everyday story.....

FEILLE D'ALBUM(part 1)
He really was an imposible person. Too shy, and he had nothing at all to say. When he came to your studio, he just sat there, silent. When he finally went. blushing red all over his face, you wanted to scream and throw something at him.
The strange thing was that at first sight he looked most interesting. Everybody agreed about that. ou saw him in a cafe' one evening, sitting in a corner with a glass of coffe in front of him. He was a thin, dark boy, who always wore a blue shirt and a grey jacket that wa a little too small for him. He looked just like a boy who has decided to run away to sea. You expected him to get up at any moment, and walk out into the night and be drowned.
He had short bleck hair, grey eyes, white skin and a mouth that always looked ready for tears. Oh, just to see him did something to your heart! And he had this habit of blushing. If a waiter spoke to him, he turned red!
"Who is he, my dear? Do you know?"
"Yes,, His name is Ian French. He paints. They says he's very clever. Some one I know tried to mother him. She asked him how often he had a letter from home, if he had enough blankets on his bed, how much milk he drank. Then she went to his studio to make sure he had enough clean shirts. She rang and rang the bell, but nobody came to the door, although she was sure he was there...Hopeless!"
Some one else decided he ought to fall in love. She called him to her, took his hand, and told him how wonderful life can be for those who are brave. But when she went to his studio one evening, she rang and rang...Hopeless.
"What the poor boy really needs is excitement", a third woman said. She took him to cafe' and night-clubs, dark places where the drinks cost too much and there were always sories of a shooting the night before. Once he got very drunk, but still he said nothing, and when she took him home to his studio, he just said "good night" and left her outside in the street...Hopeless.
Other women tried to help him - women can be very kind- but finally they, too, were defeated. we are all busy people, and why should we spend our valuable time on someone who refuses to be helped?
"And anyway I think there is something rather old about him, don't you agree? He can't be as innocent as he looks. why come to Paris if you don't intend to have any fun?"
He lived at the top of a tall, ugly building, near the river. As it was so high, the studio had a wonderful view. Fromt he 2 big windows he could see boats on the river and an island covered with trees. From the side window he looked across to a smaller and uglier house, and down below there was a flower market. You could see the tops of huge umbrellas with bright flowers around them, and plants in boxes. Old women moved backwards and forwards among the flowers. Really, he didn't need to go out. There was always something to draw.
If any kind woman had bee able to get into his studio, she would have had a surprise. He kept it as near as a pin. Everything was arranged in its place, exactly like a painting -the bowl of eggs, the cups and the teapot on the shelf, the books and the lamp on the table. There was a red Indian cpver on his bed, and on the wall by the bed there was a small, neatly written notice:GET UP AT ONCE.
Everyday was the same. When the ligt was good he painted, then cooked a meal and tidied the studio. In the evenings he went to the cafe' or sat at home reading or writting a list which began:"What can I afford to spend". The list ended "I promise not to spend more this month. Signed, Ian French"
Nothing odd about that; but the women were right. There was something else.
One evening he was sitting at the side window eating an aple and looking down on to the tops of the huge umbrellas in the empty flower market. It had been raining, the first spring rain of the year, and the air selled of plants and wet earth. Down below in the market, the trees were covered in the new green. "What kind of trees are they?" he wondered. He stared down at the small ugky house, and suddenly two windows opened like wings and a girl came out on to the balcony, carrying a pot of daffodils. She was a strangely thin girl in a dard dress, with a pink handkerchief tied over his hair.
(to be continued..........)

~Everything is worse if I dun have Sushi to eat~

FEILLE D'ALBUM(part 2)
"Yes, it warm enough. It will do them good," she said, putting down the pot, and turning to someone in the room oinside. As she turned, she out her hands up to tidy it, and looked down at the market and up at the sky. She did not look at the house opposite. Then she disappeared.
His heart fell out of the window and down to the balcony, where it buried itself among the green leaves of the daffodils.
The room with the balcony was the sitting-room, and next to it was the kitchen. He heard her washing the dishes after supper, saw her come to the window to skake out the tablecloth. She never sang or combed her hair or stared at the moon as young girls are said to do. She always wore the same dark dress and oink handkerchief.
Who did she live wiht? Nobody else came to the window, but she always talking to someone. Her mother, he decided, was always ill. They took in sewing work. The father was dead...He had been a journalist. By working all day she and her mother just made enough money to live on, but they never went out and they had no friends.
He had to make some new notices..."Not to go to the window before sic o'clock: signed, Ian French. Not to think about her until he had finished his painting for the day: signed, Ian French"
It was quite simple. She was the only person he wanted to know because she was, he decided, the only person alive who was exactly his age. He didn't want silly girls, and he had no use for older women. She was his age. She was-well, just like him.
He sat in his studio, staring at her windows, seeing himself in those rooms with her. She was often angry. They had terrible fights, he and she. And she rarely laughed. Only sometimes, when she told him about a funny little cat she once had, who used to scratch and pretend to be fierce when she gave it meat to eat...Things like that made her laugh. Usually, they sat together very quietly, talking in low voices, or silent and tired after the day's work. Of course, she never asked him about his pictures, and ofcourse he painted the most wonderful pictures of her, which she hated because he made her so thin and so dark...
But how could he meet her?
Then he discovered that once a week, in the evening, ahe went shoping. On two Thursday he saw her at the window in a coat, carrying a basket. The next Thursday, at the same time, he ran down the stairs. There was a lovely pink light over everything. He saw it reflected in the river, and the people walking towards him in the street had pink faces and pink hands.
Outside the house he waited for her. He had no idea what he was going to do or say. "Here she comes," said a voice in his head. She walk very quickly, with small, light steps...What could he do? HE could only follow...
First went to buy some bread. Then she went to a fish shop. She had to wait a long time in there. Then she went to the fruit shop and bought an orange. As he watched her, he knew more surely than ever that he must talk to her, now. He seriousness and her lonliness, event he way she walked - separate, somehow, distant from oter people in the street- all this was so natuaral, so right to him.
"Yes, she is always like that," he thought proudly. "She and I are different from these people"
But now she was oing home, and he had no spoken to her. Then she went onto another shop. Through the window, he saw her buying an egg. She took it carefully out of the basket -a brown egg, a beautiful one, the one he himself would have chosen. She came out of the shop, and he went in. A moment later he was out again, following her through the flowers market, past the huge umbrellas, walking on a fallen flowes.
He followed her into her house and up the stairs. She stopped at a door and took a key out of her ourse. As she put the key in the lock, he ran up to her.
Blushing redder than ever, but looking straight at her, he said, almost angrily: " Excuse me, Maemoiselle, you dropped this"
And he gave her an egg.
The End.
~Everything is worse if I dun have Sushi to eat~
Được sửa chữa bởi - cutie_beautie_sushie vào 16/04/2002 20:01