Thank you for encouraging me to continue, especially those, who found time
not only to read, but to review. The following chapter had lots of
variants, but my characters've chosen this one – especially Angie, who kept
me awake for the whole night with this...
Disclaimer applies /grin/.
Chapter two. The Creature.
The usual noise of the airport brought him back to reality. He was in Nice. For the whole week he could think only about her – because it was HER voice he had heard. Next day he redialed and spoke with a very pleasant man, who checked with the papers. "Yes, the owner of "The Shelter" called you, but an urgent business meeting made her go to Paris. She'll return in five days." Also he said he would be very glad to do everything for Dr. S.' best fiend. Absolutely everything? Even the breakfast at eight, though "The Shelter" opens at nine? Yes, even that.
Hannibal wanted to see her. Somehow he was absolutely sure it was her voice on the phone. His little Starling found him. Even if she didn't want to. Her voice softened, got deeper. She must be in her 40s now, how does she look?...
And he was in Nice. Again, after seventeen years he inhaled the unique scent of the city. They say New York is the city of contrasts. What is Nice then?... The sun made everything glitter, but one could just wait until the sun's down. Then he would see a real Nice. Nightlife for tourists. Red- lights' street. Ugliness of the night instead of the beauty of the day. Not all that glitters is gold.
But Clarice was gold. She shone even on her worst days. And her magic smile, which he saw only once – when her eyes were closed and she dreamily spoke about them going to Paris. It was a light soft smile, calling out a memory of something aerial.
And today was the very day they'd meet. The very morning. He arrived at 6.30 – quite enough time to catch a taxi, drop in the appartment he had rented, have a shower and change clothes. Ah – and take off this camouflage – moustache and false blond hair.
But as he was almost there, sudden thought came into his mind. The thought which quietly waited for the hour to appear at the scene: what if she refuses again? What if after all those years she didn't change her mind? What if she found a new love? Whant if she doesn't need him?...
By the time he rang the bell he had come up with a decision. He will look at his little Starling. Only look – and disappear. That's all he needed – because that's all he could ever have.
The place was amazing. "The Shelter" completely proved it deserved the name – only marginals had to be rich. Soon he discovered it's not nessessary. Some meals were expensive, but most of all were accessible for students. If only this place is for students, he thouhg.
Hannibal chose to sit in the Green Hall. Well, the 'hall' may sound enormously compared with this tiny room, he thought, but he couldn't call This a room either. Clarice called a great designer with plenty of fantasy. Wall and ceiling were of aquamarine colour, looked like there were no wall- paper at all – just a little baby was given the task to paint the walls and did it in his own childish way. It was charming. There was a huge wooden table in the centre of the room – and six chairs for those who wanted to dine in a big company. Old black "Zimmermann" just against the table where he was so kindly seated by a young waiter. Two lampshades, showing views of plantations in Southern States. Big charcoal portrait of Che Gevara. Some other paintings, wooden bar with bottles exposed. Every piece of furniture in the Hall was made of dark wood – except the low armchair, tiny and elegant, standing in the corner between the bar and the piano. The low table near it. This was Clarice's place, Hannibal thought instantly. He could imagine her sitting there in a long white saronge and linen shirt, the upper button unfastened, exposing her long white neck... No, he thought. That's not Clarice. That's how I want to see her. That's why she ran away...
Only to come up to this kind of life?... He was now sure she found someone. Only love could do such a miracle. And that means she didn't love him so much to change. He sighed and began observing the menu.
Suddenly he heard The Noise. Something big and black rushed headlong out of the kitchen only to catch the back of the chair on its way and abruptly brake. Then it flopped down the chair, exposing its back to Hannibal. Only then he could see it was a girl with remarkable black curled hair and tanned skin. She must be a bit over thirteen he decided, according to the clothes she was wearing. Not completely a woman, but already not a small girl.
The creature took the guitar from the wall not even caring to rise from the chair, ran over the finger-board to make sure everything was OK and accompanied herself wih the song: "Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me..." She stopped in the middle of the song just to scream out loud: "Ruben! Where's my coffee!"
The man in a cook uniform rushed from the kitchen. He was about fourty- five, Armenian, getting bald. Could Clarice?... No, I won't believe that, Hannibal thought.
"Behave youself, young lady! We have a visitor!"
"I won't. Until I get my coffee. And – no Armenian ass will teach me how to behave!"
