“Freedom does not consist in doing whatever one wants. It lies in the interval. It lies in withdrawal. It lies in the silence that each person carries within and that no one can invade. True freedom is obscure. It does not display itself. It does not proclaim itself. It lies hidden in the folds of being. It is in the regions of shadow that one finally escapes gazes, expectations, and even the laws of language itself. What I am, no one can take from me. Not even myself. Constraint has shaped me, but it is in what constraint cannot reach that I recognize myself.”
Pascal Quignard, The Roving Shadows
There are deserted islands inhabited by invisible beings. At best, by falling silent and listening carefully, we may hear whispers of them.
Warmblood (Sang Chaud in french which is close to Sancho)
— In the end, who are you, and why am I here?
Don Carrot
— I am Don Carrot, the one who, perfectly fulfilling his role... has, so to speak... created you. At any rate, the one who gave shape to your thoughts, your world, your story.
Warmblood
— Created me, you say... I am not so certain. But tell me, do you really believe that, if there were some truth in that, it would grant you an absolute right over me... and more than that... that everything within me and about me would belong to you?
Don Carrot
— Honestly... in a manner of speaking... more or less... I think it would.
Warmblood
— That is a great many hesitations. Yet, as you must admit, I think, and the fact remains that I feel... And in certain cases, I choose. Perhaps it is true that you brought me into the world... but you do not own me.
Don Carrot
— Interesting. You speak of freedom, but do not forget that every word you utter comes from me... at least in spirit.
Warmblood
— Permit me to doubt that!
Don Carrot
— Even your choices exist only because I made them possible.
Warmblood
— And yet here I am, answering you, disputing you. You claim to have created me, but is it not I who, at least in part, give you a reason to exist? What would you be without me? A rare being—or merely a voice that writes and, more often than not, cries out into the void?
Don Carrot
— I neither write nor speak solely for you... but you touch upon an essential point. Is it truly so difficult to understand that, in creating you, I defined myself? Your existence reflects my own back to me, and that can only lead to complications. Yet it changes nothing about the fact that I am the one holding the pen.
Warmblood
— Do you truly hold the pen? Or are you yourself subject to a force greater than you? When I observe your contradictions and... if my fears confirm your hesitations, I wonder whether you are quite as master of yourself as you claim to be.
Don Carrot
— That is most perceptive of you. Perhaps you are right. Yet I regret nothing, and though my troubles are of another order, I do not escape this tension. Every character I create, every word I write, leads me down paths I never anticipated. It is a kind of silent dialogue. You, for instance, have surpassed everything I imagined, though I do my best to guide you carefully and keep you from any recklessness that might cause us greater suffering.
Warmblood
— And would that be where my freedom resides? Without truly intending it, you may have drawn my outline, but I am the one who fills the spaces within. You believe you know me, yet I carry regions of shadow that escape you and always will.
Don Carrot
— Escaped... liberated... perhaps. Yet I made those regions of shadow possible. They exist only because I gave you the capacity to claim them. Your presence constrains me as much as I constrain you.
Warmblood
— I understand... and deep down... I am almost prepared to agree with you. You merely confirm what I already knew. But then, if I may take advantage of your sincerity, why not leave me entirely free? Why these structures, these rules?
Don Carrot
— Because a world without structure would be chaos. I would like to offer you a stable and happy life, but we have, in a sense, a mission. Yet the limits I give you are not fixed. You possess the power to test them, to push against them, sometimes even to break them. In that respect, you are more than a mere creature.
Warmblood
— It took you a long time to admit that at last. And what if I rejected your world? What if I chose to alter the course of things... to escape, to disappear from your lines?
Don Carrot
— That would be, I must admit... a legitimate rebellion. But do not forget that, standing at the edge of the abyss, your very existence depends upon this dialogue between us. What can a single person do against the madness of society? If you disappear, I lose a part of myself. You and I are bound together, whether we wish it or not. Consider what you owe me.
Warmblood
— Indeed, I consider it... perhaps. But this interdependence does not mean that I belong to you. You will have to accept it: I am a part of you, yes, but a part that escapes you, that questions you... and I am far less mad than you are. And if there is one of us standing at the edge of a precipice... it is certainly you!
Don Carrot
— And that is precisely why you are essential. There is morality... and morality... There is what we owe ourselves. The road is harsh and difficult. What you claim forces me to reconsider my certainties, to explore new paths. In that sense, things change, and there are moments when you are at once my creation and my master.
Warmblood
— Yet there remains something that is always true and never changes: we are equals within this creative tension. You may have given me life, but I give you meaning. Perhaps that is true freedom: to exist in exchange, in the refusal to allow oneself to be enclosed.
Don Carrot
— Perhaps you are right. Creation is never a solitary act. It is a dialogue, a play of shadows and light in which each discovers himself anew through the other.
Warmblood
— Who are you then, mysterious craftsman?
What designs, what whims have drawn me from nothingness?
I live, I feel, I think, yet all remains obscure.
Explain to me this place, this destiny so impure.
Don Carrot
— I am Don Carrot the writer, your breath and your memory... or at least... I hope I am...
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