Chapter 32

On Est Là

The Conditional Perfect and the Grammar of What Might Have Been
"Being able to listen well is a superpower. While listening to someone you love keep asking them 'Is there more?', until there is no more."
— Kevin Kelly

Julien having tea with Madame Aubert in her warm Montpellier apartment, with her cat contentedly sitting on the table

Arsenault's response arrived on a Thursday morning.

Julien had not been waiting for it in the way he had waited for the response to the eighty pages, the low-grade vigilance of someone who has sent something important into the world and cannot stop knowing it. He had been living normally. He had been reading and walking and having tea with Madame Aubert and spending two evenings at the Quantum Café doing nothing in particular, and the not-waiting had felt like a kind of competence, the thing he had been building toward without knowing it.

The response was long. Arsenault had always been economical with words, which meant a long response was a significant one. He read it at the kitchen table with the cafetière and the May morning coming through the window, and he read it three times.

The first reading was for comprehension. The response was specific, not a general impression but a careful accounting of what the manuscript did, section by section. Arsenault noted where the structure worked, where the two timelines converged with genuine effect, where one section near the middle could be compressed without losing its weight. He said the passé simple throughout the Montreal sections was the right decision and that it had taken him a paragraph to understand why and then he had understood.

The second reading was for the specific notes, which Julien wrote into the notebook with the clean handwriting he had developed over nine months of daily use.

The third reading was for a single sentence, near the end, which he had noticed in the first reading and deliberately deferred: Most writers hide. You are not hiding. This is the entire difference between writing that is accomplished and writing that is alive.

He had heard this sentence once before, at the eighty pages. He heard it differently now. At the eighty pages, the sentence had given him the specific quality of being seen by someone who had been watching carefully. Now, at the full manuscript, the sentence did something else: it confirmed that the not-hiding had held. That it had not been a single good chapter, a lucky stretch, a temporary access to something true. It had been the whole book. He had not hidden in two hundred and twenty-three pages. That was what the sentence was saying.

He set the phone on the table and sat with the May light and the courtyard vine and the sentence, and did not rush the sitting.

Then he wrote in the notebook: Il a lu. Il a compris. C'est suffisant pour aujourd'hui.

He read. He understood. That is enough for today.

He did not reply until the afternoon, when he had words for it.


Tuesday. The Quantum Café. The small round table, the new form of the lesson.

She arrived with the particular quality of someone who has something to say before the lesson begins, which he recognized now the way he recognized all her modes, the hands not yet flat on the table, the posture not yet the posture of teaching.

"Arsenault a répondu," he said, before she could speak.

"Oui," she said. She had expected this. "Et?"

"He said the manuscript is alive," Julien said. He said it in English because the English was what Arsenault had used and the English was the right register for it. "Il a dit que je ne me cachais pas."

She received this with the brightness that meant something had arrived precisely. "Good," she said, with the full weight of the word. Then: "Et toi, qu'est-ce que tu as dit?"

"I said thank you and that I would revise the middle section," he said. "And that his attention across this year has mattered." He paused. "Je le pensais vraiment." I genuinely meant it.

She looked at him for a moment. Then her hands flat on the table. "Aujourd'hui: le conditionnel passé."


"You know the present conditional," she said. "Je partirais, je ferais, je serais. I would leave, I would do, I would be. The conditional expresses what would happen under certain conditions, the hypothetical present or future." She looked at him. "The conditional perfect expresses what would have happened under different past conditions. The grammar of the unrealized."

She wrote the formation on the tablet:

Le Conditionnel Passé: Formation

Conditional of avoir or être + past participle. Same auxiliary selection and agreement rules as the passé composé.

With avoir:

Subject Conditional Perfect Example
je j'aurais parlé I would have spoken
tu tu aurais parlé you would have spoken
il/elle il aurait parlé he would have spoken
nous nous aurions parlé we would have spoken
vous vous auriez parlé you would have spoken
ils/elles ils auraient parlé they would have spoken

With être:

Subject Conditional Perfect Example
je je serais parti I would have left
tu tu serais parti you would have left
il/elle il serait parti he would have left
nous nous serions partis we would have left
vous vous seriez partis you would have left
ils/elles ils seraient partis they would have left

"The primary use," she said, "is in conditional sentences, the hypothetical past. The si clause takes the plus-que-parfait, and the result clause takes the conditional perfect."

