Friday, 22 December 2017
The compassionate Major came out to meet me himself at the police station. French people are aptly described as ‘fire and ice.’ There are those with warm hearts and the others who can cut you off instantly. I was most grateful to the warm words of this Major who was aghast by my predicament. He gave me the name and contact address of his superior because things were getting out of his hands. I went to seat myself on a bench but the major arranged to have a secured detention cell to protect me from the criminals and drug addicts. I was given full privacy for the night. The reality did not hit me until I smelt the unusual odour of the cell. However, this was the only safe sanctuary in the whole Paris to me that night …while Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy each relaxed in their own fluffy bed: one was counting profit and one was planning another loud parties.
The following morning, as soon as a library opened I used their computer to book a room because my laptop was in my apartment. After securing a room, I contacted Mme. Landlord who was horrified by the crisis. She immediately complained to the Syndic who in turn would have informed Mr. Pride. Did we hear anything from him? Of course not. In fact it was up to Mme. Landlord to book an electrician to check her apartment and it was again me who has to wait in my apartment to provide access because Mme. Landlord was not in Paris.
I opted to wait outside the building for the electrician...near the restaurant. Then he came out. The chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere. He had come out for a smoke but when he saw me his eyes widened. Now this was the man being criminally prosecuted for multi-frauds. It took him a lot more serious accusation than a fraud to startle him. He gave me an awkward smile and murmured ‘We will use more wood so that electricity does not go into your room.’ So Mr. Pride had contacted him to cover his track. As you may imagine, 2 hours later when the electrician came…late which is usual in France, electricity leakage was no more. The electrician found no fault with the system of Mme. Landlord, of course.
There is a list of codes by which Samurai warriors lived by and one of them was ‘let the opponents cut your muscle so that they would come close enough for you to clash their bones.’ I guess, the last several months of my suffering was the process of letting the restaurant cut my muscles. Now, in order to cover their track, the restaurant was forced to re-install their ventilator in the regulated way. To ensure this I wrote a letter to the superior of the Major as advised. I knew I still had a long way to go.
To be continued.