listening to the noises he makes.
The sound of the interior…
Well.

Could you say to Doctor Barsikune that I have changed my mind.

I want you keep him asleep. In an artificial coma.

Okay. I’m going to tell her right now.
Thank you.

You’re there.

What?

Claire.

Like the elephants.

He closed his eyes again gently. His breathing became deep and quiet again.

Like the elephants?

Goodbye.

He died some hours later. At 5.18pm Nicole told me on the telephone.

Mama! Yoo-hoo!

Hi! How’re you?
Hi!
Mama I’m hungry!

My father died today.

You aren’t crying?
No…

Why?
I don’t know.
It’s as if…

This morning he woke up and recognised me straight away. He called me Claire.
It’s crazy! No?!

You think it was possibly by chance?

Aaahhh it’s you GEORGES!

No… it’s not by chance…

It’s just that you are exactly like he had imagined you.

C’mon it’s late. Pyjamas - peepee - wash your hands—brush your teeth

Oh! Oh! But who is that on the horizon?
Mickey Mouse in underpants
Playing with himself, the little boob!
[This seems to be a naughty children’s rhyme – not quite right, and there seem to be some puns and possibly contrepéterie in there]

That’s it? You’re done?
Ah! Ah! But who is that on the horizon?
It’s Maman in under-
Félix!
Yes, okay.

Good night Laurence.
Good night Mama.

Good night, Félix.
Good night, Georges.

I go to bed in tears.

I wake up to phone Dimitri. I don’t manage to reach him.

I go back to bed in tears.

In the morning I’m all dry.

Hi. It’s me.

He died yesterday.

Yes. If you like.
But not before 5 o’clock.
Okay.
See you later.

Hi. Come in.

I make you a coffee?
Yes. Thanks.

I’m going to kiss the children.
Mm-hmm.

You okay?
Yes. And you?
Sit down.

It shocked you that he died?

No… I don’t think so. I let it wash over me.

What? You’re talking of the death of my father?

Yes. The death of that man.

He was already dead for me you know.

You still haven’t forgiven?

Who?
Him or me?

You must tell me a little of how it all happened.

Eh?

I can’t.

I’ve buried it all so deep….It’s like an abyss. It gives me vertigo.

I can’t go back there.
I would lose myself.

But perhaps in discussing it together we can restore a little order… some clarity?

But….

Who says that your order isn’t disorder for me?

You want some more coffee?
No thank you.
That was good like that.

He woke up yesterday, you know?

He saw me. And he -
Actually I would like a bit more coffee.

Thank you.

One day I heard you say I had the same eyes as him.
But I saw his eyes.
They are green.

It’s not the colour.
It’s something there behind them…

The same eyes.

There you are.
I’ll go now.

[Kiss kiss]

Like a present.

Elephants have a very strange funeral rite: when an elephant senses that his hour has –

– come, he moves away from the troop, but not alone. He chooses a companion and they leave together. They take a walk in the savanna until the elephant who is going to die decides that it’s the right place.

He then makes one or two circuits tracing out a circle and tells his companion to leave him. Farewell, bye-bye, and the other rejoins the troop.

It’s Dad! He’s coming back in 3 days!
Super. Pass it to me.
We were cut off.

After, we can go eat pizza, all four of us?
Yes…. good idea.