Shadows of Liberation

Part I : Humiliation

1. Introducing the characters

Here we have André, a man as gentle as a lamb, with a heart as big as that, but weak, so weak he'd make a deaf-mute pity him. He looks worn out, poor guy, like an old shoe you've worn too much and didn't dare throw away. He's good, André, as good as bread, but what does he use his goodness for? To get trampled on by his wife, that's all.

And then there's Céline. Céline's a funny lady. Beautiful, yes, she is, but cold as an iceberg and twice as dangerous. Her eyes sparkle, but there's no warmth in them, just an icy glint. She talks well, she stands up straight, she puts on a brave face, but inside, it's like a Russian winter.

They live together, but it's not a life, it's a comedy, a tragedy where the buffoon is always André. He suffers, he wears out, he humiliates himself, while Céline reigns over their little world with her icy smile.

2. First public humiliation

One night, they throw one of those parties, you know, where all the bigwigs show up to laugh, drink and pretend to have a good time. It's a real portrait gallery, with the rich, the snobbish, the pretentious. And then there's André, with his apron and tray, busily serving champagne to the tuxedo-clad hyenas.

And here's Céline making her entrance. She's beautiful, the bitch, with her sparkling dress, her shimmering pearls, and that smile... a smile that could freeze the sun. She approaches André, grabs a glass of champagne and toasts him. Everyone looks at them, waiting for a kind word, an affectionate gesture.

And that's when she does it, hitting him where it hurts. In her sweet voice, she says: "André, my dear, it's all very well to serve the guests, but don't forget your role... You're not a guest, you're the servant tonight". And she laughs, she laughs like it's the joke of the century, and everyone laughs with her. Everyone except André, who stands there with his tray and his humiliation, his face as red as a tomato.

This is the first humiliation, the first blow struck by Céline in this silent war. And André, poor fellow, takes it in stride, smiles and continues to serve. Because that's all he knows how to do, because he's weak, because he's André.

3. Presentation of the couple's daily life

It's a strange life they lead, these two. Every morning, it's the same circus. André gets up at the crack of dawn, wastes his eyes peeling potatoes and frying eggs, while Céline snores like a queen. Breakfast is always a disaster. The eggs are overcooked, the coffee not strong enough, the jam too sweet. Never a compliment, just reprimands.

During the day, it's no better. André puts on his apron and gets to work. He cleans, he irons, he prepares dinner. Meanwhile, Céline dresses like she's going to a ball, puts on her hat and gloves, and heads off to meet her friends for a game of cards, or to discuss the latest gossip.

Evenings are the worst. Receptions, dinners, guests strutting like peacocks. And André, always with his apron, always with his tray, serving canapés and champagne. And Céline, always making fun of him, humiliating him in front of everyone.

And at night, in their bed, no tenderness, no love. Just Céline laughing at him again, reminding him how incompetent he is, how pathetic. And André, who keeps quiet, takes it in, accepts it. This is their life, a comedy of pain, a tragedy of silence.

Part II: The Revolt

1. André's decision

One day, André, brave André, has had enough. Enough of the humiliation, the mockery, the dog's life. There he is, in the kitchen, in front of his worktop, thinking. He's thinking about his life, about Céline, about everything he's endured.

And then it hits him. An idea, a crazy idea, a terrible idea. He's seen it in a detective story, a guy poisoning his wife with slow-release poison, a poison that eats away at her from the inside, day after day, without her realizing it.

He looks at the bottle of wine, the meat, the vegetables. He imagines the poison mixing with all this, slipping into the food, into Céline's body. He imagines Céline weakening, wasting away, suffering. It's cruel, it's horrible, but it does him good. Good to imagine Céline suffering, as he has suffered.

So he's made up his mind. He's going to get rid of Céline, her icy smile, her mockery. He's going to regain his freedom, his dignity. He's going to be André, not the buffoon, not the servant, but the man. The man who took charge of his life, who said no to humiliation.

