In one of Sophie Calle’s first artistic experiments, she invited twenty-seven friends, acquaintances, and strangers to sleep in her bed. She photographed them awake and asleep, secretly recording any private conversation once the door closed. She served each a meal, and, if they agreed, subjected them to a questionnaire that probed their personal predilections, habits, and dreams. The following text is Calle’s narrative report of her sixth and seventh guests’ stay, and is the fourth and final in a series of excerpts from the project to be published this week on theDaily. Previous installments: “Third Sleeper,” “Fourth Sleeper,” and “Fifth Sleeper.”

I do not know Graziella Rampacci. Françoise Jourdan-Gassin gave me her telephone number. She immediately agrees to sleep without asking for any more details. She will come Tuesday, April 3, from midnight to 8 A.M.

I know Françoise Jourdan-Gassin. She had declined to participate. She simply came to accompany Graziella Rampacci whom she’d recommended I invite. She decides at the last minute to share the night with her friend.

Tuesday, April 3, at midnight, they take over for Gérard Maillet. Françoise says to Graziella, “What if I slept with you?”

G: Oh! That would be wonderful!

F: Are you inviting me?

G: I’m inviting you. This will be my first time sleeping with you. Bizarre, considering how long we’ve known each other.

F: To know someone for eight years and never sleep together.

G: I’ve wanted to for so long, Françoise.

Then we leave the bedroom. They wait for Gérard to come out, dressed in my father’s robe, before they get settled. They change the sheets. Graziella brought red pajamas with a jabot collar. I serve them a glass of champagne. I leave.

Listening to the tape, I hear:

F: A nice welcome!

G: This will be great!

F: Can I air out the bedroom? It smells like sweat!

I understand from the sounds and silences that they’re moving between the bathroom and the bedroom. The bed must be empty.

G: Do you like my pajamas?

F (with a whistle of admiration): You don’t sleep in just anything!

I enter. Graziella asks for sunglasses. I propose they answer a few questions.

Names, ages, professions?

“My name is Graziella Rampacci. I’m twenty-seven years old. I was born in Nice. I make dresses. I like to read, I like to come here, I like to act. It would be better if I slept less—I could read more.”

“My name is Françoise Jourdan-Gassin. I’m a painter. Twenty-five years old.”

Do they have any requirements at night?

F: Just a clean bed.

Françoise is a light sleeper, Graziella is a heavy sleeper.

Françoise talks in her sleep, Graziella doesn’t talk.

What they have in common: Sleep is a source of pleasure for them both. They can sleep while a stranger watches, in a bed situated in the middle of the room. They are disgusted by the idea of sleeping in sheets used by someone else. They like to sleep alone. Graziella can’t stand it when a partner jumps her as soon as they get into bed.

Françoise is faithful to her bed. Graziella sleeps anywhere, anytime. When she agreed to come sleep here, she thought that the experience would last eight days, eight days in the bed.

I leave the room for a brief moment.

Listening to the tape, I hear:

G: I love this questionnaire.

F (in a whisper): I’m going to tell you something—

She must have noticed that the recorder was on because she goes quiet. Gérard enters. He’s looking for his boots. He asks the two women whether he’s disturbing them. They say no, not at all. He would like to witness the interview, without saying anything. They answer that they have nothing to hide. I return.

Have they ever participated in a similar experiment?

F: No.

G: I’ve slept in strangers’ homes. Apart from the structure, the feeling is the same.

Do they consider the act of sleeping a job?

F: Yes, I promised. I have to do it. It’s a job.

G: What we’re doing tonight, I find it enjoyable, so it’s more like a game.

Do they consider it an artistic act?

G: No.

F: Yes.

Can they recount some memories of sleep?

Graziella tells me about a nightmare from five or six years ago. She was surrounded by her father, her mother, her sister. Spiders with human heads sat on her shoulder. They spoke in her ear. A language of onomatopoeias. Their heads were big on one side, flattened on the other. This nightmare never recurred, but it haunts her. Then she tells me about a dream. A boy she knows undressed then removed his skin. Inside, there was fire.

What do they think of their predecessor?(He leaves in a hurry.)

F: I find him charming.

G: I don’t think anything. (He returns.)

What are their motives for agreeing to come?

G: I like to meet new people. I’ll gladly leave the house for that.

F: At first, I didn’t want to. I changed my mind, for no real reason, on the way. I was here; it was easy.

They don’t regret coming. They are happy to be together. For their breakfast, they want tea and toast.

At two in the morning, Gérard takes his leave. I photograph them during the night at regular intervals. Graziella changes position each time I take a photo but doesn’t open her eyes. Françoise is nestled at the end of the bed, in darkness.

7:30 A.M.I wake them up. I bring them breakfast. They complain—it’s too early. They would like to listen to Bizet’s Carmen. They are silent.

At eight, they welcome Henri-Alexis Baatsch, in charge of the next shift. Graziella doesn’t know him; Françoise had already met him. After brief introductions, he leaves the bedroom so they can get up. They take a bath before they go. At 8:30 A.M., I walk them to the door. I thank them for coming to sleep.

From The Sleepers, to be published Siglio Press in December. Translated from the French by Emma Ramadan.

Sophie Calle is an artist, writer, photographer, filmmaker, and performer whose work often makes use of Oulipian constraints. A retrospective of her work,Overshare, is currently on view at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Emma Ramadan is an educator and literary translator from French. She was awarded the PEN Translation Prize for her translation of Abdellah Taïa’s A Country for Dying, and has received the Albertine Prize, two NEA Fellowships, and a Fulbright. Her translations include Anne Garréta’s Sphinx, Barbara Molinard’s Panics, and Marguerite Duras’s Me & Other Writing.