Savages - A Novel of Contemporary Morality (eBook)

This can't go on. We're heading down a dead end. We think only of ourselves, our little houses (our villas), our Saturday barbecues, our tax-free investments, our SUVs, and our facials. Our society isn't a society anymore. We're just tiny islands huddled together. We live in a cage. We don't look at others. We don't look at the other. Will you stop? I'm talking about serious things. I'm sleepy. I'm talking to you about our world. It's late. I'm talking to you about us. My wife was yawning. Out loud. A human being becomes strange when they yawn. Even our wives. We always remember the hippopotamus, with its wide, wet mouth. Its lazy presence. Its hot, mud-covered body. So come on. Come on what? You wanted to talk to me about the other. She crossed her elbows over her newly augmented breasts. We have to welcome the other. This different one. This one who isn't us. We must treat him like a brother, and invite him into our home. We only have two hundred square meters for the two of us. I'm talking about our symbolic home. You scared me. The company opened the way. Meaning, the other wasn't adequately represented in it. We're all so alike: Legros, Brunière, Morel, Dubois, Lepotre, Fournier, Durand, Guichard. They're all the same. I'm glad to hear you say that. You were right. Although Lepotre. What about Lepotre? Lepotre is different. Lepotre. He's deeper. Deeper Lepotre. Yes. And the rest of us are fools.