Читать книгу Under The Summer Sun - Emmanuel Bodin, Emmanuel Bodin - Страница 8

Svetlana and Frank had agreed to meet up at the Abbesses metro station. He planned to show her Montmartre as well as the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris. The weather was not very accommodating; huge grey clouds threatened to pour down. A few beams of sunlight poked their way through the thick cloudy layer here and there, as best as they could. What sad weather for a first date!

Frank had been waiting for ten minutes now. He was not early. No, Svetlana was late. He had already tried calling her but he had gotten her voicemail.

In front of the station’s exit, a married couple had just appeared out of nowhere. Followed by a film crew, these people had invaded the tiny place. Seeing all the equipment, Frank thought for a moment that it was a production for a show. There was a cameraman with a Steadicam around his waist. The equipment seemed heavier than the camera itself which was a small digital camcorder. Another person was pointing a portable light. An assistant guided the cameraman who only relied on the LCD screen. A fourth guy prevented an entire assembly of people from advancing too far—the presence certainly of both families and friends. Frank had moved away from them so as not to be seen. The lovers took acrobatic poses, while obstructing access to the metro. Frank found the whole charade ridiculous. This is the kind of craziness that having too much money causes.

People had finally been able to get out of the underground station, once they were finally allowed to pass. Frank still could not find Svetlana, in this wave of people. He continued to follow the commotion from the couple. Then he turned to watch children screaming around a carousel. Nearby, a clown had started juggling. Tourists circled around him. On the right, a man added a beat by turning the handle of a music box. What an anachronistic atmosphere! The charm worked. The magic of Montmartre was exposed to the eyes of all, despite a gloomy weather.

When Frank had looked again in front of the metro station, a woman started to run in his direction. Frank had not immediately recognized her but it was Svetlana. She had let down her slightly wavy hair that day.

Svetlana had a technique to easily curl her hair. She took a shower, then she made braids that she then undid one by one. This process required a lot of time, but her hair remained styled for about three full days. Just the day before, Svetlana had washed her long mane, so that Frank could see her defined curls. Her hair was ash-blond at the roots and bright at the ends. Seeing it at a glance, the colour seemed chestnut brown, quite light. Frank seemed to like the length of her hair, that reached a little lower than her shoulders, and its distinctive natural colour.

In this unexpected behaviour, Frank had noticed her sweetness and felt an immediate attachment to her. Did he fall victim to what is typically called “love at first sight”? Hard to say. In any case, he was hypnotized, seduced and bewitched by her presence. This real spontaneity combined with her innate and undeniable charm made him weak. One without the other would have produced a different effect.

He had already met very beautiful women who were too arrogant or not very friendly, or even those who were so eager that it overshadowed all their attractive traits. Svetlana’s appearance was full of joy, warmth, and was striving to offer a grace that separated her from the multitude.

They had exchanged a kiss on each cheek, both embarrassed and delighted to see each other. She apologized for being late. Frank did not need her to. She was easily forgiven. Her simple radiating aura was enough to redraw a smile on the face of any man in a state of depression. To him, Svetlana a pretty star, which, like an aurora, flooded the sky and the Earth with a special, magical, unique and grandiose atmosphere. She was a hymn paying homage to life.

Frank thought for a while about the best route to climb to the Sacred Heart. They had finally decided to take the first street in front of them, knowing that they had to venture on the sloping roads ahead. Frank, however, had come here on many occasions, without ever taking the same path. There were quite a few access roads. He was very fond of this neighbourhood. He found it perfect for a romantic walk, especially if the sun honoured the day with its presence. Despite not having the best weather, the pair really wanted to get to know each other. They talked about a little bit of everything and nothing, as often happens when two people arrange to meet up and hit it off during a first outing. They both asked questions to get to know each other better, to see if each one reacts correctly, and to see if their conversation could easily flow from one topic to another. Svetlana had told him many random little details. Amongst other things, she did not know how to listen to her voicemail. The instruction manual that came with the SIM card did not have much useful information. Since they were connected to the same operator, Svetlana had given him her phone to show her how to do it. The menus were displayed in Russian! Frank had not been able to navigate through her phone. She had an old coloured Nokia that had clearly been through a lot. Once the summer was over and she had a little money put aside, she was hoping to buy a smartphone. She would return to the technological race and especially to that of consumption… Apart from a caveman, who could resist? This evolutionary process is part of everyday life. Nobody is forced to acquire the latest version of an object, sometimes for a simple change of design and a fake new function presented as revolutionary; revolutionary only for your wallet. Frank took out his Samsung, a very old model, too. After searching through the menu, he told her the right combination of digits that would give her access to her voicemail.

