The lovely Lola and the scourge of the heart

 “Isn’t it beautiful Pierre! Who would’ve thought the white of chalky cliffs, the blue of the sea and the orange of the sunset would birth such a beautiful watercolour? It’s just … wow!”

"Feeling poetic today, aren't we Lola?" Pierre spoke while glancing at Lola's hazel eyes. The orange of the sunset made them glitter like a dazzling star in a dark night sky, and Pierre could not help but become lost in them.

"Stop, Pierre. Do you see the same sunset that I do? Well, I hope you are, since I doubt there is anything as lovely as this sunset right now."

"Well, I can think of a few things, Lola."

“Well, then, why don’t you do me the pleasure of telling me what is more beautiful than this sunset”

"All right, then."

Pierre was once again caught in Lola's gaze, and his mouth was unable to deliver the quippy response that his mind had prepared.  Lola's hazel eyes, tan complexion, sultry lips, and even the blemish on her nose had won Pierre's heart that evening. And, like a low valley during the monsoon season, Pierre was swamped with feelings he couldn’t describe. Pierre didn't really understand how he was feeling, but he knew what he wanted to tell Lola that evening. Only the lack of adequate courage prevented him from speaking up.

“Hey, you! Mr “I know a few things”, don’t leave me waiting,”

Pierre was pulled out of his internal struggle by Lola's comments.

 “I must tell her now or else…”

With all of his strength, Pierre seized Lola's hands, gazed at the setting sun before focusing on her nullifying eyes and said, "Lola, I lo..."

**************

“Monsieur! Monsieur! Monsieur Pierre! Please wake up, it is time for your morning meal”

Pierre was dragged from the depths of his dream and returned to reality, much like a humpback emerging to the surface. However, unlike the humpback, who delights in the fragrance of the surface air and the warmth of the sun's rays, Pierre had no cause for celebration. He was taken back to his isolation unit, where he had spent the previous nine months getting treatment. 

His carer questioned, "Monsieur Pierre, is everything alright?" 

Pierre took in his bleak chamber. Its walls were devoid of any true inspiration, and their very nature made it clear that they were genuinely man's creations because God and not even Satan could come up with such lifeless creations. 

Pierre sighed and turned to face his attendant, who was donning a hazmat suit. 

“Oui, all is well Mademoiselle”

"All right, Monsieur Pierre. I'll bring you breakfast in a little while, and you'll take your pain medication afterwards."

Pierre felt a sudden bitterness overtake his soul, and he wanted to cry out to the nurse for robbing him of his dream. He looked around at the barren walls once more and felt agony, a pain that not even his terrible illness could produce. When he glanced at the nurse, all he saw was hypocrisy; if she truly cared about Pierre's life, then why was she covered in such a ridiculous outfit? Pierre wanted to shout at the top of his lungs because he was so full of conflict.

However, his mind comforted him, telling him that the young mademoiselle was only carrying out her duties and that they were being performed admirably. The nurse who has been caring for Pierre ever since he entered the quarantine unit has also been the only person with whom he has had communication for the previous nine months.

"Monsieur Pierre, I'm worried about you today. You appear more agitated than normal. Are you certain everything is alright?

“Mademoiselle, do you think in the condition I am in that I was ever ok? This illness, Mademoiselle … has taken everything from me, like you’d ever understand”

With a saddened look from his caretaker, Pierre realised that the nurse was not to blame and that she could even be the only one attempting to break him free from his purgatorial prison.

“I’m sorry Mademoiselle, I didn’t me…”

“It’s ok, Monsieur Pierre. This epidemic brings out the worst of ourselves. It is ok to feel the way you do.”

Thick silence covered the room and The only sound in the room was the nurse's laboured breathing

 "Mademoiselle, do you have any visitors for me today?”

“Sorry, Non, but there aren't any visitors for you.”

Pierre sensed the caregiver's sympathy in her words. 

"You should go fetch my breakfast. It's okay. The morning light is fading."

“Oui Monsieur, you’re right. Let me leave you to it.”

**************

The outbreak began as an odd joke. Word circulated about an uncurable malady from the Congo and the tabloids published pictures of sick men from the faraway lands of Tanzania, Uganda and Ruanda-Urundi.

"Pierre, do you believe that our own cities will eventually be scourged by this illness?"

“Lola, don’t be rash! Such ailments could never touch our lands. There's a reason why this kind of illness has only spread among those backward niggers who can't tell a toilet from a regular bush."

