He heard the news over the radio days ago. Since then, a series
of involuntary actions led him to a bunch of
padlocks on the barrier rails of the popular Pont des Arts bridge in Paris.
The barrier rails on both sides were filled with padlocks of different shapes,
colours and sizes that reflected the dawning sunlight. He stopped and stared at a particular one. The particular one
that set him in motion when he heard over the radio that the padlocks would be removed by government maintenance officers.
About
twenty five years ago, he and a young lady he was in love with played around
the narrow streets of Paris like toddlers in kindergarten. They
chased each other from street to street and drank from pub to pub. No one could
separate them. It was true love indeed. One day, they bought a padlock and
swore never to leave each other until they were married someday. They placed
the padlock on the fence and locked it. An inscription on it read “together
always.” The dream of marriage ended the day he went over to her house and found
out that her family had vanished.
Her parents were illegal immigrants from Africa, and they were suddenly deported. Since that day about twenty five years ago, his life which seemed to be blossoming beautifully, took a turn for the worst. His life lost meaning. He had no motivation to strive for the best from life anymore and was contented with daily handouts for meals from menial jobs. His hatred for life since the deportation of the love of his life had become a bad habit he couldn’t kick. He became a loner, and moved to another town after being fed up with having to stop on that bridge every day to stare at a piece of padlock that increased his misery. However, after that radio announcement, he wasn’t going to allow the government beat him twice.
Her parents were illegal immigrants from Africa, and they were suddenly deported. Since that day about twenty five years ago, his life which seemed to be blossoming beautifully, took a turn for the worst. His life lost meaning. He had no motivation to strive for the best from life anymore and was contented with daily handouts for meals from menial jobs. His hatred for life since the deportation of the love of his life had become a bad habit he couldn’t kick. He became a loner, and moved to another town after being fed up with having to stop on that bridge every day to stare at a piece of padlock that increased his misery. However, after that radio announcement, he wasn’t going to allow the government beat him twice.
“Hey
man, you have to leave now. We are about to start work,” said a gentleman in a
work garment and a hardhat. The man he spoke to didn’t budge. Backing the maintenance
officer, his sight was glued at that particular padlock. “Who is the guy
standing on the bridge?” asked another maintenance officer who just arrived from
the truck. “I don’t know. I told him he
had to leave but he just stood there,” said the first maintenance worker. More
maintenance officers began to arrive from the truck with tools and bags of
equipment. Work was about to begin. A second maintenance officer walked over
to the man on the bridge and stood beside him. “You missing somebody?” he asked
carelessly. The man on the bridge raised his head a bit and dropped it without
answering. “We are about to start work buddy. I am afraid you have to leave,”
said the maintenance officer, as he patted the man on the shoulder and walked back
to his colleagues. The man’s rage heightened but he did not move an inch.
When
the supervisor arrived, he also asked who the man on the bridge was.
He was briefed and thought little of it. Maybe some guy paying his last
respects to a loved one, he thought. Well, he wasn’t too far off. Except that,
this wasn’t about last respects. When they were all set, the drama started. The
supervisor went over and held the man’s arm and said “it is enough buddy. We
are about to start work here.” The man turned around and pushed the supervisor
suddenly and yelled out, “Let no man come near me. No one is bringing down
these padlocks today.” The supervisor fell flat on his back but got up quickly
in shock. His colleagues rushed up to him and wanted to assault the man on his
behalf. The supervisor stopped them. “Call the police. This is no matter for
us,” said the supervisor, as he called his troops back to a muster point. At
this time, the man was facing them frontally.
A
police patrol car soon pulled over. A chubbily dressed officer approached the
maintenance officers and was briefed about the prior events. He immediately
called for backup and walked slowly towards the man with his hands clutching
his pistol hold. “What is your business here young man? How can we help you?”
asked the police officer. The man stared on without a word. “Can you please
state why you stopped these men from doing their job?” asked the police officer
again. The man turned and faced the padlock again abandoning the police officer
to his back. The police officer thought it wise to wait for backup at that
point and told the maintenance crew to calm down and be patient. Not long
after, two more police cars arrived. A small chat preceded another approach to
the man on the bridge with Taser guns. When the officers got too close, the man
had a surprise of his own; a real gun. He pointed it on his own head and
threatened to shoot if the officers moved another inch. His voice was full of
emotion and determination. He shouted on the officers to back off. “All I want,
is to see Anabelle again,” the man yelled out through heavy breaths of fury. Suddenly,
he fell to his knees and cried intensely. Emotions bottled up for years were
unearthed like the eruption of dormant volcano. Though intense, he cried only
for a moment. He soon got back up with his gun to his head. He used the other
hand to clean the tears and catarrh which had filled his face. The confusion
was obvious. The police officers and the maintenance officers looked at themselves
with awe. The question on everyone’s mind was, “who was Anabelle?” No one dared
to ask.