Listening to her voice messages, Svetlana had burst out laughing. There were only three people who had her French number because she knew very few people in Paris and her friends mostly contacted her on the Internet. The first to get her number was her Ukrainian colleague, the second was a Russian friend who came to France to work in a restaurant, on the west coast, by the sea. Svetlana would have hated doing that kind of job. She preferred hers, although in her eyes it did not really suit her. The culprit who had left her two messages was none other than Frank… who wondered why she was laughing so much. He had simply told her that he was at the place and that he hoped she was doing well. Frank stared at her with a soft look. Svetlana’s cheerful and spontaneous disposition pleased him immensely.

They had crossed through several alleys before arriving in front of the basilica, exhausted, following the innumerable slopes they had had to climb. The place was crowded. All weekend long there were performances of acrobatics on skateboards. Multiple CRS officers were present to ensure safety. Between two rows of barriers, they had taken the one and only authorized path that allowed access to the steps of the building. To get to the hall, they had to slalom between the hesitant tourists.

Inside, the crowd was piling up! They were forced to take small steps moving forward. This slow progression helped them to recover from the gruelling obstacle course they had just crossed.

Although a nonbeliever, in the sense of the divinity of Christ—a man who was raised to the rank of son of God so that the ruling bodies of the time could better control the populace—and not the rejection of a message of hope filled with words and noble ideals for mankind and his neighbour, Svetlana questioned herself, sought herself. She wondered about the value of life, about the human condition, which for her necessarily had the most meaning. Nevertheless, she appreciated the grandiose spectacle that this interior offered. They had just entered the lair of one of the last masterpieces built in Catholic France, and they continued their walk by completing the tour. They then went to the basement to visit the crypt. Afterwards, they had climbed to the top.

Frank decided to pay for her. Like most monuments, this sanctuary was no different: to go up, you had to take out your credit card. This capitalist gesture made it possible to maintain the buildings, to minimize the number of “curious people” and also, the best yet, to create some jobs. Basically, it was for a good cause. For the good cause then, Frank had bought two entries. And above all, he got them for his own good cause…

A state of the art, cutting edge technological facility stood in front of the clientele. Without even having to chat with a ticket clerk, anyone could carry out the transaction to pay for the passes. A modernity that contrasted with the old cathedral.

Svetlana was holding a camera in one hand. She did not use it, which intrigued Frank. He had asked her if she wanted him to take a picture of her. She had nodded and handed him the camera. Svetlana looked good on the screen. She was so photogenic she paid tribute to postcards. Frank was aware, however, that she would not give them to him. Any photographer, whoever it is, likes to keep proof of his work, even if in a digital form. Even though the shots were not taken under professional conditions and with consumer equipment, what he liked most of all was nothing more than the image of Svetlana. He then took out his old cell phone that did not have very good resolution and immortalized his model in different poses, once again. Despite the lower image quality offered by this product, he figured that at least he would have some memories of that day for if he did not get another chance to see this young woman who he found more and more amazing as the time went by.

At the top, Frank had again lingered to play with Svetlana. He gazed at her, admired her for a long time, prolonged the poses. The shutter was triggered several times in a row. Tourists watched and had to wait to pass. Frank did not even notice the backup he was causing. He had escaped into a closed universe, hypnotized and enchanted by his subject. He directed her, and governed her gestures and conduct. Svetlana obeyed, like a well behaved and obedient model. This girl’s magnetism acted on Frank like a spell that would have taken control of his emotions. As for her, she had perfectly well noticed his little game. Charming, she set herself free in the atypical fantasy of the character. By his attitude she thought he was gallant, kind, sweet, and especially desirable. She was attracted to him.

