Читать книгу The Ball - Erik Pethersen - Страница 20

I say hi to Mauro, busy reading the Giornale di Brescia every morning in his small glass house, and I head for the lifts.

A dark spot materializes down there. I continue with a slow pace and reach the area in front of the push button panel. The black spot greets me and I reciprocate. Maybe I smiled too much, but I did it naturally, surprised by the friendliness of a character with such a gloomy appearance.

The central lift reaches the ground floor and we go in. I’ve never seen him, but he behaves as if the place is very familiar to him, so I don’t think he’s an occasional visitor in the building. His gaze is gentle as he asks me what floor I’m going to.

«Seven, please» I smile. Maybe too much again. But this time I smile because of his hair, really messy.

After pressing the buttons, he sticks his two thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. His other fingers stroke his thin legs, not very masculine, which look perfectly straight though, inside his tight jeans.

I am examining him. His appearance looks a bit dark to me, but with an implicit elegance: educated and from a good family, quite probably. The body is lean and his height is probably a few centimetres above average. He has green, almost phosphorescent eyes. I think he may be an alien.

The elevator reaches the seventh floor.

«Hello.»

The black spot wishes me a good day. I get out and walk to the office.

I get a sense of restlessness and warmth all over my body: if I weren’t stoned, I would think that I had never seen anything so amazing.