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Stranded on Earth

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Chapter 1

Brigitte

What to think when we are a young lady incarcerated since birth in a suburban council flat?

Useless to tell where: from Dunkerque to Tamanrasset, from San Francisco to Hong Kong, the blocks look all the same. It is enough to know that Brigitte just obtained her baccalauréat examination somewhere in a great French town, in 1979. After these years spent in hard studies, and before other years to spend in hard work, she tries to take stock of her short life.

She was born of one of these innumerable completely ordinary families, the father office worker, the mother at home, installed for the needs of the work in one of these innumerable towers aligned like machines in a production unit, on an artificial ground painted in green, flat and rational like the yard of a factory.

Brigitte is slender, blonde with long scattered locks, dark blue eyes, her features somewhat prominent but soft, with a reserved look. She currently dresses with light blue trousers and a pullover of the same colour.

Her parents had begun their life in the idyll, and had continued it in front of the TV. When Brigitte's mother, expecting her daughter, was seeing her belly getting rounded, she had a dream: it was a moving dawn sky, mauve and pink, with great birds standing out, strangely silent. Her daughter came from there with a curious smile, in the same time charming and sorry. But Brigitte never knew about this dream, as in the morning soon the mother had to urinate in a small bottle: rendezvous to the gynaecologist. Absorbed by these serious concerns, the mother forget the dream, so far that she was surprised to see a girl taking birth, when the gynaecologist and the neighbour had all predicted a boy. She called her Brigitte, as she was a fan of Brigitte Bardot.

Brigitte had lived a very ordinary life, between her parents and her elder brother Robert, six years older. She was a girl in the same time playing and serious, in the same time quiet and lively. A model little girl, lovely, the neighbours were telling to her parents.

Even if this childhood was calm, there still were some shadows in the scenery. Brigitte, despite a true cleverness and a strong taste for studies, obtained only average school results, nothing more. Despite a taste for collective games, she was never able to get really integrated in a group of other children, neither at school nor in the holiday camp, and even not with the scouts. Neither the great priest Psychosociopedagovocationalprofessionallogist nor the caretaker were able to explain why to her parents. She bore all these things until the Baccalauréat, as she really had to forget her personal life to succeed in this examination, very important as it opens access to the next examination.

All this, it is the opinion of the psycho... etc. But Brigitte is now undertaking a really strange exercise: to see her own point of view. She has to choose an orientation for her studies, and it is perhaps the first time that she is asked her opinion about her future adult life. The options proposed to her all share a curiously similar look: A, employments, B, employments, C, employments, D, E, F... employments. Supplementary vexation, some of these employments are «good» and earn a lot of money, while others are «hopeless» and miserable, according to criteria which justification can be hardly guessed, as, contrarily to any justice, the hardest works earn the less money.

Eleven o'clock in the evening. Brigitte is in her bed, light off. In her head the various paths of vocational training turn into a mad saraband, complex jungle where are lurking fearsome Indians who reduce the heads of all those who do not have the diploma. Losers fall into the bayou, to be devoured by interim piranhas or minimum wage gators. Here are the terrible Wien diagrams (the «potatoes» of the Sets Theory) which dance with affine involutions and then transform into mythical mitochondria (nature sciences) on a background of revolutionary songs (history). Comes along the mug of the History teacher, really the lamentable teacher, while the French teacher is very nice. Lost in the vast school, in front of all these classroom doors with complex and changing numbers, this brave professor runs along the infinite corridor with endless rows of coat racks, with walls painted urine colour per administration standard, where resound strange cries in a smell of glutamate broth.

Suddenly a vision of nightmare emerges: taking the staircase, the floor below is another identical corridor, then another, indefinitely... The universe is no more than an immense high school, of which we desperately look for the exit, without even remembering what it is... When Brigitte asks her comrades for the way out, they look at her as at madman, and say that these things do not exist, that they are «utopian». And she hears herself talking about socio-professional things or needle-heels. She no longer has any hold on what she says or does, no way to communicate her suffering. The heart finishes to tear, it is the absolute horror ...

 

Brigitte must choose an orientation. The psycho-thingy told her so. Her parents told her so. It is marked on the papers which were given to her. Oh no, she is not undecided, she knows very well what she would like, but oh drama, she may search along all the descriptions of careers and professional training, short or long studies: nope and nope, there is nothing related to what she is looking for.

