Student at LLCE at Inalco – Langues O’, Paris, France
O you whose whole world contemplates the beautiful face
O you for whom the souls of the men tear their garment
With the eyes of intelligent people
Your madness is better than the reason of others.
This soul which was my friend became me foreign;
The reason which was a doctor, became crazy ”
The wealth of the reason is the mystery of the madness
The madman of the reason is the man.
I shall exceed of hundred degrees the place of the reason,
I shall forget the existence, the good and evil.
Your beauty is so sensational as I am behind the veil
O ignoramuses! It is of myself with whom I am in love.
DJALAL AL DIN RUMI
Email received from: Dr Julia Nakache
To: Dr Gautier Delavest
Your appointment at the head of this hospital is a good thing for us. Congratulations. I glanced at my legs and it looks like i forgot my tights on your desk.
To: Dr Gautier Delavest
It is five o’clock. Congratulations for your appointment. In the corridor of the crazy, the light flares up again, spreads, almost too sensational. I writeto you since the computer which Madam Nakache left switched on in her office. She left in a hurry yesterday evening. I opened the door with my social-security card. It is five o’clock.
Even before you had entered my life, it accumulated around you a muddled excitement. It was to whom had perceived you the first one, to whom had spoken to you the closer, between us patient, from the first day. I believe that I dreamed first night, for the first time of you.
In vain. My heart collapses, and its ash in the brightness of a dagger. The blood which spatters, in light curves, on the fighters of this big cold desk! Ah, if only I could attach your love of a silk thread to the cage of my tenderness….
Ten years ago, I received the first one e e-mail of the prince. He looks like you.
But now the sun hurls its first lead beams on my heart through the purple blinds.
Ah if I was not crazy! I hurry to tell you my story, while you know of me only what your tidied up well nurses well want you to assert. To you, the most sad man of the world.
So that you seized your virile fist of the upholders and the outcomes of the mutiny which we orchestrated against you; and, because he so goes awayfrom your business to understand the man, and the madness to throw me in the confusion , so that you can understand the woman who cannot express herself in front of you with the lucidity which is sorely lacking her.
I would tell you in detail the ridiculous things which arrived at me since my entrance to your service, requiring you to be indulgent to the naivety and the strangeness which travels these e-mails.
If you were a flower, Sir doctor, you would be a tulip on the point to fall ash there, as the one that doctor Nakache put on your desk yesterday . If you were a movement, you would be this smile, which comes out of the corner of the mouth of your nurses at the sound of your voice. Always aim at their hearts, and always frightening the marionettes night birds which liven up our ranks, you are the white man in the black pullover who irons every word twice on your prescriptions. Maybe you prepare them in advance, your charming mimes, by noting them on these sad blue files which contain in clusters of clouds the essence of our lives in crumbs. I could give the slightest details of your gestures to the policeman as if I had articulated it myself, I could describe you as if I had painted you during hours, because… Yes, it is the truth, I admired your shimmering reflection spread out on the window during hours – the window of your office in the crazy’ lane.
From: Gautier Delavest
To : Julia Nakache
You have a patient in the corridor B I believe. Miss P… Could you give me information about her?
To: Gautier Delavest
Object: first day.
I am languishing to see you. Days without your presence by my side have the morning color of bad fortune-teller. I spent my day with the prince by my side, to inspect with interest all the departments of the hospital to hold me informed. I was followed by an old man who shouted Marie and kissed by a young schizophrenic Turkish chap.
This hospital becomes a continent for me, because I cannot travel, and the banisters of staircases the runways on which planes take their flight!
Doctor! Only you have authority on me! The purple colored past, the scraps of impatience, black of taboos, re-appears.
Do you believe in God? It is certainly because I am in love with you that we (you) surrounded me with four white fences, as a wolf the official shepherd of which you are…
I did not want to go there, I believe, in this stuffy space, and I believed to die when my beloved relatives locked me there. One week passed. I write to you from the small room where I spend most of my time. I wake up at about seven o’clock, rocked outside (knocked out of) the arms of Morpheus by the jingle of the wheels of the machine which comes to bring syringes for my daily blood test. I always sleep dressed in the lined red pajamas which my mother made me bring. ”
” We are not all the same in prison, and you have the TV “. My card broke in the eye of a needle of the door. I am afraid that this e-mail is the last one.
