He knocked on my door to invite me to the Roi du Café. He had, he added, something very important to tell me. I followed him because I could still hear Louis-Philippe advising me to reach out to him. Not that I could see what we had to say to each other. So I let Mr Hippocratic do the talking just as I let our Arab on the corner do the talking. We sat inside, at a spot that wasn’t far from the terrace. Mr Hippocratic couldn’t keep still, he seemed to have a case of ants in his pants. He cleared his throat and began: “I am not against you, that is why I have invited you here today … I had a bad dream about you. A car ran you over at the Gare du Nord and everybody walked past your body without stopping. I was passing by, I lifted you onto my shoulders so I could drive you to Lariboisière. But it was too late, there was too much blood, and you died in my arms … I cried for the first time in my life. I don’t want to go to heaven thinking I’m the cause of your death. So I’m asking for your forgiveness, yes, I’m asking you to forgive me for everything I’ve done to you.