 

Midnight. The neighbours above come back from the cinema. From her bed, Brigitte distinctly hears the flush, the sound of urine in the bowl. Tonight they return from a detective film: «Eh eh when he got out this huge gun... I like black films etc.»

The next day, Brigitte, having worked so much, is entitled to vacation. She feels free and light. Yet the questions and feelings that school activity had repressed, are now standing out. In the information leaflets, all the path lead to the same door: professional life. Well, but professional life, it always means that we do certain things that others have decided. Why not? If it is useful. But there is apparently nobody to decide to do what Brigitte would like to do.

This year, the pamphlets are illustrated with comics, to make young. They show all identical young people (still happy that in this time they were not yet shown all in punks) for whom life can be summarized up to manage studies, employment, etc. without ever wondering what they are going to do with all this, what they will do with their life, their money, without wondering what they are going to work for. Brigitte definitively not recognizes herself in these drawings, which factitious enthusiasm sounds rather sad... Something essential, a sensation, an idea that Brigitte feels, but she cannot grasp, which seems so difficult to explain.

Brigitte's brother comes in and turns on the TV. It is one of those interminable games, interspersed with always the same singer, of whom only the shape of the nose or the colour of the hair varies. Robert loves it, he even has reached a certain level, and plans to apply when the show goes in their city.

Brigitte is in her professional courses of studies, like wire in wire drawing, in narrower and narrower holes, to finally be ripped off. She gets irritated. There must be something! How could she be the only one to understand what she understood? Why is there no way to explain it to others? Why not to devote her life to passing it on? «YEAAAAH I found it! Brigitte look I found it!» And her brother sticks under the nose of flabbergasted Brigitte a paper where spread these letters: «KROUMIR»

«It is a slipper of the Arab countries! You realize I would have won the thousand francs!»

Brigitte contemplates her brother, this stranger who lives in the bedroom next to hers. He did not understand, despite all the explanations. He always seemed not to hear them, or he replied, «Yes, yes, you are right» but nothing ever changed in his preoccupations or in his discussions with his comrades. It was a masterpiece of non-communication. Brigitte held (mentally) a notebook of her attempts:

«Has sounded the alarm

Answer: None.

Rang the tocsin

Answer: None.

Launched an SOS

Answer: none

Launched a pathetic and desperate SOS

Answer: none

Notice to respond under threat of usher

Answer: I'm going to the tennis»

Presently, Robert was absorbed in the screen, hands in suspense, breathing slowly, his face slightly inclined, with on it the greenish reflection of the image. Where had she ever seen this attitude of intense adoration? In some film, on a sect?

Brigitte goes out, before making a bad use of her kroumir.

She goes to the tennis club. His brother advised her. Curiously he seems to be quite aware of her difficulties, but he never proposed anything to solve them. Except one evening when, during a discussion, she pushed him in full contradiction. He then told her that going to the tennis would do her good.

«What do you mean?

- Well I do not know, for your problems.

- Ah? I have problems? Which problems?

- You'd meet people, buddies.

- But how to meet who...

- Oh, I do not know, you meet, what. I have lots of friends at the club, we play, we go to the refreshment bar, we invite each other, it is nice.»

So Brigitte goes to the club, plays, sits around in the refreshment bar.

«The smashes, more nervous, like that.

- The legs play is not bad for a beginner.

- Brigitte! Quick, you need to clear out this court for the competition training!

- A fruit juice for Brigitte!

- Are you on a diet? You must have fun!

- It is a new racket, which centre of gravity has been moved: it cancels the vibrations of the shock»

Despite this apparent kindness, Brigitte feels uncomfortable. Facing these people, she feels that she can no more influence the course of the discussion than if she spoke to the television screen. Of course, they reply, but... in a certain way, always the same, automatic. Everything is predictable, as in a theatre, where the characters replay each evening the same piece, by the combinatorial variants. She would like to... How to explain this? She could not find her words.

They never ask her brother to clear the court for the competition. Brigitte had to realize, many years later, that he actually stayed only a short time in the tennis club, spending most of his evenings elsewhere. Fortunately she did not knew at this time...

