The Reliability of Desire

„Mystery creates wonder and wonder is the basis of man's desire to understand." Neil Armstrong

We see Nana in an echoing university corridor. To underscore a quiet intention, she has refreshed her lipstick in the restroom and adjusted the collar of her partner’s shirt so that it appears slightly misplaced—an almost accidental deviation from her otherwise precise appearance. The shirt once belonged to Amos, with whom she shared a long, barren stretch of time. Wearing it is an homage. Things with Amos nearly worked out; there was something there—a glimmer of value in difficult terrain that, for various reasons, could not be developed.

What needs to be said in advance: Nana conceals her determination. She does not reveal herself through everyday gestures. She has given herself a form, a kind of inner code of conduct, whose dignity she hides even from herself. What she does not want is theatricality—no artificial masquerade, no borrowed symbols, no overstated cleverness. Earlier, Nana heard Cornelius remark that “concierge” derives from Comte des cierges—Count of the Candles. That etymology alone was enough to create a brief spark of shared attention. The old university is full of empty rooms. Nana imagines retreating with Cornelius into one of them, not to act, but to suspend herself in pure intent. She knows Cornelius studies Pierre Bourdieu’s ideas on hidden structures. In that sense, he understands implication. To be clear: Nana is not seeking an accomplice. She wants to be misunderstood—precisely and productively.

Cornelius extends an invitation, as etiquette demands. The next moment they are sitting in an ice cream parlor. The background is loud, animated by the overlapping presences of migration and daily life. No one notices the two pale figures whose social positioning is, in fact, unmistakable. Cornelius speaks about the emancipatory value of Oscar Wilde. Their conversation draws them closer, creating an unspoken alignment. They exchange silent expectations: attentiveness, precision, the courage to risk a misstep. In Nana’s thoughts, images arise that have nothing to do with the present moment; they are abstractions of seriousness and surrender. Cornelius’ demeanor shifts; he seems suddenly composed, almost monastic. He quotes Didier Eribon: emancipation requires urbanity and permissiveness. He recalls cultural scenes in New York, subcultures as heirs to older forms of communal life. References flow—from the Belle Époque to the années folles, from Parisian cafés to James Baldwin’s time in the city. Nana realizes that she does not need direction. The language itself carries her. Words assemble into a structure that holds her attention completely.

The next day

At first glance, they are no different from any other couple at the beginning of an association. Both are carefully composed. They perform their roles with ease and meet social expectations effortlessly. They come from reasonable families. Their extended circles live expansive lives: the farm on the Bodden, the villa in the Engadine, the crocodile ranch in Fort Lauderdale, the horse ranch in Lubbock, Texas, and the restored farmhouse in Tuscany.

Nana and Cornelius were raised with solid, respectable values. They know how to appear practical—and sometimes they are. They can handle tools, carry weight, adapt to circumstances. But that is not the point.

Nana becomes deeply dissatisfied whenever a seemingly suitable man enters her private sphere and assumes a right to simplicity—a right to not knowing, while expecting clarity from her. Sometimes she lets such men lead. She moves within their vagueness, compensates for it, manages what they overlook—until the imbalance becomes unbearable. The final sentence is always the same: “We got along so well.” Nana never contradicts it aloud.

In the marshland of sudden disinterest, there is no room for retrospection. It took her years to understand that mere presence combined with intellectual emptiness can offer comfort at best, but never significance.

When Nana first allows herself to acknowledge her persistent interest in Cornelius—without yet understanding it—a phrase comes to mind: the reliability of desire. Perhaps that is what keeps her seated beside him in the ice cream parlor near campus. In a corner, an ornamental asparagus wilts in its pot. A curious choice. Of all possible houseplants. Nana loves to dance. Despite her intellectual bearing, she is deeply attuned to movement and rhythm, to the experience of being guided—or discovering that guidance is absent. In conversation, words form small currents that either buoy her or pull her under. Cornelius approaches her as if she were a structure to be understood through a balance of confidence and attentiveness. What unfolds is less like swing and more like tango—a verbal choreography. Nana is often accused of being drawn to men simply because they use unfamiliar words. When that happens, she infers meaning from context. The sounds linger, resonating not as physical impulse, but as the pull of the unfamiliar, the unexplored, the still-unmapped.