Clay of Roland-Garros

In 2011, there were some fascinating sight, and stories, and some other miscellaneous things happened in the Court Phillippe Chatrier(after her German lesson, now that this half-English and Russian young lady started to train her pronounciation in French). The young lady spoke English and Russian at home, and learnt German at school. She actually really wished to be able to speak to Federer himself after the match... to salute him of his must be great work today, against Senor Nadal, whatever the result would be later. We will call her That Young Half English-Russian-Lady(TYHERL).

She had such a pair of blue-sky eyes(now you must have known her family name already). And so young as she was, there would be no excuse whatsoever to let her watch a match in such crowd alone. We zoom at her surrounding. Okay, beside her sat another blonde woman wearing a pair of black sunglasses, handed her a stick of pink cotton candy. It must be her mother. On her left, chatting calmly towards a brown-haired young boy who looked two years ahead of TYHERL, a dark-haired man in his mid 30's---now that he was stroking TYHERL's head and kissed her cheek amusedly. That should be his father--right?

Apart from the portray of the happy English-and Russian family, the spirit of Roland Garros transcended the souls of the Dual World. This is proved by the existence of, among many other Dual Citizens who actually presented there, these two silently arguing Woman and Man (we call them W and M)transparently drifting above TYHERL's place.

W had been a huge fan of Roger Federer since after 2002. She just really realized it by now the elegance of the swan-like style he demonstrated on the court. She also watched his newest Rolex commercials--- my, the fine gentleman should have regain his reborn on this clay court--- she would be really sad to just know the fact that his star would no longer shine...

under the atmosphere of this young Nadal.

So W had a plan. She would try to strike Nadal's arm at just the right moment... from far. She would make it as though it was Nadal's error of lacking warm-up. Automatically her hands were shaping such a move she would use to cast a spell at Nadal.

M held her hands.

M: You can not do this. I won't let you...

W's face turned pink as M read her tendency.

W: I'm sorry... Nadal has been dominating so much I can see Federer is sinking...

She had some point right. Amidst his loud yell, Nadal's shot had been really dangerous towards Fed's court. Not only he forced Fed to run here and there at his whole area, even from such a distance one can see how strong his strikes were compared to Fed's. W saw a calm flowing water emerging from the flow of Fed's racket.

But from Nadal's... she saw fire and thunder.

Nadal suddenly turned into a combination of horse and dragon.

And he would just savour the poise swan.

W: My bad, my Lord...

M held his arm around W's shoulder.

W: It seems that Nadal has really put his techniques into perfection... if you were Nadal, would you know how to produce such a strike?

M: Look at those strikes... the ball from Nadal's racket would hit the floor but it won't bounce so smoothly. It becomes even faster afterwards. Now if you play ping pong...

W listened carefully.

M: You'll know how to...

W remembered that M has told her once that if he played tennis, he would produce such as Nadal's strike. He was born with Nadal's type of strike in every games with rackets and balls.

The weather was humid in Roland Garros and it rained once.

Why do we watch sport?

Because I can witness such that Athos, Aramis, and Porthos come to life

TYHERL has never heard anybody with such an opinion before.

It was her father. She was really proud of her father.

In fact, the whole family ticket to watch today's match, that Mommy had to book a year before, was due to her birthday wish. She wanted to witness what her father felt, too. She stood before Fed.

***

About 4 hours later, The Marcha Real was played.

Another fascinated face, but this time, Indonesian-shaped--- went asilenced to see The Spanish Champion of this year's Roland Garros.

What does it feel to stand on his shoes?

Up until now, in his 22 years of age, he wondered as what his nationality meant to him.

The clay of Roland Garros was shining.

The crowds were all cheering.

The Conversation (2)

The snowy night did enaffect the fragile heart. As the cold wind breeze outside the circle of the warmth, the wrath of a broken soul whispered the desperate ears; to what extent could the woods burn a warming flame, or did the flame itself revolt, transform what had been joy into tears?

Signore Fortissimo gazed towards Alaleh emerging from the dining room into the lounge. Her auburn-haired head was slightly moist, her cheek blanched of the cold weather entered the room from the slightly-opened front door. Vito shut the door, and he didn't let Alaleh lighted the fireplace more; he did it instead, asking her to take her seat. He seated himself across the sulky-expressioned girl.