Hannibal chuckled. The Creature was so rude... but she wasn't Ruben's daughter. He couldn't magine a daughter speaking with her father like that.
"Angie! How could you?"
And who's that? Hannibal turned to the sound of the voice. Male, about 35, mulatto. Hannibal quickly took the morning paper from the table to pretend he is quite indifferent to the situation. The Creature was rude, discourteous – but he already felt the strong sympathy for her, and couldn't explain the reason of this feeling.
"Angie!", repeated mulatto, "How could you say it to Ruben?"
"Felix! You weren't supposed to be here so early! The very day I inherit the family business I will force you to give up the early taking to school."
Felix grinned – but only for a slight moment. Then his face became serious. "Angie. Where have you been last night?"
"I don't have to tell you, do I?" Angie's voice seemed cold and absolutely indifferent. And for the first time in his life Hannibal couldn't understand why. Of course, he could make a quess, but couldn't tell the reason at once as he usually did.
"You don't have to. But you have to tell your mother about it."
So it's Clarice's child. Hmm, she didn't care much to bring up her daughter right way. He would never allow his daughter to behave like that.
"I don't have to tell her. She comes back from her stupid Paris only at two. By that time I'll be at school. And if you don't say anything she will never know."
"And how long are you going to disguise? I know where you have been – and this place is certainly not for you."
"What place?"
"We have a visitor... I'm sorry we've spoiled your breakfast. And the child is sorry too. Angie?"
And it was the first time he saw the Creature's face. She was a child of Clarice – it could be seen at once. She, however, inherited black hair from somebody else. He was quite right about her age – and her black T-shirt proved it by the self-made inscripton: "Good Angel – Dead Angel" and black mirrored sunglasses, completely hiding her eyes.
"Sorry to spoil your breakfast", Angie repeated in a low voice. "Good luck to you during the meeting. But remember – it is useless to behave in life and at the hippodrome the same way. She gave a cheerful smile – and disappeared behind the kitchen door.
Hannibal sighed. Maybe this Creature was just an obsession. A hallucination. But it wasn't. So Clarice is going to be here at two. He could stay here and wait, but then he decided there would be too much people. Every table was reserved. Sooner or later people would gather here for breakfast – and he had his reservation for the whole day. He would eat and then find the Creature. Hannibal somehow felt she was in the right mood to tell him about Clarice. And the Creature... was an interesting object to study.
Chapter two. The Creature.
The usual noise of the airport brought him back to reality. He was in Nice. For the whole week he could think only about her – because it was HER voice he had heard. Next day he redialed and spoke with a very pleasant man, who checked with the papers. "Yes, the owner of "The Shelter" called you, but an urgent business meeting made her go to Paris. She'll return in five days." Also he said he would be very glad to do everything for Dr. S.' best fiend. Absolutely everything? Even the breakfast at eight, though "The Shelter" opens at nine? Yes, even that.
Hannibal wanted to see her. Somehow he was absolutely sure it was her voice on the phone. His little Starling found him. Even if she didn't want to. Her voice softened, got deeper. She must be in her 40s now, how does she look?...
And he was in Nice. Again, after seventeen years he inhaled the unique scent of the city. They say New York is the city of contrasts. What is Nice then?... The sun made everything glitter, but one could just wait until the sun's down. Then he would see a real Nice. Nightlife for tourists. Red- lights' street. Ugliness of the night instead of the beauty of the day. Not all that glitters is gold.
But Clarice was gold. She shone even on her worst days. And her magic smile, which he saw only once – when her eyes were closed and she dreamily spoke about them going to Paris. It was a light soft smile, calling out a memory of something aerial.
And today was the very day they'd meet. The very morning. He arrived at 6.30 – quite enough time to catch a taxi, drop in the appartment he had rented, have a shower and change clothes. Ah – and take off this camouflage – moustache and false blond hair.
But as he was almost there, sudden thought came into his mind. The thought which quietly waited for the hour to appear at the scene: what if she refuses again? What if after all those years she didn't change her mind? What if she found a new love? Whant if she doesn't need him?...
By the time he rang the bell he had come up with a decision. He will look at his little Starling. Only look – and disappear. That's all he needed – because that's all he could ever have.
The place was amazing. "The Shelter" completely proved it deserved the name – only marginals had to be rich. Soon he discovered it's not nessessary. Some meals were expensive, but most of all were accessible for students. If only this place is for students, he thouhg.
