We have known each other for many years. Perhaps we don’t see as much of each other as we’d like to, but every time is sheer pleasure. Her sense of humour is overwhelming, I never laugh as much as during our face to face chats.
Like me, she’s now older, but her beauty is beyond age: it reflects the superior soul behind the grey eyes and the still voluptuous lips. Yes, I used to be madly in love, I may still be.
We were in Paris, she meeting her publisher, I visiting relations. We took an hour to reconnect, Rive Gauche, in a café that evoked to us cherished, and ancient, memories.
“So, you have made up your mind,” she said, smiling: “You are going, breaking off with old Europe…”
“I don’t think I am breaking off, rather I am being rejected!” I replied, laughing.
“I see, now, let’s think: you dislike the politics, perhaps the economics, so… you pull your money out, and disappear… Where exactly?” – as her eyes scrutinised my face, looking for confirmation, and even an answer.
“Well, I admit the politics discourages me, but still, the main thing is the climate, and geography. I like my snow dry, like my vodka… and I like space…”
“Let’s drink to that,” she said, suddenly serious,”I can imagine you, with your four by four, in the deep forests, living in a log house, in the frozen Siberian winter, your hunting rifle above the chimney, writing. How does that sound?”
“Close to what I am going to do, dear friend, and by the way, there is a little airport nearby, and the eastern shore is not so far away either!”
“Aw,” she said seizing my hand, “Is this an invitation, lover?”
Image: Peter Allert – Those Days, via tauchner