To Kouti

The old lady says of herself that she is “in the snow age”, that she has forgotten her formerly well-spoken French and that, besides, she no longer reads, which is a pity. But she watches television. With her face lit by the light of the screen, she stares intently at the set, feverishly waiting for the news. Each day, she talks with the anchorman, caresses the screen and takes more interest in his face and his attire than in the litany of events and catastrophes that he reels off indifferently.