The Heart by Kerangal Maylis de

The Heart by Kerangal Maylis de

Author:Kerangal, Maylis de [Kerangal, Maylis de]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780374713287
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


He’s a donor.

Sean is the one who makes this declaration, and Thomas Rémige jumps up from his chair, shaky and red-faced, his chest expanding with an influx of heat, as if his blood had sped up. He moves toward them, suddenly stops. Thank you. Marianne and Sean look down, the two of them rooted to the spot in the doorway of the office, speechless, their shoes soiling the floor with mud and black grass, barely able to comprehend what they have just done, just said—their son is a donor, they are giving him away, abandoning him, the thoughts and words echoing inside their eardrums. The telephone rings—it’s Révol. Thomas quickly tells him that it’s okay, three quickly spoken words in an encrypted language that Sean and Marianne do not understand, the acronyms and hurried speech intended to scramble meaning, and soon they leave Rémige’s office and are taken back to the interview room. Révol is there waiting for them. There are four of them in the room now, and the dialogue begins again immediately, with Marianne asking: What happens now?

* * *

It is 5:30 p.m. The window is open, as if the room had needed airing, a cool blankness replacing the stale, ruined dialogue that had filled the space before—the exhaled breaths, the spilled tears, the odor of sweat. Outside, a strip of lawn running perpendicular to the wall, an asphalt driveway, and, between the two, a hedge the height of a man. Thomas Rémige and Pierre Révol sit on the vermilion chairs while Marianne and Sean return to the apple-green couch, their anguish palpable—still their eyes are so wide open that their brows are creased, the area of white around the pupil enlarged, still their mouths are half open, ready to scream, their bodies tense with waiting, with fear. They are not cold, though, not yet.

We will make a comprehensive evaluation of the organs and we will transmit that evaluation to the doctor from the Biomedical Agency. Based on that information, he will be able to suggest one or several removals, after which we will organize the operation itself. Your son’s body will be returned to you tomorrow morning. As Révol speaks, he accompanies each phrase with a hand gesture, tracing in the air the steps of the next sequence. His words contain a great deal of information, even if they also suggest ellipses, things left unsaid, an opaque area that catalyzes their fear: the operation itself.

Suddenly Sean breaks his silence: What will be done to him exactly? He asks his question clearly, not in a strangled stammer, showing the courage of a soldier going over the top, exposing himself to machine-gun fire, while Marianne bites her coat sleeve. What will happen that night in the operating theater, the image they have of it—this carving up of Simon’s body, its dispersal—all of this horrifies them, but they want to know. Rémige takes a deep breath before answering: Incisions will be made in the body, the organs will be removed, the body will be closed up again.



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