“Let him have fun so passionately and see if any good will come of it,” she thought.

When Frank had regained his usual behavioural state, in one look he realised the trouble that he had caused. Nobody dared to disturb the man who had been transmuted through an artistic trance. The visitors waited as if they had seen a street show. Embarrassed, Frank smiled. With a wave of the hand, he let them know they could now walk around.

Approaching Frank, Svetlana said that he had acted like a mean person by blocking all those people. In the future, she would have to be suspicious of him.

Frank had given her back her camera. He replied that she would keep a good memory of this place and that putting that device in his hands could become dangerous, especially when the model is so good at what she does. Frank had told her that she looked great on camera. While posing, she had fun in front of the camera. It might be interesting for her to appear in original outfits for fashion spreads, using a less mainstream camera that would offer pictures of a much higher quality.

Svetlana had never thought of it. She said she would think about it.

“In the meantime, I’ll put the camera in my bag,” she added.

After they had completed their tour, two tourists had accosted them in front of the building. In English, they asked how they could pay for the passes to explore the heights of the Sacred Heart. In cash or by card?

Frank had not understood their question. Like all good self-respecting French people, he knew only the official language of the country. While Svetlana was scrutinizing him with her big blue eyes and smiling tenderly, Frank had answered them, “Sorry, I do not speak English,” in English. He had begun moving away from them as quickly as they had been approached. Svetlana stayed put. She translated the question for Frank so that he could understand it. He turned around and was surprised to see that she was still standing near them. He came closer to mention what he had seen before: there was an automatic machine to pay by credit card and a counter with staff who took cash. Svetlana translated what he said immediately after, as Frank, who was captivated as he watched her, found that she mastered English even better than French. He was fascinated to discover that at only twenty years old this young woman spoke three languages. He told her that in her company it would be impossible to get lost abroad because she knew Russian, English and French. She jokingly replied that she knew she was the perfect woman. In this case, they should plan a trip together. Frank thought about it, surprised by this reaction. This suggestion could not have had an ounce of seriousness. As a result, there was no follow-up.

At that time, Frank did not know that Svetlana had already bought tickets to visit Belgium and the Netherlands in the coming days. They were short trips but still special for Svetlana who wanted to discover Europe. She didn’t think she would ever get another opportunity to do so. Somehow, she hoped that Frank would propose to join her, more for fear of a solo exploration than some ambiguous thought. Frank was not going to say anything like that when she told him about her plans. Deep down, he would have liked to accompany her, even the idea had crossed his mind. Except that, financially, he could not afford it too much. In addition, another constraint prevented him, professional this time. Their schedules were not compatible. It was useless for him to dwell on the thought.

Frank had suggested that they continued their trip by visiting the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, which she accepted willingly.

The journey had taken a good hour. Frank had underestimated how long it took to walk to there from the basilica. On the way, they continued sharing snippets of their respective lives. Frank had told her about his photography work. Svetlana found this very interesting. For her, photography was a wonderful form of artistic expression. She had pointed out that he had not brought a camera to immortalize their outing. She was teasing him…

“But I do not have any of my own… I rent it when I need it for a report or a photo shoot,” he explained.

She was surprised. She had not realised that professional equipment was so expensive, especially optics. Frank did not need it for more than two days at a time, so renting was the best choice. It was a choice that allowed him to avoid having to endure a consumer credit that he would have struggled to pay back, pushing his already unstable situation to a worse place. In that moment, Frank considered himself as just another other tourist using his phone to take pictures. Svetlana was a very bad photographer. She preferred to look at the photos. On the other hand, her parents wanted her to bring back some pictures. They had never had the opportunity to travel across Europe.

Conversation between them flowed effortlessly. Frank was genuinely beginning to fall for her. From time to time, he corrected some mistakes with her French. She was happy he did that. Yet she would have hoped more from a Frenchman who mastered the language. Svetlana wished that Frank had interrupted her every single time she made a mistake and that he corrected the construction of her sentences too.

