Nayara Lemes

The Leaning Tower

“Are you going mad, Kundalini?” I think, as I leave the Champ de Mars.

I walk quickly, in the rhythm of Paris, and my stride is purposeful. I place one foot in front of the other. I try not to think about the heat.

I look ahead again. Behind that greyish haze of pollution, I could swear the Eiffel Tower has tilted a little.

I shake my head. I blink. I’d better keep walking, otherwise I shall be late for my first day as Executive Director at the hotel where I work. It is a luxury hotel, and I have worked hard to get where I am. Today is the day of my coronation. Today, I sign the contract.

I cross the Iéna Bridge and catch sight of Trocadéro Square ahead of me. It faces the Eiffel Tower and is my favourite place in Paris.

I begin climbing the steps without looking back, but I hear the sound of metal tearing apart.

“What was that?” asks a young woman in very rapid French.

I turn again and look ahead. The Tower is leaning more than before.

“Come on, hurry up!” says another woman in English, pulling a child by the hand and bumping into me. “Sorry!”

I look again at the Eiffel Tower. The flow of tourists there is immense. I hear what they are saying. They look like ants running about in confusion.

“I want to see if I can get on the first plane back home.”

I understand that. Paris is changing. Beginning with its monuments breaking apart. And that grey cloud of pollution is as though a veil has covered the whole city. The dust stops me from breathing. I blink and rub my face, but the dust gets into my eyes.

A wave of pollution was announced this morning. The worst of all, and according to the meteorologists, it will take several weeks to pass. More than ever, the air of Paris is grey, and at times it is difficult to see a few metres ahead. Particles hang visibly in the air. The capital’s atmosphere is full of specks that tremble like a television out of tune.

The chaos is immense, but not for me. I am happy about the promotion I have earned. Five years of hard work are finally rewarded. I decided, that morning, that the occasion even deserved new clothes. I was trying on a Chanel suit when I saw through the boutique window the Eiffel Tower tilt, people and all. Only no one is falling into the River Seine. The antenna at the tip of the Tower is almost touching the waters of the River Seine, and the people up there have not noticed.

What?

I keep walking.

I arrive at Avenue Kléber.

I can already see the hotel where I work. The silhouette of its frame shines, luxurious, of crystal, cut against the capital’s greyish sky. But…

“What on earth?”

I narrow my eyes.

The Arc de Triomphe stands at the end of the avenue, only…

“What…”

I slap my face. My eyes widen.

Tomorrow, I shall make an appointment with the doctor to check whether I am suffering from hallucinations, perhaps because of the pollution.

“Mummy…” a little girl points at the Arc de Triomphe. “The arch is bent inwards.”

No! I am not the only one noticing it!