I think you spend a part of your life looking for a place where you can finally breathe.
For some, it's a house.
For others, a country.
To me, it was a person.
Malik.
Our story didn't start as in the movies. There was no lightning strike. No music. No destiny. Only two people got to know each other. Then to appreciate each other. Then love each other.
He was older than me. Not much. Just enough to have that tranquillity I missed. I spent my time thinking. Undoubtedly. Beware of me. He seemed to move forward in life with unarming simplicity.
At first, I was upset. Then I realized it wasn't unconsciousness. It was trust. Something I never really knew.
I told him about the camp. From my mother. From my father. Stories that were told at home. Even Kamino. Not immediately, but one night we were sitting on a wharf, watching the lights reflect on the water.
He listened to me without interrupting. No smile. I don't care.
When I was done, he remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he asked:
- Do you believe that?
I still remember my answer.
"I think above all that it has ruined a lot of lives.
He shook his head.
And didn't insist.
That's probably what I liked most about him. He never tried to fix people. He accepted them. With their wounds. Their contradictions. Their scars.
Months passed. Then the years.
Malik took an increasingly important place in my life. No noise. No drama. Of course.
I think that's what reassured me. For once, nothing looked like a tragedy. For once, nothing seemed written in advance.
We're out. We were laughing. We were making absurd plans. Projects of young people who think they have all their time.
Sometimes I talked to him about my desire to write. He was reading everything I produced. Even the worst texts. Especially the worst.
Then he looked at me with his usual smile.
- Keep going.
- That sucks.
- Keep going anyway.
- You're lying.
- Maybe.
And we were laughing.
With him, I was discovering something new.
Lightness.
Not absolute happiness.
Not a perfect life.
Simply the possibility of not being permanently afraid.
On the day of my 18th birthday, we made love.
I could describe this moment for pages. But it wouldn't be necessary. Because what I remember most is not desire. It's trust.
I wasn't scared anymore.
Or him.
Or me.
Or the future.
For a few hours, Kamino's curse seemed as distant as a story told to a child.
The next day, I went back to the camp.
My mother was sitting in front of her caravan.
Like many times.
She looked up at me.
And I immediately understood that she had guessed.
- You love him.
That wasn't a question.
I felt my cheeks blushing.
In spite of my eighteen years.
Despite everything else.
I was staying with his daughter.
I'm sitting next to her.
For a few minutes we watched the children play between the caravans.
Then she asked:
- How long?
- Two years.
She remained silent.
Long time.
Like she's calculating something.
Or remembered something.
Finally, she murmured:
- I'd like to meet him.
I immediately turned my head towards her.
- Really?
She's smiling.
A tired smile.
- Yes.
I think it's time.
I didn't know why that phrase was so troubling. Maybe because it sounded like a decision. Or as a resignation.
A few weeks later, I brought Malik to the camp.
I was nervous.
More than I wanted to admit.
Because we didn't just introduce a boyfriend to his mother. We were introducing him to a whole world. To a whole story. To a whole memory.
Yet things happened better than expected. The elders warmly welcomed him. The children immediately adopted it. Even some men in the camp, usually distrustful of strangers, seemed to appreciate it.
Malik, on the other hand, was talking to everyone as if he had known them forever.
I was gradually relaxing.
Then Rose came.
I saw her stop a few meters from us.
His smile disappeared.
His face is fading.
For a few seconds, she remained motionless.
Like frozen.
I've never seen that expression before.
Not even when we were talking about Kamino.
She was slowly approaching.
Very slowly.
Then she looked Malik straight into her eyes.
Nobody said anything.
Even the conversations around us seemed to be over.
Finally, my mother ran into the pocket of her jacket.
And a little red stone came out of it.
I knew her.
I had seen her all my childhood.
Sometimes on his nightstand.
Sometimes in a drawer.
Sometimes around her neck.
I never asked her where she came from.
And she never explained it to me.
Rose stretched the stone to Malik.
- Take it.
He hesitated.
Then obeys.
For a few seconds, my mother watched it.
Attemptly.
Like she's waiting for something.
Then his gaze broke.
An immense sadness passed through his face.
A sadness I don't understand.
Not yet.
She recovered the stone.
And looked at Malik.
- You should go home.
I immediately frowned the eyebrows.
- What?
- Why? asked Malik, surprised.
My mother took a long breath.
Then uttered a sentence that I will never forget.
— The shadow of feelings is too close to the light of evil.
The silence that followed was terrible.
I looked at Malik.
Then my mother.
Then Malik again.
No one understood.
Not even him.
But in Rose's eyes, I saw something I had never seen before.
Fear.
Not an ordinary fear.
An ancient fear.
A fear that seemed to come from far away.
As if, for a brief moment, the centuries that separated us from Maev had suddenly disappeared.