#its just that.. I picked The Adults Are Talking entirely removed from Louis not knowing this is a song on his radar at all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brokenjardaantech · 3 years

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abstract ghosts, concrete lives

written for this prompt challenge. rated T for potentially disturbing scenes but nothing too graphical imo.

relationship: captain allen/simon

fandom: detroit: become human

summary:

also on ao3

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Louis Allen prides himself in being able to more or less take care of himself properly despite having lived alone for more than ten years. Of course, his usual routine has been disrupted since the arrival of a certain little kid on his doorstep, but that doesn’t change the fact that he goes to sleep and wakes up regularly unless his child needs him and he is woken up by their cries; even if he is tired enough to sleep through them, there is always Simon to take up the job, and by now Shub sees the android as their second father more than anything else - not that Louis will have it any other way, the android being more human than most actual humans he has ever met.

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality, Shub being compressed into the simplest shapes before shattering like broken glass, Simon’s body falling apart piece by piece as his face twists in the gravity of an object heavier than a black hole and his arm stretched outward awkwardly and his mouth open in a static-filled scream, a tide of white and brown that manages to remind him of the darkness at the same time sweeping them away until he blinks and his heart races and suddenly he is back to staring at the ceiling of his bedroom with Simon curled up against his side, the android’s breath too deep and regular to be a regular human’s but his movement and position also too human to be a regular android’s. Simon’s mere presence and regular heartbeat are usually enough to calm Louis down, but as the cycle repeats itself for the sixth time and midnight passes, he knows that it isn’t going to help tonight. Not wanting to disturb the android’s stasis with his own tossing and turning in case those images turn into actual nightmares which he would have no control over, he slides off his bed, careful not to disturb Simon, and pads first to check on Shub, finding them still sound asleep and their vitals steady and strong, then climbs the stairs to the attic which is, most of the times, his own space.

A small window allows him a narrow view of what is outside his house from this angle, and normally speaking he can stare at the nothingness until he bores himself out and falls asleep because of it, but tonight, the shadows and darkness only brings out the ones his mind creates for him to fill the gaps in his memory that he has known since a long time ago that exist but never sought them out: they are mostly from before his eighth birthday which to this day he still has zero recollection off, but on top of that there are also moments with his mother who went MIA shortly before he graduated from high school, things that he did together with his father that returns as him speaking more than ten languages without a single memory on why and how he learnt them, events that he brought his sister to (or vice versa) that confuses him whenever she mentions them because he never remembers. Tonight, they all blend into one, reality mixing with imagination and memories that should have been long gone but choose this moment to resurface temporarily before disappearing like wisps of dissipating smoke, untouchable and uncontrollable and gone just like the ages. So he alternates between drawing and writing, trying to capture bits and pieces of the images at the front of his mind with his stylus and his fingers while being completely oblivious to the numbness of his crossed legs and the knot forming on his back and the dryness of his eyes, but even though the logical and adult part of him tells him that he isn’t exactly twenty and young anymore and he should be aware of the strain he is putting on his body, the part of him that has always been running from the lost memories, the one that somehow manages to remain a scared little boy despite four decades’ worth of life experience and growing pain - it just takes over and urges him to let everything out until his entire body is shaking and the page is full. Guided by the magnets within the two devices, the stylus snaps to the side of the tablet automatically, its light blinking yellow to indicate that it is charging, and Louis puts down the tablet on the floor next to him before he closes his suddenly-heavy eyelids and unwinds his body with a wince and too many popping joints and needles underneath his skin. He picks up his tablet again to take a better look at what the hell he spent the last… two hours and a half working on just to hear the familiar creak of wooden floorboards, the attic illuminated by the faint blue glow of Simon’s LED. Louis freezes like a deer in headlights.

The android folds himself into the already-cramped space of the attic and sits with his legs folded underneath him next to the human, his hand reaching for Louis’ thigh, and the warmth through his sweatpants is enough to drain whatever fight that remains in his body away. So much for going back before Simon notices.

‘I woke up and you weren’t there,’ Simon whispers without breaking eye contact. Then he cocks his head, his LED spins yellow, and he continues, ‘You didn’t sleep at all.’

Louis blinks and looks away, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Can’t.’

He can feel Simon’s intense gaze on his own face. ‘Why?’

He starts fidgeting with the stylus by removing it from where it’s attached to the side of the tablet just to let it snap back again. ‘Memories,’ some images still flash in front of his eyes, but they are less haunting now, less graphic, less detailed, ‘or lack thereof. I try not to think about them.’

