R Memory Police Quotes

Even if a memory disappears completely, the heart retains something. A slight tremor or pain, some bit of joy, a tear.’ - R

And no matter how wonderful the memory, it vanishes if you leave it alone, if no one pays attention to it. They leave no trace, no evidence that they ever existed.’ - R

If we do find something,' said the old man, struggling to find words, 'what do we do then?' 'Nothing in particular. We're all free to do as we choose with our own memories,' R said.

It became more difficult to breathe. I looked around. My body was now included among the objects arranged on the floor. I lay there between the music box and the harmonica, my two legs protruding at odd angles, my hands crossed on my chest, my eyes lowered. In the same way he had wound the spring on the music box or blown into the harmonica, I imagined R would now caress my body in order to call forth memories.

I looked at R. I needed only to lean slightly in his direction for us to be touching. He raised his hand and brushed away a tear at the corner of my eye with his fingers. They were warm. I watched as my tears fell on his hand. And then he took me in his arms. The silence of the night had returned. It suddenly seemed unbelievable that less than an hour ago the doorbell had rung and boots had stomped across the floor above his room. Now I could feel his heart through his sweater. He embraced me gently, his hands encircling my back as though holding a cloud, and at last my tears stopped. Everything that had happened-shopping in the market, the death of the fish, lighting the candles on the cake, opening the music box, the burning of the datebook-seemed like memories from the distant past. We were entirely in the present. There, behind your heartbeat, have you stored up all my lost memories? I thought this to myself, cheek pressed against R’s chest. If I could, I would have liked to take them out and line them up in front of me one by one. I was sure that any memories that remained inside him would be very much alive, so different from my own, which were few in number and very pale-sodden flower petals sinking into the waves at the bottom of the incinerator.

Would you really like to remember all the things you've lost?' R asked. I told him the truth. 'I don't know. Because I don't even know what it is I should be remembering. What's gone is gone completely. I have no seeds inside me, waiting to sprout again. I have to make do with a hollow heart full of holes. That's why I'm jealous of your heart, one that offers some resistance, that is tantalizingly transparent and yet not, that seems to change as the light shines on it at different angles.