We’ve seen it all along. During commuting, he walks two steps behind Co-Prince Macron, slightly leaning to the right. He is a discreet character, not invisible, because he is a tall man. He wears pasta glasses. He wears a khaki uniform – of the ground army, then – with a black kepis with gold embroidery that he takes off when he enters buildings, and puts it back on when the entourage moves. The chevrons tell us he is a lieutenant-colonel. It wears the aiguillettes, the braided laces that are a relic of the hussars’ uniforms. He must have had a career, because he wears a three-rank decoration pin on his chest. It is Macron’s shadow. Sometimes, when he has to be on the sidelines because there are parliaments or protocol allows it, he leaves his suitcase on the floor, between his legs, looks at his mobile and sends a WhatsApp or looks at Instagram. He’s very keen on what’s going on. At dinner he may have taken a more remote place, not in the first place, but he is certainly right there, and, if he had ever had to, he would have stood in front of Monsieur le Président in two strides. And the fact is that the military has a very high responsibility: it is responsible for the communications and authentication system. That is: load the briefcase with the codes of the French nuclear weapons, which must be permanently available to whoever has the power to unleash the zombie apocalypse, in response to a previous attack or as a preventive action. What do we know about the weight of real power? We’re thankful that the lieutenant colonel was bored, weighed figs during speeches, and didn’t feel the need to open his suitcase to unleash World War III in front of our dumbfounded noses.
