The Mime

Chapter IV

December was about to end, and with it, the Christmas season. The singers, for the first time since I was seven, showed up at my door. I'm sure that François Philip was involved, he must have paid them such a sum in order to bear the curse for a few minutes. But it really touched me. They sang neither from the throat nor from the stomach, but from the heart. They seemed so sincere, so dedicated. I was stirred with emotion, almost moved. Their voices sounded so good... I remembered, not long ago for me, but seventeen years ago now, the time when choristers came to our house, and, predictably, almost immediately guessed that I was mute, they therefore improvised on the song, in order to show civility and courtesy, curtly wished a Merry Christmas and their best wishes and downright ran away. This time, after a long ten minutes of singing, they humbly wished me "the best of Christmases", I thanked them by shaking hands as if to pray, my tears still miraculously retained at the edges of my eyes, making them amply understand that I couldn't speak, maybe before this stage they didn't know about it, and I was certain and convinced that in just a second they will fly away in a panic. But they didn't. They stayed for a long time, smiling cordially at me and each in turn shook my hand. That would surely be the most unforgettable thing I could remember.

The rains and deluges had come to an end, and were almost immediately replaced by snow and exasperating cold. It was so cold, and even being confined to the house helped me a little. The candles at night were always suddenly extinguished by the horrible current of air. Markets were held only rarely, only a few times per quarter. Life was getting rough, well, it's not like it never was, but I was just getting used to the fact that "being mute wouldn't be bad luck anymore" but I realized reality will always end by catching me. Changing reality is still possible, but it would take someone twice as strong as her to face it.

My protagonist, who is also my guest, my only one really, had taken the situation into account as always, exporting products, meat and calcium from other countries. He must really be rich.But one day, a day that won't happen twice, François Philip came to my house for the fifth time this week. Two auxiliaries, loaded with terribly heavy boxes, moved behind François and abruptly deposited them as close as possible before evacuating the apartment. Then he sat down in the usual armchair and I in my sad seat. I wondered this time what he was going to get out of me; advice ? will? food ? It seemed quite logical to me. But then he straightened up and hastened to open the cases halfway, as if to check the merchandise. I could make out some frozen antelope meat, and a few potatoes, and, seeing this, I had only the thought of tasting it. But I turned quickly when I noticed that he joined his place again.

-How are you ? He barely said.

I nodded briefly, thumbs up, gazing into her eyes, so deep blue, so dull, so shiny, leaving no doubt about the color of her iris, which I never had. seen from such. In our family, it is very rare that anyone is out of the ordinary, which is a simple insignificant rough brown.

-Very well. Emile, how many goods do you estimate are in these wooden boxes? Surely a lot! He continued, leaving me the trouble to answer with a simple acquiescence, and they all come from warmer countries. In your opinion, if a stork, finding itself in Paris itself, under the snow, the cold and the famine, will it have the reason to stay there? Well no ; She will go to Egypt, Morocco or Tunisia, why? To survive there, to live there, to die there! And since she will have regretted nothing of her previous choices, surely she will have a quiet and peaceful death. Do you understand ?

My concentration had given its results, and fortunately I assimilated his example very well, but I hardly understood where he was coming from. Did he really have nothing to do to the point of coming to tell me tales and sorts of fables? If that was one, I didn't see much morality in it other than to regret nothing and... however...

- Anyway, my boy, I'm not going to cut corners, all I ask, for your own good, is that you be the stork. Paris will never get you anywhere. Go, go somewhere where being mute was never bad luck. Go to the other side of the world, even outside the world, go to a place where you can smile, feed yourself legally, work without being despised. Stop feeling out of place and go live a life. The world has always hated change and yet it was the only thing that allowed it to progress. Emile, move the world forward. Never have I had more faith in a person than you. I have faith in you, I'm on your side, and know that I'm not the only one, don't forget your grandfather, your mother, your father, who are also on your side, they have it always been, you were never alone. And I will always be with you for better or for worse. Be the stork, it goes far, it aims high and only builds its nest on the top of the tree. Hope and never stop hoping, because to stop hoping is to give up on life. 

Emile, move the world forward.