Saint-Quentin, 27 October 2026

Saint-Quentin, last night.

“Liar!” A cry, which I heard in my head. At the same moment, a name was drawn, and the microphone was handed to a lady.

I said to her: “I am sorry, madam, but have you recently shouted, in anger: ‘Liar!’?”

She answered: “Yes.”

“At your husband?”

“Er… exactly.”

Some will perhaps say: but that is nothing. Not really. A whole story lay behind that cry, and I shared it with her afterwards, publicly. She understood everything, and she told me she would follow the advice given by the universe.

That same evening, in another moment, before the person was drawn, I heard: “Perroquet!” — parrot, in French. So loud: “Perroquet!” I repeated the word, and I turned to the person who had been drawn: “Perroquet — does that mean anything to you?”

“No, I don’t have a parrot.”

“Think carefully, madam. Perroquet.”

She answered: “Perhaps you mean to tell me that my father is OK — père OK! He has passed away, and I love him very much.”

I could go on telling the anecdotes of that wonderful evening. What a joy to be there, with you.

-Mischa Harmeijer