I lived in Amiens. Already, no room for complacency. I spent my free evenings sitting on the steps of the cathedral, waiting enlightenment. I learned by heart the rose, the portal-Mother God, the Last Judgement portal ... Are we perceived a few pieces of life from the wharf Bélu nearby? I do not know. In this city I did not stay long, I held six months hydrocephalus - six little things appalling time dirty. This allows me nonetheless precisely date the episode that I recall: between December 1999 and June 2000. And the weekend, no joke: I was spinning on a train to Paris for which I paid by benefit nothing. Paris! And my love!
Today I pay my bills. It happened to me several times to return there for fun, for the frescoes of Puvis de Chavannes at the Museum of Picardy, to cast me in Saint-Leu, review the floating gardens. This city seems to me more so awful, I had to fulfill the boredom that I was hanging out. After all the poor woman had nothing to do. And if Perret has not embellished, she displays not well preserved? No but really, this cathedral, this vessel disproportionately high as three giants still standing under the bombs, you believe that? That does not exist, I pinch myself.
Between December and June ... Remembrance of the light filtering behind me, I would say that April was nearing its end. I waited for a train to the perennial pub from the station. Few people in this room without relief, large and cold. I align the cigarettes in the ashtray I watched the clock and pretending to absorb me in reading. I would sit still at the table, half-length of the room, back to the window to better embrace the despair of the situation in areas free from the bar to the right and exit on the left hand, toward the concourse. I stared at any customer who entered the triangulation, watching the human types, the atavism (Rougon? Macquart?) Among those who never greeted me. Arrogant, proud of vaguely scorn a fool, I knew I could leave them in the second, so there! My heart was elsewhere then gently Picard made me laugh.
He sat at a table on my right. Before he speaks to me I had barely noticed. It was already there when I arrived in the limbo of my mental space triangular. He faced the window. I think today that I assumed that luxury of turning its back on the window precisely because I knew I could drag myself out of the place as and when I heard, those who stare languidly through the windows not so lucky. And he touched me without my understanding why. Nevertheless, I had to be there in some way - or if it has little hope I also helped him escape ... And in a flash the seated here before me.
I forgot the details of his conversation. I remember however that he had been drinking heavily. I also remember he spoke of a need, in a toneless voice, to say nothing of having too much to say. He had a sallow complexion and heavy smokers prematurely aged skin, the piercing blue eyes under a mop of thick, both yellow and dirty, and waxy. The discomfort came from him. DeParle it almost without stopping and I listened, because I was taught politeness on the one hand, and because so much distress to me fascinated. See how the circumstances struck me then that his words escape me when I relate this anecdote ... After ten minutes, came the confession: "homosexual" - and he told me as his father threw him out as his mother nevertheless received or gave him some money in secret. To a question on my part, he said he would have a roof for the night at a friend. I tried to understand how one could live at his age without parental support when his phone rang - her mother was concerned, the father in secret, behind closed doors. His hands trembled. He was amazed at my composure in front of the confession - Big deal ...
Why I boosted the confidence? I missed my train time. He ordered another drink, a speech prevented if we guessed his desire rather than is heard. The waitress stared me, one eyebrow raised questioningly until the middle of the forehead. I shook my head. The beer did not arrive. After several minutes of inconsistencies, he got up, I pinched a last cigarette this time without the hassle of asking my permission and fled like a thief, drunk, leaving me much of note . I doubt he remembers having sent the floor to anyone in this station. I doubt it is more clear any benefit or relief.
Where are they now, these sparrows than an hour? They were captured in flight and they disappear. He had spent the night at the friend who could host it. And the next day? It will be able to cope just as well. The day after? The year after? Stand firm against adversity within one blow seems attainable, but lack of stamina I suffer makes me fear the real tragic fates. Some, like Ezekiel crossings have their galley. Finally they cling to a love that offers them the prospect of anything but survival. For some who return walk, how sink? Facing them, whatever anyone says, I doubt I can make myself effective at all. I do not think really helped this boy whose speeches were addressed and fathers. But I hope still growing, despite the obvious impotence, enough courage to do my best - cultivating a sense of powerlessness reasoned, somehow. For the day where I will not want to listen I'll be transformed into a dog. When I do m'émouvrai more, so I'm an ass.