Staying in France caused a great cultural shock for Svetlana. Life and people here seemed different from back home. She did not feel comfortable hearing conversations in French all around her. She felt like her French language skills weren’t that great. Her colleagues tried to reassure her: they themselves thought they did not have enough knowledge to speak properly in French. However, unlike Svetlana, they were happy just being understood by the French.

Frank thought it was normal for Svetlana to face difficulties, since she was in France for the very first time. She was not familiar with the sound of the language. Svetlana was surprised that Frank understood everything correctly when she spoke. She was also surprised to understand every last word he said. At the store, dialect problems arose when she had to decode the gibberish of some customers who were nevertheless native French people. So, their clear exchange delighted her. The communication was so smooth it allowed them to focus on getting to know each other.

When Frank did not correct Svetlana, it was because the fault seemed minimal to him. Above all, he was accustomed to spending time with foreign women and decrypting their strange sentence constructions, in some cases. As Frank did not pay attention to all the mistakes, he was a little taken aback whenever Svetlana she realised that she had just made an error. Frank tried to reassure her: it was only minor faults in the conjugation or placement of words. Nothing serious, according to him. For her, making such mistakes seemed like the end of the world. She was ashamed of it and considered herself worthless in French. She wanted to master the language perfectly.

To get to the park, they had crossed a large part of the nineteenth arrondissement, some of the gloomiest corners of Paris among which it would be possible to award the gold medal of French rot. And this filth is a good business, the price per square meter is higher than in sunny southern areas. Svetlana felt like she was at home. It was the buildings, the shops, the particularly ugly and dirty aesthetics that reminded her of the city she came from. It was not at all like the touristy areas that visitors strolled through to admire. Here, they roamed an area at the antipode of Paris that sells through postcards. And yet, in these places the greatest human values are certainly hidden, far from this false and mannered bourgeoisie.

Once in the park, they had gone to Belvedere Island at the Temple de la Sibylle. That day, a zipline was suspended. It spanned the lake to reach the mainland thirty meters below. It was the works of an association that wanted to introduce teenagers to the thrills of treetop adventure courses. After the descent, they were invited to discover other activities in an adventure park in the Paris region. It was a kind of demonstration-sample marketing in partnership with Paris city hall. Frank and Svetlana watched several young people jump into nothingness. Although at first the device seemed impressive, the did not actually move very quickly. Arriving on the other side was smooth, someone being there to help them. They stopped to take some pictures. Frank shot Svetlana again from different angles.

While admiring the view, they were able to see just how far they had walked. The Basilica of the Sacred Heart seemed very far and small from there. Leaning on the railing, their bodies had begun to brush, voluntarily and timidly. Unable to do anything else on this cliff except watching young people attach themselves to a rope, they had headed for the suspended bridge. Here was still the association. This time it offered an introduction to rock climbing for children. Or rather a rappelling descent that brought them eight meters below. Still on the railing, they lingered there for a long time. Time flew by, as they revelled in each other’s company.

Svetlana had told him about her family. Her mother was from Ukraine and her father was a native Russian. She missed her sister a lot. They trusted with everything, like two very close friends. Svetlana lived two hundred kilometres from the family nucleus. She only visited them during the school holidays. The rest of the time, she lived in a student hostel in Irkutsk city centre, ten minutes from her school. One of her art teachers was a young Frenchman, barely thirty, whom she found attractive. She would not have been against something happening between them in a different context. Frank supposed she was telling him this information to indicate the direction to take. He had to show her the will of a man who wants a woman. In any case, they laughed. Their hands were getting closer and closer.

Frank had put his hand gently on Svetlana hand, that had been playing around beside his. She did not try to pull away, which confirmed Frank’s thought. From that point on, he was sure that their outing would evolve into so much more. This girl was as flustered as he was. Now, he had to get it together and muster up some courage to bring down the next set of barriers.

