Chose promise, chose due : voici une nouvelle histoire du balcon : “La table en fer”.
Il s’agit d’un petit conte moderne, qui figure parmi d’autres “histoires du balcon”, dont certaines ont déjà été partagées sur ce blog :
Elles s’inspirent très fortement des contes d’Andersen, dans lesquels les objets vivent, parlent et ont leurs émotions. L’idée générale est qu’il se passe beaucoup de choses, invisibles à nos yeux d’humains, dans les chambres, les cuisines et notamment les frigos, ou encore sur les balcons.
En d’autres termes, il s’agit d’offrir un peu de fantaisie (mais qui sait ?) à nos univers en apparence inanimés.
Trêve d’introduction et d’explications, place au texte… en vous souhaitant une agréable lecture.
The iron table
Let’s figure ourselves a table.
Les Hommes l’appelaient, par habitude, la « table de jardin », mais elle était en fait sur le balcon.
A dire la vérité, ce n’est pas une vie très amusante, car les autres – les tables de l’intérieur – se moquent ouvertement, les meubles de jardin étant condamnés à vivre dehors. On raconte même tout bas que certains de ces meubles disparaissent une partie de l’année, repliés sur eux-mêmes au fond de débarras… Horrible perspective !
But our table didn’t really listen to them, and rather used to turn its full attention towards the winds, sometimes chilly, sometimes warm. It felt so nice to experience the hot rays from the sun, which would heat up the dark plate of the table, as well as its core, down to the legs.
Its life was pulsed by the weather rhythm, from day to day. Our table liked the breakfast time, lunch breaks, tea time, late dinners with the stars shining in the sky and reflecting upon its surface.
To be fair, this table did a pretty good job on its own.
But there came a time, unfortunately, when the housekeeper, who was herself quite sensible to temperatures, declared that « this table was either too cold or too hot » and that « it is was meant to be kept in this very house, then it would have to be covered by a proper cloth ».
In spite of the man’s protests, a table cloth appeared indeed.
Initially, everything went rather fine, as the table thought it’d be nice to have a companion to chat with : they might very well talk about the weather, about the sun or the moon…
But it seemed that they were made out of different materials : the fabric seemed insensible to the temperature variations and not to appreciate neither the winds, which would shake it too much to its convenience, nor even when Humans would meet up for a meal (the table learned that this cloth couldn't stand scraps !…)
The cloth’s cautious manners and behavior let our table quite disappointed, as it wouldn’t even bother to answer any question nor entertain any kind of conversation…
Our table, already blinded by this annoying presence, couldn’t even feel anything left, covered as it was…It would therefore get lost in its thoughts, focused on its feet only, which were still exposed to the outdoors, while everything else seemed distant, sad and indifferent.
Hopefully, from time to time, its good friend the wind would blow with such force that the cloth would almost fly away, exposing the metallic plate, which could have a good breath at last and feel the sun light again… But it wouldn’t last more than a couple of hours, or maybe a day…
In a word, our table felt prostrated, withering and almost dying off.
It was tempted, at times, to let itself decay and rust, so that the Humans would get rid of itself, once and for all… But it couldn’t allow itself to get that low : considering their stinginess, who knows how much time the table would have to wait ? How much rheumatism would the table have to endure, before getting freed and thrown to junk ?
Depressed and covered by this gloomy fabric, which blocked the view and didn’t want to share anything at all, our table could only wait for the end of the day to come, and then for the end of the night, and so on. Even the sounds around appeared muffled… All in all, our table suffered terribly, feeling all alone and abandoned.
But one day, the table felt a strange sensation in a leg, a tingling kind of a sensation actually… Still somewhat numb, it turned its attention to this area and discovered a little ant, rambling up and down.
- Good day, Ant, how do you do ?
- How do you do, Table ? Well, I’m exploring.
- Please do on and feel at home.
- Really ? how nice ! If you knew how such a welcome is rare, these days… Usually, we’re rather rejected, chased after, so to say, and even reported to humans !
- I certainly wouldn't do that ! Furthermore, alone as I am, any kind of company would be nice…
- Truly ? Listen, what would you say if I gave word to the family ? It occurred to me that there were quite a few scraps on the plate over there, and all around you as well…
Indeed, there are quite a few tatters and quite often moreover ! But please be careful with the Humans !
The table thought quickly and feared that once the ant family was there, the Humans would hunt them, move them and that their potential relations would be put to an end…
- I've got an idea, I believe, said the table to the little ant. What about going through my own legs : they are hollow, and it should be easy to climb them up and even hide inside…
- That would be splendid, said the ant. I'm going right now to bring them all in this wonderful company…
And that is how the table came to know its new companions, which it knew one by one, and how it found a meaning of life anew.
Changing its view of the world - surface cold but warm at heart - it had passed from an external perspective to a new and intense inner life.
Nicolas Poignon, Fourmillement, 2008
https://www.galeriedocuments15.com/artists/69-nicolas-poignon/works/10887/
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Did you like this short story ?
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