Slanting Views: A Summer for Ever

By Astrid Bartell

Clashing encounters around a mysterious object,
A high school dropout, a tourist,
Love, magic, death, lust.
Another mere summer romance?
Far from it.
So far in fact that Ann, Melchior and the locals of an otherwise quiet South Carolina community will all be compelled to deal with a most intricate network of massive revelations escaped from the hands of Time.

Melchior, this is nonsensical!
Melchior nodded lightly and went on: Well, yes, but no. This is weird, almost alien, you know, and there youre right, it is nonsensical. You sure you want me to tell you what I think?
Most definitely.
Well, its worse than that. Its not what I think but what I know. For a fact. Four facts so far. Are you sure you want me to tell you?
I am ready to face whatever it is you are about to reveal to me.
Okay, here goes. What you got from it is not what I got from it. And dont ask me if Im sure. Im not sure, I know. It adapts. I have proof.

Let the multiple worlds of Slanting Views sweep you off your daily routines.
Enter Slanting Views and Bon Voyage to You!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491840702

Astrid Bartell

I was born in Geneva, Switzerland and educated in Geneva and Michigan, so you can say I basically have a double culture, European and American even though I am Swiss and live in Geneva. The rest? Is that really important? Well, I’ve had several lives: I was once a swimmer, a student, a teacher, a mom. Nowadways I’m still happily a mom and a teacher of English and American literature. And a gardener, and a writer. Or a storyteller. Yeah, that’s it.

Book preview

Contents

On either Side of an Opinionated Door Long Gone.

There and then.

Back from Beyond.

Here and Now.

At a Most Uncivil Ceremony.

Around Blooming Irises.

On either Side of a Friendly Counter.

Past the Mailbox.

In a Nineteen Century Garden.

In the Corner.

Here and Now Again.

Not on a Date.

At the Drugstore.

At Back to the Future.

Blissful Dancing on Kitchen Tiles.

At the Bed and Breakfast.

Floating Here and There.

At the Repair Shop.

In the Bathroom.

In the Park.

On a Kitchen Table.

In the Kitchen.

On the Bench.

At Breakfast.

On the Porch.

From a Long Distance.

In the Enlightening Space.

In the Air Floating Yet Detained.

In a Towel, or Almost.

At the Precincts.

In the Kitchen for Starters, Entrées and Grand Finale Nightcaps.

In the Night.

Out of Time.

In Your Dreams.

To the Moon and Beyond.

In Two Minds as One.

Above and Below.

At Work.

At A Friend’s.

At Home.

In a Few Days.

From Paris.

Here and Now for the Last Time.

Water Below Fire.

Home.

Bibliography and other references.

To all those who loved, and believe they have failed.

For Fabrice and Michelle

On either Side of an Opinionated Door Long Gone.

‘Mel! Come back here! You’re going to Luciano’s this afternoon, and you’re paying for it! And come back here, I’m not finished! You’re starting on Monday!’

Hell, another crappy Sunday in between, both of them trapped in sulking silence. Avoiding each other had become a race, the one caught by the other in the kitchen or on the way to the bathroom losing it all. He’d go to the shop, find something quiet to do there. Couldn’t even stand his own place then, not even with the kid locked up in his room. South Carolina had its own way of being hotter than hell more often than not. And just as pleasant.

No time to finish the sentence; the door had already closed gently, and then, as usual, it had slammed itself. Damn kid, damn rotten kid! How did he do it? Just how did he do it?!?

No matter where the teenager was, he would hear, he would know. The neighbors too, probably. Couldn’t care less.

‘You’d better be on time! You’re starting at eight sharp!’ the voice of the angry mechanic hollered at the door.

It opened itself; Mel must’ve been on the other side.

‘Eight on what clock? The basement’s? The radiator’s in the bathroom or the one in your room?!?’ Melchior hissed in a whisper before he started humming a rap tune that for once was deprived of offensive lyrics.