One evening, in the cloakroom, she heard, behind a partition:

«This is the Brigitte I told you about. She's nice, but you've seen, she has something... we cannot understand her.

- Indeed, we can hardly communicate with her.»

What the heck, the whole city knows this story! This is gross, to pretend that they do not understand her, she who kills herself to explain what seems so simple to her! This is a disturbing mystery.

 

It is dark night when she comes back home. Her brother still is in front of the TV, and we could think that he did not moved, if empty pâté or sardine cans had not appeared on the table. The film is a peaceful scene, in a garden, with birds, and two nuns discussing knitting. Just a pity that the peaceful nun has exactly the same harsh voice as the murdering lover of yesterday, or the business baroness of the day before yesterday. Anyway, the bucolic scene is fairly well rendered. Suddenly in a clatter of machine gun the spy appears. No, sorry, this is the monster tonight. There is almost always, in the movies of the TV, an American secret agent, except when there is a monster. Even if the film is not at all a spy movie and the agent does not seem to be on a mission. Go find out why.

Brigitte tries to put her thoughts in order. How did it started? Was it since always, when she stayed in her corner, in the yard of the primary school? Or had it started at the scouting camp when... «Sir the minister denies any involvement in this affair». Ah, This is the news. Domestic policy. Is it her fault, if she never understands where all these speeches are leading to? Could it be that they mean nothing? Why would they appear on the television, then?

This is it: she desires something, but this thing never happens. It is simple. It is self-obvious, she feels. Yet everything happens as if she was alone to see this. Could it be that she is different from others? NO! OH NO! Although such an assumption had often passed in her head, but she always categorically, viscerally rejected it. It would be an incoherence of the universe. Why should the laws of the world be identical for the immensity of the stars, and different for her alone, little insignificant dust? This is not possible. The reason for his problem should be... ⚠⚠ «AAAAH I burn! AAAAH !!» Horror, on the screen of the TV, a guy tries to extricate himself from a burning car. Already such scenes are unbearable for Brigitte, in addition it is a NEWS SHOT, without effects: this guy really howled like this, less than an hour ago, while a cameraman was filming him, coldly absorbed by his scoop and his effect, instead ot taking the trouble of helping the unhappy man! But at once they pass to the sports results, and the face of Brigitte's brother did not bat a single eyelid, the rhythm of his slow chewing even not varied. The familiar and usual smell of the cigarette burning in the ashtray suddenly seems to Brigitte the atrocious smell of the drama that the small screen has spread in all the homes. No, she is not different from the others! It is the others who are different of her!

We go to the cartoon. This shoddy wonder is so incongruous, after such a moment. Brigitte leaves the room, her heart still beating. She said nothing to her brother, she knew the answer she would attract for the thousandth time: one had to be «realistic», «strong», «informed», etc. Through the wall of her room, the words of the cartoon reaches her, incomprehensible, on an accelerated rhythm, like a record played at the wrong speed: oinksziongrooinkpataiïnnkrzionniooïnk punctuated with booms, clong, etc. It takes a long time to Brigitte to dissipate the bite of adrenaline in her belly. No doubt she would have preferred to be on the scene of this terrible accident: the worst thing about television is that we can do nothing to help.

Midnight. The neighbors above come back from the cinema. From her bed Brigitte distinctly hears the flush, the sound of urine in the bowl. Tonight is a fighting movie: «Did you see, the scream he did? Terrible! I like these scenes of combat, it is enthralling, dynamic, especially with the music.»

 

The next day, the terrible vision still haunts Brigitte for much of the day. What a catastrophe, this suffering amplified millions of times, as many as of viewers! More than half the people she met saw it, yet no one seems particularly affected, either in the market or in the park.

In the afternoon, Brigitte stays at home, wanting to do something, but without knowing what. His brother goes out, as sometimes, without saying where he is going. Brigitte takes the opportunity to go to television, and put her favourite channel: not the One, neither the Two, nor the Three, nor the Ten... Do not look on the keyboard: the best channel for Brigitte is the Zero, which is obtained by pressing the button marked «stop». Use it: it seems that it will soon be abolished, or toll. Before stopping, Brigitte looks at the screen: a soccer match. She hesitates, as she is too used to her brother's scenes when she turns off the TV, to, as she says, put life on. So she presses the button. The image disappears from the screen, she sees the usual series of small coloured phenomena when cutting the power, but the commentary continues. Bizarre? It is well stopped, however. But the nasal groan is still there. Even with the wire unplugged, the antenna, everything. Is it a parapsychological phenomenon? No: it comes from the neighbours, who have their receiver just behind the wall, the volume perpetually at max.

