Well, this is not what Enjolras had expected. He just has to sit down, so much shocks him this message. So that is how it is, the twentieth century. Didn't he just talk about it, some days ago? "Citizens, the nineteenth century is great, but the twentieth century will be happy", he said. Now he wants to know how it really is. Is it how he expected it? At least what he heard of Czechoslovakia seems a good indication.
But how did he end up here? Could it be that he really died? He does not know, maybe he never will know it. What matters is that he is here, in the future. But what should he tell if someone asks him who he is or where he comes from? He can't just say that he was born in the nineteenth century and that he doesn't know how he came here. They won't believe it. Should he do as if he was one of them? But they would certainly recognize that he isn't. Because he doesn't know how they behave, what is interesting for them. All he knows is knowledge of the nineteenth century. He doesn't know enough about the politics of today.
He takes a further look around in what seems to be his room. Beside the bed and the table there is a cupboard that he has not examined yet. Maybe there are some twentieth century cloths in it, he hopes. And he should be right. There are some blue trousers of a strange cloth which he had never seen before. He now changes his cloths, so that he doesn't seem so different from his environment anymore There is a bag too, in which he finds some more books and what is even more interesting, his passport. Issued for a certain Julien Enjolras, citizen of the French Republic, it certainly has to belong to him. Other than a nice picture of him which seems surprisingly real it also contains a visa which allows him to stay in Czechoslovakia for the next year. According to the dates he entered the country yesterday.
While he is sitting on his bed, lost in his thoughts, someone knocks on his door. Now it counts, who may it be? These are his thoughts when he opens the door. Outside there is a young vivid woman. She is blonde and quite small.
"Are you alright or do you need something?"
Enjolras did not know what to answer.
"No, I am fine. Thank you for your concern. I'm only a little bit tired, I have just arrived."
"It is just because I saw you before. You seemed somehow confused. "
"It is nothing important. You don't have to worry."
She would not understand his worries.
"You are not Czech, are you? Where do you come from?"
"From France."
This statement makes her smile, Enjolras does not know why.
"This is great. I have never met anyone from France before. But where exactly do you come from?"
"I live in Paris but originally I come from Southern France. And you?"
"I am from Prague itself, I live here with my family. And why have you come here?"
Now it gets difficult. This is the first thought Enjolras has. Not knowing what provisions destiny has made for him here, a bit afraid to say anything wrong.
"I've come here to study. As I also do in Paris. But now what I needed was a change, a new experience. So I've come here to learn more about this country, its politics... Maybe then I can change something for the better there in France."
He now is sure what to do afterwards. He has to learn more about how his Patria has developed now. What if they ask him something and he can't answer it? Is that progress made just here or also at home? There is so much to find out.
"So you are interested in politics?"
"Yes." he just says.
He would have so much more to say about it, but he can't. Everything he always speaks about belongs to the nineteenth century: his ideas, the problems, the issues he talks about. He doesn't know whether that still applies to their point of view. What if it would sound odd to them?
"So am I. That is great. It is just what we were talking about before. You can join us if you want. You do not have to be afraid. Just say what you think. Or if you do not want you do not have to. But it would be interesting to know your experiences. You certainly have a different point of view than we have."
And she is right. It is just not the point of view she is expecting…