‘Cut it out!’ was the raw answer Mel got.

The door closed in absolute silence.

‘Damn you!’ the older man hammered out.

How dare he have that tone anyway?!?

How dared he make plans for Mel, forcing him to work there for the rest of the summer, there, of all places, how dared he not tell him about the change of plans…

Mel had understood right away. The plans could never have come true; he had merely taken them at face value.

He hadn’t said much.

Never said much.

Had too much to feel.

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There and then.

T he thickly bespectacled eyes barely raised on him. What else could you expect? They had ignored him, looked beyond, stared to and fro as their owner had come and gone, hands fidgeting in useless and usual flutters disconnected from the rest. The soft background classical piece had stopped, and so had the strangely loud and clear voice that had climbed live the ups and downs of the Marriage of Figaro with unexpected accomplishment. Was great at that, but who’d ever b other?

Magnified eyes eventually passed over his, hands at a loss for this and that to move around and not put back in place while the corresponding voice ordered dryly: ‘Young man, we’re still closed. See the panel? We open at nine.’

‘I know. I’m a bit early.’

‘Way over an hour. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave. It’s bright outside, take a walk and come back at nine.’

Mel didn’t move, was reluctant to stay and almost as reluctant to leave even after two consecutive questions that ended his day before it had started as the attendant demanded: ‘Please? Can you wait outside?’

He’d be patient, wait anywhere, inside and out, above and below; he’d go anywhere he’d be sent, but then he’d have to be sent. So he had to give a name, a reason, something, and he identified himself the best way he knew how. ‘It’s -me -’ he tried hesitantly.

‘You who?’

‘Me, Mel. You know, me - ’

‘I have things to do. Excuse me, I don’t know any you, Mel -’

The oversized eyes looked at the ceiling with a smile and the twittering voice went on: ‘ - Or Mel Brooks maybe, but I would never say that I actually know him. Not that I would have minded, but - where was I? Ah, you.’

Mel looked at his sneakers.

‘Well, it’s still too early and I have heaps of things to take care of. Please leave. Now,’ the attendant demanded.

So he was being dismissed. Good. The choice was being made for him. He’d worry about a story for his father later. But where was he supposed to go? The tall teenager hesitated; for some strange reason, he’d promised himself to give it a try, maybe just to busy his mind with matter-of-fact occupations for whatever could be the stretch of a summer. He felt bound to be true at least to that. He insisted, just this once, just for his own sake.

But he had to come up with more than ‘me’, give a name and find something as he had stopped using his last name for four years.

‘Me,’ he tried, ‘Me, Mel, you know, the son of the mechanic?’

He felt the strange look from outer space scan his whole face.

He kept averted, wanting to see neither the bulging eyes nor the crooked smile that eventually acknowledged him. ‘Mel - Melchior! Good heavens,’ the musical attendant exclaimed with an ugly grin. ‘Melchior, but you - have grown! So much! So much since I last saw you! Let me think - I remember as if it was yesterday - you had just gotten your braces on and you could hardly talk -’

Mel would’ve preferred the attendant to stay behind the counter and not take both his hands while commenting: ‘ - and now you’re a man, or almost; shaving in any case!’

A passing train it was now too late to ride gave the tall teenager the chance to look away and avoid a hand raised to his cheek. He kept silent as his boss was already eager to overdo it with annoying enthusiasm.

‘Melchior! I must say, I was a bit surprised when your father told me you would love working here for the summer while he was changing my sparking plugs. Or was it the oil? It may have been brake fluid, whatever.’

With another silent version explaining his useless presence, Mel had been eyeing the door right next to his view of the railways.

‘I can leave if you want,’ the awkward teenager ventured.

‘No, no, do stay! I accepted your father’s offer immediately. But you are early! Didn’t your father tell you you started at eight?’

‘He mentioned something like this, but I can’t remember exactly. Do you want me to go to the station for a while? I could stay there until eight, you know. And - call me Mel.’

