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?

The Sight of Two Skies (2)

-Erik-

Ah, how could it be so unconsciously to feel warm, enthusiastic, and at times, sophorific, to talk about love? To talk about dream? To talk about her hair, her smile, her habits-- to talk about his smile, his jokes, his habits? Was it because the pulse of our heart actually driven by them?

Something weird happened lately to the 14 years old of himself, nearly 15 years ago. He was no longer complacent to talk about those things, qualitatively. What remains were mostly flatness. At times, a shape of determination. A determination then shaped a tinge of passion. Then a hunger, hunger for more.

Some men would undoubtfully express their feelings by sharing it with circles of random friends, random people. He became wouldn't. Even when someday came public the times when privacy to be something commonly announced, he promised that he wouldn't. Apart from his professional accomplishment.

Erik Wilhelm Ahlgren smiled, his thin smile smoothened his hard, skull-bulging feature. Outside his four-wheel ride, on his right, a prairie of daisy lily, dandellions, more grass, more grass. On his left, an even vaster land of the mighty Sweden plain, more grass, more grass, maybe a flow of a warm stream ahead of him.

This is the kind of atmosphere he had always been fond of. A serene nature. 95 kilometres away, in the cities, there maybe lights that's been on since dawn. As a normal European young lad, he didn't deny it. He occasionally enjoyed the dark surrounding the shining buildings at night, on the bank of the river in Gothenborg, as for example. The sensation was always different, each of them, which why was it so refreshing to taste in turn between the two.

-Therryana-

She would never be bored here, she thought at first. She would really enjoy at least three summers, just resting and relaxing her mind, maybe writing one or two proses at times she feels like it. A great cook in the kitchen, a loving nearly-a-cousin maid, a Scandinavian rose garden behind her bedroom. Every two weeks she would be visited by one of the most dreamt-of gentleman by girls all around the world, none other than her caring, dashing brother, Arthur, whom she would always be able to indulge herself on his chest to.

She was not too blind about biology. She knew that this is the time when feromones takes place that she felt like longing for someone. But she wondered, must it be that over-lusty? Was it that really all about? Sure that deep inside she hoped that she would get someone as kind and loving as his brother Arthur, but given that he became one of the boys she interacted with most of her time until now, she was rather afraid that she would have become Arthur-complex: any guy with golden hair and blue eyes, with a little bit of educated manner would easily made her fall for him. It would surely remind her of how comfortable and safe it was to hide beneath an Arthur-like shadow.

No.

She had her own problem already. As much as she did not want her lover to merely care about her apperance, her body, her smile, her look--- she did not want to love someone merely for his attributes. She wanted to care for him for who he really was.

She just had not figured how.

Arthur, she called.

It was a nice room, where they were now. Across her bed, a tall, broad window displaying the side garden of the house, a scenery of The Hjalmaaren in the distance. Every morning Britta would replace yesterday's tulips or lilies beside her bed, which dispersing such a fresh scent in the air. A round tea table and a wooden brown jati chair were placed on the right side near the window, where Arthur, when he came to visit, usually sit upon, doing his works with books.

As today. The auburn haired gentleman turned his face towards his sister, then rose to his feet as he always did whenever Therry wanted to talk to him; he would come over so Therry would not have to louden her speak.

Therryana lifted her body so she was now upright, leaning against the backrest of her bed.

I want to know, Therryana started to talk.

-Anthony-

Borg, her half-Bavarian and Russian so they called 'bodyguard', had always been a nice company in journeys, but given her easy going personality, that was how Anthony always felt about going in far-distanced journey with anyone accompanying her. Borg was funny, and his jokes were at times dumm-witted.

Like just now, the time they finally obtained the car to rent and drive across Oerebro along the stream of Svartan. He reversed the conversation back to the occasion they experienced on the bank of the stream in Soedra Strandgatan where they happened to meet the brunette handsome man.

Oh my God, he was so handsome! Borg almost squealed like a girl, and Anthony laughed fairly heartily. She flapped her lemon-green morning coat to wrap her torso even more as the open shield did not shelter them from the fairly-cold breezing wind in Sweden's summer. This was another witty suggestion from Borg: let's drive the open shielded car, so we could enjoy the warm, summer noon in the plain! Woo hooo!

But it turned out to be quite windy. But Borg, perhaps due to his meaty body, seemed to be really fine and enjoying it.

