— The ice that’s hardened your heart is nothing more than a fear of confronting life. In fact, you’re not really living. You’re fast asleep. Having chosen, like a coward, to live life in slow motion, like a hibernating animal. Do you think life will have meaning after your death? It won’t and it won’t have been worth anything for your fellow creatures, your brothers and sisters who suffer. Because you won’t have been anything more than an obscure absence in the great human adventure.
— But what would you have me do? You think it’s easy to be present, to not live on the margins?
— You, you’re not living at all. You don’t dare. You choose to flee to save your honor. You always pull back whenever you think you’re about to do something foolish. You’re afraid of being born. Of knowing yourself. Of acknowledging yourself. Yet life is right there, and it goes by without waiting for you. The alternative is tragic. Live or die. And if you choose to live, you can’t not make mistakes. Only death is infallible.
— I have no desire to live chained to evil and suffering until dying, in the end, like a dog.
— If it happens that I die like a dog, I’ll have no regrets … I will have lived to the fullest my dog’s life.
— With some other dog faithfully attached to your feet to keep you company.
— I’m not chaining you to me, Marina. I’m merely extending an invitation.
— But, Paulin, might not that invitation be selfishness in disguise? Might you be trying to satisfy your own pride?
— You call me selfish. You’re wrong. I’m suffering. I’m tortured. Shattered. Crazy with the need to give my love. My weakness. My strength. My worth. I exist. I live. I’m present. I measure my weight in pain and joy. The scale’s needle veers off course. It’s no longer calm. Even in my deepest nights, my eyes shine far more than the wan paleness of death.
— You want to give me your life? All of it … Every last drop … Do you really believe we can be the exception to failure? That we can escape total collapse?
— Marina, believe me. I love you. I won’t leave this world with anything at all. Much less with love, which cannot be hoarded.
— And if I accept? What would you ask me to do?
— To hold my hand as we travel new roads together. Risking our lives in stormy places. We need one another.
— Paulin, you think we’ll overcome all obstacles, that we’ll make it to the end? Is that a sure thing? Reassure me, I’m begging you.
— Marina, don’t let conformity plant its evil flag in you. Death is conservative. Join me in taking the first steps to tear down the old ways, the patina of a universe paralyzed by normalcy.
— I love you too, Paulin. I’ve always forced myself to hide that from you. Today, I can’t do it any longer. I love you. It’s just that you’re so violent …
— Violence isn’t the thing to fear. Love smolders most powerfully in a storm. It’s the moment when the tempest calms that should be feared. That would mean the death of our love.
— I know that only too well. I’ve long been aware that your life is not about still waters. Even your love is a raging sea on which only those with strong stomachs dare venture.
— Do you think you’ve got a strong stomach?
— I’ll have to give it a try.
— You’ve got it right. Because I’m not promising you a path blanketed with flowers. My current existence may be couched in relative stability. But who knows whether tomorrow will be filled with privations … With persecutions? With torments? A man’s path is not often strewn with roses and laurels. I have no idea yet what my life has in store for me. Each day calls for its portion of blood and sweat.
— I’m well aware. Paulin, this heart that I’ve never resigned myself to offering to anyone else — I’m handing it over to you without any precautions. Even if I end up suffering for it. I’ll regret nothing. I am yours entirely. You’ve already tamed me.
— No. That must never happen. I would despise you. Never forget this word of advice: always keep your exchanges equal with your man. Never crawl on your belly. Never let yourself be tamed, not even by me.
— Not even by you, Paulin?
— By no one. Men have a tendency to consider women their private property … Don’t you swallow any of the nonsense that comes out of their mouths. Whatever the cost, avoid becoming one of those women who contents herself with having her belly, her uterus, and her abdomen filled up. That kind of woman is only worth anything when she’s horizontal.
— I thank you, my darling.
— Marina, do you know that I’ve begun writing my next novel? I’ve already written two chapters. I haven’t found a title for it yet.
— When might I read a few passages?
— As soon as you’d like. You know that I owe my work to you. I’ve elected you queen of my creation. And your dynasty is eternal. I owe you all the works that are already scratching at my brain and nipping at my entrails. Marina, be the midwife to my works. Participate in the fascinating creative adventure that obsesses me. Straddles me. And violates me. I carry and sustain a perpetual pregnancy. I expect you to assist me in the miracle of birth.
The room darkens. Paulin is covered in sweat. His fingers, his lips tremble. His body shivers. A steamy vapor trickles out of his mouth, his nostrils, his eyes. Suddenly, he sees only black.
— Marina, make it bright in here. I’m begging you. Switch on the lamp. Give me your hand so I can make it through the tough times. Help me. I need you so badly.
— Alas, Paulin. My father knows we love each other. He’s furious. My parents disapprove. They’re sending me off to Europe. In twenty-two days. Like a package.
— It isn’t possible!
— They’ve already taken the first steps.
— Marina, tell them that our love is a spring on the verge of becoming a torrent. That our love burns the eyelids and rips apart the eardrums of those who doubt it.
— There’s nothing we can do to stop them. They are absolutely set on me leaving.
— Marina, I was born through your gaze. You delivered me in a bright flash of fire. Whether I live or die is up to you.
— Paulin, we must take this separation as a test. We’ll come out of it victorious. Even more attached to one another. I’m confident. In exiling me far away from you, they will not get the better of us.
— My rebellious suffering, I’ll cradle it in my lap. But for how long?
— It’s possible that I’m to spend four years far from you.
— Four years! Here it is that, despite myself, I’m compelled to measure time’s passage. Clocks, calendars — I hate them with a passion. The mutilation of days with their strange names that fracture our existence. That fracture life. Not to mention, is human existence really measurable in figures?
— Don’t forget that time passes quickly. I’ll come back. A trip won’t be able to kill our love.
— Since you must leave, I’ll ask one thing of you: believe in the possibilities of your country. Come back to it. The black man doesn’t easily get comfortable in the land of Whites. Come back!
— Paulin, I’ve brought you my photo. It’s a testament to my love for you. Keep it in your room, during the entire time I’m away. Let me add a dedication: “To my darling Paulin, with my unchanging love. Sincerely, Marina.” Take it and cherish it. As if it were me in person.
The room grows even darker. Paulin is bathed in sweat. She hasn’t written to me in three months. She’s given me no sign of life. Is it true what I’ve been told about her? Suddenly, Paulin feels what seem like exploding grenades in his head. At the base of his skull, a volcano roils, explodes. And the crater rips apart violently. Screaming of lava. Bottomless hole out of which giant flowers surge — monstrous and bloody.