Once When He Told Me

Once when he told me that it was a sad song,
a sad story,
a sad history...

I can't help but to keep singing it

The White Sun

Never has it occur to my mind that someone would categorize my writing as 'suspense', or somewhere near that. When I asked one years ago, this writer told me that what I had in them were casually, mistakes amateur writers has taken over and over again: less detailed,wrong reasoning, incomprehensible logic... nevertheless I keep writing this blog, which I feel fun, and considering that Stephen King himself said that as a writer, one should write minimum 6000 sentences a day, well... even as amateur writer I still have this lack of exercise.

Seeing the pond in the side of Jardin du Luxembourg yesterday, my mind flew towards the scene in the movie Love Actually, where the character Colin Firth had to help his maid recollecting the blown away copies of his manuscript. The scene also has the pond. It has the same color with the one I saw yesterday, the water.

Both of us, if I could humbly say myself as one, too--- we are writers. The writers who shared the once same scenery they find themselves in.  Same color of water... And so did Virginia Woolf as what had been depicted by Nicole Kidman in The Hours; she finally drowned herself in that serene flowing, dark green water.

It's funny how different Monet saw the water, I think. He painted  all in black at first, maybe, as the shade of the water in the background of those water lilies also feels like deep greyish underneath the upper layers. I've seen somebody painting some polar bears in realistic features; first he covered all the bears in black, before then patiently, drew and layered them with their furs that were caressed one by one by his hand and brush . People will say that the bears look like they've been photographed before, while it was not. This technique has been applied before by Leonardo da Vinci,for example when he painted Monalisa. Turns out that it could give such a depth of shadows and real-impression.

There was a time, though,before that someone commented on my writing and said that it was suspense-like.

I was seventeen, oh well, yeah, almost. I found myself seated in this room, more than 12000 km away from my home in Bandung. This room was almost empty, and slightly small. There were only a table and a couch, but the girls with whom I spend my next 3 weeks in this teenage camp, loves to throw at least 3 of themselves on the couch, while giggling, sipping tea, and having snacks. On the table, sometimes one put some books there, their evening meals, their after laundry clothes... this room is just a small room and each floor in this dormitory has it. If we go outside it, we can see corridors and rows of bedrooms. My roommate was Hiroko, a sweet Japanese girl who took my photograph in mukena, of course she asked politely to do so.

But this time, beside me was Mbak Mudhi, a reporter from a girl magazine from Indonesia in charge to report the ongoing of this summer-3-weeks-camp that is meant to introduce us to the so-called United States' common culture and tradition, before then the Exchange Program Committee will be sending us to fly to each of our host families. Me, I was scheduled to spend one year with this family in Oklahoma.

"So, for you, you will still hold those Indonesian values with you, right?" Mbak Mudhi asked me. I find she was observant, like how journalists should be, and that time, I was hesitated to answer. I tried to smile and be relaxed, as Mbak Mudhi was I thought to be a charming friend and even with such a comforting friend, I was still this awkward girl in every situation.

"Well..." I just vaguely nodded.

If only I could explain what had been going on my mind properly. All this culture things, and new places! I was so desperately excited and curious to explore. I remembered my conversation with fellow mate from Indonesia, Ratna,aboard the plane when we get there and okay... I admit it was far from the topic about society and cultural interest, as we chat about first-grade high school physics topics. Now I say what that girl, the 16-year-old-me, was trying to do; to make a statement: she simply loves science.

What she didn't realize that time: she thought that science is the core of all culture. Science advancement will give birth to a new culture and society, it will tear down what it thinks obsolete, and it will categorize. When will it be exhausted?

...That time  when she was barely 17, nope, it didn't feel that science was exhausted.

And that time, the 16-year old girl  also have not thought about the bigger pictures that she could potentially think.

August 3rd, 2006

The date was approximate. It was a nice, crisp summer in Olympia when we arrived. The Seattle-Tacoma International Airport was smaller than what I thought. The windows were tall as I remembered it, and the next thing I knew when stepped out of the plane was a corridor, slightly long, before then some circular automatic reels greeted us, delivering eventually our bagpacks, suitcases, and things we brought from Indonesia. As for me, I only needed two of large suitcases and a backpack.

Saat Hari Itu Datang

Aku akan mengamini
Di Stockholm,
Massachussets,
Prancis....

