Mr Polenta's session

She clears her throat. It makes a greasy noise, as if engine oil was stuck between the complex wheelcogs of her trachea. I hate that sound, I find it disgusting. I am laying on the couch. New session, interminable. I can't remember the beginning of it, and its end feels like it will never come.

« Come on Mister Polenta, she tells me, let's focus.

- But, I retort, I really don't understand the goal of this new exercise. How will it help me ? »

With that, she bursts into laughter, a greasy laughter too. That woman is truly unpleasant.

« Mister Polenta, she explains while catching her breath, this exercise is not going to help you. Nothing can be done for you, these sessions are only a pretext.

- A pretext for what ?

- To help you, Mister Polenta. »

I am thundering on the inside. I wonder if my place is really here. If I am not analysing her. And also, what nickname is it, Mister Polenta ? Is it how I am called ? What a ridiculous name ! That woman is crazy, it must be the only explanation.

« Come on, she says with an encouraging-intended tone, just do as I say ! Close your eyes Mister Polenta. And tell me what you see. »

I comply, reluctantly. I can't wait for this session to end. I don't see anything.

« I don't see anything, Doctor, my eyes are closed.

- Exactly, Mister Polenta, exactly ! Now, describe me what you see.

- I see, I say while sighing, only darkness for my eyes are closed.

- Well open them ! » she screams with an ear-splitting voice.

I open my eyes, surprised.

« Now listen to me carefully Mister Polenta, she assures with a honeyed, nearly pernicious voice, you will do this exercise, willingly or not, eyes closed or not, I could not care less. What's certain is if you don't cooperate, you will never get out of here, never ! Do you understand, Mister Polenta ? »

I nod, trembling. She was irritating and now she's sending shivers down my spine. This just keeps getting better.

« Well, she begins again, let's start. Tell me what you see, Mister Polenta. »

I close my eyes. I opt for inventing since otherwise, I could stay on that coach for a moment.

« I see, I see, I say pretending to focus, I see... Sand, for as far as the eye can see, tons and tons of sand. I am lost in the desert, I believe...

- Interesting, please go on Mister Polenta. »

I hear the grating of pencil on paper. Ah, she's taking notes. She must be writing negative comments, I am sure of it. I begin again :

«And so, in this desert, you will tell I must be extremely hot, since it is a desert. With hot. Sand. But guess what, no, on the contrary. Have you ever been in a desert, Doctor ?

- Well, she answers, not as I can recall.

- Then I can tell you it is freezing there. That's why, lost in that desert, I am pleased to have a duvet which protects me from low temperatures.

- That is convenient, indeed, she remarks.

- However, I go on, I said I was lost, but I am not alone. I can see in the distance a mammoth. It is quite usual in the desert. You see, they are wery well adapted with their thick fur. The only problem is that, I think the mammoth was lost too.

- You think ? She questions.

- It is dead, I soberly answer, its carcass is naked and its tusks reflect light to perfection. »

I am losing myself in my story. How will I get out of it ? I should have invented something more simple, like the story of a cow falling into void. I hear a noise. Of mastication. Oh no. Oh no. Don't tell me that.

« What are you doing, Doctor ? »

She greasingly swallows.

« I am eating, Mister Polenta.

- And what are you eating ?

- Some polenta, of course. »

I feel my facial muscles distorting into a disgusted face. She's eating. Some polenta. She's eating ME. She is eating ME, Mister Polenta !

« Please, could you stop eating me ? This is quite awkward, to be honest.

- This is totally normal, Mister Polenta, she retorts, go on, please. »

I gulp. The terrible sound of mastication can be heard again, insisting, penetrating. I try to focus on my invention.

« I was saying, this mammoth is dead. And his bones can be seen shining in the distance. So I decide to get closer, because of the curiousity of the mammoth skeleton illumination phenomenon...

- Indeed, she interrupts, I did my thesis about it.

- Yes, I say, and so you understand that I have to get a closer look. I arrive at the carcass, which is impressively high. I stand in what was the rib cage of the animal. And still there is one good meter left above my head.

- It was a huge specimen, she adds, almost amazed.

- Absolutely, but the most surprising is what I find in those remains, or rather, who I find.

- Who then ?

- Spinoza.

- Who that ?

- Spinoza, Doctor, the philosopher, you know...

- Not at all, she admits with a full mouth, but go on.

- I am quite the big « fan » of Spinoza actually, and now I find myself facing him, or rather, his spirit since it is under the form of a spectre he just appeared to me. » 

While saying that, I smile. I am really picturing myself in front of Spinoza's ghost. I almost see him, he is made of a hazy, translucent matter, so clear in my mind I could touch it. My wandering thoughts are suddenly disrupted by the infuriating mastication of that woman.

«Spinoza is a ghost, I go on, this is a remarkable and surprising fact. His soul remains, in what were the entrails of an enormous beast. His soul, untouched, eternal, has gone through centuries and ends up right here, in front of me, in the desert where I got lost.

- Ghosts do not exist, the woman remarks.

- I know, I retort, but Spinoza's ghost does exist.

- Alright » she simply admits.

I hear the sound of some cutlery scraping a plate. She finished the polenta. She finished ME. That thought horrifies me.

« Very well Mister Polenta, she says with a satisfied voice, you see it wasn't that complicated. »

A jingling rings to my ear, I turn my head and notice, close to the couch, laying on the coffee table, an empty plate and a fork.

« May I leave now ? I ask.

- Certainly, she answers, you are already gone, Mister Polenta, you've been gone since you've been here, on that couch. »

Her voice fades away and crumbles into the nothingness of the past. I look at the empty plate, shocked, contemplating the so little space in which my soul was standing before. A devoured soul, that will never come back.

An empty plate.

THE END