“Pierre! How rude of you! The national health organisation says that our healthcare system is too overburdened to handle a sudden wave of illness.”

"I apologise, Lola, but why are you bringing up these issues over our lunch? Since none of us is an expert in healthcare, I believe it is best to leave such matters to the tabloids and in the gossip and murmurs of doctors and epidemiologists. Do you not think the brioche is good enough?”

“No! No! You're correct, the pastries are delectable and what good would the talk of two "Joe moyen" do to prevent the illness?"

Lola and Pierre continued to dine without a second thought about the illness that was far far away from them and their blossoming love.

Very soon things changed. The first cases of the disease were spotted in a small port city in the south of the country. Pierre tried to calm Lola down by telling her that they were all the way in the north and that they lived in the biggest city in the country, home to the greatest medical professionals, hospitals, and—though he hated to admit it—government leaders.

Pierre was mistaken once more; only a few days had passed after the first national case had been reported in the little port city before the first cases were reported in his hometown. 

The restlessness of the city acted as a perfect breeding ground for the disease and the number of cases skyrocketed as the number of corpses piled up.

Plans for a lockdown on the entire city as well as other stringent preventive measures were soon revealed by the city council. Pierre believed that neither the lockdown nor the outbreak mattered. He was in love, and he didn't want to spend a single breath on being apart from Lola.

However, the illness continued to rage. 100 fatalities per month quickly became 100 deaths per week, then 100 deaths every day. The outbreak was unstoppable, and even the outstanding government Pierre had earlier boasted about could not contain the sickness, which he proudly maintained could only afflict the crude niggers of Tanzania, Uganda, and Ruanda-Urundi.

Hysteria soon spread like a forest fire. Conspiracies and tales concerning the illness's cause proliferate through the airways like the foul stench of a fart,

“I’ve been told that this is a curse from the shaman of the Congo”

"My military insiders informed me that the illness is a biological weapon in reality. Really, I'm not shocked; those war-torn nations only bring plight to our world”

"I've heard that the sickness is a curse on our country due to our government's meddling in those foreign lands”

Even the places of worship were devoured by the plague of rumours and conspiracies. Just this Sunday, Father Tarrou. SJ (Society of Jesus) urged the children of immigrants and refugees from distant lands to turn from the pagan practices and outdated beliefs of their ancestors. He explained that this illness is God's retribution against their great nation for having harboured their people.

All this seemed like cause for no concern for Pierre who was so drunk on Lola’s love that all he could do under such dangerous circumstances was think about her He repeatedly violated the health restrictions imposed by the city council to visit Lola and on multiple occasions, he was caught and fined by the police force. Even when the city’s Metrorail was closed down, Pierre still walked to go see Lola. Nothing seemed to deter Pierre's conviction.

Lola was first thrilled by Pierre's stunts since they seemed like a genuine expression of his love for her, but as the pandemic worsened, Lola grew less and less amused by Pierre's antics. The bouquet of flowers that she once cherished, the bouquet of flowers that reminded her of normalcy in this time of distress were soon tossed in the trash out of fear of acquiring the contagion. As the sickness tore through their community, Lola's love started to fade while Pierre's love intensified.

Pierre's love-driven antics and the city-wide lockdown lasted for two months, after which he began to feel ill. Lola had asked Pierre to speak with her only over the telephone since she was tired of his efforts. Pierre decided to go inform Lola—the only person he could confide in and find peace—when his symptoms worsened. Pierre quickly navigated his neighbourhood's previously lively streets to locate the nearest phone booth so he could call Lola. To pay for the machine, he painstakingly searched through his wallet for a one franc coin and dialled Lola's number (a number he knew by heart).

“Hello? Lola, are you there?”

“Hello! Who is this?”, a deep masculine voice pierced Pierre’s ear. Pierre knew that must be Lola’s père.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Rieux. How are you doing today?”

“Time is a limited resource in these trying times, my boy. What do you want?”

“Could you please pass the phone to Lola?”

“Sure but make sure to keep it short”

“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Rieux”

"Hello?" Lola's voice rang in Pierre's ears. It carried with it a strange warmth that worked like a panacea for Pierre's sickness.

“Hello, Lola. "This is Pierre.”

“Oh hi, Pierre. Sorry about my father. Is all well with you?”