Anthony rechecked her two-way pager. Another message from Albert, her cousin. She smiled. Albert seemed to be not really pleased. He was supposed to be arriving in Stockholm in nearly two hours from now, but his plane was again, delayed in Copenhagen.

Her prodigy cousin, Albert. It was he who gave her(confidentially) this advanced pager, another exciting (in his opinion) result from his lab research at Cambridge. Albert was really genuine in science. That's what makes him so exotic, Anthony always had such an impression towards him.

So this whole week of vacation in Oerebro and surrounding places of The Lake Hjalmaaren supposed to be fun: there will be she, Therryana, and Anthony's other cordial cousins, Albert Davidovich and Arthur Levan. They were awesome group, Anthony really loved it them to be hanging around together. It was a pity that the occassion was due to Therryana's ill. Even that finally Albert was willing to come. Ah, Mom, Pa, Uncle Fadev, Jo, and Dave should be here as well... Anthony thought, while she casted her gaze to the distant mountainous scenery around the road.

Look, Borg, don't you love it that I picked you to keep me company, Ann poked Borg's shoulder and laughed.

Hey, you owe me one, Borg laughed back.

Indeed, Anthony happened to skip almost her entire first week of summer school in reading Latin during the seven days trips in Oerebro. No one would forbid her, not Pa or Mom, but it was just quite unethical. First, she was sent to a village near Altdorf to have a Lady Summer School, or any summer school she liked that she had applied for the preceeding semester, and although she had said she would like to visit Therry for some time, it turned out that her tendency changed.

Although the change was not unreasonable.

She had to meet Albert.

Pa said that wherever she goes she would always need to be accompanied by one of the Hidden Horses, so she chose Borg, especially because he would not be too much protocoler in asking why she should leave Switzerland so much. Borg promised that he would not question why Ann needed to go to Sweden in such a length of time, alone, without her other family member, or speak about it to the other family. Ann had saved some of her pocket money for two way tickets for both of them, without disturbing her summer school money amount. Even when it turned out that she lost her appetite of summer school after she left Sweden this time, she had prepared it to return the summer school money back to her parents.

Hey, turned out that you're lucky this time, Borg, Ann pointed at a four-wheel drive that apparently just stopped by the fence of the same house where she and Borg headed to.

The brunette gentleman was loading what seemed to be his baggages and other belongings down the car. Borg parked just behind him. Anthony saw the emblem of Uppsala University Research Hospital attached to one of the luggage.

The brunette gentleman of Soedra Strandgattan , accidentally, seemed to be that new doctor of Therryana's Albert had spoken before.

What a coincidence?

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.

Diophantine Above The Mountain of Caucassus (3)

It was not the picture of any site near Abkhazia, where the town they temporary stayed settled. It probably was the picture of... well, Tiflis is more likely, thought Signore Fortissimo, frowning. Since Tkvarcelli, no matter how famous Roses' Lair had been, was merely a site less important than a city found in the fifth century and had always been the central of trade. There must have been many painters residing there and immortalized their impression within their works.

Vito Fortissimo, in his late thirty first age, had served , although as mercenary, two of the wars in Europe. The first one, of which he remembered as mere luck and far from admirable he thought, was the Battle of Wissembourg. He managed to escape with quite a severe wound and survived. What carved more impression and maybe, a little bit of pride about his achievement so far within his still rare experience of war to call him such a senior of war, was his second battle in the Russo-Turkish War; the Battle of Svistov. He was one of the more than 24000 soldiers who won the fight against the Ottomans, and vaguely he could still remember Ivanovich Dragomirov himself poked him on his shoulders while beaming.

Up until present he wondered as what reason kept him alive so far. Yet what kept him alive to work as he did now. As a matter of fact, here he was now, got acquaintanced by chance to whom was probable to be one of his company leader of the next siege. He was welcomed quite so warmly to the Colonel's resting cottage for at least a week here in Tkvarcelli, where it was just the three of them stayed there: he, Fortissimo, the Colonel himself, and his mistress, Alaleh, the sea-blue-eyed Persian who learned to become an abacist.

Of all the things there might exist, it was mathematics which brought the three of them in common. Alaleh loved to learn abacus, Fortissimo had been quite fluent in it, and in fact, he was the descendant of his family whom paternally learned abacus and how to become an abacist. But among them, it seemed that the Colonel had the most profound experience in the science. Not only he knew how to count quickly, he seemed to come from the root of algebraic branch... or worst, the number theory.

