Paris. 15 years ago
‘The old dichotomy grows from outside and arrives to us clearly.’ François asked with empty rhetoric. ‘What is more important? I hate writers who want just to impress the reader with feelings and senses… They construct their books to shock the reader and, after two hours, you can forget the book.’
‘But books are written to call reader’s feelings, aren’t they?’ Lorraine asked.
‘Even the monkeys have feelings, dear!’ He answered with disdainful gesture. ‘One book cannot live without ideas. Books, novels… even paintings are creations of mind!’
Alex looked at Lorraine and her gesture made him sad. Why was she with him? Everyone could see how he looked down on her and how she turned her brilliant eyes on dark sadness. Alex really hated that stupid man, always trying to show the others his magnificent point of view in every case.
‘Don’t you feel bad?’ Alex asked Lorraine under the attentive sight of Jack.
‘François is a good boy, Alex. Do you feel jealous, Alex?’ Lorraine smiled and Alex felt ashamed (and yes, of course, he was jealous). Lorraine sat nearer Alex. He felt nervous. ‘What would you have done, Alex?’ And he got confused for a moment. ‘I mean… what would you have done if you were him, darling?’ The word ‘dear’ sounded like a hammer hitting on his head. ‘Someday, maybe I will say ‘’darling’ again, dear Alex.’
It was the first time he could imagine her as a character of his novel. Lorraine, cruel Lorraine.
Flu Project. Page 13
He didn’t like Lorraine… Lorraine with her studied manners; Lorraine the girl who never was trustworthy; Lorraine the masked girl. He saw her for time in old Michael’s book shop but he couldn’t ever forget her. Who was she? She looked like a European girl but she had no English pronunciation; she talked like an old wise woman but she only looked twenty-five. The first time, he looked at her deep brown eyes and the second time he forgot them to look inside, to seek for the secret to find.
‘Has we met yet?’ He asked.
‘I don’t think so, doctor.’ She answered smiling. ‘I was quite sure I would remember it.’
He was sure she was lying. He would always sure she was lying.
**Fake Game, serial novel by Martin Cid http://yareah.com/?cat=293