‘Call me Mel’? My, are we literate! Mel?!? But that’s not a name! I hate abbreviations. Do stay, Melchior. And a grown boy tall as yourself doesn’t deserve any abbreviation. You are taller than your father. How tall are you?’

Mel didn’t answer and safely tucked his hands into his pockets; he observed the way his ankles and most of his sneakers disappeared below the fabric of the loose shorts as if his feet were embedded into the floor. How difficult would it be to eventually remove his shoes and reach the outside?

‘I’ll show you around. Come on!’ The attendant said while taking him by the sleeve and showing him down a little corridor that opened on a very nice room visible from the opposite sidewalk and even from across the railways in fact.

Melchior had always wondered what kind of people lived there.

People wearing thick glasses, terrible checkered shirts like kitchen towels with bunches of inadequate cherries printed over the lines, and ugly sandals with matching feet.

He was glad the jungle of potted plants around were blind. Melchior briefly looked outside and his eyes grasped the river in a useless attempt. Out of nowhere large war ships with dragon-like prow figures invaded his mind, slow vessels from afar up the river, silent, all rudders down and defenses on the lookout, sharp eyes gazing, keels gently ripping the virgin surface, ready for ruthless wars that wouldn’t be, blond, fierce, merciless warriors, minds and bodies ready for battle, absolute conquerors, ambassadors of new cults, new cultures, essential exchanges, settlements that wouldn’t last.

But Mel’s vision was violently deleted by a trivial and proud statement.

‘So here’s the coffee machine!’ the fluty attendant heralded for all to hear, especially the potted plants.

Melchior wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for the little red light under the overgrowth. But how the heck did they refill the thing? Maybe the plants did it, maybe they refilled it with their own sap while trying to commit suicide.

‘It works on this strange coin,’ the attendant explained while showing Mel the piece of metal on top of the machine.

‘It’s a casino chip, actually,’ Mel remarked with utter disinterest. If that was the only action the summer promised, might as well get out of there now, especially if it was only a coffee machine. Too slow, too lame, too not what he wanted.

Or so he thought.

‘A casino chip?!?’ the attendant exclaimed after squinting at the coin. ‘That’s why it does not resemble the other ones! You are really amazing, Melchior! What was I saying? Yes, the fake…the chip, but only that one, slides back down. It sort of tricks the machine, you see? Just don’t forget to put it back in place, right there, right on top. Nobody knows! Well, a few people do, but just keep it to yourself anyway. Can you do that?’

‘Sure,’ the tall teenager answered.

‘So? What are you having? See? We have a wide variety of choices! We have coffee, and macchiato, and latte, and hot chocolate, and broth -’

‘Hot tea.’ Mel interrupted. No hesitation there!

‘Hot tea?!?’ exclaimed the attendant with terribly large eyes. ‘I must say, I don’t know anyone your age who drinks hot tea in the summer. I have always liked you, now I know why!’

If only that person stopped being so enthusiastic about everything all the time. But what could you expect? The worst actually as the fluty voice reached its flutiest or almost: ‘Here, let me show you! There! Is that the correct button?’ the attendant asked.

‘Yes,’ Mel whispered.

‘So press, don’t be shy, just press. See the little cup sliding down? Isn’t that amazing?!? And here’s your hot tea, dear boy! But just one thing. If ever anyone takes broth before -’

From afar, Mel heard his boss rambling on about floating eyes on the surface of his tea and he cut in with a deep sigh.

Was going to be a long, long summer, even without the burden of tea bags. And slow, and useless. Just crappy shit.

Or so he thought.

‘Now, take your tea with you,’ the attendant invited at some point. ‘Where would you like to start?’

That question pulled Mel out of his musings; he didn’t answer yet, just followed his boss back to the main desk. At a safe distance behind, the tall teenager regretted the way the floor supported him as he was staring at his sneakers.