Dan akan kusemai padang bunga
Yang coraknya membentuk pita selamat datang

Tanda persahabatan

Kepada para sahabat, teman, kenalan, bekas, dan bakal anak panah
yang
menghunus ke dada

Saat hari itu datang

Dunia akan tersenyum lembut

Pesta itu akan digelar  santun
Tanpa anggur
Yang ada hanyalah

Musikku, alunan piano lembut dan

Rebana

yang mendayu

Roma

Will I be able to see you shine  in light?

Kenangan

Apa yang orang cari dari foto-foto masa lalunya?

The Dyers of The Hearts of Platina, Silver, and Bronze

When she started the mission along with Aria, Sinbad never knew that this was how it felt to be incompetent, dull, and without the helps of our parents. Sometimes she felt envious towards her very comrade (since they assign each other's lives on the safety raft together, which seemed to be deliberate-incidentally matched by The Great Inventor-GIself), since what she saw in her heads were rather a totally different dreams compared to hers. If you please, Aria's head was rather colorful; she saw  winds as pink shades of the sun's part ray of light, where she could take advantage technologies merely as tools and marketing games, along with all of its overdue romance in Vivaldi's four season symphony.

... While on the other head, Sinbad chose the different roles, the roles she could not imagine to live without: the sacredness of information, numbers---if you please--- numbers are behaving as humans, full of will and cuningness, rage, and sometimes, reluctance... to be discovered. Universe shall remain mysterious, according to Sinbad, with a little bit of leaking here and there, just to console one mind's about some (ridiculous) persistence of discovering it.

Let the narrator tell you what these two girls are doing. This journey that we call our quest took place inside the world called The Opylus Universe, where in our casual human being customs, Aria and Sinbad are taking their second level of High School. Aria and Sinbad come from the Land of Antaranusa, where their tradition in studying comprises of :

1. The journey with boats towards their choices of academic subjects;

Example of Case : Sinbad, she wants to study mathematics, physics, and sufisms; therefore, because the Land of Antaranusa has collaboration with The Cape of Marrakech in overall general teaching, Sinbad (and automatically, the entire second level high school students whose age minimum 58 years old in human being's metric age system)would have to sail to the cape and then lives inside the ashramas (dormitories) for students there. Because her choice of subjects are different to Aria's, she may or may not live inside the same dormitory.

2. Once arrive at The Cape, they will directly, by themselves, these students, go towards each of their teacher of subjects' offices and study there. Usually, each teacher will handle about 30-50 students (well you see--- The Land of Antaranusa is rather vast, if not very--- hence they produce many, the narrator means to say it, many students).

(3. The narrator shall complete the other tradition when he remembers it better, later) Oh yeah, the dormitories are separated for boys and girls.

Well. As what we expect to usually happen with large numbers, you know, in this case, large numbers of students, we are also talking about large expenses (either from and to the body of education establishment itself). The narrator would take an example, the boat that we are embarking on in this very story.

Sinbad and Aria, they don't have their family come from those people with very money. This means a gigantic boat, which in their case, are also home (for this journey will end in 3 months) to some other 50 students, about 12 teachers who are also the maitres-du-bateau (including two of them who act as chef).

(To be continued)

Simon, O Simon

Maybe no one indeed, will believe that our heart was blue.

Cahaya Mataku

Najma adalah hadiah terindah dalam hidupku dari Allah SWT. Namanya secantik orangnya, Najma Sofia. Matanya begitu dalam dan jernih, mata ayahnya. Ketika dia lahir, dia seperti datang dari dunia lain. Aku mempunyai angle saat kufoto dia dari jarak yang sangat dekat ketika dia sudah dibawa pulang ke rumah Fontaine Michalon, sekitar 3 minggu mungkin setelah kelahirannya. Mata itu seperti alien, kata ayahnya.

Dia akan memanggilku Maman dan memanggil Uda Ayah. Umur dua bulan setengah, dia sudah bisa bercanda-canda dengan penuh arti dan mulutnya mengucapkan kata ‘Ayah’. Tawa Najma seriang bayi yang didepict dalam lukisan-lukisan sebagai malaikat kecil bersayap sejauh yang bisa kubayangkan. Tawa yang jernih seperti kicauan anak burung, terkadang jahil, manja, terkadang genit.

