Paris Nights and Other Impressions of Places and People: A Collection of Stories
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It’s a story in a story, a real drama that happened in our presence and excited our minds and hearts. We wanted Luke and Katharine to be together! They really deserved happiness and peace, and the love of each other.
The next evening, Luke dropped by our living room. Slyly smiling, he said that everything was just wonderful: he came here for his belongings, and they were heading for Barcelona for the next honey week with Katherine.
As for our questions on whether Katherine forgave him or not and what happened after they left the hostel, he smiled and said: “I’ve always loved and will love the only woman in my life: my incomparable Katharine. She is my ideal. But after the first ten years of happy marriage, our relations became not as vivid, a bit quiet. And she began to lose her inner fire. It was still warm and quiet with her, but she turned from a desired woman into a sister, friend, the mother of my children…” Luke told us that he stopped feeling himself a man; but with her, he felt madly attractive and sexual. Now he became such a family man, or rather a father of a family, than a beloved and desired husband.
Then he thought of a unique plan. He decided to “betray” Katharine. Within twenty years, he invents various stories and situations that allow his wife to suspect him of infidelity. As soon as she “calms down”, he thinks of more complicated schemes, never repeating them or making a mistake. He calculates everything down to the smallest details, and leaves “hints” so that his spouse could “suspect” and “catch” him.
Ellen, the beautiful blonde, perfectly played her part. From the very beginning, she was ready to escape as soon as Luke’s wife appeared at the hostel. He did not doubt that she would come. Katharine had such a quick temper.
And here, the fading flame of passion flared with the doubled force. Luke and Katharine are again captured by their feelings, flavored with affection and experience from their lived years. They spent an unforgettable night together, and are now going to Barcelona to enjoy the moment of pure happiness with and love for each other!
Luke has become a devoted and loving husband again. That is, until the next time he has to awaken a real tigress ready to fight for love, to overcome distances and make the real rows in a Spanish style.
Having turned back from a threshold, Luke softly laughed and said: “Honestly, sometimes I am tormented by doubts on whether my wife is so na"ive to believe in such stories. The main thing is that these stories do the necessary thing. But sometimes, after all that, it seems she knows what game I started, and accepts these rules because she needs it as well as I do.”
With these words, Luke left the hostel. We, sitting by the fireplace in the living room, plunged into a deep reverie. Is it really possible? The grief of his spouse was too sincere when she was sharing it with us. Or maybe those tiny, shining sparks in her eyes, which did not fade for a second, were a fruit of our imagination?
Chapter 3. Ice-Cream Man
For four evenings and counting, I have been looking at a plump person of about forty years old who, in turn, listened to our stories very attentively or became an involuntary witness to their outcomes. But he never us told about himself. He reminded me of the classic Santa Claus, but with no beard. He had the same cap of wavy gray hair which went down to his shoulders, and a small snow-white mustache. His eyebrows were of a saturated chestnut color, and it made us think that they were regularly tinted. However, nature and genetics sometimes make cheerful and funny things with people. And he had always on socks of a bright red color, with white circles or strips.
The only thing we knew about him for certain, in addition to what has been listed above, is that our Santa was an ice-cream man. And not just a seller from trays or mobile refrigerators. No: he created ice cream; looked for new tastes, combinations and forms; gave his options. Ice cream was his main passion. It was clear from just a few phrases that he had dropped from all that time we were in a guest room by a fireplace. My god! Not many people would tell such things about their darlings as he told about ice cream. Throughout that time, his eyes began to shine and radiate such a light of love and happiness, kindness and creation that he became a real copy of Santa Claus.
That evening, he returned with a light aroma of cognac and expensive cigarettes absorbed by his hair. He took a seat in a comfortable armchair, led us round by his slightly drowsy eyes, and began a story. It began without prefaces, or false requests “to allow” and other. It was just as if all of us had been waiting for it for a long time (that, actually, was the truth); and he, at last, decided to tell.
Since his early childhood, the ice-cream man adored sweets. His family was poor; and the “family” itself was his mother, who worked two jobs, and him.
Unlike other mothers, his mother did not limit the little boy in sweets. Certainly, when she could afford it, the kid received candies, chocolate and, of course, ice cream. He got them not only on big holidays, although not every day, either.
In those days, the future ice-cream man decided what he wanted to be. His choice was difficult: to become a confectioner, or create frozen delicacies? The complexity of such a choice probably pulled him away from his agemates, who sincerely dreamed of becoming firefighters, astronauts or cool special agents. At the age of eight, his dream of creating ice cream was not just “uncool”; it was “a slam”, as the boys in his neighborhood said in disgust.
Time went on. The kid grew up and understood that in order to fulfill his lifelong dream, which could seem so simple in comparison to the dreams of others, he needed to take action. Having assumed as a basis of his life that theory without practice was dead, the future ice-cream man decided to begin with practice. He got a part-time job at the nearest caf'e. I won’t tell you the details of his growth. Within half a year, the guy grew from the washerman of floors to the assistant chef. And desserts were his peculiarity. In just a few months, a simple and small caf'e in a rather poor Parisian quarter became incredibly popular, and the prices for desserts were shamefully high.
After a while, the ice-cream man was lured away to a decent restaurant, and everything was smooth sailing. By 35, he was the owner of a caf'e that served exquisite coffee, elite tea and delightful desserts.
Our ice-cream man was at his best. He was creating with all his heart and with ecstasy, mixing berries, fruits, and chocolate; and combining ice cream with whipped cream and even hot pepper.
Finally, a big number of Parisians were ready to go to him from all throughout the city to enjoy his marvelous desserts. The ice-cream man became extremely popular; and thanks to his surprising physical similarity to Santa Claus, he was just as well-known a figure in the sphere of desserts and dainty delicacies.