Lola's question reminded Pierre of why he had phoned Lola. “On that matter actually, Lola, my dear, I’ve been feeling unwell lately. I cannot discern why …”

“YOU CANNOT DISCERN WHY”, Lola screamed over the phone. “Pierre, all you have done in the past two months is make yourself a target for this dastardly disease. Can you not see what might have made you ill?”

"Please, Lola! It was for us; all I did was for us. I was not going to let an accident ruin what we had.

“Yes, Pierre. I understand what drives your actions but there is palpable malice in the air right now. What you were doing was reckless.”

"But, Lola, listen to me. What should I do when my heart longs for the warmth of your body? When the beauty of your voice is all that can calm my restless mind? When my lungs are filled with the aroma of your perfume?"

"Pierre, please. Now is not the time for your poetry."

"It's not poetry, my love; it's how I feel. "How should I live my life when my reason for living is so far away?"

"Pierre, you have to understand that these are dreadful times. Our graves are overflowing with corpses, and our hospitals are at capacity. All we can do is wait. What is the point of love if the person you love is no longer with you?"

"Lola, what is the point of life without love?" the phone call cut off, leaving Pierre in silence. "Lola... Lola?" Pierre screamed, "Please talk to me!" with a trembling voice and teary eyes. Pierre searched diligently for another one-franc coin to recharge his phone but to no avail. That was the last time he spoke to Lola.

Pierre tried everything he could to contact Lola, but the constraints tightened, Lola became distant, and his health deteriorated. He surrendered to his condition and went to the nearest hospital, where he tested positive for the epidemic and was promptly admitted to the quarantine unit. Pierre was initially unconcerned with the news, but he quickly got inebriated by the thought that Lola would undoubtedly visit him after learning of his illness. Pierre wrote to Lola, expecting she would come to see him, but after weeks of waiting, she never arrived, and Pierre’s flames of hope were soon extinguished.

**************

Pierre spent the following months in his lifeless ward waiting for Lola to come see him but to his dismay, she never came. But that didn’t stop Pierre from dreaming about her. Pierre’s symptoms worsened, and the swelling in his lymph nodes became so severe that the discomfort caused his entire body to quake.

His dedicated nurse would do all in her ability to alleviate the pain but no real fruits were born. 

Pierre's mental state deteriorated over time. The overly artificial walls that surrounded him would make it difficult for him to distinguish between what was real and what was in his head. He quickly began to find relief in his thoughts of spending time with his gorgeous Lola, but with each dream, he developed an even worse illness: an ailment of the heart.

Pierre's mind became increasingly restless and his heart empty, leaving only an oasis of good memories with Lola. While his nurse administered medications to ease the pain of his enlarged lymph nodes, none of her treatments could heal his barren heart.

**************

"Mademoiselle, do you have any visitors for me today?”

“Sorry, Non, but there aren't any visitors for you.”

Pierre sensed the caregiver's sympathy in her words. 

"You should go fetch my breakfast. It's okay. The morning light is fading."

“Oui Monsieur, you’re right. Let me leave you to it.”

**************

"9 months and she still hasn't come to see me," Pierre reminded himself.

"9 months and all I have lived for are these cursed walls and the pity of the nurse."

“What have I done to deserve this? Am I in the wrong for having a heart? For having dreams and desires? This disease has exposed me to man's true nature; love is not what drives this world, but fear. I have laboured and exhausted every inch of my being to experience the love I wholeheartedly deserve but this sick world world will never let me have it."

"LOLA! WHY? "WHY LOLA?" Pierre's ululations rang across his ward. These were the ululations of man who suffers from the illness of the soul, the illness that targets hopes and dreams and replaces them with fear and madness.

Pierre had had enough; he couldn't keep living in this desolate state.

"CRASH!"

Pierre smashed the porcelain bowl he ate his supper with the previous night, tears streaming down his cheeks as if they were river water. At this time, Pierre found death less burdensome and considered it as his only option.

Pierre had lost faith in God a long time ago, and without prayer or hesitation, he cut his neck with a piece of the bowl and collapsed. There was no sound in the room, only a profound quiet that Pierre hoped he could have in his restless mind.

His nurse entered Pierre's room and discovered that the man she had been caring for for so long had died. The nurse neither mourned nor rejoiced at this unusual sight. She had become accustomed to it; it was just part of the job. She exited the room to notify her superiors that there was a quarantine room available for a new patient.