106 Jackie 1930–1962
my plans, texts, topics, etc. to your authority and experience. I think
I’ll often be needing you, your advice and recommendations.’^29
To Michel Monory, Derrida described a situation that was a bit
hazy and indecisive, but still potentially involving the job of lecturer
at the Sorbonne:
Nothing offi cial as yet, but it’s more or less certain; I just need
the secondary sector not to block my move. I was told at the
beginning of summer [.. .] and I accepted, both delighted and
terrifi ed, with my terror bordering on total panic and remain-
ing much more constant and present than my delight. I’m very
lucky, you see, but I’m one of those people who can’t enjoy
their luck. Instead of rubbing my hands in glee, I’m running
round like hunted beast, working feverishly in a breathless
chaos... It’s stupid, I hope that when I have to face the
monster I’ll recover my wits, I’m trying in the abstract to con-
vince myself that, after pulling such faces in this old house,
it would be surprising if I hadn’t turned into a bit of an old
monkey... According to the rumours, I owe this piece of luck
to Hyppolite, and a little bit to de Gandillac.Derrida hoped that, on his return to Paris, he would be able to
see Michel frequently. Yet again, it was an opportunity for him to
rekindle memories. Whether these were happy or unhappy, he could
not help but cherish them. Already, he loved his past, all his past:
I have the impression that I can hear again, right up close, our
winters in the rue Saint-Jacques. For me they increasingly have
the voice of a golden age, a curious golden age, dark, diffi cult,
with a silent but echoing splendour; and, knowing that I’m
coming back to Paris and can see you again, I have the impres-
sion that I’ve gone round in an unreal circle in the interval. [.. .]
If you had any chance of fi nding accommodation for us...
I remember that winter when it rained, when I was exiled here,
when I turned my back on my family. And I wrote to you, on
this table, asking you to fi nd accommodation. I have to say that
you hadn’t been successful, but you were so sincerely sorry to
have been useless! Anyway, just see if by any chance... it’s our
latest problem.^30The following weeks were very confused. Without realizing it,
Derrida had become caught up in manoeuvrings that suddenly left
him in the lurch. On 30 September, he received a very curt letter
from M. Brunold, the general director of secondary education:
‘given the importance’ of the hypokhâgne post for which Derrida
had applied and to which he had been appointed, it was impossible