‘But…?’

‘Sometimes they just come back and haunt me.’

‘Do you want to talk about them?’

Louis unlocks the tablet to view his creation again, a mixture of abstract images and words that don’t make sense when put together that hurts his head to look at, telling him that keeping it and letting anyone else even glance at it is a mistake, is a torture, and that it shouldn’t have existed in the first place, but they are a representation of his own head so they must have been there since a long time ago but it’s just his damned fault for avoiding the issue and running away instead of facing it heads-on and maybe solve the problem instead of losing sleep and making shitty evil art and making other people worry about him and probably not being able to be a good father for his child in the morning because of sleep deprivation and -

The tablet is taken out of his hands with its screen turned off, suddenly leaving his hands empty and flexing and scrambling for something to hold onto, and the next thing he knows is that there is a warm body pressing against his own and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, grounding him and giving him very little choice on where his hands should go apart from winding them around the android’s waist as well. He inhales deeply, smells the detergent on Simon’s shirt and the body wash that they share, and the chain of thoughts slows down and turns itself down until the thud of their hearts overwhelm it. He suddenly feels restless, his hands twitchy and itching for things to do, but he’s lost, his brain isn’t working, and his eyes refuse to close even though he’s suddenly so, so tired.

Simon stills, and that is when Louis realises that the android has been rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to further calm him down. ‘Let’s get back in bed, shall we?’ he asks, his voice soft and barely audible, but the way he phrases it makes it sound more like a command than a question, so Louis lets himself be guided down the attic and back into their bedroom under the covers, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other. ‘Do you want me to stay awake with you, or may I go into stasis for now?’

‘Stasis,’ Louis answers immediately. ‘You need it.’

‘And so do you, but here we are.’

‘You are aware that you will most likely take over most of the childcare, aren’t you?’

A soft smile appears on Simon’s lips. With a hand on Louis’ cheek, he leans forward to kiss the human chastely and then pulls back. ‘We’ll figure that out when we wake up again. For now, try to go to sleep, okay? And don’t leave the bed even if you can’t; it’s better than getting up and working.’

Louis nods, and Simon’s eyes slip shut and his body relaxes immediately as he goes into stasis. He scoots close and holds him to feel his breath on his skin and his chest rise and fall against his hand again, and even though the images pull him away from slumber whenever he nearly falls asleep, everything remains relatively peaceful compared to the overwhelming barrage from before. Head now clearer, he thinks of what he will do after both Simon and Shub are awake, recalling bits and pieces of information that he gathered from his surroundings and his work to help himself make decisions: tomorrow is a weekday and has a high chance of being sunny for the whole day on top of being his day off. There are no appointments for Shub and neither does Simon need to report back to a CyberLife store for check-ups anymore, there are enough ingredients in the kitchen and the fridge to make a light meal for himself and Shub, the parks will also be relatively quiet because all other children are at school; maybe he and Simon can bring them there, have a picnic together, let their child have their fun without being harassed or bullied by other children because of their cybernetics and prosthetics that extends all the way from their face to their feet. He might need some strong tea to keep himself awake or a nap in the park to recharge halfway through the day, but it will be another day when the family can spend the whole day together and relax, another happy memory for Shub before their inevitable… no, he has faith in his sister and her people. They will figure out a way to make sure that Shub has many happy years to live before old age takes them. They have to.

Dawn comes with light alongside the grumbles of a hungry child rousing but not quite awakening yet, and Louis feels more than sees Simon’s smile against his neck as the two of them slide out of bed and begin their usual morning rituals with practised fluidity. He forgoes going to the gym in favour of spending a slow morning smelling of tea and warm breakfast at home with his family, knowing that it won’t matter much if he only skips it for a day and doesn’t let it become his habit. Ah well. Not like staying up all night is something he is planning to do often.

‘Picnic, Shub?’ he asks after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes. ‘Just you, me, and Daddy. How does that sound?’

Shub’s wide green eyes and her flailing limbs are answers enough, and as Louis’ own eyes meet Simon’s sky blue ones, it is as if one gaze is enough to communicate everything between them, Louis moving to prepare for the upcoming trip to the park that may seem insignificant to most children but is certainly a big thing for their child while Simon coaxes Shub to finish the last of their breakfast and swipe the plate away from grabby hands before loading it into the dishwasher.

It is another day.