The night might somehow tamed, the fairy lady could finally perch herself above the hill. She questioned the timidly appearing stars, to what extent shall she admire the human being? As what shall felt as love turned so fast into hatred, what remained then was merely a glass of sorrow to be drunk beneath the fountain of nigritude

If there was a fairy he must have known, then it would be Adriana. His little sister. He could still remember her childish move, her gay laugh... she was called the angel of the family.

Alaleh reminded him of her for a split second. As she combed her wavy hair aside one of her shoulders, revealing her fair, poise neck.

Why did you become a slave? Vito asked. Alaleh looked calm and she answered casually while continuing combing her hair,

My mother sold me to Roses' Lair, that tone was flat and airy.I was six, and The Madame thought I was pretty good. I was decided to become one of the Twelve Virgins to be picked by the highest offer at present... when I turn 18.

Vito did not speak anything.Again, another story that merely concluded his more obligation to thank The Creator to had let him born to be a man, and the only thing he should worry about his life was when exactly the right time he shall stop this... madness. To earn living by killing people in the battle field was not exactly a thing he would like to do for the rest of his life.

He stretched his arm and yawned. I'm going to sleep, he sleepily told Alaleh.

The maiden flinched and yelled,

You ignorant brat! I skip my bath just for this---TALK? What do you want?

Hey,I might go anytime soon, now... I need to sleep as much as I can, Vito Fortissimo raised to his feet towards his bedroom.

Anyway, Alaleh... he said, making Alaleh turned her angry face towards him.

Do you actually like it to live this way?

I always want to be an abacist, not this, Alaleh replied and she went passed Fortissimo by, more sulkily, towards her bedroom.

To what extent can the heart trust? The vase of sorrow had a blossomed crimson rose, where each of the fallen petals marked the amount of time wasted by a soul. The heart merely wasting its time to learn nothing from the past but to mourn over it. The soul of the broken-hearted fairy was lost, lost within the realm of despair and uncertainty. Waiting for a light, a light to call a light that guide

Alaleh was never dreaming about her father before. She never knew him, let alone maybe, love--him. Well, indeed where she was now suddenly reminded her of her mother. The black-haired beautiful, jovial young woman she always dreamt of to reencounter, anytime during this remaining life, was now beaming at her.

But the only words that could come out of her mouth was merely,

Why, Mother?

The Conversation

Vito Fortissimo was left alone in the lounge at the cottage. Alaleh, he heard, was busily cleaning all the plates and chinas after dinner.

He decided to wait for the Colonel outside. It was actually a pleasant night, snow started falling from the sky. But he felt warm at heart. He suddenly felt inspired, and thinking of serving that eccentric Colonel once this war was over. Finally he found a way to explore the mighty land of Russia itself, another adventure never did it occur in his wildest dream he could finally reach---for he would probably experience one of the rarest opportunity in the whole world, mathematics combined with the pleasure and luxury of an aristocratic life. He would be really pleased could he learn directly to Lyapunov himself. Not to mention that he then would be fluent in Russian either.

Now that he started to think it over and over again, the more he admired the way the Colonel enjoying his life. No matter how royal his blood could be, he was able to enjoy mathematics, the art of brain so graceful he even learnt of Diophantine and Fermat. He imagined that the Colonel might use his sparetime on wars like he did now, with all the romanticism included within it; women and chess and mead and wine. What a poise gentleman! Signore Fortissimo would give all his heart to learn from a man like that.

Hey, Alaleh was so surprised when Vito Fortissimo greeted, entering the bathroom where she was having her bath in the tub.

What are you doing here?! she barked panickly,

(all conversation were in German now)

You impudent brat! How dare you!I'm taking a bath now!

Why? You're a slave after all, he said casually, and sat on the side of the tub, near Alaleh's head. Isn't the slave's body property of the master and his guest'?

Alaleh went asilenced. She then buried her neck deeper within the soap bubble.

You're not a guest with the same level as Master Grigorovitz, she replied harshly. You can not afford to pay me even for a single night, a private like you, therefore we're equal now. I'm not a slave before you.

Fortissimo laughed. Why do you become a slave? he asked. Come on now, I'm bored to wait for Viktor all alone, I need someone to chat with.

Alaleh wondered to see Signore Fortissimo's casualty. Really---she never met someone so weird, to not call it freak, that he to be a man undisturbed by such an occasion. First, she was in a tub now with barely any clothes but her towel across her, and yet he was there a few inches near her head. She fairly trusted her inner instinct as a human and experience as one of the highest paid beauties in Roses' Lair; men don't act like this...normally their eyes were starving.