In her room, it is a little quieter. Brigitte comes to gather her minds. It would be enough to... drop everything that is ugly, all that is wrong. This news all the times deplore wars, state coups, economic crisis. But the obvious solution is never evoked: it would be enough not to do all this. This is quite sure, for example for a war, one needs to have traced one of these useless frontiers, to also have appointed governments, to have manufactured these weapons so costly in resources and life time, to have trained in combat, to dare to give orders, to accept to obey them without fainting with shame, and all this improbable series of deliberately disoriented choices would still be useless, because once on the battlefield, one would still need to overcome the panic fear and the powerful repulsion of evil, to be able to aim without trembling the tender flesh of another sensitive being, carefully avoiding to think at the unbearable tears of his companion and his children, and with burning cheeks, heart pounding, press the fateful trigger. Had all this happened only once, by a tragic and incredible chain of mistakes and misunderstandings, that, in view of such a horror, from the first drops of blood shed, all the participants, terribly sorry, would have hastened to save the wounded, and do everything possible, through education, school, newspapers, science, laws, to ensure that such a tragedy never happens again. This is what would be normal human behaviour, Brigitte thinks, under such circumstances; she would even NOT BE ABLE to act otherwise. Obviously, the same goes for all the other artificial problems that the news in the television are blathering about, without ever drawing the clearest lesson: world hunger, economic crisis, etc.

When she tried to say this to her parents and comrades, it was as if she had talked about extravagant, impossible things. It tried her best to argue, to dismantle all the artificial and totally inconsistent nature of these problems, which could be solved instantaneously, simply by stopping the considerable work and the constant sacrifices which they require to maintain themselves. But she was always replied that this was in the order of things, that nothing could be done, that it was «reality», «life», «society», «fatality»... The more she showed that it was an illusion, a totally artificial theatre, the more they tried to make it consistent, «real»! Even those (many) who complain of what is wrong seem, as soon as they are offered to drop it, to cling at this evil as if only it could fill their lives! And above all, it was necessary to know how to repress one's Sensitivity when «it is necessary»

«But who decides «that is necessary?»

- The government, the citizens must obey it.

- But who brought us a government?

- It is the citizens who voted for it.» They were swimming in tautology, a way of reasoning whit bites its own tail and starts from what they wanted to show, so that it can «prove» anything.

Other times, on the contrary, they replied that it was very good, that she was right, and so on. But these people did not go any further: they then resumed their usual discussions, and ended up taking the air vaguely astonished when Brigitte urged them to find «what could be done».

Once, it was strike time at school. Brigitte had a deeper discussion with one of the class delegates about the economic crisis:

«Nothing is easier, since everything, money, exchange rates, all this is only convention.

- Oh no, we can not.

- Why?

- It is the business people who have the power.»

Brigitte felt a little annoyed: for what she would like to do later, she would probably need to be her own boss, since nothing was prepared in this direction.

«How can they have the power? The big business is only a few hundred! The elections, the police, the army, all that, what's the point? You just have to vote for representatives who will make laws so that...

- You just forget one thing: why people do not vote for such representatives?

- Oh yes, why?

- Because they are alienated.

- Ah!»

This word «alienated» seemed ambiguous to Brigitte, because of its usual psychiatric meaning. This should not be confused with the problem she is thinking about, it is not the same thing. People are not crazy. Brigitte knows madness too well: one of her cousins on her mother's side is retarded. (It was a very strange story, moreover: it happened just some days after a painful vaccination session, but all her requests for explanations on this subject had met with an obstinate silence, and the cousin in question is now deceased.) If the usual meaning of the word «alienated» is not appropriate, on the other hand, its etymology is quite obvious: alien to oneself.