#siallen #dbh simon #detroit: become human #dbh captain allen #a man an android and a somewhere in between

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yoongs-yoongi · 5 years

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Let’s Pretend: Two

Yoongi X Reader

Contains: Slight Angst, Comedy, Eventual Smut

Warnings: Implied Parental Bullying, Bullying

Word Count: 2,817

A/N: The next few chapters will be longer, I promise. I only wanted to establish a few things before getting down to the nitty-gritty. Enjoy

|One| Two |Three|

“Impressive old man, you still have some juice left in you.” Cordell laughed wiping the sweat from his face. We’ve just finished a great morning run and we’re walking back to the house as our cool down. I usually run with Namjoon, but he had other plans this morning. So I asked Cordell if he would mind accompany me. He said he wouldn’t mind at all. There was an old walking trail behind the house that I run every morning. It starts at our big Oak Tree and continues on all over the property. I teased him the whole walk to the tree about how I’d go easy on. The second we got to our starting mark Cordell left me in his dust. “I haven’t run that much since my high school track team.” He threw his towel over his shoulder.

“You ran?”

“Did I? I was the MVP on my team. Cordell “Road Runner” Louis was what they use to call me.” “Wow. Maybe you can give me some of your tips?” I asked. He opened the back door for me. “I would be delighted to. First Tip, breathe through your nose. You wind yourself faster breathing through your mouth and end up look like a panting dog.” I laughed walking through the door. “That explains a lo-mom? What are you doing home?” My mother heads eyes widened at the sight of me. “Button, what are you doing home? I thought you had class this morning?” She was sitting at the kitchen table with three other women be around her. A tea kettle whistle on the stove. “I’ll get that for you madam.” Cordell ran over to it. “It’s Thursday, no class remember.” “Oh yes, right. I still thought you’d be there studying.” I rolled my eyes, “I was going after my run with Cordell.” “I’m sorry, what’s his name?” Mom raised her eyebrow at me. “Cordell.” I defied her. “It’s Louis, madam.” He came over to the table to pour them all a cup of tea. “I am your butler and you will address me as such.” He repeated the stupid rule to me she made him enforce when she couldn’t get me to call him by his last name herself. I didn’t follow it then and I will not follow it now. “No your name is Cordell, and you’re more to me than my butler. You're my friend.” He shook his head at me for not to press. The three women snickered. “Tara you actually allow your daughter to be friends with the help?” Cordell paused for a second at the hurtful remark against him and then continued to service them. “The smelly help at that.” Another covered her nose. Cordell sat the kettle down, “I apologize madams. I shall freshen up at once.” “No, please rest. You just finished running.” A unison of scoffs sounded from all of them but my mother. Her mouth remained closed in a twisted snare. “He will not. Cordell, go up to your room and bathe. I will not have you dripping your sweat on my guest.” “Yes ma’am, excuse me, ladies.” Cordell faced me, “Madam.” He took off, “Cordell wait!” I ran off behind him. “Honestly, Tara,” the only lady that hadn’t said anything spoke up. “If this is how your daughter is going to act I don’t think I want her marrying my Markus.”

My feet stopped involuntarily, I almost fell. I snatched my head back toward my mother and her bitchy friends. “Excuse me? What did she just say?” “Button...” “Don’t Button me.” I spat. “What did she just say?” I walked slowly back over to them. The lady faced me with her expressionless face from Botox. “I said If this is how you behave, you know being friends with the unimportant and caring for their feelings,” she waves in the direction Cordell just went in, “then I don’t want you marrying my son.” I couldn’t process her words, how’d we get here? Did I miss something? “Your son? Mom, what is she talking about? Who is your son?” I looked back and forth between the two. My brain was running a million miles. The lady turned to my mother, “You haven’t told her? Come now, Tara.” “I wanted them to meet before telling her everything, Karen.” Mom glared at the Karen lady. “What a more perfect time than now.” Karen smiled at me. “Tell me what?” Mom sighed, “Come next November, you will be Mrs. Markus Tuan.”

My door swung open at Yoongi’s necessary force. A good thing too, I was out of it for so long I almost burned off a piece of the motherboard I was soldering. I work part-time as the other half of a two-person cleaning crew at a private medical facility. The times I’m not working there I’m working right from home fixing people’s laptops and phones.