Hannibal chose to sit in the Green Hall. Well, the 'hall' may sound enormously compared with this tiny room, he thought, but he couldn't call This a room either. Clarice called a great designer with plenty of fantasy. Wall and ceiling were of aquamarine colour, looked like there were no wall- paper at all – just a little baby was given the task to paint the walls and did it in his own childish way. It was charming. There was a huge wooden table in the centre of the room – and six chairs for those who wanted to dine in a big company. Old black "Zimmermann" just against the table where he was so kindly seated by a young waiter. Two lampshades, showing views of plantations in Southern States. Big charcoal portrait of Che Gevara. Some other paintings, wooden bar with bottles exposed. Every piece of furniture in the Hall was made of dark wood – except the low armchair, tiny and elegant, standing in the corner between the bar and the piano. The low table near it. This was Clarice's place, Hannibal thought instantly. He could imagine her sitting there in a long white saronge and linen shirt, the upper button unfastened, exposing her long white neck... No, he thought. That's not Clarice. That's how I want to see her. That's why she ran away...
Only to come up to this kind of life?... He was now sure she found someone. Only love could do such a miracle. And that means she didn't love him so much to change. He sighed and began observing the menu.
Suddenly he heard The Noise. Something big and black rushed headlong out of the kitchen only to catch the back of the chair on its way and abruptly brake. Then it flopped down the chair, exposing its back to Hannibal. Only then he could see it was a girl with remarkable black curled hair and tanned skin. She must be a bit over thirteen he decided, according to the clothes she was wearing. Not completely a woman, but already not a small girl.
The creature took the guitar from the wall not even caring to rise from the chair, ran over the finger-board to make sure everything was OK and accompanied herself wih the song: "Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me..." She stopped in the middle of the song just to scream out loud: "Ruben! Where's my coffee!"
The man in a cook uniform rushed from the kitchen. He was about fourty- five, Armenian, getting bald. Could Clarice?... No, I won't believe that, Hannibal thought.
"Behave youself, young lady! We have a visitor!"
"I won't. Until I get my coffee. And – no Armenian ass will teach me how to behave!"
Hannibal chuckled. The Creature was so rude... but she wasn't Ruben's daughter. He couldn't magine a daughter speaking with her father like that.
"Angie! How could you?"
And who's that? Hannibal turned to the sound of the voice. Male, about 35, mulatto. Hannibal quickly took the morning paper from the table to pretend he is quite indifferent to the situation. The Creature was rude, discourteous – but he already felt the strong sympathy for her, and couldn't explain the reason of this feeling.
"Angie!", repeated mulatto, "How could you say it to Ruben?"
"Felix! You weren't supposed to be here so early! The very day I inherit the family business I will force you to give up the early taking to school."
Felix grinned – but only for a slight moment. Then his face became serious. "Angie. Where have you been last night?"
"I don't have to tell you, do I?" Angie's voice seemed cold and absolutely indifferent. And for the first time in his life Hannibal couldn't understand why. Of course, he could make a quess, but couldn't tell the reason at once as he usually did.
"You don't have to. But you have to tell your mother about it."
So it's Clarice's child. Hmm, she didn't care much to bring up her daughter right way. He would never allow his daughter to behave like that.
"I don't have to tell her. She comes back from her stupid Paris only at two. By that time I'll be at school. And if you don't say anything she will never know."
"And how long are you going to disguise? I know where you have been – and this place is certainly not for you."
"What place?"
"We have a visitor... I'm sorry we've spoiled your breakfast. And the child is sorry too. Angie?"
And it was the first time he saw the Creature's face. She was a child of Clarice – it could be seen at once. She, however, inherited black hair from somebody else. He was quite right about her age – and her black T-shirt proved it by the self-made inscripton: "Good Angel – Dead Angel" and black mirrored sunglasses, completely hiding her eyes.
"Sorry to spoil your breakfast", Angie repeated in a low voice. "Good luck to you during the meeting. But remember – it is useless to behave in life and at the hippodrome the same way. She gave a cheerful smile – and disappeared behind the kitchen door.
Hannibal sighed. Maybe this Creature was just an obsession. A hallucination. But it wasn't. So Clarice is going to be here at two. He could stay here and wait, but then he decided there would be too much people. Every table was reserved. Sooner or later people would gather here for breakfast – and he had his reservation for the whole day. He would eat and then find the Creature. Hannibal somehow felt she was in the right mood to tell him about Clarice. And the Creature... was an interesting object to study.