2. Acquiring the poison

André decides to embark on this macabre enterprise. For this, he needs poison, but not just any poison. You need something that kills slowly, that you can't see, that you can't smell. It's not easy to find, it's not like you can buy it at the corner store. But André is determined and ready for anything.

He finds a guy in a backyard, one of those guys who always has something to sell, always has a scheme. A shifty guy, with shifty eyes and trembling hands. He tells him about the poison, about what he wants. The guy looks at him for a moment, then nods. He takes out a small bottle, a clear liquid inside. He tells him how to use it, how much to put in. André listens, learns and remembers.

He returns home with his little bottle, his hope of freedom. He hides it, protects it. It's his secret, his weapon, his revenge. He's afraid, yes, but he's determined. He's going to fight, he's going to defend himself. For the first time in his life, André is no longer a victim, but a fighter.

3. The first signs of Céline's illness

Ah, André's Machiavellian plan! What a show, what a spectacle! Every day, he does his little sleight-of-hand, discreetly adding a drop of poison here, a pinch there. In the morning coffee, in the evening soup, in the unsuspecting glass of wine. All under the nose of Céline, who, poor thing, suspects nothing, continuing to spread her sarcasm like birds of ill omen.

The first symptoms are discreet, almost invisible. Céline complains of a heaviness in her head, a weakness in her legs. She eats less, laughs less. André, on the other hand, pretends to be sorry, to be worried. He says he'll pay more attention to the cooking, that he'll change suppliers. But deep down inside, a different song is playing. A symphony of revenge begins to take shape.

Then things get worse for Céline. She loses weight, her features deepen, her eyes grow dull. Her sarcastic laughter turns into raucous coughing, her mockery into incessant complaining. She spends her days bedridden, leaving social life and its biting commentary to fade into oblivion. It's as if a specter has taken the place of the queen of irony, leaving behind an empty, plaintive shell.

André, ever faithful to his post, takes on the role of devoted nurse with a zeal that would make the greatest actors pale with envy. He cares for Céline with an almost sickly tenderness, serves her meals with a perfunctory smile, consoles her in her moments of weakness. Yet every loving gesture he makes is an extension of his vengeful plan. With every cup of tea, every comforting dish, he seals Céline's fate a little more.

As he watches his wife's degradation, he catches himself with a feeling of triumph mixed with disgust. Yes, it's a dark, terrible thought he's cultivating there, in his heart. But it's also a liberation, a breath of fresh air in a life suffocated by humiliation. André is no longer the puppet, he has become the puppeteer. The role he has taken on gives him a sense of power, a strength he had never felt before. For the first time, he holds the reins of his own life. And despite the darkness that surrounds him, he feels strangely enlightened.

Part III: The Liberation

1. Céline's health deteriorates

Ah la belle Céline, what a sad face she makes now, eh? She's not the same, not at all. She's skinny, bone-tired, with dark circles that hollow out her eyes like two holes. She coughs, she spits, she squirms in bed like a worm on a hook.

André, on the other hand, looks on with an almost detached air. No remorse, no pity. No, rather a sense of justice, a kind of inner peace, as if after so many years of storms, he'd finally found some calm. He serves her, yes, he brings her herbal teas, broths, he helps her get up, to bed, like a good little servant. But every night, when she sleeps, when she moans in her sleep, he adds a few drops of his poison to the teapot, to the broth, to the bottle of wine.

It's a grim sight, watching Céline wither away like this, day after day. She doesn't go out anymore, she doesn't see anyone. Her friends, the hyenas in their tuxedos, are gone, of course. They have other distractions, other parties, other gossip. And André remains there, alone with Céline, alone with his revenge.

She doesn't laugh anymore, no. She no longer has the strength. All she does is suffer. And it's a silent, solitary suffering. Suffering that doesn't make a sound, that doesn't bother anyone. Except André, who sees it, feels it, savors it. And every day that passes, every day that Céline suffers, André feels a little freer, a little stronger. A little closer to liberation.