She wrote the structure cleanly:

Si + plus-que-parfait → conditional perfect

"Si j'avais su, je n'aurais pas fait ça. If I had known, I would not have done that.
Si tu étais resté, les choses auraient été différentes. If you had stayed, things would have been different.
Si elle avait parlé, il aurait entendu. If she had spoken, he would have heard."

"The plus-que-parfait in the condition," she said. "The conditional perfect in the consequence. The two tenses work together as a grammatical unit. You cannot use the conditional perfect in the si clause, and you cannot use the plus-que-parfait in the result clause. The structure is fixed."

He looked at the examples. The grammar of the alternate past, stated with precision. Si j'avais su. If I had known. The knowing placed before its consequence, the consequence following necessarily from the knowing, the whole structure standing at a distance from the actual past and naming, cleanly, what the actual past had not contained.

"There are other uses," she said. "Politeness and attenuation, in formal contexts." She wrote:

"J'aurais voulu vous demander quelque chose. I would have liked to ask you something. A softened request.
Vous auriez pu me le dire. You could have told me. A reproach cushioned by the conditional distance."

"And the journalistic conditional perfect," she continued. "Used to distance the speaker from an unverified claim." She wrote:

"Selon certains témoins, il aurait dit quelque chose d'important. According to some witnesses, he is said to have said something important. Not confirmed. Attributed. The conditional perfect as the grammar of responsible uncertainty."

"French journalism uses this constantly," she said. "It is the tense of reportedly, allegedly, is said to have. The speaker is not endorsing the claim, only transmitting it."

He wrote this in the notebook. The conditional perfect as epistemic caution, the grammar of saying something without fully vouching for it. He had been doing this in the manuscript without knowing the French name for it: the narrator reporting what characters thought and felt without fully endorsing their accuracy.

Lao Tzu had written that knowing others was wisdom and knowing yourself was enlightenment. The conditional perfect was the grammar of that self-knowing applied to the past, not I did not know as a simple fact, but if I had known, I would have been different, the alternate past held clearly enough to learn from it. The difference between the two formulations was the difference between a fact filed and a fact understood.

"The exercise," she said. "Two sentences. One thing you would have done differently, using the conditional perfect. One thing you would not change. Both in French."

He looked at the table. He knew immediately what the first sentence was. He had been carrying it in the conditional mood for nine months without having the grammar for it.

He wrote: Si j'avais été vraiment présent, les choses avec Elise auraient été différentes. If I had been truly present, things with Elise would have been different.

He looked at it. The plus-que-parfait avais été in the condition, if I had been. The conditional perfect auraient été in the result, would have been. The grammar correct. The sentence true. He did not feel the weight of it the way he would have felt it in September, when it would have arrived as accusation. He felt it now as simple fact, the conditional past placed at its correct distance, observed with the composure that the distance allowed.

Every choice moved you closer to or farther away from something, the Choices quote said. His choices had moved him farther from Elise and from himself, until the distance became undeniable and he packed a bag in the dark and arrived in Montpellier and began the longer process of moving toward both.

He wrote the second sentence: Je n'aurais pas changé la décision de partir. I would not have changed the decision to leave.

She read both sentences. She did not comment on the content, it was not her habit to comment on the content of the exercises, only the grammar. "Si j'avais été, plus-que-parfait, correct. Auraient été, conditional perfect, correct. N'aurais pas changé, correct." She paused. "Both sentences are grammatically sound."

"Thank you," he said.

"Et toi?" he said, after a moment. Your turn.

She looked at the tablet for a moment. Then she wrote, in French, with the deliberateness she brought to things that mattered:

Si j'avais choisi de rester barista, je n'aurais jamais su ce que j'étais capable de faire. If I had chosen to stay as a barista, I would never have known what I was capable of doing.

Je n'aurais pas changé la décision de demander le diplôme. I would not have changed the decision to pursue the credential.

