The world is attracted to Paris, the city of light, but if you stay to live the shadow beneath her reveals itself to you eventually…at least it has to me. Through my daily struggle in Paris, I began to realize what possessed me to title this blog as ‘the third red apple.’ An initial hint is in the pages available in English and French, but little did I know that it was just a beginning.
Saturday, 12 May 2018
The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 73
‘Don’t tell me you found a dead body down there!’An English speaking landlord emailed me. He
must have half believed it for such was a dodgy reputation Mr. Pride and Mr.
Justice’s team had.When I titled my
experience as ‘The bullied takes on Goliath’ I had imagined Mr. Honour to be a
formidable antagonist, the kind people hate but grudgingly give credit for owning
up to his reputation with guts.Now I do
not presume to know anybody well, let alone the leader of the mighty nation like
Russia who has been said a lot of things about, but I do not recall coming
across any articles that accused Mr. President Putin for playing the ‘Victim Card’.
He has his own strength to rely on
But not so with Mr. Honour who portrays
himself as the defender of victims.Self-rightious one as that as I am the living proof of his true colour
when it counts.Was he like Mr. Justice
before he rose in the society, claiming to be a victim and accusing any one
opposing his wish to be discriminating?I can picture Mr. Justice telling Mrs. Harmonie with a sigh about me as
‘ungrateful Japanese trouble maker despite all the improvement his sister had
made in the restaurant kitchen.’That
his sister installed a commercial refrigerator prohibited in the old buildings
made of wood and plaster that would not shield its mechanical noise, Mr.
Justice would not mention.He knew that
the authority would not look into such a minor offence, no matter how
devastating it was for me.I found his
smile more spine-chilling than Mr. Pride’s greed or irresponsible Mme. Empathy.
I waited for Mme. Landlord to arrive
because I was too scared to investigate the basement alone. She opened the door and found the staircase to
be covered with drips.Water was heard
pouring intermittently in the depth of the dark basement.The stench was so stinging that we began to
cough.We had to stop for there was a
large pool of putrid water.‘This is a
gift of Mr. Pride!’ screamed Mme. Landlord.The relentless use of water by his restaurant had burst the building’s
old sewage system.I quickly searched
for anything sinister, but this is a true story, there was no body.However, dark sludge was everywhere. It was an apt symbol of what this old French building had been taken over by.
Mr. Justice and his team had been driven
out from another restaurant by the lawsuit launched by their old neighbours. However the same colony was allowed by Mr.
Honour to return to the same area playing the same old victim game.I got scared that my existence was known
to those people whose nature resembled this dark putrefied sludge.What would become of me?From the next post, the title will revert to
the original ‘the true horror stories in modern Paris’ because Goliath is for someone with a spine, not for those ‘victims-turned-predators.’ To be continued.