2. The end is nigh for Céline

Céline, ah, old Céline, once the queen of bitter jokes, the priestess of biting commentary, now a shadow of her former self. It's as if she's decomposing from within, as if her venom is turning against her, eating away at her strength, her beauty, her vitality. Her body, once so full of life, is now a field of ruins, a place of desolation.

André, for his part, continues his merry-go-round. Every day, he is at her side, the faithful servant, the devoted nurse. He plays his role to perfection, with a skill that would make the greatest actors green with envy. But behind this mask of compassion lies a dark, tortured soul, one that gloats over every drop of poison he pours into Céline's soup.

And Céline is sinking deeper and deeper into her illness. She no longer leaves her bed, hardly eats a thing. Her body, once so strong, so full of life, is now weak and fragile. Her mind, once so keen, so sharp, is now confused, lost. She looks like a ghost, a shadow of her former self.

And André is there, watching her, watching her wither away. And he knows, he knows he did it. He's the one who brought her to this state. This thought, far from disturbing him, fills him with a dark, almost unhealthy satisfaction. It's his victory, his revenge on life, on Céline.

The days pass, and Céline gets closer and closer to the end. There she lies on her bed, weak, fragile, dying. And André watches her, sees her fade, and waits. He waits with cruel patience, with unhealthy anticipation. He waits for the end, for deliverance.

And deep down, in some dark, tortured corner of his soul, he feels a perverse excitement, an unhealthy joy. It's the approach of the end, the prospect of freedom, that thrills him, that gives him the strength to carry on, day after day, drop after drop.

And in the midst of all this chaos, all this suffering, André feels strangely at peace. He's in control, he has power. He's about to free himself from Céline, from her sarcasm, from her hold. He's about to enter a new life, a life without Céline. And this thought, dark as it is, fills him with a perverse joy, an unhealthy anticipation. The end is near, and André is ready. Ready to say goodbye to Céline, ready to say hello to freedom.

3. The death of Céline

Céline, the great Céline, is gone. At last, it's over. Her body has surrendered, given up the fight. She lies there in bed, pale and motionless, like a porcelain doll. André is there, beside her. He looks at her, his eyes empty, his heart pounding.

All is quiet in the house. It's as if the whole world is holding its breath, as if time itself has decided to pause. The only thing that breaks the silence is the steady ticking of the old clock in the living room. It's as if each tick is a cruel reminder of the passage of time, the time that has passed, the time that will never return.

André, he's there, in the bedroom. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He's paralyzed, frozen in time. His gaze is fixed on Céline's lifeless body. His eyes are dry, tearless. There's no sadness in him, no pain. Only relief, satisfaction, liberation.

And then, slowly, very slowly, he stands up. He takes one last look at Céline's lifeless body, then leaves the room. He descends the stairs, enters the kitchen. He prepares a cup of coffee, as he always does. But this time, there's no poison in the coffee. There's no need for poison. Céline is gone.

He sits down at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand. He looks out of the window, into the garden. The sun is shining, the birds are singing. It's a beautiful day, a day of freedom. For the first time in a long time, he feels light, he feels free. Free of Céline, free of her sarcasm, free of her cruelty.

So he raises his coffee cup in a silent toast. A toast to Céline, to her death, to her liberation. A toast to him, to his victory, to his new life. It's over, Céline is gone. And he's free at last.

He takes a sip of his coffee. He's bitter, as was life with Céline. But now, that bitterness tastes like victory, like freedom. It's the bitterness of the end, the bitterness of liberation. It's the bitterness of the beginning of a new life, a life without Céline. And this thought, dark as it is, fills him with deep joy, pure satisfaction. The end is here, and André is ready. Ready to say goodbye to Céline, ready to say hello to freedom. It's over, Céline is gone. And he's free at last.