Najma anak yang kuat, baik hati, pintar, sholehah. Wajah cantiknya, kuharapkan menjadikannya anak yang percaya diri namun tidak berlebihan ataupun sombong. Kami akan membawanya pulang ke Padang dan Bandung dan mungkin juga Yogyakata musim panas tahun 2016.

Anakku sayang, terima kasih sudah mengajarkan Maman banyak hal. Maman sudah lama menanti-nantikan saat seperti ini, untuk bisa mengatakannya kepadamu walaupun lewat tulisan saat kamu belum bisa berbicara dengan bahasa yang Maman pahami. Semoga Maman bisa menjadi Ibu yang membanggakan dan melegakan hati Najma. Ingatlah Najma, di manapun Maman berada, Najma adalah Cahaya Mata Maman. 

Ma Vie en France

Comment t’es venu l’idée de t’installer à Paris?

C’était parce que j’avais eu la chance de venir pour un stage à l'Université Paris Sud dans ma deuxième année de ma première master. L’année suivante mon mari a été reussi d’obtenir une offre doctorant et donc j’en ai encore de vivre ici.

Depuis combien de temps vis-tu en France?

Cela fait deux ans.

Comment s’est passé l’installation?

La première année ça faisait pas si facile. Moi et mon mari, nous étions surprises par les démarches administratifs qui sont trés differents que ceux des indonesiéns. Mais ça vient de temps en temps. On s’adapte bien et finalement nous nous installons bien. Comme mon ami belgique a dit, c’est dur mais nous suvivrons J

Les français sont-ils accueillants?

D’autant que je peux me souvenir, relativement oui :D. Il y a des gens qui aident depuis toujours. Les amis français nous invitent chez eux au dîner, au soirées… même lorsque je visitais la ville de sa naissance, j étais invitée chez ses amies qui habitent là-bas et nous faissions une pique-nique.

Qu’est-ce qui t’a les plus surprise à Paris/en France?

Comme j’avais eu la chance d’habiter aux États Unis, je n’ai pas eu la surprise sur la culture (occidentale)… pour moi ça sent pareil. Les démarches administratifs sont le plus surprisants pour moi. En Indonésie, nous pouvons avoir des carte bleus avec tellement plus de rapidité  :D

Quel est ton meilleur souvenir?

Toutes a été speciale pour moi. Les balades au printemps, les viandes halales que je fais cuit aux diners, les amis multicultures… et ce que me rends heureuse le plus est parce que j’en ai tous avec mon mari à côté de moi.

Quels conseils donnerais- tu à celles et ceux qui souhaiteraient aller vivre à Paris en France?

Soyez patient et prudent :D Si vous en regardez d’autre côté, les choses douces viennent et la vie est belle ici. Nous devons suivre des règles et ça nous rends des facilités. 

The Big 10

I have several most loyal customers. They are Mr. Samwise Rockefeller, M. Thibaud du Bois, Mr. Sanjeev Kahn, Mme. Marguerite Durmitascheva, Mr. Muhammad Hatta, Mme. Yelena Smirnova, Mme. Marina Berger, Mr. Van Kampen, Mme. Aurelia Sanchez, and Mme. Josephine Turner.

I always wanted to believe that each of them would come to my store because they understand what taste I always wanted to offer and share, in terms of solely, the merchandise themselves. I knit them my most beautiful scarves and shawls of the pattern I love most, the rumah gadangs, along with its surrounding ricefields and herds of buffalos.

The Mysterious Smile

The more I try to read, the more fascinating it becomes. I saw a glimpse of smile in the spring, in the winter, and in the autumn, but maybe the sun is too bright that I couldn't see anything in the summer.

My Dear Husband

And he smiles at me, gleefully, like a cute little kitten that just bidding his prey.
Sometimes he's like that. Sometimes I see a kid, so joyful, the whole of the oceans plays with him.
He commands the shark and he is gentle with the dolphins.
He is a Poseidon, he is a Triton, he is a Sebastian.

Maybe all we have is just Peterpan, and Kla, and Padi.
I never even know that I could love the former.
They're not comparable with Oasis or even Coldplay, let alone the whole ensemble of The Beatles.

But he loves them.
And so they're grown on me, too.

But then I heard Lonely Sally.
What a song!

Amertume

Is there anything more beautiful and yet at the same time, so sorrowful as sadness and bitterness that come to life? I hate being sad, but when I force myself not to, it just feels numb and I feel empty.

