Saturday, 11 August 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 83

If the Police kept the records of the city cameras that night, you would see me, a tiny Japanese woman pushing two chairs twice the size of herself across Paris.  My arm muscle ached but so did my heart.  I could not adjust to the sobering reality that Mme. Landlord was not quite a philanthropist that I had believed her to be. 

I remembered of this recent cocktail party held at Mme. Landlord’s apartment.  I felt honored at being invited so I dressed up for the occasion and brought a thank you gift.  Mme. Landlord happily accepted the gift and seated me on a chair.  I marveled at the group of French ladies as I thanked God for allowing me this rare glimpse into the French socializing scene.  

Then as more guests arrived I noticed that colored ladies were being seated near me.  Initially I suspected the dark-skinned ladies to be non-French speakers like me, but no, they turned out to be fluent in French who would have been capable of joining the discussion among the French guests who were seated the other side of the room.  The only time we were spoken to, was when Mme. Landlord gleefully boasted of having tolerance for diversity within her circle.   She spoke to her French peers how she was being respected by me, and that I wanted to repay her kindness by helping her with the re-doing of her apartment.  Indeed, I wanted to prove that I was not an ungrateful immigrant.  My sense of loyalty prevailed as I suppressed a small prickle in my heart.

However as I carried the heavy chairs up four stairs up to her apartment alone at midnight after having witnessed the two faces of Mme. Landlord for the second time,  (the first time was described in the episode 82), I had to concede that I had been used by Mme. Landlord all along.  She knew that I was suffering from chronical insomnia because of the unsympathetic bar-restaurant below me.  And yet she chose to take an advantage of my weak state.  

Mme. Landlord was the last band of the pyramid of predators.  The goliath on the top who bends the order and morality; the sycophants who conspire to build a system around the Goliath, leaving a trail of victims that got churned up behind, and at the bottom are the hyenas who preys on the victims.  Profit may not be much, but can achieved with less investment.  A hint of kindness is all it takes to extract whatever left in the wounded victims.  Which one of three types of predators is the worst, I wonder.  The Goliath is heartless, the sycophants are shameless, but the hyena may be the most cruel.

It was around this time that I noticed that things went missing every time Mme. Landlord visited my place.  To be continued.

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