Vito glanced for a moment to the dark night outside where there was only a vast land of Caucassian forest and a surrounding of little village. This was his second night here, since his first acquaintance to the Colonel the night before, a night full of wines and mead. Alaleh was busy cooking dinner in the kitchen, he could smell roasted deer from the hickory-stove. Grigorovitz entered the room where Vito was. He had warned Vito not to speak a single thing about the current war in front of the Persian maiden; in case she was another Ottoman spy.

But what made you think it is safe for you as a Colonel to take a trip around here all by yourself? Vito asked him.

This town is already sieged by Lorei's army, Grigorovitz answered casually, biting an apple. I was of course, told to better off stay at the camp with the rest of the troops, but there is no way I would skip the leisure of Roses' Lair, he chuckled. So I told the general to take a trip here, just the two of us would know it. It could hardly predicted by the enemy that such a Colonel of the alert Russia strolls all along by himself. We are in such a truce after all...

Vito knew that the Colonel was actually gambling. But he just shrugged, at least he could catch the sense partially... the nearest Ottoman's post around Abkhazia nowadays does indeed could be reached on three days tank journey. Given that the town is already surrounded by Lorei Mikhailov's army, any escape attempts by those Turks soldiers back then in Roses' Lair would only grant themselves a direct death penalty.

Which also meant that seven days would not be their true length of time of staying here. He had better not unpacked his bag, for they could depart any moment now.

You seem to know General Mikhailov quite well,Colonel, said Vito, seated himself.

Grigorovitz smiled. You see this jacket of mine? He pointed at the coat of arm he showed the Guards of Roses' Lair the other night. This coat of arm could be your passport anywhere in Russia and its diplomatic-related countries. Lorei as well, comes from an equal family just like I do.

What about if someone fake it? asked Vito.

Grigorovitz laughed. You don't underestimate the network of Roses' Lair... they know more how to handle relation with royal families of Europe.

Alaleh emerged from the kitchen. She talked to Grigorovitz in German. Grigorovitz followed her to the dining table, gesturing Vito to also come with him. The dining table had been set gracefully, and Vito felt like it was very much Transylvanianish. Indeed---they were Transylvanian dinner! Vito felt, once more, really grateful for the fate he had tonight... he had no idea when else the time during the upcoming battles would he be served something so delicious yet stuffing. He had never been to any Transylvanian restaurant before, but he recognized some of the dish... the Persian mistress turned out to be really good in cooking. He could see shimmering goulash, besides what he was sure to be grilled potatoes and mititeis he smelled on the hickory stove. For the carbs one can choose oily-glazed polenta or herbs-scented pilaf, and she didn't even forget to make Romanian-style chocolate truffles for dessert.

Grigorovitz turned out to be not really care about manner. He simply said, just tuck in, Vito, and grabbed him everything he could reach to fulfill his plate,then start eating. Vito seated himself and took a truffle while Alaleh busily pouring in warm milk to each of their glasses. He was surprised to know that the truffle, indeed, tasted good.

You bought it, didn't you? he casually asked Alaleh in German. Alaleh flinched and scolded. First, she was surprised to learn that not only this paid private was quite intelligent in abacus, he also spoke German as well. She felt a little intimidated now to see someone who barely had enough money to be her roommate turned to have so much skills and abilities. Yet she could not understand one single English he spoke to Master Grigorovitz! She felt a little defeated...And now, he thought she bought the delicious truffles instead of making it herself!

Surprise me that you can not do it yet you are think I can not do it either, she replied furiously in stuttered English. Grigorovitz smiled and Vito felt amused. He started to like this girl as a new toy he could tease every time he had the time now.

Ah, great attempt, Miss! he replied naughtily. But I think what you did was merely Englishening your German, now! Grigorovitz and he laughed heartily.

Milady, don't sweat it, Grigorovitz stroked Alaleh's cheek and pulled her to her seat beside him. You have cooked a great deal and this gentleman here is no other than falling for you.

I heard the other night Sir, that you were talking about Diophantine's equation, Vito changed the subject to the thing made him so obsessed to know the Colonel.

Ah, that old story, the Colonel chuckled, chewing his potato.

When exactly did you learn Math formally, Sir? Vito asked eagerly.

