The word is obsession and he knows it well, the same word in both languages: slippery and hard to grasp in French, and rough against the roof of his mouth in English. He letters in the boxes to the drone of the morning news, the six o'clock news, the eleven o'clock news, conjugations sing-songing through his head. Trip to Mexico, they say, and it's just like him to ignore the rules, the procedure, like he did with the elections, like he did with everything. Meeting with Fox, they say, but it should have been him -- he should have followed procedure.

Obséder, he thinks, to obsess. J'obsède, tu obsèdes, il obsède. He counts the days until Washington, the minutes until meeting, the seconds until palm meets palm and he murmurs "hello" and obsession becomes utterly meaningless. The distance until he can think nous obsédons, and believe it. The greeting sounds the same in either language.

 

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