Today when Uda came home, he told me about this boy named Madi who is bullied by his friends when they are playing football together with the Indonesians.

I'm fed up with all the stories of children who lives in the environment just like Madi, and I hate it because all I can do is just praying for them that they would never be touched by any more violence worse.

Now that I live longer, there is not much more I can do than to embrace the sadness that comes... and be strong and hold my head up high, that somehow this life is beautiful... through its bitter and sweet times.

I pray that I'd always face the kindness of the heart of life.

When Lev has arrived

When Lev is here, I promise that he will find the best friends ever: me and Razi.
We will be like, oh I don't know... a mega trio or something who will definitely shakes the world-lol!

 I will make him love mathematics... so much that we will speak about it at breakfast, lunch, and dinner-in French.

 I will make him love the Book that shakes the world, that was a miracle given to Ahmed thousands of years ago... and we will study it, interpret it wisely, and talk about it during his very first years.

Not only we will talk about the Book during the meals... it will be spoken even under his consciousness :)

 His name would may not be Lev anymore... since his Dad has changed his mind over it...

 Whatever he will be called later, I hope that we can meet each other soon...

The Lingering Toll of A Bell...

It was Berceuse from Dolly, all that she heard, the time the long-legged gentleman stepped inside her room. She never thought, nor felt, anything quite like this before.

The warmth of the lips. She had only tasted it twice, something such peculiar; the first time was when she could just feels what it's like to feel; some medical books stated it as 'the phase when the sensory receptor able to function,' sometime when she turned three.

The other moment was vibrating.

It was Berceuse from Dolly, too.

He had golden-hay hair, his nasal was rough and skull-bulging-like, and he appeared to be recently shaving. She could pictured him in an ushanka-ish uniform and he would be the most graceful General ever. Like King Nicholas.

She was surprised to see him could be so tender, with fingers on the piano, playing The Berceuse.

It was his GrandDad Ricardovich.

She might still be three years old that time, but thanks to him she could understand the beauty of the white, high-ceiled hall where the piano was being played.

She could see the personality of Ricardovich. It was serene and sometimes empty, the Hall, but luminosity was everywhere and the sun felt so tender but the snow felt less cold.

He turned his body and saw Little Therryana. He laughed, and raised her in his arm.

His kiss was unforgetable.

Now they said that this young fellow would be her doctor.

Therryana was in love at the first sight.

Arthur Levan saw this. Therryana had just not realized it that he was anxiously gripping the butterfly net, for he feared that a heart would fall and shattered.

Зачем, Зачем

Die Drei Geliebte Geschwister from Alexeyevka sang it,the greatest precision one ever heard.

Ah, persons who hardly ever care of rough, faraway distance, they were. They were born on rough, faraway roads. Father of theirs, a tough, hard headed violinist from Biryuch, who met his long lost companion born in Sertolovo.

The companion played harps and piano. It was a warm, snowy day back then in Sankt Petersburg, when they met.

A glass of kvas, a piece of khlyeb, were what brought them together.

A glass of warm kvas and a piece of khlyeb, were what he wished he could just have every single night, against the freezing wind of the Palace Square.

Petersburg was a beautiful yet cruel passion. Yet there he was, a nobody's boy from the deep indigeneous land of Siberia, striving for a glint of glory with a violin on his right hand, a rusty long coat his father, the peasant shepherd gave, surviving from the humblest mean of famine each passing day to earn that title of du baccalauréat de la musique

Oh he thought he could play the greatest violin in Volgograd Oblast. But here in the majestic city of the north, mere a talent was not good enough. Those classmates of him, would never have to be feebled in recital examinations just because of the cold... hence producing those sweet, abundant amount of sounds from the strings were always taken for granted.

His scholarship was hardly enough. It was not seldom that sometimes he skipped not only obyed but even uzhin... regardless how uzhin to be something you could offer your enemy. Oh, brot et butyer... what he could indiffer slightly back then at home, how luxurious and sweet could it seem now!

On fortunate days, he could get half, three kopyejkis at night, when people seemed to be happy enough to pay attention to his violin playing at the Square. It was usually the beginning of each month. Typically when it was approaching the end of months, people became more indifferent, ignorant than ever, and sniffing towards what they used to call 'beauty in music'.

But brot and butyer, each costed nearly three kopyejkis, so to anticipate the broke times, he would ate the same bread each two days in a row, and thank God that during seasons like this, he could just light up his match to melt some snow and thus that made him his source of water.