“Can’t you knock?” I scoffed. Yoongi stared at me with a straight face. “Don’t even,” he closed the door behind him. “Are we going to talk about this?” He asked. “No cause there’s nothing to talk about it,” I said, screwing in the motherboard. No harm came to it. “Let’s not turn this into some episode of Full House where something is bothering one of the characters and they lie by saying, “there’s nothing to talk about,” when we all know there is. I, your best friend, just found out your dead mother is actually alive, seems like something to talk about to me.” “Where’s everyone? It sounds pretty quiet in here.” “I made them leave so we could talk.” “Did Kookie and Tae eat all the meat?” “I don’t know. Why is that important right now?” I placed one of my customer’s laptops back on the shelf with the other finished ones. I grabbed my dinner plate off the dresser next to it. I came back to my room to finish my dinner after the whole incident in the kitchen. Once I was done eating I finished up a repair I got in yesterday. “I want more, Jungkook was right that meat really was good. I should cook it like that more often, huh?” I walked out of my room. Yoongi was so hot on my tail I just knew at any moment he’d step on my heel. Luckily he didn’t. I took the lid off the pot, “It’s about gone! Those pigs. I knew I should have put some up.” “Y/N forget about the meat and talk to me!” I turned my back grabbing a spoon to scoop what little was left in the pan. Yoongi got so fed up he pushed the pan off its island and onto the floor. “Fine, you don’t want to talk to me? Don’t! Enjoy your precious meat!” I will. He’s insane if he thinks I won’t pick this food off the floor and still eat it. Yoongi was so mad at me he didn't speak to me for the rest of the night, he didn’t even stick his head in my room to say goodnight like he usually does before going back to bed.

The next day I guess he had a change of heart. I was picking my little sister, Micah, up from dance practice like I do every Tuesday and I got a text from Yoongi. I was in the waiting room with the other parents when my phone tinged.

[ Rosemary’s Baby] I get it Y/N. Obviously discussing your mother is a touchy subject and you aren’t ready to talk about her. I get it. So please take all the time you need.

[Me] Thanks

[Rosemary’s Baby] No Problem

[ Rosemary’s Baby] All I’m saying is things like this take time, so take all the time you need. I’m here for you when you’re ready to talk.

[Me]Nice to know.

[ Rosemary’s Baby] Fuck this nice shit!

[Rosemary’s Baby] Tell me what the fuck is going on you bag of dicks

[Me] I like nice Yoongi better

[ Rosemary’s Baby] He’s dead

[Me] How sad. He was so young.

[Rosemary’s Baby] : Y/n!!!!

[Me]: Can we have tacos for dinner tonight?

He didn’t text back. Good, I didn’t have time for Yoongi right now. I needed to speak with the person I knew was responsible for causing all of this. My father. I arrived at my dad’s place to find him cutting the grass one last time before all of it completely died for the fall. Daddy!” Micah screamed as she jumped out of my car. “Hey, angel!” He turned the lawn mower off and scooped her up in his arms. I chuckled walking up the driveway, carrying Micah’s book a lunch bag. “Daddy look my tooth fell out today?” Micah opened her mouth to show her missing baby tooth at the bottom. “Look at that. You know what that means right?” “Yeah, I get my big girl teeth!” “And it means you get a visit from the tooth fairy tonight!” Dad exclaimed. “Really?” She jumped around in his arms. “Yup, and he’s going to bring you lots of money! But only if you put your tooth under your pillow, where is it?” “Right here,” I said, going through her book bag. I felt around for the giant fake tooth, “Here you go.” I handed to her. “Thank you Y/N!” Micah motioned for me to get down. I got down on my knee so I was about her height. She gave me a small peck on my cheek before prancing off into the house. Dad came over and gave me a kiss on the head, we exchanged quiet heys. “She’s extra hype today. You didn’t by chance take her for ice cream after dance practice did you, I mean it would explain why you two are an hour late.” He sat down on the porch steps. I took the spot beside him. “I might have.” He hung his head low, “Noooo. She’ll be bouncing off the walls for hours.”

“Consider it your punishment.” “Punishment for what?” He drank from his water bottle. “I got a letter from mom and I know you had something to do with it, please don’t deny it.” A small part of me hoped he would. “I’m not gonna deny it.”He took another swig. I put my head in between my legs, groaning.

“Look I know you're upset-“ “Upset? We’re way past upset, I’m livid! When did you regain contact with her?” “We never lost it Y/N.” He sighed. “What!” I jumped up. He stood up and grabbed the lawn mower. I walked beside him as he pushed it back to the shed. “We have a child together Y/N, I can’t completely cut her out of my life. Like you.”