‘I don’t know - I don’t even know exactly why I’m here -’ he eventually answered passively.

‘Of course you don’t! But who does, ha, ha, ha! I imagine a young man such as yourself must be over proficient with a lot of things, computers being only one of your numerous accomplishments! Am I not right? Would you like to work at the computer? You would just have to take the piles there - oh, today must be your lucky day, the pile is singular. Usually there are three or four of them, if not more - I wonder why there’s just one pile - That’s odd - Or should I say queer? Odd, ‘that’s odd’ sounds better than ‘that’s queer’, do you not agree?’

Mel’s mind had gone blank while his eyes seemed to grasp the excited explanations directed at him.

‘Anyway, you take one item after the other,’ the animated attendant went on, ‘you type in the figures and letters you see there, and don’t forget the dot in the middle; it’s very important. I’ve always wondered why something that looks like a mildew stain has that much importance. And I always forget the dot in the middle, and then I get this error thing mentioning ‘item unknown’ and then I get all upset, you see, and then…but you don’t want to know about it. Where was I - ? Where was I, Melchior?’

Mel surprised himself to feel so much sympathy for someone he hardly knew, and he surprised himself even more as he was able to answer: ‘You were at the dot between the letters and figures.’

‘The dot? Dear Heavens, Melchior, what dot?!?’

Mel took delicately the first and almost only item, exposed its bashful back and showed the little mark with his pinky, but without a word.

‘The dot!’ the attendant marveled. ‘That’s right, that’s exactly right! Thank you for leading me back to our dotty story! Well, once you do this, the computer tells you who took it out last, how often it has been taken out, you can know everything you want to know about the item, the computer will tell you all you want to know, all on its own, or almost! Is that not simply amazing?!?’

‘Yes’ surprisingly replaced the usual ‘yeah’.

‘So? Are you working at the computer? Yes?’

The tall teenager had been looking at the wall. ‘I’d rather not,’ he answered in a whisper.

‘Why not?!?’

Mel glanced at the screen of a machine that must’ve been at least eight years old. ‘I see it’s connected,’ he explained, ‘and I might just forget about the pile.’

‘Connected?!? But connected to what, dear heavens?!? I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about - Are you sure the computer is connected, as you are saying?’

‘Well - no, never mind,’ the tall teenager answered.

Relieved to dismiss the whole connecting idea the attendant indicated a very cozy looking leather armchair. ‘So sit, sit down, Melchior. See?’ Mel’s boss asked with fluttering hands. ‘The chair suits you perfectly. Where have you left your tea? Ah, there. I’ll get it. But just not too close to the keyboard. Once, I - but you don’t want to know about it. I’ll slide the pile over to you - there! Now start! Type the lines on the back; my, you are proficient! The line and the dot, it’s all there! Are you ever good at this - how many fingers do you use?’

‘I don’t know -’

That answer was still his favorite one but this time, he was requested for more.

‘Do that one,’ the amazed attendant requested.

Melchior would have liked to sigh, checked himself, his quick fingers barely touching the appropriate keys with light independence.

‘Eight!’ the exclaiming attendant twittered.

‘What -?’ he asked as his eyes unwillingly lifted on the glasses and their magnifying effect.

‘You’re using eight fingers! You’re amazing, truly amazing! Where did you learn?’

‘I never did.’

Countless hours spent at Ada’s could never be considered as tuition, yet this was exactly what Melchior had received; that and more, much more.

‘Amazing!’ the flabbergasted attendant exclaimed. ‘And the dots, you’re not forgetting the dots - Amazing! Continue, go on - You obviously are cut out for this - amazing, truly amazing! So, can I leave you with the pile? I’ll see to the usual, the mail, the rest - regulars and unregistered will start to pour in, as usual; I have to be ready -’

Mel ignored while his eyes kept focusing on the outgoing back references his fingers were turning into data but rose at the end of a line.