So she carefully observed Fortissimo's eyes and his gesture. Really, he was completely undisturbed and sane. Oh well...

Are you going to kill me? she stuttered, suddenly death felt so close and no matter how everyday that she wished it to come over her, she did not in any slightest chance, hope it would be this awkward. To be killed, if so it be, by such a flat-feeling man, with all his casualty, and oh, during bath time, her favourite time among the other time exist in her world.

Oh God, now that you think I am such a psychopath, Fortissimo sighed. He stood to his feet, stroking his head. Fine--- I'll give you fifteen more minutes, then you're done, then meet me at the living room-okay? I can't stand this, I need to talk to somebody!

Or else, he pointed at her, I shall just savour...

He turned around and walked towards the living room, smiling amusedly. What a funny maiden! Now that he heard a lot of water noises from the bathroom, he was sure Alaleh eagerly finished her bath, afraid of being raped or then killed by the private who had nothing to pay her even for a single night.

The Kiss

Lady Yelena Agnessa Fedorova had for so many years fallen in love with her distant cousin, Dmitri Mikhailov. She was captured by his calm, poise manner and thin smile, his cold blue eyes, his dialectic proficiency, his beautiful violin playing, his waltz dancing, his horse riding... his everything. The fragile princess was actually the one true heir of her Father's weavery business around Kudryashovskiy. If only she had not been that fragile, his father would be really pleased to introduce her to the whole detail of the job... but he just couldn't.

The fragile lady did not excel at school; Master Fedorov just reckoned it as another misfortune of his, that the only child he got from his beloved late wife inherited the 'slow brain gene' (he called it) of the whole family. She could not play good piano but one two songs, her body was quite weak she could move no gracefully nor merrily in the kitchen. The Father has run out his wit; he was even fullheartedly willing to 'sell' his daughter's body, the only possession he thought the lady has left, to any gentleman he thought would be prominent enough to be his son-in-law. No, he doesn't have to be really rich, just steady job would do just fine. He has to be caring enough or else, pity his daughter enough to take care of Yelena at least Mr. Fedorov would not feel really guilty towards his wife.

(Being an Orthodox Catholics, quite a pious man, but not really into the church, he did not remarry and concentrate some of his time to manage some private schools for disabled children)

However so, he never let his daughter knew what he really thought about her. For Lady Yelena, their relationship remained just fine... and she really wished she could make her father proud. In her opinion, she could not excel at academic life because she was sick so often she could not catch up with the materials. She did not really like to play music, just to listen to anybody else playing it would be enough for her.

But however hard it was for her memory to keep up wih her biology recitation, sequences of mathematics formula and algorithm she must cope up with, she memorized it so well all the details of her first encounter with cousin Dmitri.

It was March 9, 1884. A spring celebration was held among the Braunsimovas(family from her Mother side)in the family Grand Citadel in Novosibirsk's country side. And she saw the cold blue eyes as innocent as Siberian cat... at that moment she knew why The Braunsimovs were called The Russian Sky Blue. His mother, Lady Antonina, introduced him to her. She smelled the fragrance of masculine lavender the time the boy kissed her hand.

She was about 4, and the boy was about 9. But until the next 23 years, never did the fragile lady stop dreaming to be his bride.

During those times, Dmitri Mikhailov maintained such a cordial cousinship between them. He was, as usual, loving and caring for his families, of course including her. But however there exist already many tease and gossips towards both the Lady and the Gentleman to be wedded, since many other family member noticed how Dmitri concerned a lot about Yelena...

Dmitri married another lady. Who bore him a son, Ricardovich.

Yelena was sad. She locked herself in her room for so many nights as she managed to keep nobody noticed.

She maintained good relationship with Duscha, Ricardovich's mother, and became one of the persons the boy loved most. She did not marry anybody else. She just could not stop praising Dmitri.

Until one night, that very night that gave Lady Yelena a chill to the history of her heart. She was in Dmitri's citadel for her usual visit.

She usually wandered around at the northern tower to observe the sky with her little telescope. When her step died suddenly as she passed Dmitri by. He was sweating, and his eyes looked so sad. Yelena knew something has strucked him so bad. Only once did she ever observe his eyes looking as such...

And suddenly, tenderly.. Dmitri held her tight in his chest. And kissed her.

That night would never be forgotten by Yelena. It was the night when Dmitri Mikhailov proposed her, made her Madame Yelena Agnessa Braunsimova.