Grigorovitz laughed. It is nice to hear such a condescension, Young Man. If you happen to not get it right, I shall foretell you right now... that Russians, I mean the noble blooded as I am, tend to learn mathematics in advance by our private tutors. I had been taught since I was six under the great Ostrogradsky himself.

He happened to have one of the copy of Galois' manuscripts, he continued while savouring his mititei. The one lost within the hand of Cauchy himself.

What about it? asked Vito.

Lyapunov once told me he felt something about the manuscript regarding the preceeding Diophantine equation, said Grigorovitz. When I asked him what, he simply copy it for me and I saw something so peculiar... Galois said something so essential yet so beautiful, about the theory of representation.

Vito was getting more excited, his ears he felt were shaping such a conic. He never heard about it before... this he felt, will lead him to the esoteric part as he wished someday he would be listening to such stories.

Well, I have not fully understood it, but I have such an intuition that Fermat and Galois somehow have a connection to Diophantine equation, Grigorovitz continued. It has been so long since I touched my pen and paper to do some ideas linking.

The rest of the dinner ran far too quickly for Vito Fortissimo.

He followed the footsteps of the Colonel walked away to the darkness of the forest outside, guarded by five military-dressed young men, right after the dine.

Suddenly he felt the time to go was eagerly due.

Diophantine Above The Mountain of Caucassus (2)

Suddenly the scenes of the Battle of Wissembourg flashed back before his eyes. He saw his 24-years old himself, exhausted, in a supposed to be pretty sunny morning, at about 11.00. The small fir and pine forest outside the hamlet of Wissemborough looked menacing and however sweet and fragrant they might seemed, the odour of Death himself fulfilled the air.

The garrison in which he joined in was preceeded by the Crown Prince force of Prussia to reach Wissembourg. His company was destroyed, he himself was injured near his upper abdomen. The rest of his garrison fellows ran for each of their lives,out of town, or trapped and killed within the commune... luckily he was able to drag the body of one of his mercenary fellow, Giorgio Accardo.

Luck, it was merely luck was he able to escape the little parish. Being mercenaries, he and Giorgio were always dispatched in the frontest line of the garrison. Especially Giorgio, whose adrenaline rushed so vibrantly he led the company. The first bullet of the enemy transpired his chest in the silent circumstances of the village's gate, marking the first victim of the French and should have alarmed the other members of the companies... but Vito Fortissimo reacted the swiftest among his fellows. He quickly grabbed the falling body of Giorgio's and hid themselves behind the nearest wall before he squatted there. He was very fortunate to find a big, quite thick iron lid he used it as a shield.

What followed was the bombardment of more bullets and cannonballs in their surroundings. Vito managed to shoot two Prussian soldiers but he got shot he bled his abdomen. Being hurt, he quickly found another wall for a shield and found himself facing the edge of the pine and fir forest. He silently escaped as fast as he could... he could not really remembered how, but he managed it. He arrived there at the inner side of the forest, somehow he brought along Giorgio.

Giorgio did not make it. Vito Fortissimo could still smell the soil of that forest, where eventually he fell down, Giorgio's body beside him.

***

Vito Fortissimo was awaken from his thought. Then he scolded, for the third time tonight, as his Russian fellow grinned while offering him his hand. For God sake, now that he was able to forecast the last eleven steps of his checkmate!

I'm done, Vito sighed. His Russian opponent laughed, swigging his last big drop of his eighth mug of mead. Then kissed his Persian mistress.

Vito Fortissimo went asilenced. To see the kiss, suddenly he lost in the land of mortal Goddeses... where the creatures living were auburn-haired or blue-eyed, playing their lethal harps to whoever heard it, that those who remain complacent might need not know whether they play the dice between life and death.

Signore Fortissimo observed the Russian. He said his name was Viktor Grigorovitz... such a masculine name, yet his skin was such as he was freshly born, so smooth yet fair. Yes he knew that he must be someone with high rank in his batalyon, given his choice of mistress. He emerged from the Chamber of The Virgins, the highest paid room and roomates one could get in Roses' Lair. And look at those pair of sapphire blue-eyed miss he got...not to mention he was the first one for her.

Such a fine dawn, Grigorovitz said. His blue sky eyes gazed sharply towards the depth darkness of the forest outside. To had spent at least his one last month here, Vito fairly memorized it so well all the cusps of the panoramic laid there. It was quite a generous sight of the whole Caucassus mountains... the flat green hills of local grass interspersing the vast, mighty white snowy mountains where sometimes one could observe the horde of deers on their journey.