It was snowing in Petersburg that night, when it seemed to be not a really fortunate day. He only had half a kopyejki in his pocket, heading towards his way home, a tiny, rusty chamber behind a ghetto, nearly 15 km away.

And he walk, and walk, and walk... and he stumbled. In front of the gate of a little cottage just around the corner.

A maiden stepped out of the front door, wearing full-dress and a robe, for it was far too cold for her thin, hardly fleshed-figure. And as she opened the front fence, the fully-loaded garbage plastic bag on her hand almost got to the stumbled body of the man, whose violin with a carved emblem of N.A. Rimsky Conservatory laid helplessly beside him, even the instrument looked as hungry as the master. 

The maiden knew him. They were of the same origin, as what came first to her mind when she first saw him playing la sonata de Katerina Maier.

She saw him the other days, playing music in The Square during the summer and fall, pigeons cheerfully chirping around him, coins hardly piling besides him. But he continued playing nevertheless.

She saw him sipping his kvas another day. A bird told her that kvas probably the only thing fulfilled his skull-bulging figure an entire day.

Kvas? she whispered cautiously towards the lying body.

The body's eyes turned towards her. They entered the front door together, right after the maiden got rid of her garbage.

That was the sweetest kvas he ever tasted.

And thus that was how he named each of his future children; Kvasiana for a girl, Kvasch for a boy.

Thus the middle maiden names of The Three Beloved Sister: Kvasyana, Kvaszyana, and Kvashina.

Who would be related to Ricardovich?

The eldest daughter.

The Eye of The Naturalist

Unlike The Realm of the Reals, there had never been limitation on the power of Kings of The Great Land of Opylus. They did have the shiny castles that glimps still even shinier the more our sights land upon them, with ponds of swans, unicorns, and even flying hippos. Sometimes, there could occur the more seldom fertilization between hippos and dragons, which produced an abundance of ridiculous offsprings according to His Kleine Herzog le Prinz du Brilliant Bedliszt, 58 years old the day this history written... and astonishingly still, such creature became one dear part of his core family.

The Commonwealth of The Great Land of Opylus consists of Five States in the West and South Ocean, The Fifth Obergorgonic Galaxy and Star Constellation, centered in The Island of The Great Lion aside the Continent of Sapphire-Lazarus in Oplisch (Opylus language). They have all the seven seasons possibly felt by humanoid sense: The Smiling Spring, The Cheerful Summer, The Sorrowful Autumn, The Dreadful Draught, The Deadliest Sandstorm, The Merciful Rainy Season, and The Blizzardy Winter.

Der Supreme Leader Koenig Beckruth Herzogamherst III was Bedl's father, from the family line of The Beckruth Clan in the monarch of Opylus. He currently held the highest authority of the entire Commonwealth, marked by his prerogative to hunt and savour the unicorns. His True Comrades, Her Royal Highness Queen Tsarina Vastabandj Janitschina, Second to Throne, had bore him four fair-skinned children: Ray, Mirroirs, Raffles, and Bedl. All purely Opylusian, all inherited Beckruth's ruthless gaze and appetites for power--- in their own ways.

The Supreme Leaders of Opylus owned seven seasonal palaces and castles in Opylus only. Therefore they never had more than five children; for The Grandest Castle would be totally represented and governed, and belonging to the King himself, one other castle totally abdicated to The Queen, and the rest would be managed on behalf of each remaining children. With a note that, the King would move to each of the palace each seven season.

Today was the second day of spring, year 100 A.C. (Apres Constitution). Prinz Bedliszt awaken on his couch before the fireplace in his bedroom, Chamber Dragomir Le Blanc. The mermaids living in The Pond of The Glass across his baroque-ish broad window that led to the Garden of Liliana The Fairy were already sunbathing beneath the crisp, clear blue and white ray of sun, he could see one of the auburn haired of them had her auburn haired baby on her lap. The Prinz always loved to had a roasted baby-mermaid for his supper, but it was Liliana, one of his mermaid best-friend buddy who had the baby, so he was kind of restraining his appetite. The rainbow arched towards the Horizon in the West, one of the tip a few inches below the steps after the window. Gazing the sights even further, one could see the beautiful greenish sparkling of The Sea of Meredith, and some drapherd (dragon's shepherd) herding the dragons above it.

