Read On... Carefully Divorce Thinking Slow... Really Slow Ehrwald Reminders	Down Side Up
	Zero Storm One Common Drama Two for One Three Pivotal Years Four Generations Five Ring Circus
	Subject: Thinking slow... really slow... Date: Friday, February 13, 1998 03:26:58 -0500 From: Jérôme To: Silvana This morning, as I was waiting for the bus, I started making connections. I can see why my mother would have cancelled ten years of her life. First, it was none of my business, and second, this way she put aside a marriage that had gone wrong. Later, as I was pursuing my investigations, I found copies of her birth certificate. I knew her passport had expired a long time ago. I therefore pushed her to renew it so she could travel and enjoy the world a bit. She acted upon this only because of Arianna. Indication in a margin. Divorced from Armand Lucien CAMUS through a judgement deemed contradictory by the 5ème Chambre du Tribunal de Grande Instance of Seine on July 5, 1967 announcing the exequatur in France of a judgement rendered by the Court of Cambridge, Massachusetts on January 24, 1957. Thus, married in 1950 in France, she gave birth in America in 1952; then divorced in 1957. That much is clear... Paying better attention to the passports and documents that were with them, new information seems to point to important events in her - our - lives. An 'Air France Itinerary'. Today these documents are printed; this one comes from a time when they were filled out by hand. It is for Mme. Camus and baby. Her passport and mine do have the same stamps, so the baby's identity is a certainty. Yet, a detail bugs me. The itinerary had a return Paris-New York-Boston planned for the September 16. Both passports show us landing on the 15th. Why cut short a two and a half month trip by 24 hours? A cancelled flight is doubtful; it would be rather difficult for airlines to contact all their reserved clients and have them move up their travel dates. Moving back might be easier... Something else does not fit. Catherine's passport was issued in 1958, yet it was valid for only two years (the rules changed later, moving to three, five and now ten years). Nevertheless, her passport has a stamp for 1963... without any official renewal of the passport. What are these stamps exactly? Exit of France and Entry in Spain at Iruña... In 1970, I traveled with my mother to Spain and I remember going through Iruña and moving on to San Sebastiàn... Out of curiosity, I want to check my passport used in 1970. But I pick up the earlier one by mistake. Mine shows the same exits and entries as Catherine's. And as those of my mother's. All are dated July 1963. Barely four hours later, absentee brain cells get back on the job... I finally realize that although she is not living with me, according to the travel itinerary, she knows me. We entered Spain together... More brain cells get together. 1970. Iruña and San Sebastiàn. Arriving from Paris. That makes little sense. The whole trip we East-Westbound: Paris, Brussels, Brugges, Oostende, Vienna, Bratislava, Prague, Munich... This detour south is not simple nor short. I do not believe in coincidences anymore. This trip to Iruña, at the very least, was a trip down memory lane, at most a meeting. Once again, I did not see a thing. Another document muddies the waters. A post card. A black and white tyrolian scenery: winter, of course. I know this picture. I loved this picture when I was... oh, I cannot remember. I looked at it often. I guess I found it one day, then kept it in a cigar box, my treasure chest. I must have ignored what was written on the back (then again, I must have been curious at some point...). I feel so puny. Why never ask a simple question; as simple as: "Who is...?" Then I realize how slow I am. The obvious is staring me in the face and I remain blind. My father knew Catherine. She knows me. He knows her. I have no recollection of either of them. The plot thickens... I am going to bed now. Since I am sleeping lightly of late, I will dig later on, probably in the middle of the night. I ought to be able to call you at a decent hour, too. Jérôme