Les Gens légers

“Do you want my eyes?”

That’s what this story is about: the journey that led six million people to lose what made them who they were and become what was demanded of them—black smoke. To do so, they had to lighten their load—both physically and mentally—embrace the feat of forgetting at the core of their being, and learn without skin and without boundaries.

But don’t worry—the task was made easier, the stay organized; they made sure that each person was treated as an individual.

Here, in practical terms, you might come across a pile of ashes in the street, talk to it, it’s off to a good start; further on, you can dance with a train or a chimney, as with the future as it draws near, come across a man who, turning a crank, blindly shrinks the sky, with a precise gift of ubiquity, it seems; there’s also this family that shifts through the ages,重组ing itself—no more young, no more old—to pass through the great appetite that threatens—failed; there’s a little girl who walks and walks, full of good, blunt questions, aware of it all, seven and a half years old; there is this big crumb that my hand has become—can I pounce on this big crumb?; there is Chevalier Estomac, showing how to leave the ground to take on the appearance of ghosts; there are those voices on either side of the skeleton, a chance to dance again—it’s not every day you get this lightness; for some, the return where it will be good to wipe their feet on a dog, to wipe away the dirt from their eyes, the dirt.