They had decided to continue their walk, after having lingered for quite some time in that place. Frank’s right index finger caught Svetlana’s, who was beginning to retrace their steps. On the way, he got hold of her left index finger, like a hook. Their fingers could have easily become untied. The sensation of her touch was pleasant. They both knew that what they wanted was their hearts to get involved in the game ofintertwining. Their knuckles clutched, Frank had proposed crossing the bridge to go to the waterfall on the other side. As her only answer, Svetlana had widened her eyes. As they walked she strolled closer and closer to his body. She had told him verbally that she wanted to see this place. Frank’s left hand had captured Svetlana’s left hand and offered it to his right hand. Ten fingers were hugging each other. Their mouths were walled in a silence that delighted them. A strong heat spread from this contact and brightened Frank. Feeling the softness of the hand of a highly desired woman becomes a pure moment of liberation. However, the gesture invites the man to continue the game of seduction even more. It is in that moment that you know something important has just happened and that something more serious is about to manifest itself. It’s like sealing a pact or signing an act. Before this agreement, they were just two foreign shadows. Now, they embodied two souls united together through which the other carried the hope of a new love.

At the waterfall, Frank asked Svetlana if she wanted to take pictures, once again. She had accepted, with a gesture of the head. Her eyes shone like a thousand stars together. Like a little girl, she ran to get in position in front of the waterfall, came back to leave her bag at Frank’s feet, and then ran back to pose. When the fun of taking pictures was over, Frank returned the camera to its owner. In return, she had given him her hand again. They had played this innocent and naive game at two other places in the park. A hunger for each other started to grow within them.

While sinking into a remote area of the park overlooking the small Paris belt and where some fruit trees were hidden, they had crossed several couples kissing. They smiled, a little embarrassed by the situation. The two watched each other, lowering their heads… Deep down, they were waiting for the same exchange. Being in that area was the perfect opportunity to make this sweet exchange happen, except that Frank had not felt the click, blocked by a certain shyness. He had preferred not to brutally provoke this act. He wanted it would happen as naturally as possible.

It was now evening. The cold had begun to spread. On an isolated dirt road, Frank had asked Svetlana if she would have dinner with him. Surprised by this unexpected proposal, she had hesitated about the answer to give. “Was she presentable? What was this man really looking for?” An embarrassing procrastination had taken place. This hesitation had astonished Frank. He wondered. Did he just start a new speed too quickly, at the risk of destroying the entire clutch? He had supposed she would have said yes, without flinching. What was holding her back? She who had not let go of his hand in the afternoon!

Suddenly, Svetlana replied, “Okay!” A simple word that was bitterly out of her mouth as a radical decision that would have impacted the rest of her life…

Frank felt relieved. A smile had swept across his face. They had then slipped out of the park and strolled down the adjoining sidewalk. Their hands did not separate once. They caressed each other’s fingers more intensively, generously. Their palms had established a sense of sensuality between them.

On the way, they had stopped for the first time, for some useless reason since they were already talking. The true purpose of this halt was instinctive. The two lovebirds found themselves eye to eye. Slowly, Frank’s gaze lowered, madly seduced by the gaze of the goddess in front of him. Oh yes, Svetlana wanted the same thing as Frank! She no longer waited for him to bravely prove his burning desire for her.

Feeling convinced and confident, Frank drew closer to her face. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her lips that strut boldly a few inches from his. Feeling certain in what was about to happen, Svetlana bit her lower lip, instinctively, offering the flowering of a small scarlet sting. Brain overload! Frank’s body had deviated from the initial target, caught in an unspeakable panic. He stayed at a distance from her, staring at the blue glint of Svetlana’s intrigued vision that wondered how and why he had suddenly abandoned aborted the mission. Turning his eyes away, dismissed by his own instincts, he took hold of her hand to continue their walk.

Frank tried to figure out what had caused that cut on her lip. Did she want him so badly? His quick attempt had ended in failure. He had deflated at the last second, a few inches from the mouth that he was lusting after and that was taunting him. It was the golden opportunity he had been hoping for since the second he had gripped her fingers. Yet still, he had allowed that important moment to bypass them, that important move that makes it possible to move forward, because he would be freed from the essential act, like an invitation card offered that gives access to all the grandeur of a passion in the making: a love story could begin. Why is the first kiss always so complicated? Why does it cause so much apprehension, even when both parties knew that they wanted it? Just as he perceives the moment when her lips are willing to unite with his, he could feel that burning body snuggle between his arms.