The book the Prinz read up until he fell asleep the other night was half open beneath him, bearing the symbol of The Eye of The Naturalist--- one of the symbols in Opylusian currency.

As what has always been his trademark in starting each and every day, Prince Bedliszt almost lazily 

The Draniki

The Pilgrimage was scheduled to take place between the middle of the spring to summer in the present estimation of Saxonic calendar. Such an extreme hobby for an old couple, but both of them chuckled indifferently by the possibility that one of them would have to bury the one dies prior to another, no matter how hard the consequence would be.

The first morning about 50 km of Orsha, towards Smolensk, was started by a bunch of draniki, and, to lead a softer, more American version of breakfast, the husband added a glint of mapple syrup on the draniki on his plate. The wife chuckled.

'Kardo, you're such a honey,' she poured in warm milk she just brewed from the portable advanced magnetic stove one of her grandson handed them two years ago.

It shall end in two and a half months. On the first month after the scheduled finish, they would have to spare time for one of their dearest granddaughter would have her debut, one they would not want to miss. It would be special, since it would be her birthday, too.

So, you know... the wife had quite a root in Lithuania and Latvia, and the husband had best friends from Poland and Ukraine. Both of them loved and wanted to end the journey around Smolensk, hence concluded: The Belarus as the main road to wander.

From The Bank of The Hjalmaaren (2)

Under The Veil, one could see that such a bright future awaits. A broad window on the left, through which you could see the majestic view of the Lake of Hjalmaaren. A bird on the fireplace was seen as though she was chirping while all that was left was merely. Silence. Total tranquility.

She put down the fire woods that Jean Luc harvested just a few moments ago. Outside she could hear Henry and Therry laughing, their laughter that made her heaven here upon Earth.

Suddenly for a split second, she returned on a journey back in time. The time when eyes were still blurry by the chemotherapy, the time when laughter of other's sounded so pleasing yet irritating, yet envying. But now those laughters, that occured exactly where she wished she could do along with Arthur, Any, and Al back then...were the ones that she wished she could spent time with just even more than the previous . The gay laughter that sounded just beneath the white veil, across the White Little Chamber, among the Roses in The Garden.

***

Honey, the shrilling voice she always missed and made her smile at the same time, echoed from the alley towards The Little White Chamber. The tingling of the little bell of The Church sounded from far away, marking the beginning of the first mass today. Today felt just like ten years ago, how the time flew. The odour of the fresh lavender lavenders dispersing, as always, a reminiscing scent of a nuance that reminding ones of old times. An epiphany.

What are you doing here? Ah, that smile. That nose. Those broad, big, innocent eyes! She was so grateful that The Creator had inherited them all to each of her precious. The smile, she could reflect to Therry's. The eyes, she could recall from Henry's. The voice... well, not each of them got it, but the brain.... each of them did. Everyday in the family lounge back in Grenoble, each day that after Therryana herself finished read them a new verse of The Illiad, was the time when each of the two lovely boys recited her their newer memories of Mozart's adagio, or maybe Ali's Balaghah, or maybe even one or two proses of Goethe's Faust.

I am lighting the fireplace, said she, kissing her husband's forehead. Britta will come at seven.

Britta now had already her own family. She had a baby girl, whom she named Vasilissa, after Therryana.

Ah, an apollo! the shrilling voice shrilled excitedly, opening up the window, letting in the breezing weather. The sunny sky was before him. Outside, a view of the side yard, Henry and Therry wrestling along the hilly part.

Honey, are you kidding? Therryana giggled amusedly, but she then herself went ascilenced, as her own eyes saw the butterfly as well.

The white, transparent-winged butterfly drifted inside the Chamber, before then sailed the air back outside, towards the far end of the Lake of Hjalmaaren.

An apollo amidst the breezing weather of summer in Hjalmaaren? That was rare.

Wine Toasting at Gare de Lyon (3)

It was not casual that Davidovich James ever, even for just in a while, thought about anything else other than a cuisine he was preparing the time he prepared it. He was a very focused person. He would not let any of his customers stepping inside his restaurant in the downtown Edinburgh, or his anywhere, savouring a dish that was cooked half-heartedly.

But today was strange, such an exception.

He decided to take a walk inside the dining chambers to see who were present. He signaled his sous chef, Ferdinand, to watch over his roasted hare. He ordered Patricia to prepare the garnish for two ordered salmon with sauteed mushroom and truffle dressing.