Master Grigorovich... you said we will discuss my abacus lesson, the Persian mistress curled her head on Grigorovitz' shoulders.

Vito flinched. He bent his back towards Grigorovitz. You... talk abacus? he asked.

Grigorovitz laughed.

The Persian mistress turned her head towards Vito, as though she had just realized that he was there all along.

You seem to be really surprise, my friend, Grigorovitz smiled thinly. It shall not be as special as it might seem, actually.

My great-great grandfather moved to America as an abacist! Vito said outloud, almost shrilling. Why--- who are you actually?

Viktor Grigorovitz got to his feet while igniting his pipe from his pocket. Interesting, he said. Not many young men I have seen appreciate such a name came from hundreds of years history. Allow me, my friend, to introduce myself, he offered his hand welcomed by Vito directly, as it shall seem I to be your next commandant in battle. Colonel Viktor Grigorovitz Braunsimov...

Vito Fortissimo did not really recognize the name, but now he could see the face of his commander for the next siege in Kars. He became so excited. Pleased to see you, Colonel, he said.

Diophantine Above The Mountain of Caucassus

Antonina Agnessa Braunsimova suddenly awaken in the middle of the night on November 1876. She barely could believe that she had been no longer dreaming... as the dream preceeding took her somewhat so much real.It was a snowy night outside the grand bedroom of hers, where the servants put in bunches of flowers in the summer, mostly tulips.

She forced her fading memory of the recent dream of hers... what was it? The impression was so strong she felt affected that she passed it already.

Yes now that she remembered... she became such a princess in the land of nowhere... where she dressed in a silvery gown. She was surrounded by silvery, white fog. She felt cold. Suddenly came a dark-haired woman so beautiful she could diminish all the cold just by her presence. Lady Antonina knelt before her as the beautiful shall recite to her a very important message...

You see that figure? the dark-haired lady pointed towards a direction, somewhere, Lady Antonina knew it was due south. Lady Antonina automatically stood to her feet and ran towards the direction.

Eventually there shaped a tall, slender figure with dark hair. A man. Lady Antonina had no idea of who he was.

Kill him! said a voice appeared in her head. It was, Lady Antonina knew, the same voice she heard from the dark haired woman... she should kill the man because then she would be granted a present for her lifetime... she should kill the man otherwise the man shall rob her happiness away...

Out of the blue it was, Lady Antonina acquired herself a silvery knife. And silently, without further hesitation... she stabbed the man on his back she knew would rip his heart out.

The dark-haired lady appeared after the dead man's body... and suddenly they were surrounded by light. The dark haired lady handed her a present... a beautiful, tender-looking baby... as she finally realized it was her most precious treasure she got on Earth, her son... Dmitri Mikhailov with his shining blue sky pair of eye.

***

It was such a clement afternoon down the town of Tkvarcelli, near the Black Sea. The gentleman shone in his walk, excited that he was once more given the chance to breath the air of the Land where the guardian of the Holy Land's Kingdom resides.

The Land of the Ottoman, as already represented by the fragrance of his name, did not prohibit the practice of slavery. The gentleman, as he came from the noble blood himself in his country, knew as where the men of his leagues took their leisure time in this particular land, in this particular city.

The place was called The Roses' Lair. Outside, it looked like other buildings surrounding it, only... that not just anybody could enter it.

He showed his coat of arm on his jacket to the guardian outside it.

The next steps were a poem of amour. The female procurer bowed at him, then asked him to wait in the lounge.

Then she asked him to enter a chamber with twelve most beautiful feminines she had.

The gentleman casted his eyes with utter carefulness upon each of the females' postures. His desire tonight should be satisfied with the best...

His sight stopped upon an auburn haired, wistful-eyed maiden with such a touch of Persian gesture and Scachrezade charm shining out of her body.

His moment stopped.

He met his long-lost lover from the other time.

He approached the maiden. Embraced her to his chest, and whispered in her ear,

Persian? Abacus...

The maiden quietly responded, Ja...

Ordinary men and women on Earth, if they have the knowledge already, would translate it as a conversation in Prussian...

The gentleman chose her.

The procurer bowed once more to him, admiring his choice once more. A man from the Braunsimovas surely has the greatest taste of virgins.

Silently he escort her to the room of his choice in Roses' Lair.