‘Mail - it’s connected - here, take my seat,’ he suggested without a glance at his boss.

The attendant stepped back and smiled, so very happy to see Mel did not know all the tricks of the trade just yet.

‘Mail, dear boy, you’re so very sweet, but you don’t understand. Mail, you know, letters, parcels possibly, bills most certainly, you must have heard of these -’

‘Okay, if you say so.’

‘So, can I leave you with the - but where is the pile?!?’

‘I guess I’m down to the last two or three items as you call them.’

‘Amazing, truly amazing! But, dear Melchior, may I attend to what I have to do? Will you be okay all alone at the computer - ? What am I saying, of course, you are okay.’

Oblivious to what was being said, Melchior had gone on with the kind of speed he wanted his summer to proceed.

‘Finished. Anything else I can do?’ he asked.

‘Finished?!? But finished what, dear heavens?!?’

Melchior decided a finger pointing at the pile would do. No need for useless words.

‘Finished?!?Yes, indeed, yes there is, there would be, but dear heavens, what time is it?’ the attendant asked.

Deft fingers had wrapped the mouse and glided it.

‘Seventeen minutes after eight,’ Mel answered.

Gosh, not even a half hour that seemed more like a whole day.

At a loss, -but what could you expect at that point- the oversized eyes looked up and around. ‘Can you see the clock from here?!?’ the attendant exclaimed. ‘I never noticed one could actually see the clock from the desk! It’s virtually impossible!’

Melchior looked intently at his boss for the first time and explained as patiently as he could: ‘Well, yes, no, I can’t see the clock by the main desk, but time is just here.’

‘For heaven’s sakes, where?’

‘Well, just here! You take the mouse -’

The voice that cut in was beyond upset and made Mel recoil even more than the gaze that approached his within threatening distance. ‘It is not that! It cannot be that! Ever!’ it ordered. ‘It is a pointer. This is very important, Melchior. A pointer. Do you understand?’

‘Huh - yes, I do. But please look. Can I show you?’ the tall teenager complied.

‘You show me anything except the obnoxious animal you have just mentioned. Do you understand?!?’

‘Yes, sure, I do. Just look. So you take the pointer, you slide it gently down to the bottom right corner, and there you have it. Time. At all times.’

‘At - all times?!? Are you telling me it actually changes?’

‘Well, yes, it does. Just like it does on the wall clock.’

His boss looked at Mel in complete disbelief and demanded explanations: ‘Has this been here, there, wherever, for long?’

‘It was there the first time the computer was plugged in, I can assure you.’

A casual hand rested on Mel’s shoulder along with another question: ‘It is not something you have just done?’

‘I wouldn’t know how to do it. I know how to change the time given, but I wouldn’t know how to set it up in the first place,’ Mel assured.

‘You could actually change it? What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s simple, really. Just look at the pointer, okay?’

‘I’m looking, I’m looking -’

The attendant’s intent stare on the screen was watching Melchior’s every move of the mouse yet recording none. A quietly ticking clock appeared, together with the complete date and more.

‘Dear heavens, Melchior, has this - time telling contraption - been there for long?!?’

‘Well, it’s built inside the computer. I didn’t put it there.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, absolutely, one hundred percent sure?’

The tall teenager offered his boss his first warm smile as he answered: ‘Oh yes.’

‘And - you could change - it? The time, I mean?’

‘Yes, sure. Your computer could operate on Hawaiian time if you wanted. Or Paris, or Tokyo, as you wish!’

‘Dear heavens! But what would I do with - other people’s times?’

‘Well, you could imagine what they’d be doing. You know, going to work, having breakfast, that kind of stuff. See, you could even have several dials with times and places elsewhere, just look.’ Mel’s offer had been completed with a whole panel of clocks. New York, San Francisco, Tokyo, Rome, Paris, they were all there.

‘Oh dear heavens,’ the stunned attendant pleaded, ‘can you please make all these things disappear, please?’

