The Great Unpacking Of Love
Part 17

5 p.m.

I have always been amazed to notice a surprising phenomenon, which seems to affect a large number of hospitals and communities: the gastric emperor’s march. Meals, the only reference points in monotonous or meaningless days. My comrades in misfortune are no exception to the rule. I feel like they have a clock in their stomach.

Adèle, for once, respect the rules, follow the rhythm, don’t act like an anarchic bulimic. That would look bad.

I’m looking for my tray. What surprise awaits me today? Ah, there it is, placed alone on a table of four people. Obviously, I’m going to eat alone. Suddenly, I see Mantinko who seems not to find his own. He searches, searches, searches. In desperation, he goes to the nurse. She shows him the meal cart. Triumphant, he grabs it with a firm hand and heads towards my table. He sits in front of me like a conqueror.

— Sir, you didn’t ask my opinion for a meal alone. Please get out!

—?

— Mantinko, this is the first time I’ve seen you smile!!! How well it suits you.

— Adèle, you are a true magician. If you knew how long it’s been since I smiled.

— Mantinko, where do you come from with this dark, tormented look? Would you agree, one day, to tell me your story?

Day 6

— Adèle, don’t forget your appointment with Doctor Yang at 3 p.m.

— No, no, I don’t forget.

3 p.m.

— Hello Mrs. Ying.

— Hello Mr. Yang.

— I suggest today that you discuss the reasons for your hospitalization.

— I have a life story like Speedy Gonzales. Imagine that two months before my birth, I already had the irresistible desire to explore the Universe. I had to be patient, which is far from my strong point. On November 2, my due date, my impatience almost cost me my life.

— Explain to me, Mrs. Ying.

— My excitement to discover the World being at its peak, I felt an irresistible force pushing me towards the exit. I owe my survival only to the exceptional physical condition of my gynecologist, who leapt with all his athletic body, muscles tight, to pick me up in the palm of his providential hands, like a trophy.

— Nice introduction to the subject.

— From the moment I was born, I hit the ground running.

– Afterwards ?

— Very quickly, I realized that I was not made for a dull, monotonous and featureless existence. I have a predilection for strong and exceptional moments. I can’t bring myself to the routine that is slowly killing me. My existence is nothing but variations between extreme happiness and descents into hell.

— Isn’t it exhausting to live like this, Madam Ying?

– Of course yes. A yo-yo life is exhausting. It is clear that a peaceful little life, without unacceptable things, without madness where frustrations take over the extraordinary is more relaxing and more reassuring.

— If I understand correctly, currently, you are at the bottom of the wave, hence your wish to be hospitalized at La Montgolfière.

— We can’t hide anything from you, Doctor Yang. After decades of compassion, of extreme sensitivity towards people in great suffering, like a sixth sense, I completely denied myself, forgot. I buried my multiple wounds and there, for the first time in my life, I decided to listen to the broken little girl inside me.

— How do you feel after a few days with us?

— I am neither happy nor unhappy, I simply am.

— There is progress, not long ago, you no longer wanted to be…

Day 8

— Mantinko, would you like to join me this evening in the living room, around 7 p.m.? My children brought me homemade pastries. We could enjoy them together.

– OK that works.

7:05 p.m., I enter the living room. Mantinko is already waiting for me.

— Come on, let’s set up a small table. My son gave me a tablecloth and some pretty colorful napkins. We will have the impression of the English Tee Time.

– Too handsome !

— Have you ever noticed, Mantinko, that most of the time we are alone in the living room. Do you think we scare them?

— You, that would surprise me, certainly.

— I think you’re wrong, when I see Camille and Marilyn fantasizing about your bodybuilder body, each time you pass in the hallway, like a undulating panther. You have s*x appeal to which your fervent admirers are not indifferent.

— You are incredible, Adèle, you really have the gift of making me laugh. Yet my whole body, my whole soul stinks of extreme pain, suffering, torment, ordeal and despair combined.

—What have you been through to speak like that? Sometimes you scare me, Mantinko.

— I experienced what you see daily on TV, comfortably seated on your sofa. The flight from my country of origin, Guinea, to reach Libya, with the hope of a Dolce Vitade on the other side of the Mediterranean, worthy of a human being.

How naive! Arriving in Libya, I immediately felt death lurking. I voluntarily threw myself into the den of the wolf, into a world where torture, executions and rape opened its arms wide to migrants. I found myself face to face with human barbarity incarnate. I’m not going to draw you a picture.

— No need, I can easily imagine, Mantinko. In Europe, we also had our “Libyans” during an inglorious period of our history, sinisterly known for having orchestrated the greatest human genocide.

It’s crazy how man competes with his imagination to make others suffer, humiliate, enslave

– I won’t contradict you on this point. Imagine, black in color, considered to belong to a sub-race, my torturers took me for an object, a toy in their hands, which had to be broken at all costs. Some of my compatriots were even sold at auction as slaves to rich Libyan Arab families. I quickly understood that the armed soldiers who mistreated us were part of a gigantic human trafficking network. We were their favorite merchandise that could bring them a lot of money.

— Slavery in the 21st century? I’m hallucinating! Your story is terrifying. How are you still standing?

— I think that I owe my survival, in the face of physical violence, only to my corpulence. On the other hand, I cannot recover from the extreme psychological violence that I had to endure.

— Have you ever thought about suicide?

— Of course, like many of us in this Unit. Sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode because I’m so consumed by dark thoughts of violence close to a tsunami, devastating everything in its path, starting with my dignity.

— The psychiatrist didn’t prescribe any treatment for you?

— Yes, of course, but one cannot recover from such horror simply by chemistry. I need rest, human warmth, tenderness, recognition. It is not with Van Gogh, Camille or even Rimbaud that I will find what I am looking for. They are all even more tormented than me.

— I admit that you are right. Mantinko, why did you decide to flee your country?

— I already told you: poverty. In my country, there is no work. You have to fight to survive painfully. Without forgetting the dictatorship of Alpha Condé. You know, Adèle, immigrating is not a planned choice. It is a decision to be made between life and death.

Adèle, can you take me in your arms? I want to share your human warmth to heal my wounds.

—Of course, Mantinko. But I’m afraid I’m not up to it. You are in the “heavyweight” category and I am in the “featherweight” category.

— Adèle, your whole being exudes humanity. I sense in you an enormous love for the people mired in their history and your deep desire to bring them your favorite part. At your touch, I feel a tiny flame of life reappearing within me, even though I know it will take time to feel like a feather flying in the air.

— Oh, poet in his spare time, please!

Come on, come into my arms, my little chocolate fondant.