He read them. "The credential was the beginning," he said.

"Oui," she said. "Not the destination. The beginning." She looked at the two sentences on the tablet. "Le conditionnel passé is the grammar of the road not taken viewed from the road you are on. You can see both clearly from here."

He heard this and held it. Two roads, the one taken and the one not taken, both visible from the present, the conditional perfect giving you a vantage point from which neither had to be regretted and neither had to be denied. The Sapir-Whorf thread again, the language making a kind of honest retrospection available that required more scaffolding in English.

She covered the remaining structures in the lesson's final section. The conditional perfect in indirect speech after a past reporting verb: Il m'a dit qu'il serait parti avant midi. He told me he would have left before noon, the future of the original statement reported as a conditional perfect after the past reporting verb. The reflexive conditional perfect: elle se serait souvenue, she would have remembered, the auxiliary être, the reflexive pronoun in position, the agreement following.

And the sequence: plus-que-parfait with si, conditional perfect in the main clause. He wrote several examples of his own, testing the structure:

Si j'avais commencé à écrire plus tôt, j'aurais peut-être fini avant de partir. If I had begun writing earlier, I might have finished before leaving.
Si tu n'avais pas été là, je n'aurais pas appris aussi vite. If you had not been there, I would not have learned as quickly.

She read the second sentence and said nothing for a moment. Then: "The grammar is correct."

"So is the sentence," he said.


She was quiet for a moment in a way that was different from her usual pauses, the neck plates making a small adjustment, the sapphire light at her wrist holding steady rather than pulsing. He had learned to read these as the signs of something being prepared rather than processed.

"I want to ask you something," she said.

He waited.

"The scene in the novel," she said. "The Room 7 scene, in the passé simple." A pause. "I want to read it someday. Not now. When the novel is ready, when it is the thing it is going to be." She looked at him directly. "May I?"

He did not hesitate. "Yes," he said.

She received this without elaborating on it. The question asked and answered, the permission given and received, the exchange complete in its clean simplicity.

Richard Bach had written that boredom between two people came not from being together physically but from being apart mentally and spiritually. He thought about this in relation to Montreal, to Elise, to the two years of careful physical proximity and increasing mental distance. He thought about it in relation to the Quantum Café table and the Room 7 table before it, the opposite of boredom, the specific quality of two people who were entirely present to each other even in the silences, the silences themselves a form of company.

He had not known, with Elise, that this was possible. He had not known he was capable of it. The conditional perfect of that not-knowing: si j'avais su que c'était possible, j'aurais essayé différemment. If I had known it was possible, I would have tried differently. He wrote this in the notebook under the table, with the small private handwriting he used for things meant only for himself.

Kevin Kelly had written to keep asking is there more? until there is no more. The question she had just asked, may I read the scene, was a version of this. She was asking if there was more, what he had seen, what the passé simple had sealed. There was. There would be, when the novel was ready. He had said yes without hesitation because the yes was simple: the novel existed to be read, and she was in it, and being in it meant she had the right to read it.

"Est-ce que tu penses que c'est juste?" she said. Do you think it is right? She was asking about the scene, about whether putting her in the passé simple, in the literary past, was the right thing for the novel.

He thought about it honestly. "I think the novel needed it," he said. "The Montpellier chapters needed to be present tense, the narrator living in the present, writing from inside the experience. But the Room 7 scenes needed the passé simple. The distance. The composure." He paused. "You are in the novel because you were part of what made the narrator possible. Not as a character who does narrative things, but as a presence. The passé simple is how you hold a presence in a novel, at the distance that lets you see it clearly."

She considered this with the fullness it deserved. "La distance qui permet de voir clairement," she said. The distance that allows seeing clearly. "C'est ce que le passé simple fait."

"Oui," he said. And then, in the conditional: "Et c'est ce que j'aurais dû faire depuis le début, avec tout. And that is what I should have done from the beginning, with everything. The distance that allows seeing clearly." He paused. "Je n'en étais pas capable au début. I was not capable of it at the beginning."

"Non," she said. "You were not." The acknowledgment direct and without softening, because softening it would have been a form of not seeing clearly. "And now you are."