To: Dr Gautier Delavest
I still love you
From: Gautier Delavest
To: Julia Nakache
I am sorry for not coming tonight… really sorry, reading some mails kept me busy the whole evening.
I shouted. He said ” I want that you keep silent ”
I am still. He said ” I want that you shout ”
I had the fever. He said ” Not, be quiet ”
I became quiet. He said ” I want that you burn “.
The flame of my passion for you had burned me ede fever
In the brook of my heart, your word was the water
This water was a mirage, this flame was a flash of lightning
Already, the story passed, as if it was a dream
His lies made of me an object of fun
They made me dishonored, without spirit, insane
Finally, his heart transformed my heart:
He gave me all the forms which he wanted.
To: Dr Gautier Delavest
I know the patient about whom you speak. It is the rather unpleasant girl who is in our service for two days for delirious episode. We looked after her with some drugs, which she rather badly supported: several syncopes, she vomited twice in bathroom the first day and I had to clean the whole of it … What do you want to know furthermore? Why these questions?
This evening, it is raining. The rain which drips in regular whirlwinds on the dirty pavements of the small courtyard washes me. If my hear t could act it would brandish a fork to tear the slender curtain of water. The crazy are shaken by their theater the hope stirs, as if they drink to the life. The corridor behind me is white and deserted, the crazy left lying down (going to bed), and the cop plop of the streams which roar flanks me a vagueness in the soul and the anxiety begins to move, animal more viscous and more villainous than the solitude that you left me with.
” The war, it is the game(set,play) of two enemies
The war, it is your ignorance towards me ”
Of: Gautier Delavest Julia Nakache
You want well, I ask you, to leave the door of your office opened when you will leave this evening, and from now on, I would close it myself – I need a silent place to work in the evening and I plan to settle down there.
A ghost …-One in particular terribly worried me. She (it) leaves in all directions. How much had you, Miss, in the high school diploma of theater?
I organized a repetition (rehearsal) of theater. We shall play Roméo and Juliette. The room(part,play) makes the unanimity in the small group in which I belong.
THE INDIKON S NIGHT
A girl is lying on the floor. A woman with a blue scarf and a woman with a green scarf arrive who approach her. They offer the girl their hand. The three women look then towards the doctor and roar.
P – He surely wants to murder us
WOMAN WITH THE BLUE SCARF – They want to murder us
WOMAN WITH THE GREEN SCARF – They want to murder us.
HEAD NURSE- Stopping place there!
M – Sir,
A plot against The head nurse stirred up this morning. We call it Orange, because she has tanned skin. Can be the smallpox, or the wickedness.
Orange gave us our medicine for the day , and to my signal, all the grandmothers of the first floor hid them between two rows of breads on the basket of Violette… ”
P – I have not spoken to you about Violette yet? A smile comes out on its lips. he suffers pain of Orange. All day long, while you live the evolutions of the eccentricities of your patients, she rebuffs her. It would be necessary to occupy to you of Violette for not not that she finishes in this hospital.
P – Mom?
Mother – She cries.
M – Sir,
The red always flushes my cheeks when I see you. Blue and green as I nicknamed them call me the Purple girl. I finally have the right for the visits. My mother came to see me. I did not want to see her, and you deducted that I curled up in the darkness of the solitude but I swear to you that there is some light in the eyes of Blue, Green and mine when I speak to them about you. I time from now on your conversations with my old little reliable watch to determine if you have a pet amongst us.
INTERNED – given your mixed state (fanatic and depressive) it is strange that you have such developed artistic conventions!
” Sir, I noticed lice in the hair in bush of your internal, and the smell of the aftershave of the apple when he turned back. I believe that I am in love with your internal, … All my evenings have an apple taste and I see lice on my bedside table. This morning, he asked me with a haughty air why I was always ready and on the whom lives when he took to take me in his office while when he crossed me the day before inadvertently, I was lying about (dawdled) in old pajamas lined without any make-up. I believe that your internal is an innocent ”
Black. Lights like those in night-clubs.