Any man would have jumped at the chance to feel these plump, sparkling, perfectly hydrated lips against theirs. Frank had to taste them before the end of the night. He wanted her badly and swore to himself that he would not let her go as freely as she had come, knowing fully well that he might not see her again if he did not do what he had to. He felt that he had to place his unforgettable signature as a seal on their date.

They had taken the road towards a restaurant that would rise up by chance in front of them. Frank was completely lost in a neighbourhood he did not know. They were walking without any sense of direction.

They stopped a second time, with the same intentions. They examined each other closely. Desires intensified. They mentally and silently devoured each other. Neither of them had dared to cross this indescribable invisible barrier. There were only a few inches separating them from a sentimental relationship. It was so stupid! Frank knew that Svetlana would not make the first move. It was up to him to step up, to prove to her that he had the guts to kiss her to testify to this natural appetite between two beings who like each other and attract each other, irresistibly.

Frank had felt a hesitation similar to the first attempt. They started back walking… What was happening? Frank felt it, Svetlana was waiting for nothing but his temerity. Where was it? He had missed two excellent opportunities. The third one had to be a home run. Otherwise, he could say goodbye to the beautiful Svetlana: she would not want to hear from this incompetent clown after that.

He was attracted to everything about her: her body, her mannerisms, her personality. With her, a sense of trust put him at ease. So what was he afraid of? Frank had decided to postpone his final attempt till the very end of the night, in order to avoid any further pathetic moves. After having dinner and especially after throwing back a few drinks, he would definitely have more courage for it.

After a while, an Indian restaurant appeared in front of them. Frank’s wallet would have appreciated this place but Svetlana did not seem too excited about eating there. More than that, the ambiance was nothing romantic. They continued wandering around until they had come across a more animated area. Around the square were several coffee shops. The first one they had gone to was closed for the night. The manager was very apologetic. They had then crossed the street to enter the cafe on the opposite side. From the outside it was not much of a looker, but the interior was very chic. A little too chic… Frank knew for sure that the bill would be damn high. But who cared! This woman who was accompanying him was well worth a financial effort. He did not plan on skimping on their short night out. Not at all! His goal was to completely win her over and make her his next companion.

A waitress had seated them in a quiet and cozy corner. The table was surrounded by two leather seats. They had talked, they ordered, ate and drank. The attraction between these two was intense: their fingers intertwined, soft glances met with jovial smiles and sweet talk, and their hearts were beating hard and fast. The charm worked perfectly, within the rules of the art.

Once the hefty bill was taken care of, they had gone in search of a metro station. Svetlana lived in Montparnasse so they had taken the same line. Frank took advantage of that by walking her home.

Svetlana lived in a hostel for young workers. The room was tiny. The rent, although high for a single room, was not too bad for being in the city. In front of the gate of the building, Frank had spoken up first saying, “I had a great time and I…”

He had not had time to finish his sentence before their lips had drawn close and collided. They had uncontrollably been drawn to each other. There, at that precise moment, was the dawn of a situation that would fire up the days that followed.

Their tongues had hit it off well. They exchanged saliva. Both bodies had merged. Through this kiss a lot of tenderness was exchanged, in a form of exquisite sweetness that had diluted slowly, releasing a tangy taste. After having desired it so much, this moment was like a deliverance for both of them.

Quite a few times, Svetlana told him that she had to go inside. On weekdays, the guard closes the doors at one o’clock in the morning. On the weekends, they stayed open until two o’clock but they were quickly approaching that time. Frank did not want to let go. Svetlana did not want to go home. The moment of grace was prolonged.

Before the final unravelling of their arms and lips for the night, Svetlana had asked Frank when they could see each other again. The next day she had to leave to visit Brussels. She would not come back until Tuesday evening. Since her train ride was in the evening, Frank had proposed to accompany her to the station. He would come and pick her up here as soon as he finished his workday. Svetlana’s eyes had answered for her mouth and she smiled, before verbally confirming the next day’s rendez-vous. They had kissed one last time.