I gawked at him, I’ve never thought to swear or called my dad out of his name but today might be the day. “Well, I guess I didn’t really remove her from my life entirely since you’ve been communicating with her all these years then, huh? And really, you have a child together? Dad please, I’m an adult over the age of 18. You and mom- “Are still your parents at the end of the day no matter your age. I wouldn’t be setting the best example for you if I completely cut your mother out of my life.” He slightly struggled to get the lawn mower up the steep ramp he built. I held the shed door wider for him to ease his struggle although it would be tempting to slam it shut. I’m very angry with him. I’ve never been this mad with my dad in my entire life. “That woman cares for no one's well being but her own, if she cared so much about me she wouldn’t have made my life growing up a living hell. She wouldn’t have to try to marry me off to some stranger or she wouldn’t have bribed a judge to get full custody me. You remember? You got one lousy hour with me, and that was still too much for her.” “I remember Y/N.” He said voice strained as he pushed the power tool. “Then why would you tell her where I am? Why give her what she wants, knowing she wouldn’t do it for you? He finally got the lawnmower to go in. He grabbed the door from me and closed it. “She’s always known where you’ve been Y/N. Your mother called me an hour after you arrived at our old house back in (whatever your hometown is). Before she asked about you she gave a dry congratulations on me marrying your step-mother earlier that week. Her exact words were, “Congrats, I hope you’ve grown up to be a real man and treat her better than you treated me.” I asked her what she wanted, she asked were you with me. I said yes.” I sighed heavily turning my head the other way. “I denied her request “ he grabbed my cheek to make me look at him, “for me to bring you back. She snuck some snarky comment in about me being too busy trying to start a new family and said she’d have your butler come and get you. At that point I completely lost it, I told her to get over herself and not to contact you or me unless it was important. Baby, I am not communicating with your mother like that. She has my number an I have hers, it’s only in case something happens and something did. Your mother is really sick.” “...With what?” “I can’t tell you, she wants to be the one who tells you. Make sure you overpack, you never know how long you might have to stay. “What you're making me go?” He shook his head, “No you’re an adult, I can’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do. What I can do is expect you to make the right decision.” Dad patted my shoulder and walked past me.

“Daddddddd,” I stomped.

A car door slammed shut, I turned to see Laurie getting out the car with bags of takeout in her hand. “What are you doing home so early? I thought you wouldn’t be home for hours?” Dad went over to take some of the food from her. “Everything went faster than we expected so our boss let us our early.” She gave my dad a kiss.

“Great, cause Micah is on a sugar high.” Dad nodded at me. I smacked his arm, “She’ll crash soon. It was only a small chocolate cone. Hey Laurie.” I embraced her into a hug.

“Hi, baby! Are you staying for dinner?”

“No, I just came to drop Micah off and to speak with dad.” She made an ‘O’ face, “You told her about her mom?” “No, she got the letter,” Dad said.

“Time out, Laurie you knew?” She cheekily smiled, “Guilty. I’m sorry love.” I couldn’t be mad at her, it wasn’t her place to say anything. “It’s okay. I understand. Well, I’ll talk to you guys later.” “Wait, don’t forget your food.” She handed me a bag with two big crates of food. “I got Yoongi one too. Lamb skewers right?” “Yup. Hopefully, he eats it.” “That boy is going fade away into nothing, let me guess he’s too tired to eat?” She placed her hand on her hip. “That and he’s sorta kinda mad at me. He might not take any food I give him just to get back at me.” “Why is he’s mad at you?” Dad asked. “Long story, tell you about it later. I gotta go, but thank you and see you guys later. Tell Micah I want half of her money from the tooth fairy!” Laurie screamed about Micah losing her tooth before excitedly running into the house, shoving all her bags dad’s way. I laughed before driving off. The lights were on when I got home. Yoongi must be home. My assumption was correct, the sound of his keyboard could be heard faintly through his bedroom door. I laid the food down on the counter and made my way to his room. I didn’t bother knocking, I just walked in to find Yoongi hunched up at his desk. He turned to me startled. “Jesus Y/N- “My mom is a dictator in a skirt. She has to control everything and everyone around her. If you tried to go up against her she’d do everything in her power to destroy you. Which is why my dad divorced her, he couldn’t handle her intense personality anymore. When my mother no longer had my dad under her thumb she pinned me down and focused all her time and energy into to me, making sure I was the perfect child. Not for me or my future but so my dad knew that she was responsible for my success, not him. She wanted him to see we didn’t need him, especially me because I had her. To make sure I only had her she filed for full custody and won, I was no longer in hell. I was under it-

“What are you doing?” He interrupted.

