In Life and in Death 2003–2004 521
Barbara Cohen and Dragan Kujundzic, a young professor he
greatly liked. The lecture Derrida gave on 18 April 2003, in honour
of one of his dearest American friends, was called, quite simply,
‘Justices’. He also took the opportunity of his stay to talk about his
archives with Jackie Dooley, who ran the Special Collection at the
Langson Library. The situation had become more complicated since
Derrida had decided to entrust the manuscripts of his recent works
to the IMEC, but he confi rmed that the originals of his American
and international correspondence were meant for Irvine, as well
as the copies of the other letters deposited at the IMEC. Dooley
wished to clarify the rights of the University and access for consul-
tation, especially in the long term. ‘What will happen when you are
no longer there – after your lifetime?’ she asked him. Peggy Kamuf
recalls that Derrida was struck by the English expression ‘after your
lifetime’, and even discussed it at length in one of the last sessions of
his seminar.^8
In France, Marguerite’s state of health was worsening. She was
diagnosed with pneumonia, but refused to let Jacques be alerted.
However, since her situation was giving cause for alarm – she had
suff ered from TB in her youth – Pierre and Jean asked their father
to cut short his stay in California and return home as soon as pos-
sible. When he arrived in France, Marguerite was already feeling a
bit better, but she was still very weak. Jacques took her to Dr Arago,
their gastro-enterologist. After examining Marguerite, the doctor
turned to her husband: ‘And what about you – any better?’ He
admitted that his pains had not gone away. Still the same bar. An
X-ray, a scan, and an echo-endoscopy were scheduled for 14 May, a
few days later.
Generally, when Jacques had a medical test, he phoned Marguerite
immediately afterwards, to reassure her. But that day, he did not
phone.
As soon as I managed to reach him, I could sense he was trying
to keep something from me... And when I persisted, he told
me: ‘I’ve got a tumour on my pancreas.’ That evening, he fi nally
uttered the word ‘cancer’. It was as if the roof had fallen in on
me. I kept swinging from one feeling to another: I was terrifi ed
that it was his pancreas – one of the cancers with the worst sur-
vival rate – and at the same time convinced that he couldn’t die.
He concluded very quickly that he wouldn’t recover.^9Dr Arago arranged for him to go to the Institut Curie. The
doctors recommended starting chemotherapy straightaway, but
Derrida was reluctant. He preferred to put off being hospitalized for
ten days, so as not to have to cancel his trip to Israel and two other
long-standing engagements. Even in these circumstances, he insisted