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9/Failure or illusion
🕑 Added 2023-06-03 05:15:30 +0000 UTC"Our justice is a reflection of society. It is not always fair; it is a perverted equity, as can be the human soul. John Grisha.
Kevin, of course, was torn from them, and his mother, unhappy with this unjust decision, decided to embark on a legal battle to regain her child. Immediately, she hired a lawyer within her meagre means, and therefore she could only afford a lawyer with a very low reputation, barely higher than a public defender. She certainly could not afford more, as Kevin's medical expenses had already cost her and her modest job as a schoolteacher. As well as her husband, who with his two jobs, was trying to make up for this.
The legal proceedings being launched, of course, attracted public attention, drawing sympathetic looks from a mother who had been deprived of her son, but also mostly from hateful people. They saw in this attempt only a selfish and unwelcome act, endangering the miraculous child. The press already doing everything to discredit them, for a change.
Legal proceedings in France are rather long due to a congestion of the system itself due to manifest incompetence. As if it should prove to be long and grueling to judge cases like a young girl barely in her teens being killed on her way home from school by a deviant. As if a mass murderer or terrorist still had the right to fair and just justice.
Just recently, a young girl named Léa was raped and killed by a 50-year-old man who was interned and not imprisoned. He was diagnosed with so-called mental disorders, which allowed him to avoid prison quietly. To live in a brand-new psychiatric hospital funded by the victim's parents through their taxes. I'm sure the parents were very happy to learn that the man who raped and killed their daughter was housed and fed for free at their expense.
After all, this is the rule of law where monsters and the corrupt can get away with it. While the father who had lost his daughter will have to keep working and contributing to feed a rapist and a murderer. That year, in that psychiatric hospital, they were able to enjoy a beautiful Christmas turkey. Whereas for the parents at Christmas, all that was left was a scar named Léa, which would never go away, engraved in their already bruised flesh.
Justice must be rendered to men, not to monsters who have taken on their appearance.
It took 9 months between the filing of the complaint and the judgment, during which Kevin's family could have no contact with him. As if they were monsters who had abused their child when this was not the case. On the day of the hearing, before entering the building, she was besieged by many journalists.
"Madam, a word, please?"
"No!"
"Madam, finally, what prevents you from speaking to us and what about press freedom?"
She then turned towards the journalist in question, her gaze filled with bitterness ready to tear out his vile tongue that allowed him to speak.
Why should I speak to rats like you! And to think that I contribute to people like you who spit in my face! You've made us out to be selfish and irresponsible people! What's next, are you going to make me out to be a racist, a garbage, a violent woman in your next article!
The intimidated journalist took a step back, stammering in his reply:
"Ah... but no, madam..."
"Ah, ah you have to, otherwise your shitty article will never come out! Are you going to put that I'm a good woman on it?"
"N...Not necessarily but..."
"Ah, you see, you've got the basics already! I have nothing more to say to you!" She declared, walking away.
She entered the courthouse with a knot in her stomach, fearing to lose despite the fact that technically the law was on her side. But she was attacking the State, the French government itself, which had taken her child on the grounds that it wanted to protect him. Because he was almost considered a national treasure, and treasures often bring in a lot. That's why everything is done to keep one's share of the cake.
Finally, everyone entered the courtroom, the plaintiffs and the defendants meeting in the room to take their place. The state's lawyer was dressed in a beautiful chic suit with a confident smile. This man was named Mr. Dupont, a renowned lawyer who had never lost a single case in his career.
Of course, his compensation matched his reputation, he charged about 100,000 euros a day. But that was not a problem, it was the state that paid for this renowned lawyer to face an unknown lawyer. That Kevin's mother had barely managed to afford with her meagre financial means.
Dupont was a man who had defended numerous politicians in corruption cases, and even sexual assaults. Plus, as if that wasn't enough, he was the one who defended this 50-year-old man who had killed little Léa. Proud that his so-called sick client could be treated properly. Some gave him the nickname of one who plays foosball with criminals.
The hearing began when the judge took his seat in the amphitheatre with a serious look, then the lawyers presented their facts and evidence they had gathered. Engaging in many verbal jousts full of eloquence, the arguments and counterarguments firing from both sides. Of course, there were also family testimonies.
The lawyer demonstrating the fact that it was in part because of the media and many political, religious and other personalities that their daily life had become hellish. That through their influence, they had created a toxic environment of hatred against them, which could, in the eyes of the law, be considered as harassment. However, despite all the arguments in their favour, the judge seemed stoic as if all their good faith arguments did not interest him.
The lawyer cited, for example, a fact of laxity and suspicious against the state if it wanted to protect the child, why had it waited for something to happen to act. He could have set up security to protect him while keeping him near his family from the first event. And to silence the media who were fuelling the anger against this poor family who had asked for nothing. Yet, this had not been the case, which raised some questions.
The session dragged on for many endless and gruelling hours, where the opposing lawyer, and even the judge, allowed themselves invectives against her. The judge clearly seemed to take sides throughout the session. In the end, the lawyers began their well-prepared plea.
And finally, she lost the lawsuit, the judge ruling in favour of the state, my mother could not even appeal for lack of means. The justice that was supposed to be rendered to her was taken from her, just like her son.
In the press, there was a headline: The selfish and angry woman has lost again.
