Trafika Europe 6 - Arabesque

tahar ben jalloun

a newspaper article upside down. “Marine Le Pen could come back for a second tour.” A photo put an image to the words: Marine in the arms of her father. Surprisingly, I asked myself: Who is this woman? Certainly I knewwho she was, but this morning, she seemed strange, like an intrusion on my life. With my right foot, I pushed away the paper. My eyes focus on a book. I strain to see the title, Out with the Phantom , by Philip Roth. It was a gift from Professor J.F. The telephone rang on the other side of the apartment. The more it rang, the more I felt that I was incapable of getting out of bed. Who could be calling at this hour? Besides my kids, I didn’t know who could have neededme on that morning. My sick leave prolonged. My research at

the office was at a standstill. One day, I would have to pick it back up. Mathematicians are stubborn. I learned to drown in their mystery. One of my professors once told me: “Mathematics is like philosophy or poetry; each word should be in its proper place.” I know. I already said it. I repeat myself. Nothing else affected me. I felt distanced from math and poetry. I was in the process of becoming illiterate. Words, one af ter the other, lef t me. They went elsewhere. I had no control over them. I searched for some. I stumbled over others; then, I would second guess myself. My language impoverished so quickly. Ruthless. They say that people empty themselves of their blood during depression; but me, I emptied myself of my words.

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