They went out from the restaurant and rejoined the cold breeze of the evening. One stopped, stuck a black classical hat on his white haired head, lit a cigarette with a match and wrapped his neck with a red scarf and hid his left hand in the pocket of his black overcoat. Pfffff… Cold. Fffffff… I’ll catch another one. Jesus not again! The other one pulled up the collar of his polo neck stroking his shaved head with the other hand. They remained silent for a while, maybe thinking of what they had been talking during the supper. The smoker seemed concentrated on his cigarette inhaling the smoke with delight. The dandy looking started to play with the key-ring in his pocket.
“And so, Gilles, would you come if you had the post?”
Pfffff… A telephone rang somewhere, and some moments later a light in a house went on and a shadow crossed the room and the noise stopped. Gilles tied the scarf tighter.
“well… I’d like to work with you, but I don’t know. I don’t like the city very much. It’s black and grey. You can’t do much in here can you?” The white smoke of the cigarette escaped from his mouth with every word.
“But I live in Paris, I come for the teaching and go back there as soon as I can” said the dandy, shrugging the shoulders.
“Hm… Yes Michel, Could be. I’m not sure. It’s cold, isn’t it?” Pffff… Gilles threw his cigarette. Fffff…. The smoke evaporated before his eyes as a little dying veil in the air. We’re so different. Poitiers. Not much beautiful. But not like this. Not even the cathedral has an architectural interest. Two towers in black and that’s all. Went to Sweden last year. Or was it two years ago? Norway? Don’t know. I’m one older, aren’t I? 1926. that makes thirty six. Or seven. A man in mackintosh passed by in a distracted manner. He almost hit Gilles.
“You see. Here is nothing interesting. Only volcanic stone houses and beggars. I’ll never understand what did Bergson do in this university”
“Oh! But you’ll love the students. They’re very keen”
Ana was in bed. She was tired. Maybe too tired to sleep. Maybe too much sewing. It was in those hours when she couldn’t help it and missed her home. She remembered the train coming to France. The frontier. The passport. Everything in French. Bonjour! Bonjour! Oui. Je m’appele Ana. The black wall of the building. Sewing for the money to Spain. She heard two voices in the street. Looked at the clock. Five past ten. I have to sleep. What for? She’ll spend it in make up and in lunches. She’s never known how to save money. How different they are. One saved for the other. I have to sleep. Some rest for tomorrow. She saw in her mind her mother and her aunt. People getting off the train. So different in everything. A telephone rang. She heard the footsteps above her. Just when I was about to fall asleep.
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
A man in mackintosh stopped under the only lit window in the street. He took his thick glass spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief. Someone was sobbing. Or was it the breeze? They have evaporated too.
By Jordi Balada
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