A
crowd began to gather as the morning grew older. The bridge was cordoned off at
both ends and more police officers assembled. The press became involved and
this small local incident became a viral live breaking news. He was on all the
local television stations in Paris and neighbouring towns. His demand was clear
and simple. “All I want, is to see Anabelle again,” he yelled continuously. In
the mist of the chaos unfolding around the bridge, one female reporter was
emboldened. She knew this was a story of
love and wanted to understand it. With one step in front of another, she walked
slowly over to the man. The police did not know whether to stop her or not
until she was far gone. She asked for Anabelle’s full name and address. Through
tears and sobs, the man told the reporter Anabelle’s last name and narrated how her
family was deported years ago. He also told her the address of the house where
they had lived. Encouraged by the information, the reporter jogged back to the
police. A group of reporters gathered around her and the police. The female
reporter relayed the information she just got, and everyone began to dig for
information about Anabelle. Meanwhile, on the bridge, a man still held a gun to
his head staring at a padlock with the inscription “together always.”
Hours
passed. Phone lines rang continuously in so many offices as requests for
information about Anabelle’s family continued to travel. This man had gained a
lot of attention. The maintenance officers became spectators and chatted around
a service truck. Meanwhile, in a pub somewhere in Paris, the breaking news had
become a topic of discussion. Customers interpreted the news differently
sparking debates about the man’s sanity and mental state. Two female bartenders
went about their services dutifully as more customers came in and joined the
debate. While one of the female bartenders paid very close attention to the
proceedings on television, the other female bartender joined in lashing the man
on the bridge with insulting words whenever the pair were together. Not long
after, they had a little break and watched the television from behind the bar
table. Again, the second bartender began to tongue lash the man on the bridge.
She called him all sorts of names and used derogative phrases to describe the
situation. Unknown to her, every word from her mouth was like a lash from a
horse whip on her colleague’s back but she won’t stop. She went on and on about
it with disgust and hate. The hateful words from her reached tipping point, and
Anabelle had heard enough. Anabelle looked at her with a sad smile and said
“stop it.” But her colleague would not stop. She continued blabbing until
Anabelle slapped her. The sound of the slap quieted the room. Everyone turned and stared at Anabelle
including her colleague who still had her hands on her cheek. The slap was a
hot one.
“I
am Anabelle!” she shouted. “His name is Jean, and he is not mad,” she
continued. “We loved each other so much and promised to get married. We had a
neighbour who didn’t like the fact that Jean was dating a black woman. He
reported my parents to immigration officers because they were illegal
immigrants who had confided in him. We were deported immediately, and I never
got a chance to tell Jean goodbye. It was a painful separation. Anabelle turned
to her colleague who was still staring at her with her mouth open and her hands
on her cheek and said, “I am sorry. I just wanted you to stop talking.”
Thereafter, she wiped her eyes with the cleaning towel and threw it down. She
couldn’t stop sobbing. She removed the apron tied around her waist. Her
colleague hugged her very tightly and whispered into her ears, “go and get your
man before he gets hurt.” Anabelle thanked her and made her way to the front
door of the pub. The pub was still quiet with everyone expressing shock. “I
will take you” offered one gentleman who stood up involuntarily. They both went
outside and got on his motorcycle. The man kicked the bike and sped off. As
they meandered through the narrow streets of Paris, the buzzing bike attracted
people’s attention. Already saturated with the breaking news on television,
people just knew Anabelle had been found.
The apprehensive
ambience around the bridge began to alleviate, as chatter from the news of an
approaching motorcycle with a black girl on it filtered through the crowd. The
noise of excitement got to the man on the bridge, and he too began to look around
rapidly with panic to understand what was happening. His gun was still pointed
to his head. The motorcycle soon arrived the left side of the bridge and
Anabelle alighted and removed her helmet. She climbed the bridge slowly with
mixed emotions. Anabelle soon emerged from the horizon, and as she grew taller
with closing distance, he knew that was his angel. He dropped to his knees and
shouted “Anabelle!” with his arms stretched out wide. As tears streamed freely from
his eyes, he started moving fast towards her on his knees. She ran to him and
flew at him from a distance. They clasped in an embrace so tight and fell on the bridge. The jeers from the crowd was deafening. As the
drama on the bridge climaxed, the police officer in charge of the scene wondered why the man had to take such risk to find Anabelle. Many could not understand
it too. Anabelle had returned to Paris many years later because she
was born there, but she had no way of locating Jean who had relocated from Paris. Jean
did not mind the handcuffs. In the end, he was grateful he had found Anabelle,
and he didn’t have to kill himself. His life could now begin anew.