But who is Germain Pouillon? A kid abandoned at the bottom of a Thénardière farm? A young man caught up in the absurdities of the Algerian War? A being perpetually condemned to flee? A non-violent person facing the murderous temperament of the world? The clockworks have been patiently tightening since long before his birth. And, once the cogs are in gear, whether we are from Athens under Pericles or Saint-Germain-des-Prés under De Gaulle, nothing can bend destiny. So, who is Germain Pouillon? A man like any other or a mask escaped from a Greek tragedy? "Rivers and ponds hide terrible secrets beneath their waves. Pieces of dead children. Wasted loves. Wavy hair, cut by the strength of the victors. Trampled black bodies, carried by the undertow or the burning breath of mine dust. Venomous snakes and their forked tongues." God here, Devil there. A plow horse and hoof irons. The eyes of a young gazelle caught in the gold of a lantern. Two knowing smiles. A few bursts of laughter. An adventure book in its red cover. The foam of a Paulaner enjoyed on a terrace. Hungry mouths gathered in a basket. An acacia stick hitting the edge of a dish. Three frustrated cockroaches rolling on the red clay. A headless goldfinch. Seven marbles in a small box…