“Telling you about my mother and my life with her like you wanted,” I said.

“No you’re not, you’re summarizing about your mother and your life with her. That’s not how this works Y/N and you know it.” He chuckled. “I want the entire story from start to finish and I want the long version.” Yoongi got up from his desk and walked over to his bed and laid down. He patted the spot beside him. This is going to be a long night.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi #yoongi bts #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts #min yoongi #bts suga #suga x reader #min suga #bts fluff

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jghouse-asia-pacific · 3 years

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New Post has been published on https://www.jg-house.com/2021/02/09/old-man-friend-paris/

An Old Man and His Friend in Paris

“Watch where you’re going, Little Man,” Sylvere said, speaking in Kikongo and placing his hand on the head of the small boy. Sylvere stood next to the open drawer of his desk inside the room he used as an office at his modest but comfortable two-story house in the old section, built in the ’70s, of Combs-la-Ville not far from the municipal swimming pool. He had been looking for some documents which he never did find. The boy, Charles, who was five years old, had burst through the open door of the room, kicking a small soccer ball with one foot and running head first into the older man’s legs.

“Désolé, Papy,” Charles said, picking up the ball with both hands and running back through the open door into the hallway toward the kitchen. Sylvere watched the boy disappear. The light in the room, which came from the sunlight entering a narrow window in the western wall, was growing weaker as the sun set.

“He spends more time here than in his own house,” Sylvere said to himself, wondering if his grandson, the son of his oldest daughter, Sylvie, and her husband, Richard, was going to spend the night again. It was almost 7:00 on a Sunday evening, the day before Bastille Day, France’s most important holiday. Probably his daughter and son-in-law would be going out somewhere to celebrate, not that they needed a special occasion to dump their son on his grandparents.

“Papy!” the boy yelled from the kitchen. “Grandma says your dinner is ready!” The boy’s French was improving every day.

Sylvere realized he was hungry. He grasped the handle of the drawer and was pushing it back into the wooden desk frame when he thought he saw a flash of red light. He opened the drawer again, pulling it out as far as it would go. This time he was certain. He saw a flash of red light at the back of the drawer. He hadn’t noticed it earlier because the light of the day still predominated. He removed all of the contents from the drawer. There, lying against the bare wood at the back, he saw it. How did it get there?

The sight of a mobile phone in that location perplexed Sylvere. Then he recognized the device. It was the one he used when, upon retiring from IBM where he had worked for almost 40 years as an electrical engineer, he worked on occasion as a consultant, accepting small projects from clients in France and other countries of Europe. After another few moments, Sylvere recalled he had used the phone perhaps two weeks before to make a single short call because the contact information of the former colleague he had wanted to reach was stored inside the device.

Two Boys on a Boat

Sylvere grasped the phone. Immediately, he noticed the battery was dying. It very well might die at any moment, he realized. But also, he saw that he had missed three calls. Each one was from the same phone number. The number was not one Sylvere recognized, although he did recognize the first part, +243, the country code of Congo.

Then Sylvere noticed three new voice-mail messages waiting for him. Realizing the battery of the phone could die at any moment, he attempted to listen to the messages. He was able to listen to the first one. Next, he was able to move to the second one. Finally, he listened to the third one. The battery died.

Sylvere placed the phone on top of the desk, turned around, walked through the open door of his office, turned to the left, and entered the kitchen. He walked to one side of the kitchen. It was the side opposite the operational part of the room with its stove, oven, sink, and other appliances. It was in this part that his wife, Josephine, and his daughters seemed to cook and clean at all hours of the day and night, but here too he sometimes prepared a special Congolese recipe of white beans just for himself.

Now a plate with a piece of fish and a portion of vegetables from which steam still rose awaited Sylvere at the table. He sat down before the plate.

“Will you want anything else?” Josephine asked, speaking in Lingala, the predominant language among residents of Kinshasa, where she and Sylvere had met each other many years before. “I want to go into the living room and watch the television for a little while.”

“No, merci,” Sylvere replied, smiling at his wife, who left the room. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Probably he already was in the other room watching cartoons. But Sylvere was thinking about his childhood friend, Ronald. Sylvere had been thinking of Ronald since hearing a few minutes before the three voice-mail messages which the doctor in Kabare had left for Sylvere over the course of the previous two weeks.