There is no justice or freedom possible when money is always king. Albert Camus
Pov Marie
While Kevin had been taken away from us once again, my mother was now locked in her room, lying in her bed. It had been over a month since she had been cooped up there, no longer going to work, eating very little, completely neglecting the household. All of this was more than understandable, people had been harassing her while all she wanted was to defend and care for her son. And in the end, despite all her efforts, she, who was such a good mother, had still had her son taken away.
When I entered her room, my heart ached as if it had been briefly pierced. I could see her staring at the ceiling or the walls, it was as if she was piercing them with her gaze, a gaze that was horribly empty. Added to this, she had large dark circles on her cheeks, her beautiful cheeks being traced by furrows. These furrows had been carved by all the tears she had shed.
Showing that she had probably never stopped crying, leaving on her usually bright face. In addition, she had also already lost a few pounds, making her look even more miserable. All of this I understood all too well, it was a feeling of loss and above all, it was a mother's suffering.
If nothing surpasses the joys of maternal love, nothing also surpasses its pains. Jean-Benjamin de Laborde (1791)
Unable to let my mother wither away, I decided to bring her meals, meals that I prepared myself. To do this, I followed the instructions in the cookbooks, all arranged on a well-filled white shelf. These were books that my uncle had regularly sent to my mother when she was studying.
This is how she had learned to cook like a chef, as she had told us. But today it was me these books were teaching, hoping they would also make me a chef. I followed each step to the letter, not missing a thing, leaving the kitchen in a mess, after all, I was still young. And when I brought her the meals, she would smile at me, making me smile with pride.
Before she would take a few bites, which she seemed to enjoy. And she would always thank me, leaving nothing on the plate each time. At the same time, how could she refuse what her daughter prepared for her with love?
The food problem being solved, time just needed to heal her wound. The only problem was the kitchen that I always left a mess, but when my father came home, he would smile at me and always clean up after me. This had started from the first day, not scolding me at all, before taking a shower and going to the marital bed.
I don't really know what my father was thinking, was he angry, sad, happy, how was he handling this situation with his son being taken away from him again? In fact, what did he think of him, the man I called father? From my point of view, he was a distant and very understated man, quite mysterious even to me, his own daughter. But he could be very close and loving, this was more present for me and Yan than with Kevin.
I don't know why with him he seemed much more distant, much colder and I never understood why. Did he love Kevin less? Certainly not. Were the trials we were going through too hard? Maybe. Was that a reason to act that way? Certainly not. No matter the trials, a man, a father, must fulfill his role and not give the impression that he will vanish at any moment.
He had so entrenched himself in work that we hardly ever saw him, as if work was his family. While we needed him at every important moment to be there to help us. That our woes should also be his woes yet they seemed to slide off him like water off an umbrella in a rainstorm.
I don't know how mom could have chosen him, what was so special about him and has he always been like this? These were questions that burned my lips, one day I will probably get the answer. But for the moment, despite some rare moments when he was present and happy times, he looked more like a scarecrow than a father.
A good father endures all evil for the good of his family.
My mother bedridden and my father the wandering ghost, sometimes present, sometimes absent, 3 months had passed, as I brought my mother her meal. She waited for me as usual, when she ate I invited myself with her to keep her company. This was good for her as well as for me, giving us the opportunity to talk about my days. The furrows on her cheeks were less pronounced than at the beginning, she was recovering at her own pace. She was always apologizing for being bedridden.
"Marie, I'm sorry you have to see me in this state."
"Mom, take your time, rest as much as you want."
That's what I told her every time, I couldn't blame her and I never will. The role of a child is also to comfort their parents when they need it. So until she gets better, as her daughter, I will take her place.
Educated, cherished, and loved children will understand the importance of the word parent and will return without counting the love that has been given to them.
I now took care of the household chores, from laundry to keeping the house clean. Of course, I took care of my younger brother, dressing him and walking him to school, luckily it was close to mine. So this routine set in for 6 months. Over time, I now cleaned up myself after cooking, with my father only taking me to do the shopping. I was like a little madwoman, telling him what to buy so I could try new recipes and meals, the cart filling up quickly.
He always agreed without a fuss, with a little smile. He seemed happy to even spend time with me. His routine changed slightly, now before joining my mother, he came to taste the dishes I had prepared. Usually he ate at work before coming home but that had changed, I don't know why.
He would then often compliment me with a full mouth and stomach, his cheeks as puffed up as a squirrel and my little brother likewise. Always demanding more food with his fork in the air and crumbs at the corner of his cheeks. At first he was a bit disoriented by the fact that mom was less present, but he got used to it and our relationship developed.
We spent our free time watching TV and playing together. We often did this in our mother's room, who also kindly helped us with our homework. And I could see that as time went by, she was getting better thanks to us showing her our presence and our love.
As time passed, adding another 3 months, during which I started to help my father clean up after my time in the kitchen. My mother slowly began to get out of bed to join us for meals. In the end, it had been over a year since we last saw Kevin, it weighed on us, but there was nothing more we could do.
"I hope you're doing well." (Marie)
While this thought was being voiced, in a frightening darkness, a young boy was crying, screaming. His piercing scream was able to tear the air, his mind about to break.
"Ahhh, please make it stop!" (Kevin)