Stranger to oneself! Absent to oneself! How better to describe this strange behaviour of people in full consciousness, who have everything they need, intelligence, lucidity, sensitivity, knowledge, education, who have everything to understand what is happening to them, their problems, to find where they come from, especially that these problems are basically so simple... that they just have to «shut the power down», to «unplug stupidity» to make them disappear instantly... and these people do not do this! And to save themselves this simple gesture, they bear without piping a word decades of boredom and greyness, they accept without any hesitation the horrors of war and the pangs of famine! There is, there, present, a living human form, conscious, capable, yet deprived of any insightful direction, deprived of the necessary distance to consider and apprehend his own life...

The door opens: «Brigitte is you who turned the TV off?» Without waiting for an answer, her strange brother, who comes back unexpectedly, rushes to the set, turns it on, and... leaves again.

Brigitte remains for a moment without thinking. It is the advertising: the commentator, an iguana voice, grumbles like a record in extreme slow motion, followed by a high-pitched woman squalling supposed to represent the next door lady, and finally the small lobotomizing music the TV advertisements. Brigitte gets out of her torpor, to go and to control the thing.

«Why do you switch the TV off, dear? calls her mother from the kitchen.

- ...

- I do not mind. I find that it puts some animation, some merriment.

- !!!!

- Well, you may be busy.

- Yes, that's right, Mom, I think about my career direction.» It's not a lie: the papers are spread out on her desk, unanswered. She tries to figure out what she's going to do with her life. It is already not obvious, but it will certainly be much more difficult for her to get herself into this so limited choice of socio-professional frameworks proposed to her...

Although she seems as «absent of herself» as all the others, Brigitte loves her mother, her gentleness, her kindness. Of course, she does not seem to understand her either, but at least she does not make troubles for no reason. As for her father, he is Monsieur Silence. Absence of any word other than strictly utilitarian. When Brigitte was younger, he already was like this, sometimes with some roughness, which fortunately disappeared with the years. For education, he was content with supervision, rarely intervening himself, when his wife was overwhelmed. Probably he did not wanted children, and he had not really been interested in this, but he had nevertheless taken the minimum responsibilities, as well as for his profession. With Brigitte's brother, they sometimes has long discussions about his workplace, which seems to be all his life.

He had just asked Brigitte what she intended to do later, but she evaded the question. This was annoying the father: he had no preconceived ideas, but he wanted an answer, in order to be able to make his arrangements.

The education Brigitte received from her parents had nothing revolutionary or innovative; But her mother knew instinctively to let her little girl express herself sufficiently, while being firm on certain limits not to be exceeded. Despite some memories of spanking, Brigitte does not complain: the result seems good to her, in comparison with many of her comrades who either are unable to have fun without turning to heckling or violence, or, conversely, escape as soon as interesting things threaten to get them out of their dull apathy. Also, but on the father's suggestion this time, Brigitte's mother, much earlier than advocated by pediatricians, prompted her to discover all sorts of things: pictures, museum, drawing, modelling clay, etc.

These simple but effective educational precepts had made Brigitte a fairly balanced girl, with a lively, resourceful, active and persevering mind, her spirit of initiative and sense of responsibility already awakened. The adolescence had passed without apparent problems, except, as for many girls, the natural desire to find the Prince Charming. But for Brigitte her Prince Charming ought to understand, as she did, this thing so simple and so inexplicable. Needless to say, no boy of her acquaintance had succeeded by far in this test!

However, Brigitte owed her Sensibility and her quest for the Absolute only to herself, for her parents were unanimously materialistic and «realistic» from the beginning. The professional life, the studies, the villa they will have one day, are their only horizon. For that, they get along perfectly with Brigitte's brother. However, unlike the latter, they are not bounded. Enlightened materialists, so that feelings are accessories, but useful accessories essential to psychological equilibrium, to social integration, and therefore to professional success! So they made sure that they are working properly, just as you check the condition of the car's battery or tires.

Despite their view deprived of height, Brigitte had chosen her parents well enough, given the very limited possibilities available at the time of her birth. They are quite pleased with the result obtained with their daughter, although they feel her discomfort for some time. Brigitte escapes them, they no longer follow her. The critical age of the parents...

Midnight. The neighbours above come back from the cinema. From her bed Brigitte distinctly hears the flush, the sound of urine in the bowl. Tonight they come back from a pornographic film, about which the reader will appreciate not to hear the comments.

