Having traversed the knot of terms and thoughts without center which circulate, composing the untotalizable récit of L’Instant, we circle back to the opening of this récit (which is not to say the beginning). To read L’Instant according to its blanks, its necessary silence, and thus account for this enigmatic account of allothanatography, we start with its opening line. This fragmentary sentence, ruptured by dashes, presents the disjunctions of a faltering attempt at bringing to speech a memory marked by the fault belonging not to memory itself, but to a refusal which would “belong,” rather, to an infinite forgetting, impossible to remember. This opening inscribes the entry into the double play of writing, between autobiography and allothanatography, which this récit seeks not so much to account for as to attempt to bring to language by means of language. It opens an expanse of questions left unanswered, suspended, yet demanding to be thought. The opening reads as follows: