Kitabı oku: «Under The Summer Sun», sayfa 3
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.
3.
At home, Frank took a shower before going to bed. Exhausted, but delighted, he had woken up after only four hours of sleep. For once, the cause of a long exhausting night was not his annoying neighbour. The man acted as if he was the master of the building. He did not care and he hated the other tenants, often staring at them with a superior air.
At work, firstly, Frank had checked the trash room of the building. He had to create some order after the chaos of the weekend. All the containers were filthy with rubbish to the ground. Such a sight quickly gave way to sickness. He then started cleaning up the place. He had swept the hall and mopped the floor to remove the grime. It is hard to find yourself further away from your deep aspirations. Over the years, he had begun to understand that he would certainly never succeed in his photographic work. He did not know it yet, but the future reserved for him something different and more fulfilling.
In the buildings, the less he got along with the residents, the better the stay was. He always hid somebody to remind him of its fate, even involuntarily. He only needed a few negative thoughts and words to undermine his self-esteem. He had to remain a stranger, to avoid indulging too much, to work like a bear, to speak as little as possible of his ambitions, even if the most curious ones often proved the most enjoyable people to mingle with. The problem came from gossip that spread very quickly. Revealing to someone a desire for success in the artistic community while cleaning vestibules for many years was difficult and could represent the fantasy of an absurd person who forgot to keep their feet on Earth, far removed from any economic reality.
The cleaning over and Frank was lying on the bench, waiting for the postman to arrive. He was trying to relax his body a bit from the exhaustion.
As soon as he received the mail, he sorted the letters and then distributed them to the residents. Then, his role would be nothing more than being present, waiting, in the event that an occupant would need a service or that some and rare trouble would occur in the residence.
It was finally 8 pm and the end of his work day. Frank had hurried to close the door to go to the metro; direction Montparnasse. As he got to the address where Svetlana was staying, he had called her. She was still getting ready. She had gone down nearly ten minutes later. They smiled at each other. Svetlana had thrown herself into his arms, they languorously kissed each other. Frank took her hand and they returned to Montparnasse station to go to the Gare du Nord.
Svetlana and Frank were sitting side by side as she rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair. They seemed like a young couple very much in love. Yet less than twenty-four hours separated them from their first kiss. Frank appreciated those moments that seemed like nothing, but to him magical in the course of life. They are rare and very precious.
They radiated the harmony you feel reflected the image of a sweet and touching painting you admire. Sitting in front of them, a man watched them. His eyes were red, as if sadness had invaded him. Frank had examined him with a fleeting glance. He had drawn this conclusion. To make sure of that, he had once again glanced at the man who was still looking at them deeply. This attitude intrigued him. Was it their lovey-dovey behaviour towards each other that put him in this state? Did he recall, for example, a former companion, whom he had long been in love with before she left him? Frank felt affliction for this stranger. But, to each one his trouble to carry. Frank too had been through the painful experience of such a disappointment in the past, with the feeling of dereliction and isolation when love rejects you. He knew that loneliness is a hard test to go through. He was aware that the more the suffering persists and the more the joy will be amplified when a new happiness will be invited in your life.
The Thalys train was ready to go. Frank had accompanied Svetlana to the right car. They kissed each other some more, prolonging their separation for a few minutes. The travellers went aboard the train as their kisses continued. A ticket inspector waited calmly beside the door. The departure time arrived. The travellers went aboard the train as their kisses continued. A ticket inspector waited calmly beside the door. It was time to leave. Svetlana freed herself from the arms that embraced her. She had left her pink jacket with Frank. The weather forecast was hot and humid. She asked him to give it back to her when she returned. It was a way to test a form of trust between them. Would Frank come looking for her, with her coat in hand or forget her? Would this man be reliable and serious, or would he prove to be just another joke among the mass of Parisian playboys? A short test that would offer initial answers.
Frank quickly waved Svetlana goodbye as she disappeared inside the train.
With the jacket around his arm, Frank went back to the station. He paid particular attention to the precious garment that had just been handed to him.
Going up a flight of stairs, his cheerful smile had vanished. Frank found himself face to face with a paramilitary triad that stared at him, barracked and armed with famas. This pink coat around his arm looked suspicious! What did this fag stash away below?
This kind of ghost that roamed the Parisian railway stations presented a double vision of unpleasant aggression in the urban landscape, through their rifles and their greenish costumes—the colour of the bad days—perpetuating year by year a sad parade. Safety ostentation cannot produce anything good. Even if it offers a lure of security to the French, the government deploys above all the fear among the citizens and perhaps also a little dislike. The best result is obtained with an invisible protection. That way, there is no provocation or exasperation, like the civilian police dispersed or concealed throughout Paris. No need to sugar coat anything and gratify the inhabitants—neither the tourists—of a very ugly image: that of a France who is afraid, of a France on the defensive, vigipirated in the red since 2005! Moreover, could these soldiers distinguish a terrorist from an average citizen? For sure such an individual would pass under their radar unnoticed. Because, immersed in a crowd, they remain undetectable. No offense to those who rule us…
These soldiers stroll up and down like puppets. They themselves are tired of walking for hours. However, they have very little choice. These young people are subject to ridiculous orders. They can only focus on their jobs and they have to show up at a certain time at a certain place and march around there as slowly as possible. On top of everything, they are paid a very small bonus at the end of the month, for a dull and old-fashioned show. A soldier adds only one image in the collective unconscious: war and desolation. The complete opposite of a civilized and serene society.
At home, the evening went by in the typical fashion of that of a bachelor. A quick meal in the microwave, a refreshing shower followed by a solitary hand job, a Hollywood circus movie, and then off to bed.
The next day, the cycle began again. The same uninteresting day of work was waiting for him. In the evening, everyone could read the joy on his face. With Svetlana’s jacket again around his arm, he languished in the line. The Thalys had just stopped. A crowd of people rushed to find their relatives. Frank had to move several times or Svetlana might not have noticed him in the same corner, blocked by people. When she appeared, she wore an immeasurable smile and gave him a look that any guy would want the woman he adored to give him, Svetlana went straight for Frank’s lips. She did not hide how happy she was to see him. Their kiss was eternal, as if this short absence had tested their attachment and their patience. That day, Frank noticed that they were already devilishly infatuated with each other; that day, he felt that their romance would last well beyond a now alarming expiration date; that day he was wrong. He was right about the passion he was beginning to feed, about the bright glow that he could see in her blue, sparkling eyes that devoured him, about that radiant smile that told him what the girl’s heart felt without her mouth having to say it, about the velvety and caressing hands that lingered on the contour of his face, about that kiss that melted like a candy between his lips. He was right, except for the most fundamental part: he naively believed that love would become stronger over time. He had been right only about the strength of the bond that had united them, without thinking for a second that it would become possible for all this happiness to be in the past within a few weeks. In that blessed moment, how could he foresee the catastrophe to come?
When happiness surrounds you, you believe like a fool that it will stay with you forever. This is an unfortunate mistake. Nothing remains constant in life, neither love, nor friendship, nor work, not even money. Nothing lasts forever. All good things only last for a while, all good things survive only a period of time, all acquired property only provide a limited supply of prosperity. When the blessed time is over, the opposite invites itself, becoming a party pooper and suddenly taking over from a once flourishing season. The latter will always be judged too quickly. Just as the opposite is valid, a painful or difficult period is replaced by pleasure. Everything comes to those who find the strength to wait, to continue to build or to walk towards the dreams that drives him, towards goals that he strives to achieve.
After a full make out session in the middle of the station, so happy being reunited, Frank had suggested to Svetlana that they had dinner at his home. She happily accepted the invitation. This trip abroad seemed to have seduced her. On the way, she had told him what she had seen: the Palais-Royal, the Grand-Place, the European Parliament… in short, the most touristy places that were nothing like her hometown. She was delighted, radiant, dazzling. Secretly, already a bit in love. Live was becoming delicious.
Svetlana was not particularly hungry, so they had a small meal. Frank had opened a bottle of white wine. To go along with it, they nibbled on a few slices of salmon.
Svetlana did not have a habit of eating a lot at night. Generally, she preferred to eat some fruits that seemed healthier for her body. She often compared herself to her mother who had a slimmer figure. Although she was not too hung up about it, Svetlana did not consider herself thin enough.
They sat on the bed, side by side. The table was in front of them. Svetlana taught Frank a few words in Russian. He recited them, but forgot them almost immediately. Frank was not good at languages, unlike Svetlana. The only language he would master would remain French. She had asked him to pronounce in Russian, “Ya lyublyu tebya,” which meant “I love you”. He struggled to say it, which made Svetlana laugh… a lot. His accent amused her. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t control herself. Frank became overwhelmed with desire. Suddenly he jumped on her and kissed her passionately. Consumed by a similar craving, Svetlana had let herself be carried away and they had rolled around on the mattress.
During the impulsive kiss, Frank’s hands took advantage of the situation and slid lower down. Svetlana had blocked and pushed them away, before questioning Frank. She wanted to know what he wanted from her, really. Although the situation seemed obvious, why did he ask her to go to his place? Frank had explained that she had won him over in the park, that he had been touched by her naturalness and her spontaneity. He really liked her, quite simply. Svetlana smiled and said, “okay.” Just a small word that offered him his approval to continue what he started. She started kissing him again, and then asked him if in France relationships always evolved so quickly. Frank had just smiled in response, before sliding a hand towards her chest.
Svetlana felt Frank’s sincerity. For this reason, she had agreed to go further that day. She had never rushed to make love. She felt completely transformed. She thought that she behaved like a little boy with a high libido. Usually, successive dates grew towards relationships that led to more intimacy. Usually, successive dates grew towards relationships that led to more intimacy. The French seemed to her very sure of themselves, and with a one-track mind on sex. The internationally famous reputation of the French lover seemed just about right. Svetlana had just realised this for herself and she was excited to taste the French flavour.
When they were both dressed in the traditional nude costume, moving side by side like two earthworms, Svetlana told him she did not want to get pregnant. He had to put on a condom. This remark made Frank smile. He had not imagined for a moment venturing without this protection. However, he appreciated that she cared about that. He grabbed two boxes from the closet, letting her choose the kind she preferred. Obviously, Frank had anticipated this opportunity. Svetlana rejected the brand she did not know. This amazing discernment amused Frank. Both kinds were worth the same. Frank’s inclination went even for the other brand, because it was thinner and guaranteed better sensations. It did not matter! He felt it was a priority to put his partner at ease. He had put on the hood that Svetlana had already unwrapped. She was lying down and patiently waiting to receive Frank between her legs, ready to receive his rod. Before turning to the more serious things, Frank had carried his head between Svetlana’s thighs. Few women do not like cunnilingus. Since she was just ready for him to ride her, Frank had deduced that maybe her experiences with that were not that great.
Svetlana had closed her eyes to feel the dynamic shivers running through her body. Their movements were sensual, except that Svetlana was hoping for something a less… gentle. When it comes to their sexuality, women are so different that men can only perceive what they want once an initial thorough examination has taken place. Svetlana wanted extreme sensations. She hinted that he should not hesitate to be more vigorous. Frank did not have to be asked again. He had chiselled her like a raging bull. The bedding burst at the seams and jerked on all sides during the vibrating impulses and moved away from the wall it was attached to. A heat worthy of a sauna had invaded the room. The window was fogged, the two bodies were sweating immensely. Svetlana had moaned in total bliss for several minutes before screaming in pain. Frank’s hip had just hit the top of her thigh. The intensity she had begged for had suddenly become unbearable. She had asked that he calm down a little bit for the rest of it. Frank did not mind. He could go so rough forever anyhow. Their entertainment had continued through a peaceful sensual time.
A quick individual shower, then they lay down in the bed that had just crossed a turbulent swell. Svetlana had snuggled up in her partner’s arms and laid her head on his chest, whose body had just turned into a voluptuous pillow.
Frank caressed his sweetheart’s hair. He adorned her face with many kisses. Between the gentle touches, he asked her what time she had to get up the next day to get to work. Frank had set his alarm clock at seven to ten to get ready. Svetlana had jumped, surprised, almost furious, without bothering to answer his question.
“What?! You work tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me anything before?”
Frank was speechless, surprised by the excessive reaction, unexpected. He had watched her, serene. Svetlana was pouting.
“I’m disappointed, Frank. I thought we would sleep in together. I would have gone home if I had known.”
“Did you not enjoy the evening?”
“Of course, yes! I loved! It was very…”
“Very good?” Frank asked her, cutting her off.
“No! Much more than that! There are no words to express what I felt. It’s just that I wanted to sleep in late the morning. Because of my trip, I am very tired.”
“You can sleep, Sveta. When you want to go, you just have to slam the door. Okay?”
“Okay!”
Svetlana’s smile had returned. They both stretched out at the edge of the bed. Svetlana rest her head on Frank’s chest. While caressing her silky hair, Frank wondered if leaving her alone at his home was a good idea. He had only known her for a few days. What was there to steal from him? Nothing very precious. She seemed like a trustworthy person, innocent of all amorality. He hoped that he was not wrong. She did not look like a woman who stole from people. Rather, it’s quite the opposite. If he wanted to create a romantic story with her, he’d have to trust her at some point. If in love there is nothing but mistrust, then no noble feeling can reside there.
After a last passionate embrace, slowly, the two lovers had fallen asleep, soothed, blissful.
At the appointed time, Frank’s phone vibrated. He had to get up and go to work. Svetlana was still tired. She opened her eyes with difficulty. Exhaustion held her senses. Frank advised her not to worry about him and stay in bed. But, the back and forth between the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedroom occupied her attention.
Thirty minutes later, Frank was ready to go. Svetlana was still lying under the sheets, sleepy and naked. She had watched him get dressed, tidy up their mess from the night before and drink his coffee. Before disappearing, he had wished her a pleasant day. Then he covered her with endless little kisses. This exchange of fluid to them was amazing. Frank lingered. He could not manage to separate from her. Every step he took, he would come back to kiss her again. He could not go out of the apartment anymore. She absorbed him completely and did nothing to let him go. She received and gave, without counting. A mysterious, ineffable charm had already bound them. An inherent magic is the only thing that could transform love at first sight into such hungry passion. Frank appeared already very much in love. With resignation, he had to find the strength to unstick himself from her to avoid a being too late. Svetlana gave him a dejected pout. She stared at him with her shimmering eyes… Another kiss. The last. For sure. Then, he cleared out from the place, like a thief. The slamming of the door signified their separation for a few days. Each would go about their daily tasks.
These activities were nothing but their respective jobs. Frank was mopping the floor while Svetlana was selling handbags. In the evening, both were exhausted, for different reasons. Frank lived in a building where the simple calmness of his parents’ home here only reflected a gruff fantasy. He could not fall asleep until two o’clock in the morning, at best. As the working hours were fixed, he could not enjoy sleeping in on mornings. Frank returned exhausted. As for Svetlana, her job drained and fatigued her with the obligation to remain constantly on her feet. It is forbidden to sit except on their lunch break. After so many hours standing on her feet and listening to the customers’ requests, once at home, she collapsed on the small bed of eighty centimetres that looked like a child’s bed. The room was not very large: nine square meters and poorly furnished. Only the essential things occupied the little space. A desk with a bench and a large wardrobe completed the furniture. Near the entrance door was the shower tray, simple and banal, cubic. The hostel housed only women, to avoid any conjugal problems. Typically, the rooms are rented to foreigners who came to France for a few months to work. For the few French women who lived there, their lives had taken a bad turn. They had found themselves in financial difficulty. They were usually divorced women or women thrown mercilessly to nothingness and ruin by their previous partners. In this place, they found hope towards a brighter tomorrow. “At least,” some say, “they are not on the street.”
One of Svetlana’s colleagues was staying at this residence; a Moldovan with whom she got along more or less well. They were not always on the same wavelength, unlike her Ukrainian friend who was basically her personality twin. Physically though, this was not the case. Although both tall, the Ukrainian had dark hair and was slender. Svetlana envied her thinness, even if in return this girl was suffering from a Lilliputian chest. Svetlana also did not have very developed breasts. For her body size, it seemed to her that what she had were a little too small. One of her exes had drawn her attention by pointing out that if she had a cup size of about a thirty-six C or D, she would have enjoyed a body likely to captivate any male! Would not she rather have looked like a vulgar bimbo? To create a certain illusion, she used padded bras like many young women her age.
At work, Svetlana never had the same hours two days in a row. She hated to start late in the morning or worse, early in the afternoon. On those days she would finish after nine o’clock. That was very late to go home. She did not like not being able to enjoy free time after her work day.
Svetlana liked to look at the handbags. When the opportunity arose, she would hang them on her arm. She imagined that it was hers. Her daydreaming was usually cut short. Either a client came to ask for information, or she wanted to buy the one that Svetlana was holding.
Brands like Cartier, Ralph Lauren or Dolce & Gabbana easily surpassed a thousand euros. Other kinds were even close to two thousand. There were all sizes, from disproportionately giant to miniscule. Svetlana was fascinated with them and often admired them. As she was entitled to a twenty percent discount on the price by being a saleswoman, she made weekly favourite purchases at the great benefit of her employer. Generally, she did not spend more than fifty euros, including discount. If Svetlana was paid more, she would not have hesitated to invest in the luxurious items from the shop. In a way, she was a real fashion victim, but also of the consumer society. Without a purse on her arm, Svetlana did not feel whole, as if a part of her femininity was missing.
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