‘Definitely. You just close that window -’

Melchior had clicked; the clocks had vanished and the former screen had opened on the previous file.

‘Opening and closing time through a window is beyond me,’ the attendant sighed. ‘And yet, our very own local time can come in handy I suppose. Are you absolutely sure this is not a little something you have just added to simplify my life around here?’

‘Yes. I am. But just let me check on something.’ Mel stood up, took a few steps and a short turn to glance at the clock by the main desk and requested gently: ‘Slide the pointer.’

‘On the little mat?’

‘Yes, on the mo - on the pad. What time do you read on the bottom right corner?’

The answer should have been immediate, but the obnoxious animal was reluctant to obey the attendant’s hesitant fingers, and there was something stuck there, on its stomach below the mat - oh, that! That was the i.d. they had been looking for - just put it there, and call him later on, but not today, he would be busy enough. Call him later on, but not today, although the whole procession is going to have to pass by to get to the graveyard.

Mel appeared and asked again in a concerned voice: ‘Can you see it? What time do you have on the bottom right corner?’

‘What? Oh. The time. Right. Eight twenty-seven.’

‘Cool! So both clocks tell the same time.’

‘Melchior, you angel, I’m sure it’s something you’ve just done to simplify my life but you’re too modest to take any credit for it.’

‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong here. Time was there before me.’

Baffled, Mel’s boss stopped short; could this young man be the one? But one thing at a time. ‘Anyway, since it is only - dear heavens, almost eight thirty!’ the attendant exclaimed. ‘How time flies! In less than thirty minutes it’s going to be the beginning of eight consecutive rush hours! I have to be ready, I have to…’ The attendant seemed to be picturing all there still was to be done, hands fidgeting all around perfectly mirroring chaotic mental images.

Mel waited for some time before going back to his previous question: ‘Anything I can do to help?’

The boss so not in charge turned to him with complete relief. ‘You - you are still here, dear boy, thank goodness. Yes, as a matter of fact, yes, there is! Can you put the items back in place? You’re so much taller than I! Would you mind?’

‘No. Just show me where, and I’ll do it.’

‘An angel, you’re a real angel, Melchior. Follow the rows, follow the rose!’

Mel’s mind went blank or almost. He’d been called ‘wise man’ ever since primary school, but his father would never have thought of him as an angel.

The place, its plants and its occupant were definitely out of the ordinary.

Mel couldn’t repress a broad smile his boss noticed, of course, and of course commented on it: ‘God, are you ever handsome when you smile! You take after your mother, she -’

Mel frowned. The attendant perceived it in a flash and corrected: ‘Never mind her. I mean, yes, do mind her, but we’ll have the whole summer. But I must say, that smile of yours is hers, definitely hers, and your long hair adds to the resemblance. I’m glad you haven’t shaved your head like so many young people your age. I hate that.’ And after a faint shudder, the attended went on explaining: ‘I truly do. It looks - I don’t know, but it looks not right to me. These people with their piercings all over, their bald heads and their huge dogs…but you’re definitely not like that. One glimpse at you and it’s crystal clear.’

Mel’s face had been intensely stared at as if to really make sure of his appearance, the long hair, the smile and the rest. The long hair! Damn!

Luciano!

Totally forgotten to go to Luciano’s - He’d have to come up with a good and useless explanation for his dad, or else find a wizardly proficient pair of scissors by the end of the day, or else - but no time for that now, Mel was being pulled by the sleeve.

‘Come, I’ll show you where to put them back,’ the attendant suggested. ‘My, are you carrying them with much care! But you’re right, they are precious, all of them. Many years of hard work, white nights, revisions - we just have no idea and tend to ignore the other side…just like carrots.’

Mel thought of asking about the carrots but he found himself too unexpectedly happy there to say anything; he had already followed the trotting attendant to a threshold opening on a room he had never seen or imagined.