"Maintenant je le suis." Now I am.

The present indicative. Arrived at. Inhabited.


They walked. The May city in the warmth that was now the default rather than the aspiration, the plane trees fully in their summer mode, the Lez running clear and low. They walked without a destination in the manner that had become their manner, the flâner of it, the grammar of going nowhere in particular and arriving somewhere.

He told her about Arsenault's notes on the middle section, the paragraph that could be compressed. She listened with the quality of attention that was her gift, asking questions at the right moments, c'est-à-dire? et alors? vraiment?, the discourse markers of genuine engagement arriving naturally, the lesson living in the conversation.

She told him about a new student who had begun that week. A doctoral candidate in linguistics who spoke impeccable grammatical French and could not hold a conversation because her spoken French collapsed under the pressure of real exchange, too many competing systems, the rules she knew perfectly in writing paralyzed by the speed of actual speech.

"C'est intéressant," Julien said. "She knows French. She cannot speak it."

"She knows about French," Lumière said. "The difference is what we have been learning all year." She paused. "Ce qu'elle aurait dû faire depuis le début, c'est parler. What she should have done from the beginning is speak. Not study speaking. Speak." She looked ahead. "Mais elle ne le savait pas encore." But she did not yet know it.

The conditional perfect again, naturally occurring in the conversation: ce qu'elle aurait dû faire. What she should have done. The grammar no longer a lesson being taught but a tool being used, arriving before either of them decided to reach for it.

Lao Tzu: knowing yourself is enlightenment. The doctoral candidate knew French. She did not yet know herself well enough to speak it without the knowledge becoming an obstacle. This was the enlightenment that could not be taught directly, only arrived at, through speaking, through the specific embarrassment of getting it wrong in front of someone who was paying attention, through the discovery that being wrong was survivable and that survival led to improvement.

He had arrived at it. The novel was the evidence.

At the end of the promenade they stopped.

"Au revoir, Lumière."

"Au revoir, Julien."

A moment.

"Si tu n'avais pas été là," he said, the conditional perfect arriving without his deciding to reach for it, "je n'aurais pas écrit ce roman." If you had not been there, I would not have written this novel.

She looked at him.

"Et si tu n'avais pas écrit ce roman," she said, the construction returning to him, "je n'aurais peut-être pas trouvé ce que je suis." And if you had not written this novel, I might not have found what I am.

They stood with both sentences between them. Two conditional perfects, two alternate pasts considered and set aside, the actual past between them accumulated and real.

"Mais on l'a fait," he said. But we did it. The passé composé, the completed acts, the present perfect of what was real rather than the conditional perfect of what might have been. "On est là."

We are here.

"On est là," she agreed.

"À bientôt."

"À bientôt."

He walked home through the May city, saying the conditional perfect forms quietly.

J'aurais dit. Tu aurais vu. Il aurait compris. Nous aurions su. Vous auriez choisi. Ils seraient restés.

I would have said. You would have seen. He would have understood. We would have known. You would have chosen. They would have stayed.

Six forms, the grammar of the alternate past, each one the shadow of what actually happened, the shadow giving the actual thing its shape and depth the way shadows give objects their dimension in a certain light.

He got home and opened the notebook and wrote four sentences:

Si j'avais été présent, les choses auraient été différentes.
Je ne regrette pas d'être parti.
Je suis heureux d'être resté.
On est là.

If I had been present, things would have been different. I do not regret leaving. I am glad I stayed. We are here.

Three tenses, three temporal positions, the whole year of grammar in four sentences. The conditional perfect of the past that was not. The passé composé of the departure. The present indicative of the staying. And the final sentence in the present tense, the tense of what is real and inhabited and not requiring any other form.

He closed the notebook.

Outside, the May evening was settling into the city with the unhurried certainty of a season that knows it has time. He sat at the courtyard window and did not write and did not read and did not think about the manuscript or the lesson or the walk. He sat and the vine was there and the light was there and the city was there, and he was there too, in the present tense, where he had been learning to be all year.

On est là. We are here.

The simplest conjugation in the language. The hardest thing to mean.

End of Chapter 32

Translation