The girl trains the voice with several intonations in front of a mirror.
P – In, aa, o, oo…
BLUE – Do you make that?
PURPLE – Say to Me. What matters most to you?
BLUE – Life.
PURPLE – You were a doctor before, right? Why are you here?
BLUE – The scourge of the age. A pension which leaves me only. Swimming in the silence of the children which I was not able to have.
GREEN – The theater…
BLUE – Where from an alcoholic prostitute does one know the theater?
GREEN – Of my practices. There was a young man…
PURPLE – That you would like to write a play?
BLUE – It is a requiring work.
PURPLE – But it is not the time which would miss us
GREEN – The girl is right .
BLUE – I do not know…
The young Turkish chap enters follow-up of the grey old man. They keep the nurse Violette on a leash.
THE YOUNG TURKISH – I am one of you. Everything comes out here.
THE GREY OLD MAN – And I too.
VIOLET – And my experience is yours.
M – And my silence is yours. ‘
Dr – The art-therapy is a method of care which consists in creating the conditions favorable to the overtaking of the personal difficulties by means of a stimulation of the creative capacities. She allows on no account to make a diagnosis and her practice is possible only on medical indication within the framework of a global care of the person.
It does not either claim to treat a pathology but allows to help to mobilize the positive strengths in an outstanding person. It authorizes no interpretation and respects first of all the freedom of expression of the subject.
She can substitute himself not at all for a chemotherapeutic treatment or psychothérapeutic but she is conceived to get a shape of relief of the internal tensions, the particularly positive effect in case of personal difficulties
The art-therapy can be exercised only by a trained person and dipômé in art-therapy. The notions of transfer and of against transfer imply a knowledge and an awareness of the modalities of this type of therapeutic care. ”
New mail read:
To: Gautier Delavest
We named our troop The indigo in reference to a piece of short story of the Bengali film-maker Satyajit Ray.
Me, Green, blue, Violette, Grey, Turkish 5 to want to play the comedy. We plan to escape from this hospital by becoming famous and by playing outside. Because the authorization of exit which we shall free us, we shall forge it in definitive authorization, but we need the pearl of east, your signature. We planned to make me escape tomorrow at lunch time to phone to a friend journalist from Blue. We plan to play the play which we wrote in workshop of free expression the I last one, the small merry-go-round of the crazy.
JULIA NAKACHE – That you outside the hospital Miss made me angry! Shall I warn your poor parents of your small escapades of noon? As if that was not enough for them to have a stamped girl! Dr arrives. Hey there Sir doctor! Imagine that this girl…
P – Sir,
The street was deserted. No bird looked out on electric cords. The wind annihilated the road in corpulent gusts. A yellow and cold sun dwelt on my shoulders; some trotting farther, I had arrived at the small supermarket held by an Indian. Discussed with him, of everything, nothing. His smile was well worth your ire. In my head, the prince plays the piano. He showed me the sword that queen Elizabeth offered to her grandfather. I would like that he offers it to me so that I cut in pieces the prejudices which hold us outside the society. My father as white as a sheet came to see me. He complicated things in hands. ”
FATHER – What am I going to make of you can say it to me?
P- I want to be a director
FATHER – Forget it!
P – ”
” The indigo is often considered the ” seventh color ” of the rainbow.
In practice, the indigo is difficult to distinguish by the human eye from other tones of blue and purple.
Its name results from Greek Indikon and means ” of India “, hinting at the country where the Europeans discovered this plant “.
I landed in India on the day of my 15 years in an indigo twilight.
While the night fell, I remind myself of this chap the engraved face, which chewed popcorn at hours’ length while the plane rocked in air pockets.
The fear of planes. Comes from the foul smell of but blown mixed with that of the anxiety.
My favorite color is the dark indigo since.
It is the color of your eyes, Mister Doctor. ”
To: gautier delavest
I organized a repetition(rehearsal) of theater. We shall play the prince s story. The room (part,play) makes the unanimity in the small group in which I am.