Well... Yes...

Subject:	Well... yes. It's me.
Date:	Saturday, September 5, 1998 10:47:22 +0100
From:	Jérôme
To:	Guylaine

I am in France for the wedding of a classmate from Theseus. This is a good opportunity to check the 18 Catherine Camus's out of 45 I have left (I haven't dared count the number of C Camus!).

The first one I call, whom I believe is the right one, because the person who answered last May said that the subscriber was in fact born in 1952, was very kind. Not only was she not irritated by me ringing up the wrong person, but also she understood the importance of the matter. She gave me the phone number of her father, who has a book with all the 'Camus' of France, where this person was registered, although she never asked. How kind!

I am down to 17. No. The next one has to be wrong. 17 is a bad number - southern Italians convinced me of it. If it were to be her, this could turn out bad. A call, a chat... no, not the one I am looking for.

Third attempt: another answering machine... Then two more answering machines. Finally another live voice; another check, another possibility crossed off the list. Maybe the last fifteen will turn up blank. Maybe she kept her married name, or she prefers to be unlisted.

Oh well, keep on trying. There is one last number in this '03' area I have to check. It is also the first one I wrote in my list. Now, I know what to say. This is in fact the first call where I get to the point in one single phrase:

I am looking for a Catherine Elizabeth Camus, born in Niagara Falls, New York in 1952.

The reaction at the other end of the line is lukewarm, at best.

"What is this about?"
A family matter.
Who are you ?
Jérôme Camus. Son of Bernadette.
Ah, yes. Well... yes. It's me.
Yes! It feels like scoring goal number 50 in a season...

Thus starts a long conversation which will be pursued next week when we meet. But a lot is already said and cleared up.

Catherine asks a question: "Did she pass away?". I cannot recall making any hint of her passing. Is this a thread that binds, or a flux of energy, like that I felt on February 8? Maybe the tone of my voice gives a cue. Ten minutes go by and Catherine asks the same question again. Then again, it may not be all that strange; this is an intense moment for her - many thoughts must be clashing in her mind...

She admits she never had any parents. Just as I thought; all the pain and suffering was true. The guardianship changed in 1967. My mother did not show up for a trial and from that point on, Catherine's grandmother took care of her.

At age fifteen, Catherine had to take charge of herself - alone - to make it in this world. How curious that I, at sixteen or seventeen was also entirely autonomous. In my case, I had wanted my freedom.

Yes, she knew Paul. She believes she followed his footsteps in her career path... she believes he is an architect.

Catherine is pleased that I called her. For herself and for Marion, her seventeen year-old daughter who was looking into the past. I guess I cannot ask for more.

Catherine was tempted to make amends with the past. An attempt to contact Armand, through Marion's efforts, fell flat. On her last birthday, Catherine thought the moment right to try to contact her mother. She thought that her mother might be in France and that she would be easy to track down. ... Just when her daughter thinks of looking for her, mom gave up her fight against her cancers.

I truly believe that mom would have liked to have seen Catherine by her side in February at the LeRoyer pavillion... rest in Peace. You deserve it.

Mom was not happy living in America. She wanted to go back to France. She believed in a French education for Catherine. I had assumed this... I guess I knew my mother better than I think.

I am lucky to have found Catherine through the phone system. She carries her maiden name officially, only since the end of 1987, when her divorce became final. Otherwise, I would have had a lot of difficulty in finding her.

It is also quite striking! Over the phone, she has the same youthful voice her mother had. And apparently, Marion looks quite like her grand mother...

Catherine concludes, more than once, that the whole affair is just sad, that she has very few happy things to say. Yet, she is pleased to talk to me about them. Ying... Yang...

So there. A major moment. And it truly is a pleasure to share it.

Take care,

Jérôme