Reflections on a troubled summer and a family reunion to which the virus invited itself. (Translated from the French.)

1. Source: talkingjewellery.com
CORONA, YOU’RE DEAD!!
LE TOURBILLON DE LA VIE
No matterwhat namewegiveyou– newcoronavirus or SARS-
CoV-2– you area virus. A dead thing,onlyanimated bythe
human body. Butyou can belethal.
NOT EVEN ALIVE BUT
POTENTIALLY FATAL
The virus is here, with the spikes of its crown penetrating human cells
to begin their cycle of infection. Although its days are numbered when
it lands in a droplet on a smooth surface. A protein molecule covered
with a layer of lipids. Something not even alive that sows death.
And which caused Malou’s. A "political victim" who passed away
because of the Lockdown. Isolated. On a hot summer morning, we
accompanied her to her final resting place, the family vault. All masked.
Except Pierre, the doctor. (Later he will say that the mask hindered him
from singing hymns. His closest choirmate was nevertheless three
chairs away from him.)

2. MASKS AT HALF-MAST
We dropped our masks to share a drink together, to tell stories about
Malou, whom we had just buried – to meet again, sometimes after
years, just for a while. Cousins, children, grandchildren, uncles and
aunts, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, lifelong friends. Face to face,
between the straw wine and the filet mignon. We lived a precious
moment. A "non-COVID" moment. A moment of reunion. A moment
of confidence.
Was the virus carried between the walls of heavy stones by any of us?
To the bosom of the house hidden by the palm trees? We’ll find out.
But maybe if there was a virus circulating among us, it is still there. It
drags its poor molecules around in the shady garden, on the waxed
parquet floor, in the uneven pebbled alleys, in the abbey church with
its dizzying vaults under which we were gathered. Gathered and
masked around Malou, whom he defeated.
Sylvie Castagné
August 2020
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