Issue nº 71

Complete solitude

     The journalists have finished all the interviews, the publishers have all taken the train back to Zurich, the friends I had dinner with have all gone home, and I go out for a walk in Geneva. It is an exceptionally pleasant evening, the streets are deserted and the bars and restaurants filled with life, everything seems absolutely calm, in order, pretty, and then all of a sudden...
     All of a sudden it strikes me that I am absolutely alone.
     Of course I have often been alone this year. And "of course", somewhere two hours from here by plane, my wife waits for me. It is obvious too that after a day filled with activities like today, nothing better than to stroll through the lanes and narrow alleys of the old town without having to say anything to anyone, just contemplating the beauty all around me. Except that tonight, for some reason that I am unaware of, this feeling of solitude is utterly oppressive and anguishing - I have nobody to share the city with on this stroll, nobody to share the comments that I would like to make.
     Of course, I have a mobile telephone in my pocket and a reasonable number of friends here, but I feel it is a bit too late to call anyone. I consider the possibility of going into one of the bars and ordering myself a drink - almost certainly, someone would recognize me and invite me to join them. But I also think that it is important to go deep to the bottom of this emptiness, this sensation that it does not matter to anybody whether we exist or not, and so I carry on walking.
     I see a fountain and remember I was here last year with a Russian painter lady who had just illustrated a text that I had written for Amnesty International. On that day we hardly exchanged a word, just listened to the water splashing and the music of a violin coming from far away. We were both wrapped in our thoughts, yet both of us knew that although distant, we were not alone.
     I walk on for a bit, heading for the Cathedral. Through a half-open window on the other side of the street, I see a family chatting together; this only makes the sensation of loneliness grow immensely, now the evening stroll has turned into a journey into night trying to understand what it is to feel utterly alone.
     I begin to imagine how many millions of people at this very moment are feeling absolutely useless and miserable - no matter how rich, charming, enchanting they may be - because tonight they too are all alone, and last night too, and tomorrow they might be lonely as well. Young people who have found nobody to go out with tonight, elderly people sitting in front of the TV as if it were the last hope of salvation, businessmen in their hotel rooms wondering whether what they do has any sense to it, since all that they feel at this moment is the despair of being all alone.
     I remember a comment someone made during dinner: a recent divorcee said "now I have all the freedom I always dreamed of." That's a lie. No-one wants that kind of freedom, all of us want a commitment, a person to be at our side to see the beauties of Geneva, discuss their views of life or even just share a sandwich. Better to eat half a sandwich than a whole one without anyone to share anything with, not even a little bit of food. Better to be hungry than to be alone. Because when you are alone - and I am talking about the loneliness that we do not choose, the loneliness that we are obliged to accept - it is as if we no longer belonged to the human race.
     I start walking towards the beautiful hotel on the other river bank, with its super-comfortable room, its kind staff, its top-quality service. Soon I will be asleep and tomorrow this strange sensation that for some reason or other overpowered me today will be no more than a memory, remote and odd, because I won't have any more reason to say: I'm lonely.
     On the way back I pass by other solitary people; they look either arrogant (because they prefer to pretend that they chose to be alone on such a beautiful evening) or sad (because they know that there is nothing worse in life). I consider striking up a conversation with them, but I know that they are ashamed of their own loneliness. Maybe it is better for them to reach the limit and then understand how necessary it is to dare, to talk to strangers, to discover where to meet people, to avoid going home to watch TV or read a book - because if they do that the meaning of life will be lost, loneliness will have become a vice, and from then on the long way back to human companionship will no longer be found.