It was his sister, Ann. He could not stop thinking about her.

Chamber Lord William. Three tables occupied; The Montgomery couple, one of his most loyal customers was there. They waved at him, and he didn't mind to come over and greet them for a little, perhaps, comment.

'Good evening, Mr. and Madame Montgomery... everything's fine so far? he kissed the Madame's hand. 'How about your favourite foie gras tonight, Sir?'

'Ah, young Chef, you know that I will only complain about the size have I told you always that I am craving for more!' Sir Montgomery chuckled and Dave smiled politely while pouring him more wine. 

Chamber Mary Jane. Such a big dinner of old rich people seemed to be held; the long, white linen coated table was fully occupied, and they were toasting for something like prosperity. Dave would not want to bother them, so he sneaked silently as fast as he could behind Roger, his big-figured servant carrying french buns and glasses of champagne, to the Chamber of Fourier Delicatee.

About five tables were occupied, and he was quite suprise to see Brilliant Bedliszt, his dual from the Complex World--- sitting at one table on the corner, winking coquettishly at him. He wore such a fine tux complete with a stick of rose on his right pocket, a pair of polished black loafers, Dave just knew it that it must be hand made---damn, he could see himself so fine with such outfit, he got to force him to tell where on Earth did he make those shoes.

He disdainly(in a good way)grabbed the menu out of Bedliszt' hand, faced him just a few inches from Bedl's nose.

'Well, well, gentleman...' he sighed, 'have we not signed the pact that each of our mischieves would stay away from my professional job? You can not mess around here, you see?'

I smelled roasted hare, Bedliszt grinned.

Davidovich sighed. Okay, fine, he replied. I'll have it to you rightaway, just---promise me you're not gonna mess around, d'accord?

Davidovich was about to turn his body back towards the kitchen when he noticed a middle-sized man wearing a long, greyish coat seating himself at the table near the window. Another distraction. Damn! He could not focus to his work by now, oh well... he sighed, then made his way really for the kitchen this time. Annie, Annie... why on Earth do you have to linger on my mind all the time?

Next order: 2 beef wellingtons, truffles and carrots... Dave headed to the pantry,for some olive oil, rushing so directloss he forgot he had people he could ask to take him some. Oceans of ricottas, burratas, fetas, beefs, loins, truffles, mushrooms, wines, and champagne and all sorts of vegetables greeted him; they which are usually calming and relaxing suddenly looked menacing as a gigantic, black-bat-liked shadow overcasted the entire area. Davidovich gasped, a glint of shining emerald eyes looked straight upon his.

Davidovich, as his reflex automatically reacted everytime he felt threatened, jumped to his feet, and in no time the intruder was already on the floor.

I told you, stay away, ever-- EVER from my work! hardly anyone would believe the threat came from Dave the flamboyant guy, who smiled cheerfully beneath the sunlight on the shore of California... those ocean-blue-eyes were glimmering so menacingly, shining much similar to the gleam of the sabatier on his hand, ready to strike...

and thud!

The sabatier landed just a few inches on the right of his opponent's left ear

... Brilliant Bedliszt himself.

The Prince of la monde à complex chuckled to see his dual, who was acting so surprisingly savage, as usual, when it came to his work. Maybe that was what made him so fond of him, his one and only dual from la monde à real--- none other than his passion---of beauty, of his life, and of cooking--- that after all, stopped him from killing Dave once and for all.

Prinz Bedlizst had not been able to stop his laughing for the next 15 seconds.

Davidovich calmly took some eggs, olive oil, tomatoes, and parsleys inside one of the many baskets in the pantry. Bedl poked him on the shoulder.

It was her, am I not right? he continously, as usual, teasing Dave. Such a psycho, you are, my friend... of constantly thinking, seriously.... about your own sister? Really--- it's not like she's your girlfriend or something like that, right?

Oh, I'm dying to know, hummed Davidovich, making Bedl burst back in laugh. Well, if it seems that you have that much time... why don't you check on her for me? he poked Bedl on the chest.

In a split second later, just like the wind. Dave was left alone in the middle of his pantry, on the warm summer night full of meads and wine, brains still vaguely thinking of her sister, heart as foggy as autumn in the middle of the Dorf of Wisembourough. Body could be trapped in Edinburgh, but who knows where mind could take you to?