It wasn’t like they didn’t have one at school, but the tall teenager could hardly recall what it looked like. It was on the top floor somewhere. Must’ve been there. Probably opened on the football field, or the tennis courts, or something like this, one of those places Mel felt only out of. It was probably one of those places where shadows can only come from tense brows and heads leaning over unspeakable lines, unless it was only made of these, shadows, nonexistent non beings. Did they really have one at school?

But this he would never have expected. He suddenly felt as a character in one of those animated children’s movies filled with dough figures in which buildings are very small on the outside but have huge, definitely outsized inside space.

It was not so much the two storey high volume that was impressive, he had seen that before. The main hall of the station alone was much higher.

But what he could see of the global surface made almost no sense, not in the insignificant building it was located, not with a flat on the other end of the landing.

It just made no sense -

Trailing behind, he started humming the rap tune. His large brown eyes gazing, he must have stopped humming and begun singing. The attendant turned around, walked back to him and asked with eyebrows raised way above the thick frames of the glasses: ‘You know it backwards?!?’

The tall teenager stopped in his tracks. ‘I - do what?’

‘You know it backwards!’

Mel didn’t understand, kept silent. The attendant’s face approached Mel’s and scanned it in a terrifying way while a whispering question demanded: ‘What were you saying?’

‘I - don’t know -’ answered Melchior somewhat intimidated this time.

The attendant backed up a bit as if Melchior’s face had suddenly become too large to handle and asked: ‘In the thing you were saying, or singing, or something, what comes after p?’

‘O, why?’

‘That’s exactly what I was saying, you know it backwards!’ Mel’s boss exclaimed with a triumphant little laugh in a kind of amazement that granted the oversized eyes an even queerer shine. ‘Melchior, dear angel, you know it backwards and I don’t know what to say -’ Mel realized at once what he’d been humming, but wouldn’t have known how to explain. How do you explain harmless rap to someone whose computer is linked to a rodent?!?

‘- except that I must own it,’ the attendant declared, ‘I did have my doubts concerning your working here for the summer. Dear boy, your presence makes so much sense!’

‘Well, maybe it does but- ’

Mel was interrupted by a sound resembling a blackbird’s song.

‘The door! Didn’t I lock it?!?’ asked the attendant with a totally distraught look. ‘Dear heavens, it must be Stella. I hope she is bringing the items we ordered last week. And if it’s bills, I’ll take them anyway. I’ll go check.’

‘And I’ll put these back in place.’

The attendant passed by Mel, gave him a broad smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder before disappearing behind him.

Had Mel listened, he would have recognized the second voice as not being Stella’s, but his senses were numbed.

Hands gracefully crossed over the pile shielding his chest, he passed the threshold and slowly penetrated the volume he was to make his very own.

Bathing the whole space, the conquering light gently revealed the simple perfection of the rows, the sober lines of the arched bay window overlooking the river lazily flowing beyond the railways, the glittering appeal of orderly bindings persistently calling to silent, endless inner journeys.

Melchior walked on naturally with measured, merging steps.

Yielding to overwhelming new emotions, the tall teenager naturally opened and connected each new pool of light to the one he had previously entered but would not leave behind.

Gilding the whole space, overcoming radiance elevated the whole volume beyond the ground it may once have been attached to. Melchior’s heaving and soft gestures echoed light; he approached lines, curves and rows with extreme delicacy while his spirit coaxed his whole body into ancient rituals leaving his mind blank and illuminated.

What his eyes saw whispered timeless universes, invisible worlds within immediate reach, boundary-less experiences.

His whole essence rejoiced at the pervading contact of infinite knowledge that flowed freely within him. Where and when had become irrelevances beyond deceptions.

Thus Melchior glided on indefinitely at once absorbed and absorbing in a complete bliss that left no room to questioning.

But he suddenly collided into a long forgotten shadow that acknowledged him cheerfully. ‘Melchior, there you are!’ exclaimed some fluty voice.