 

The next day, at about five o'clock, the father returns from his work, as usual. Brigitte hears his calm steps down the corridor, but instead of going directly to the television, according to the Holy Canonical Ritual, they go to the kitchen. She does not, of course, pay any attention to him, but a little later, coming out of her room by chance, she captures their conversation.

Brigitte had long ago noticed that many people seem a little deaf, curiously not hearing sounds that she still picks up distinctly. Yet a sound experience with her electronic uncle had shown her that her hearing is quite ordinary, both in sensibility and in extent. So, again, this would be a problem of attention. In any case her comrades continue to compliment her for her particularly fine hearing: to the scouts she was even nicknamed the Indian. The most curious thing is that most people do not seem to be aware of this anomaly, and it often happens to Brigitte to catch informative conversations that are obviously not intended for her, as we saw in the tennis club, but uttered loud enough or close enough to be distinctly understood.

Currently, her parents are concerned:

«Mother:... do not know: how to talk about it?

- Father: You must have discussed with her, how did you realize it?

- It's weird, she's talking about Peace, Justice.

- Well, that's normal. The kids are all the same.

- But she wants everything right away! She says it's possible, like that, without anything.

- Yeah. It's often like that, at this age.»

(Brigitte, in her heart: as if it was a matter of age! Her classmates do not seem to understand her any better)

« I tried to reason her, to make her conscious of the obstacles, the real problems...»

(«To become conscious», what a curious expression to mean a renunciation of the intelligence, a voluntary ignorance!)

«She did not met a guru, at least?»

(A guru, what a strange idea, why not a fakir or a dervish?)

«I don't think so. This is visible, in general. They speak of it. Moreover, the...»

After a solo of screaming Moulinex, the father finishes:

«... thought it would be a solution. In any case she is surely tired of her Baccalauréat: you saw how she swotted?

- Yes, she even had a mention, nobody expected it. She rehearsed her entire program, and the day before she still studied maths that she had not understood. And imagine that she just had these at the exam, and she had sixteen! Her who always was low in maths!

«Well, I'll propose her in a moment, while eating, kindly. Robert is at the tennis, I asked him not to come home too soon.»

Discretely Brigitte gets back to her room. Somewhat worried, she awaits for the revelation. What is her father preparing? A session of human relationship training? A shock-cure of anti-sect deconditioning in the USA? A psychoanalysis? This reminds her of all these hopeless novels involving a complex and artificial psychology in a superficial world of rich people.

Brigitte has reasons to fear. The word «psychologist» was pronounced about her in the lycée, in a staff meeting, perhaps by some excited teacher not very aware of the possible consequences. She knew it from some very indiscreet chattering by the student's representative, in front of other school mates, who hurried to repeat her. But Brigitte never felt «ill», right on the contrary! At that time she ignored everything about mind control methods, but instinctively she felt a serious threat…

 

 

When comes the meal time, her mother had simmered her preferred dish: rabbit in sauce, which thick smell in now filling the whole home.

The father, with a worried look: «You must be tired, with all this work!

- Brigitte: Yeah, somewhat. (Here he comes)

- And now you are quiet for all the holidays, if you want.

- Yes, depends on. The faculty only begins in October. (He beats about the bush, unless he is «preparing her psychologically». What a pain to bear all these people who always try rummaging about in our brain!)

- May you wish to change of air, to be in another context, to get some autonomy… You will have to manage for yourself anyway, in the faculty.

- Err...

- Hey, I get an idea, like that…

- Ah? (How this conventional discussion, with its dubious outcome, seems futile in front of her concerns!)

- You were happy, when we went on holidays in your grandma home?

- Yes really, but...

- She proposes to you to visit her, two or three weeks, would you accept it?»

So that was it! Brigitte remains for a moment open-mouthed, her fork in the air... She keeps a very pleasant memory of the carefully kept house of her paternal grandmother, her garden, her flowers and her apple pies, a village full of smiling elders, in a verdant countryside. There at least she would never be requested to free the garden for the competition; not to mention that she would be quiet and free to think.

«Excellent idea!» she replied spontaneously, with just an apprehension of finding her grandmother also warned of «her problems.»

 

 

Stranded on Earth

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