Puzzled. Seraphima Bogomolova
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go, a source of wisdom that seems to have solutions to the perplexities bothering minds of living creatures.
I wish I had this book two years ago. Perhaps, I would have already found the answers to my questions.
I run my fingers across the cover. The short thick pile of its velvet tingles my fingertips.
I open the book and leaf through pages. The answers to my questions don’t seem to jump at me, at least not for the moment.
I press the book against my chest and close my eyes.
A town spreads out before me. The sun shines brightly upon it. A light scent of lilies of the valley wafts in the warm spring like air.
I find myself walking along one of the town’s streets. Approaching an antique bookshop, I stop and look at the window display. A huge book in the velvety cover, lying there, catches my eye. Intrigued, I study it.
Under my gaze the book comes alive and opens up.
Its pages, at first blank, start filling with lines of text. Attempting to read it, I press hard against the shop window.
The next moment I find myself standing on one of the book’s pages, huge neon letters pulsating under my feet.
I try to make words out of them but the pulsating letters cascade downwards, flowing into the book.
I hear a loud chime.
The letters crumble and disappear. Tearing hundreds of pages, I fall into the bottomless depth of the ancient manuscript and wake up.
The sitting room is dark except the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree.
In the distance, the sound of chiming can still be heard. I realise it must be the church clock striking the hour. I count the chimes.
Midnight!
Leaping off the sofa, I dash into my room. My plane to Nice leaves early in the morning and I haven’t packed yet.
Episode 19 – Any plans?
Monte Carlo, 25 December 2010
I grab the coffee pot and start pouring coffee into our cups.
“I hope you will forgive an old man’s curiosity, mon ami, but…” begins Monsieur Moreau.
My hand betrays me and I spill some coffee onto the tray.
The brown substance spreads out and forms a stain, resembling a heart.
Monsieur Moreau takes the coffee pot from me, dries the stain out with his napkin, then hands me a cup of coffee and says: “Do you have any plans for the New Year’s Eve?”
“Nothing of definite nature…” I reply.
“I hope you don’t mean that you wish to spend it all by yourself?”
“No, of course not, I mutter, I’d like to spend it in a company that’s stimulating in all senses…”
“Of course.” he nods. “And such a stimulating company would be your girl friend.” I assume.
“Well… I’d have been delighted…”
“Pardon me, Monsieur Luke, but why do you say, would have been? Has she got some other plans for the New Year’s Eve?”
“No, she hasn’t. The thing is she simply doesn’t exist…” I murmur.
A short silence falls between us.
I stare into my coffee cup. An antique clock ticks on the wall.
Monsieur Moreau gives me a light squeeze on the shoulder.
I feel a sudden pang of sadness.
Stay his hand a little longer on my shoulder I would have burst into crying before him: the only person who has ever taken an interest in my void of any private life existence.
“Well, that’s quite all right, mon ami.” He says. “You know, it’s merely a matter of time. Such a handsome man like yourself won’t be left without a girl for long.”
“You see…” I begin but fall silent, scared of my own daring.
“Yes?”
“Nothing, I’ll tell you later.” I reply and get up.
In the hall, Domino breaks into loud barking. Maman must have just returned from her visits.
Episode 20 – Bye For Now
Monte Carlo, 25 December 2010
I slip past maman and, taking the stairs two at a time, go up to my room.
“Chéri, the dinner is served at seven tonight, not eight” she cries after me.
“Yes, fine by me!” I shout back and close the door behind me.
Coming to the window, I swing it open and let the cool evening air in.
At the horizon the sea and the sky have become one in a scarlet kiss.
Struck by the beauty of the moment, I stand by the window, admiring the sunset.
The dusk falls, enveloping the room in soft darkness.
I slip my hand into the pocket. The fingers meet a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches.
I wasn’t quite honest with Monsieur Moreau, when I said I didn’t smoke. Well, technically I don’t, but I’m fascinated by the elegance he does it with.
So, I’ve decided to practice on cigarettes and then move to cigars. If I manage it, I could make an impression in a club. Though, I’m not sure whom I want to impress there, certainly not those annoying Von Witter daughters or others of the same ilk.
I just wish… Oh, well, never mind.
Taking the matches out, I light up a candle on my desk, then take my laptop and flop onto the bed.
As usual, my inbox’s full of spam.
I have to change the filter settings, I think as I check through new messages. Suddenly, amidst advertising and spamming emails I see her reply. My heart leaps with joy.
I bring the cursor over and freeze.
A breath of sea air comes in through the open window, touching lightly my forehead.
I draw in and click on the link.
Her letter opens up.
It’s short, just a few lines.
Dear Luke, thank you very much for your email… delighted to meet up with you… after I’ve returned from Nice… spending most of January… I’d like to wish you and your loved ones a very Happy New Year… Bye for now…
Chapter Three
Maybe, I don’t cry but it hurts
Maybe, I won’t say but I feel
Maybe, I don’t show but I care.
Episode 21 – A Charming Stranger
Nice, 27 December 2010
The window of my hotel room is wide open, letting a light sea breeze in.
I stand over my suitcase. Bewildered, I stare at its contents – a beaming example of hasty packing, piles of evening dresses and nothing decent for every day, just a pair of jeans and a sweater.
I utter