***

Vito Fortissimo had become the night's consecutive champion of chess games held between the gentlemen in Roses' Lair. But he was yet to sip his first red wine.

His gaze fell upon a semi-dark-and-brownish-haired man emerged from the Chambers of The Virgins. He happened to be the last man in the room he had not challenged in the game. The man seated himself with the auburn-haired mistress of his tonight on his lap, ordering a glass of honey-flavored-tea.

The Fortissimo gentleman suggested one of the waitress to order him a glass of iced red wine with a note to challenge him for a chess. The gentleman with his mistress glanced at his new acquaintance that night, Signore Fortissimo. He smiled and thought, that during these uncertain hours when he would be summoned to his post in no time, one or two games of chess would be maximizing his spare times after women. His side, Russia, was not going to win easily anyway... he could defend and win back his country on chess table. He gently asked his Persian lady to get him a cup of coffee before then gave him company to Fortissimo's table.

It was such a peaceful night during the era of the War of Russo-Turkish. Italian, Russian, and even the Turks soldires gathered together before tomorrow heaven knows when Ezrael shall greet them. Playing chess, slept with the could-be same women in turn, drunk by wines both red and white.

In The House of Roses' Lair, the average sides existed were the neutral zones. Tomorrow they might end up killing each other in the battle field.

Signore Fortissimo had his defeat for three consecutive chess games that night. The defeater, Viktor Grigorovitz from the Land of Russia as he knew him, was drunk by eight mugs of mead while bragging about his vision on Diophantine equation. Checkmate, checkmate, checkmate...

Fortissimo had his goosebumps for the first time in his chess life. He was barely drunk.

Black Pearl From Prince

Boston, Spring 85.

The neighborhood of Prince Street, Boston, is no friendly to anybody from higher bourgeoisie class than there was there. She just hoped that one day she could strike the fact right on the noses of those bragging lads in her office. She did not mean it to be racist.

People called her Maple around here. Everyday she woke up early at about 5, facing the feature of Friday Foster, her--although imaginary--true, idol. Everyday since she was four, she always dreamt of becoming like her... smart and determined no matter how people prejudice her appearence,still be able to humming happily about what today would bring her, and each new day was an opportunity before her. Carpe diem, she was always going to seize the day!

Now that she was 24, she actually could have her her own place somewhere cozier, somewhere with more prestige... with her current salary. But she just couldn't do it. Aunt Kelly was so stiff she could not let her face each day alone, just like the way she once allocate her time and love to adopt her from the orphanage.

She could have already her master degree in computer science, making her the first and only person, woman, and the Afro-American to handle and use the internet among colleagues from different races in her office. But no matter how busy she was, in the morning, as usual, since she was in the fourth grade, she would prepare Aunt Kelly breakfast with their routine favourites: sunny-side egg and coffee on Monday and Tuesday, waffle and mapple syrup and orange juice in Thursday, fried potatoes and sausages on Friday. On Saturday and Sunday Aunt Kelly loved to cook her sweet porridge or tomato soup.

All in all, life so far was perfect for both of them. Especially for Maple, who had been really pleased with herself for being able to give back to Aunt Kelly, her saviour for at least the last ten years.

***

Maple, you get going now? Aunt Kelly stiffly stepped down the stairs with some little cough. Maple deftly gave her a hand and had her seated. She poured her a cup of her de-caff coffee while biting her first toast. Alan will fetch you again, no?

Maple smiled. Aunt Kelly had always been supportive no matter who she went out with. As this was her first time to be engaged in a relationship with another grown-up, Aunt Kelly seemed fine even though Alan was rarely being mentioned by her in front of Aunt Kelly. The only encounter that Alan would meet her was the brief 15 minutes when she was getting her make-up ready in her bedroom while Alan waited in the lounge. Aunt Kelly would always friendly started a conversation with him. And she thanked God that no matter how sometimes Alan was such a bragging lad either, he seemed to respect Aunt Kelly as she wished.

But today she had been ready earlier and Alan would not have to wait, as she would be attending the welcoming of Spring apprentices in her office in Tremmont Street.

The door bell rang. That's Alan, Aunt Kell... I'd better get going! She kissed the white old lady on the cheek.

She grabbed her beret and put on her shoes. Outside, a tall, shaven dark-skinned man had waited in his car. Many other guys around the neighborhood had actually envied the man. He had been the one who was able to go out with The Black Pearl from Prince.