Valli : Personal Journal of Valli Pillay, a Living Dead Pandemic Survivor

Entry 4

After the party, I took Ritesh's advice to heart. The first thing on my agenda when I got home was to get all the homework out of the way; after that I was online searching for information. I don't know how I found the energy on top of the homework, I was also on the volleyball team which meant practice and training every other day. I had a smartphone, but it was too basic, so I had to use Dad's laptop or Mom's tablet. I was expected to use them in the kitchen, so Mom and Dad could keep an eye on what I was doing online. They didn't look over my shoulder every minute, but they would take a peek.

"Too many freaks online," Dad said. "We trust you. But we don't trust the freaks."

To be honest they were usually too busy helping Vani with her homework or whatever it was they were doing to keep an eye on me. One of the first things I searched for was Jean-Louis Valjean, the news outlets reported that he had committed suicide. But many people online didn't believe it. They believed he had been murdered. Then, news broke out that his colleague, the one who had been bitten, had been cremated right after he passed away. His family was suing the French Gendarmerie for cremating his body without their permission. They weren't given a chance to see him. The police even put out a statement saying he passed away due to injuries sustained during a training exercise. Reports, or rather rumours, were coming out that after he died, he woke up and bit some medical staff. There was no proof, though. Not immediately.

As for Le Pen, that was a whole other story. The media reported he had died due to heart and neurological complications. What they didn't report was that his whole family was dead, he had eaten them, except for his son Maxim, who took over the family business and as it turned out was more of an asshole than his father.

Andy was even more obsessed with what was going on than I was. I met up with him on a Saturday a few days after the party. Saturdays was when I had private French tuition in Curepipe, usually a fifteen-minute drive by car from Rose Belle but by bus at least an hour. Most students in Mauritius took private tutoring because their parents thought this was the only way to get ahead.

Andy, who had a full day of tutoring in Curepipe on Saturdays, would meet me at noon after my French tutoring. We would have a sandwich or a milkshake. As usual we went to this little café, popular with young people, tucked away in a small shopping mall. Usually, when we met at the café, it was an opportunity to be a little bit intimate, which mostly consisted of holding hands. We felt the café was safe enough for us to do so without getting caught. That Saturday, there was no thought of teenage intimacy. The only thing we talked about was the video. Andy felt something was up, something bad. He'd spent a lot of time online too. When I told, him he should be studying he told me not to sweat it, he was taking Rémoire and it really boosted his memory.

"What's up with this Rémoire pill everyone's taking?" I asked.

"It's used for people who have Alzheimer's, and the side effect is it helps people who don't have the condition remember everything. I mean everything," he replied.

"Isn't it unsafe for people who don't have Alzeheimer's to take it?" I asked.

"How is it unsafe if it's helping you boost your memory? Besides if it's going to help me ace the O-levels, that's all that matters. Loads of kids are using it. Parents are buying it for them." Andy and so many millions if not billions of people fell into the Rémoire trap.

We were enjoying our milkshakes when this guy came in and sat down at a table across from us. I didn't pay any more attention to him until the waiter went up to him and asked him for his order. At first the guy didn't seem to notice the waiter, who coughed to get his attention.

"Pardon?" the man asked the waiter with a posh English accent.

This caught the waiter off guard because the language most spoken in Mauritius was Creole, followed by French and a bit of English or Bhojpuri. It was rare to meet someone who spoke English in Curepipe, especially in this café where everyone spoke French or Creole.

The waiter asked him in English what he wanted.

"What I want?" The guy's eyes were swollen, as if they were about to pop out of his head, and he had started to drool.

Everyone had stopped what they were doing and watched the guy and the waiter.

"Sir?" the waiter asked and backed away a bit. I grabbed Andy's hand.

The guy got up and wiped his mouth. It didn't help—he kept drooling.

"We're all screwed and you're asking me what I want?" he shouted.

"Sir," the waiter said. "Please do not curse."

He went up to the waiter's face and stared at him. Although, they were about the same height, the waiter seemed to shrink in front of the guy as if he wanted to disappear. The café manager came around the counter.

"You need to leave," the manager said.

The guy turned around and stared at the manager, then he scanned the café, sizing everything up.

"If you don't leave I'm calling the police," the manager said.

"All of you, you're all going to die and there's nothing you can do about it." The man then saw me and I guess he realized where he was and smiled at me. "I'm so sorry," he said and walked out.

I never saw him again, but I now know what he was talking about.

"What was that about?" Andy asked.

"Weird right?" I said. "Maybe he is on drugs or something."

On the way home, I thought about the guy from the cafe. When I got in I found Dad watching BBC News, the headline read, "Rémoire, French miracle pill, banned by British government."