Now Ronald was dead. Now Claudette, Ronald’s daughter, was in desperate need of Sylvere’s help. Sylvere knew he had to honor the wishes of his friend, who in his final message just a few days before he was killed by militia members had issued an urgent appeal to Sylvere: Please rescue my daughter from Congo and take her to France.

***

Charles jerked his hand free of Josephine’s hand and ran toward the other boy, who held a half-full bottle of orange soda in one hand and with the other was waving a toy robot in the face of a small girl. Josephine and Sylvere, moving more slowly, followed their grandson through the open front door of the house into a large, high-ceilinged room, where in addition to children a group of adults sat in chairs or stood around a long table covered in a white embroidered cloth and laden with dishes displaying a variety of foods. Music came from a speaker placed on one end of a bar which divided the front room from the kitchen and a backyard beyond.

The music wasn’t too loud. It mixed easily with voices, laughter, and sounds of children playing in the hot, still air of the room. Sylvere recognized the song. It was a famous ballad, called Wapi Yo, by the singer and song writer Lokua Kanza, who came from the town of Bukavu in eastern Congo just west of the border with Rwanda.

Young Woman

“We won’t stay long,” Josephine said to her husband. “I know you don’t like these parties.” She was speaking in Lingala. “Anyway, we can’t stay long,” she continued. “Sylvie and Richard will be at our house at 5:30 to pick up Charles. Sylvie has the early shift at the airport tomorrow.” Josephine waved at a woman across the room. “But I want a chance to talk with my friend, Berenice,” Josephine added, starting to walk away. “I haven’t seen her for over a month.”

“She’s right,” Sylvere said to himself, watching his wife as she greeted people in the room. “I don’t like these parties, either to celebrate Bastille Day or any other day.”

Sylvere wanted a chance to talk with his friend too. He had an urgent matter to discuss with him in fact. Sylvere glanced at his watch. It was almost 3:00. The afternoon was passing quickly. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to have a moment in private with his friend, Pinto, though. Even if Sylvere didn’t want to celebrate the holiday, Pinto had no choice. As the owner of the house and the host of the party, he had duties to fulfill.

“I hope you didn’t walk over here,” said a voice. Sylvere looked to his right at a man who had stood up from a sofa under the front window of the house with its view of a garden of red and white roses, a gate made of black wrought iron, and the street itself which led down the hill to the center of Combs-la-Ville. The man, who was a few years younger than Sylvere, had spoken his words in French as he approached. “It’s hot outside,” the man added in Lingala, laughing.

“It’s hot inside,” Sylvere replied quietly in French, looking back toward the middle of the room and trying to spot Pinto. He had never really liked the man now standing next to him. The man, Serge, who had grown up in Kinshasa but who like Sylvere had lived for many years in France, always seemed to try too hard to impress others, particularly other members of the Congolese community, with ostentatious shows of wealth. He and his wife, Penelope, had a reputation for showing up to a party flashing expensive pieces of jewelry they had purchased for the occasion only to put the necklaces, rings, and earrings up for sale on one Web site or another after the event.

“Maybe they think nobody knows,” Bernadette, Pinto’s wife, had once said to Josephine. “But it’s more likely they just can’t control themselves.”

Sylvere typically didn’t concern himself with such matters but at that moment he found himself looking at Serge, moving his gaze across the younger man’s hands, arms, and neck. It appeared that Serge was not wearing, in fact, any jewelry at all. Sylvere was about to scan the room for Penelope when he stopped himself. Suddenly, he felt the need to know something else entirely, even if he had to ask the opinion of a man known for his materialism, not his wisdom.

Old Man on a Boat

“Do you think we’ll ever have a stable political system in Congo?” Sylvere asked in Lingala.

“Stable?” Serge replied. He took a sip from a glass of lemonade he held in one hand and studied Sylvere’s face. “Stable how?”

“Stable like the institutions here in France,” Sylvere said, looking across the large room into the kitchen. He saw Bernadette standing in front of a wide stove. She was using a wooden spoon to stir the contents of a pot.

“Oh,” Serge said. He took another sip of lemonade from his glass. “I see,” he continued, looking at Sylvere with a glint in his eye. “You’re asking because of the French holiday we have today,” Serge added. Then he smiled, tilting his head slightly to one side, as if he had caught Sylvere in a trick. Sylvere, though, was silent, scanning the people in the room. He still didn’t see his friend, Pinto. “Well,” Serge said finally, “no, honestly, I don’t. But don’t forget the French rebelled against Louis XVI in 1789 and then fell into the grip of Napoleon in 1799. He was a warlord who led the French into disaster. France wasn’t stable then; Frenchmen weren’t free.”