A weird presence it took him a few seconds to associate with his boss and his father had appeared. The attendant was standing in front of him, his dad a little bit behind, the vast volume now reduced by the partition door and his presence in the frame.

‘I gather you have put all the items back?’ the attendant asked.

‘I - guess so -’

‘Melchior, what happened to your shoes?’ the attendant asked with a broad, crooked grin.

‘I -’ Mel started but was cut short by his boss now turning to the visitor and explaining: ‘The carpeting is soft, isn’t it? A luxury we shouldn’t afford, but it muffs up sounds so well - it’s a bit of a complication to have it cleaned four times a year, but as long as it resists winter time, we keep it. Let’s go back to the front desk, shall we? Melchior, I have just shown your father the marvelous job you have done this morning.’

The tall teenager followed passively, suddenly aware that they hadn’t seen each other since a heated argument he only vaguely remembered, something that must have happened ages ago.

The mechanic was about to say something the attendant would certainly have interrupted when they both turned to him and realized.

He was still the same damn kid, he was still much taller than his father, he was still not very good at shaving and yet there was a gravity, a maturity in the features of the somewhat still teenage face, something noble and ancient along the lines of the jaws, a shimmer in the utmost depth of his hazel eyes, an intense reflection enhanced by the upright posture broadening the shoulders. His long supple hair made complete sense of the meaningful soft curves of his mouth, his bare feet only added to the evidence.

A comment on the clean clothes, freshly ironed tee and Bermuda shorts would have sounded out of line.

‘What is it?’ Melchior asked, aware of two surprised and respectful stares on him.

The mechanic was the first one to answer: ‘Nothing, nothing, Mel. I think you’ve done a great job, as -’ then he made a short gesture towards the attendant before finishing: ‘- was telling me. And - I see you were on time.’

‘On time? No, he wasn’t on time,’ Mel’s boss corrected quickly, ‘he was before that! Get your father a cup of coffee, Melchior. I’ll get your shoes, we don’t want our latest asset to catch a cold on his first day!’

The attendant trotted away. Melchior and his father avoided awkward looks at each other and just stood there for a while before Mel asked: ‘Care for coffee Dad? Right there, little backroom -’

The tall teenager didn’t wait for an answer and followed his bare feet to the greenery of the office no longer in office. He proceeded with the coffee ritual without thinking and handed a fragrant plastic cup to his father. Facing him with averted eyes, Mel made a short gesture to his hair and vaguely begun a sentence: ‘I haven’t had time to -’

‘Great coffee!’ the mechanic interrupted warmly.

No reproaches? No argument? Cool!

‘I see you know your way around here,’ the mechanic went on. ‘You know, I’d never have seen the machine. This is a weird place, you sure you want to spend your summer in here?’

The tall teenager had no time to answer.

‘Gentlemen, I see you are having a chat!’ the attendant declared. ‘Here are your shoes, dear boy; you’ve put everything back into place; and quite beautifully, I might add.’

Melchior slipped them back on without tying them; he couldn’t remember taking them off, he couldn’t remember putting anything back, he hardly knew what he was actually doing in this place and he definitely couldn’t remember any chat with his father.

The mechanic noticed his son’s puzzled look; he was suddenly somehow relieved to have engines to attend to. He threw his plastic cup in the bin and said with a nod: ‘Well, I’d better go back to the shop. Thanks for the coffee. And thanks for the job.’

‘My pleasure! Any time!’ assured the beaming assistant. ‘Melchior, we’ll be open in a few minutes. Let me show you the rest of the administrative tasks I promise not to encumber you with since I think that your place for the summer has already been defined!’

The father glanced at his son and smiled understandingly: ‘Just let me know if you think other plans can work better.’

Melchior couldn’t have walked away from this enlightening place if he had wanted to.

‘I will Dad. Don’t worry, I think they’re fine just like that,’ he answered with a half smile.

The mechanic