As for Frank, he would begin a job as a caretaker-concierge in a building for three weeks. It was a job that did not give him any satisfaction. Cleaning the dirt and taking out the garbage did not allow him to flourish as he wanted. Only the salary was okay, thanks to a complementary end-of-contract bonus which made up for any benefit that an appointed caretaker could find in this job, since there is usually low-cost, almost free accommodation provided. In the heart of Paris, and for some residences, this privilege is a luxury; a form of decency compared to how astronomically high rent is in this bougie town. An undeniable attraction for many owners.

However, this bonus no longer exists. It was cut by a government that passed new legislation and believed that these people—these substitutes, these precarious job-workers—earned too much money, plunging them even more into a financial imbalance. From that point on there is no longer a financial motivation; all that remains is a form of disgust, both toward the government that oppresses the proletarian and acts only in the interest of the highest spheres of finance of which it is fully dependent—deliberate slave limit—and towards work also when it comes into conflict with our deepest aspirations. By a policy of excessive austerity, our leaders have legitimized and anchored in our minds that unreasonable practices are developing. No need to talk about the demotivation of an unemployed person faced with a job proposal with a pay that skates around minimum wage. Who can survive living in Paris with a thousand euros net per month? The monthly rent of a decent studio is at least seven hundred euros. Most often, it flirts at around eight hundred. The calculation is fast and simple. A meagre income cannot offer an honest living. That is just salary to barely survive.

The life of a human being does not mean much. What matters is amassing riches… If a commoner ends up on the streets or dies of starvation, it did not really matter… When one is nothing, it is better to return to nothing without being noticed… Politicians are the friends of the wealthy. Hand in hand, they seek not a single not a single interest of the people. They show that they are only capable of making big, beautiful speeches to further lull the masses who begin to stir, to be indignant, to revolt even. At best, they manage to feel a little disdain for the populace. Not much else. They are far too busy negotiating arms deals or starting a new war. Citizens join forces, shouting “Stop!” They don’t listen and they ignore the roaring crowds. The gap between government disconnected from social realities and the population is irreparable. These leaders are our ruin. They are responsible for all the misery a country suffers.

Frank had watched the young woman enter the building. She officially became his new girlfriend. Then he had gone in the direction of his home, a thirty-minute walk to Denfert-Rochereau. On the way, he had a smile on his face, eyes that sparkled and the mind that went over the evening they had just shared. The next day, an entirely different matter awaited Frank. He had to get up early, roll up his sleeves and slog without intensity, passion, or brilliance; like a robot, a living dead.

Svetlana had just spent an exceptional day like she had rarely experienced before. She had not gotten to know many boys yet. Her experiences had all been short-lived. She naturally placed a sweet hope in this encounter. What is more romantic than two people who were brought up in two very distinct universes that happen to find each other? Frank had managed to seduce her with his simplicity, his kindness and his listening skills. He was sincerely interested in her. Even before their first kiss, Svetlana had noticed that she already meant something to him. She had also been charmed by his artistic side. An artist a little lost in his dreams and his life, but an original that you don’t come across every day.

In her bed, tracing her fingers along her lips, Svetlana ran through the day’s events in her mind, noting the effect they had on her. She wondered why her previous encounters had not sparked such intense desire. What was different about this Frenchman, though so plain and ordinary at first sight? Frank was that typical slender young man with an ordinary face and short brown hair that you could come across in every city. A beard a few days old hid slightly hollowed cheeks, while giving him that dilettante or bohemian look as the last shave was more or less spaced, far from the normative and angelic look of a bureaucrat with smooth skin. Frank had been so kind and considerate to her that Svetlana could only succumb. Did she come to meet a guy who would fulfil her and who would make her discover new and beautiful feelings? The man who would leave a mark on her life? The one she would really fall in love with? Svetlana felt a great need to see him again quickly to reassure herself in what she felt. She was also eager to be in his arms. She began to dream and hope… Svetlana had never really loved. Secretly, she yearned for what could come of this alchemy. Why not now? Was it risky to go headlong with a Frenchman living more than seven thousand kilometres from her home? Would she crash into a wall, with no chance of recovering? This overflow of questions had her head spinning. She could not sleep. Although internally agitated, she felt serene. No man had ever seduced her like that and sparked so much desire in one day. Luck was definitely on her side. At that moment, Svetlana sensed that this time it would be different from her previous relationships.