Meanwhile, Mr. Fedorov could not believe the fact. Yelena gained such a strong position before him. He became to love his daughter very much for obtaining such a fine husband. And he could no longer stare towards Dmitri's eyes. He inherited his business to Dmitri who then manage it on behalf of Yelena.

And so the kiss... became such a local legend the society around loved to speak about. About a girl who finally reached her desired love after a long wait. After a long submission.

Due To Raden Saleh

Dmitri Mikhailov was a fine gentleman in his early 35. Young but barely felt, his wealth expands from the heart of middle land in West Siberian Plain to Nanjing, Shanghai, Hongkong, Erdenet, and Irkutsk in the East, Toolonlahti, Amsterdam, Den Haag, and Braunschweig in the West, which then would he use all of them as his milestones to conquer the Lands of the South.

A prominent noble man from Russian Empire himself, as one true Heir of The Great Braunsimov dynasty, he was of course served with the best in almost every western country he stepped on that Russia has good relationship with. One of the most progressive lobby towards him came from the Netherlands' dynasty of Van Rijkmaar.

It was a warm summer morning on the bank of the River of Ob, where he could see a pair of naughty fox beneath his favourite hawthorns grown near the transparent white door of his study. Seeing those foxes together disturbing the little squirrel before they both chase and savour it, again, he knew, together-- reminded him of how he once struggled to establish such a dream family of his own. A family where... the wife and child would be so close to him. Yet so obligant.

Master, a knock on the door across the hall sounded, and Dmitri sipped his tea. He pressed the button beside his left hand, ringing the little toller above the knocked door suggesting he was ready to receive whoever coming. It was Bogdan, his 54 years old Head of Household.

There is a present for you, said Bogdan, with a chuckle. From Lord Van Rijkmaar in Netherlands. Apparently he still tries to offer you Lady Marianne Wilhelmina...

An African-European man entered in, bringing a vast rectangle wrapped in brownish paper. He opened it in front of Dmitri before then dismissed himself out of the room.

It was a portrayal of two beautiful young ladies, daughters of Lord Van Rijkmaar himself. The Dutch left a note saying that it was painted by the notable Raden Saleh, the great artist from the Land of The South where Dmitri planned to invest. Marianne Wilhelmina, was of course, the prettier. And the prettiest among the two. The Lord had repeatedly asked him to marry her. What made him still so reluctant to deal was that he knew the history of the old Lord. His family had long he knew to have strangling debt resulting from his speculative deals in the wars for the ownership around East-Indies. Thus to marry the daughter meant that he had such a morale obligation to help the old Dutch with his debts.

However, my master... doesn't she grow all this time? Bogdan said while preparing to hang the portrait in the gallery. The Braunsimovs have long been known as Russia's most notable collector.

Dmitri remained silent. Indeed that he planned to travel to Netherlands imminently, to observe his tobacco business there... but the present was as though adding him more obligation to visit Van Rijkmaar family.

The face of the more beautiful than before Marianne Wilhelmina lingered over his mind.

He could just make her his concubine, he had more than enough power to do it. He doubted that the old Dutch would mind it, but he had not too much idea of this girl Marianne. Once they met five years ago, she was this timid 13 years old little blonde girl, she barely even dared to steal a glance towards him.

He thought about his son, Ricardovich, from his legitimate betraying wife, Duscha. Those little blue eyes were each day being more and more overcasted than ever, one could hardly believe that it belonged to the young face of the Heir of the mighty Braunsimova dynasty. Ricardovich was only five but he never smiled, or laughed, as other five years old did. Dmitri knew that the child missed his parents.

But Dmitri could not look up to the little boy's face. It reminded him too much of Duscha, those bright blue eyes... of the love they once shared, of the betrayal she did, with that bastard. It reminded Dmitri too much of how sick his heart was to love Duscha so much to receive her betrayal in return.

So Dmitri made up his mind that indeed, Ricardovich would never be his successor. That boy would only grow as lame, coward man just like his mother, and, ha ha ha... Dmitri chuckled bitterly alone, it was indeed, maybe his unconscious mind driving him to create such a disadvantageous, uncomfortable circumstances that Ricardovich grew up in.

So The Readers saw the aftermath, unfortunate condition could a boy like Ricardovich endure because of the decision the mother once made.

The Father was at present prepared his journey to the Netherlands to find himself a new wife, to provide him a new son, a new Heir for what supposed to be Ricardovich's throne.