“Congo is rich and has great promise,” Sylvere replied, even though he didn’t think the prospect for peace back home would improve any time soon. Serge waited. He expected an elaboration of some sort from Sylvere. But Sylvere was silent again, watching the people in the room. Serge turned to look at the other party goers too. He drank the final few drops of lemonade from his glass. Then he turned back to Sylvere.

“So you didn’t walk over here?” Serge pressed Sylvere, laughing again. Serge knew Sylvere lived close by. He also knew Sylvere recently had started walking two miles every day and swimming 50 laps in the municipal pool three times per week in an effort to lose weight and improve his overall fitness. But Sylvere, who had just driven Josephine and Charles the four blocks from his house on Rue Gustave Hervé to Pinto’s house on Rue René Descartes in his old beige Renault 360C sedan, had no desire to humor the man.

“Pinto needs to have two or three fans going at the same time in this room,” Sylvere said, again speaking quietly in French before noticing one small fan turning rapidly on its axis at the end of the bar near the mouth of the kitchen. “He needs to put a big one right here next to the front door,” Sylvere added, turning to look at the ground behind him.

“He did,” Serge said. “But a few minutes before you arrived it stopped working.” Serge paused. “Pinto said he could fix it,” Serge continued, glancing in the direction of the backyard. “Then he disappeared outside with it.” Sylvere didn’t react. A silence ensued. Sylvere was thinking about going outside too. But he decided to prepare a plate of food for himself before going into the backyard to find Pinto. Serge shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Sylvere, I’m sorry about Ronald,” he added. Sylvere looked at Serge.

Mother and Son at Restaurant

“Yes, me too,” Sylvere said finally, moving toward the table with its dishes of food. Bernadette, who was approaching the table from the kitchen, stopped in front of Sylvere. She was carrying a large earthenware pot covered by a glass lid in both hands.

“Try some of my white beans,” Bernadette said in Kikongo to Sylvere, placing the large pot next to a dish of vegetables on the table and removing the glass lid. Like Sylvere, Bernadette and her husband, Pinto, were members of the Kongo ethnic group originating in southwestern Congo. “I think my recipe is better than yours,” she added. Then she placed the lid back on the pot and looked at Sylvere. “But you can eat later,” she said. “Pinto is waiting for you in the shed.”

Sylvere, relieved no one else attempted to talk with him as he made his way into the backyard, found Pinto in the aluminum shed he had transformed into a small workshop. The two men had known each other for more than 40 years. They had met not back in Africa, however, but rather in Europe, where both of them had gone to work at the French headquarters of IBM in Paris at about the same time. Both of them had been able to emigrate from Congo to France because of their educational background and their technical expertise as electrical engineers.

In front of Pinto on a high bench in the middle of the workshop was a large fan which he had disassembled and now was in the act of re-assembling.

“I had to replace a relay,” Pinto said in Kikongo, glancing at Sylvere. “It should work now.” He plugged the power cord into an outlet and flipped a switch on the fan. Nothing happened.

“You better hurry up and fix it,” Sylvere replied. “If your guests haven’t left already, all of them are going to die of heat stroke.” Then he told Pinto about the calls and accompanying voicemail messages from Ronald. Pinto, who had not had a personal relationship with Ronald but who had heard about the doctor’s death like everyone else, didn’t speak. Sitting silently on his stool, Pinto placed both hands palms down on the work bench for a few moments. Then he removed the power cord from the outlet and stared at the fan.

“What are you going to do?” Pinto asked finally.

“I’m going to honor Ronald’s wishes,” Sylvere replied. “I’m going to bring Claudette to France.”

“Yes, I understand,” Pinto said. “But how are you going to do it?” Both Sylvere and Pinto knew how difficult it was to bring an African either legally or illegally to Europe. Both knew that in the end it could prove impossible.

“I don’t know yet,” Sylvere said, leaning over the bench and switching the positions of two tiny electronic components near the base of the fan’s blades. He re-inserted the power cord and flipped the switch. The blades started turning slowly then very rapidly. “But now you’re going to help me.”

***

#Europe, #France, #LifeCulture #Beauty, #Culture, #Love, #Paris

#beauty #culture #love #Paris

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