Dear Marie-Claire,
How I've found? But the Internet, simply. I remembered the name of your small shop, and I typed: "Iridescence". From what I see, little shop became big. It is a kingdom that you have now. Your pretty little lights, those little globes gleaming where the light pulsated like a heart, seem to have made you happy - At least your fortune. It is far away, the little street of our beginnings. So it seems, everything has been razed and rebuilt, is unrecognizable. Whatever, I never returned, even if I kept some contacts. Like others, I took the check from the developer and I went farther north. It's going pretty well.
Remember, Marie Claire, the little cafe down the street? It was our headquarters for both industrial relations and human each other for the business heart of a few. Do not deny, Marie Claire, the close attention that you awakened in the male clan of the street. You have graciously but superbly ignored elsewhere. I thought to offer contact lenses, while others expressed their disgust by various deviations.
Look, Pierrot, for example, who had always pain at its business tax. You have snubbed so he began to fill as a quince for your attention. There's one that you should bless is Isa, the little flower of 14, who wanted his Pierrot. You pushed her in his arms. At present, the Pierrot walking Vichy-strawberry things go, and opened a gallery Isa Art.
But that was the west face of the bar over the coffee machine. It must be said that we would just east! And quite to the east, we saw them arrive every morning such nice, but lonely and taciturn, who had converted to office the store at the corner of our street with this little impasse ended on a bizarre big house with walled entrances - in principle, because we thought the squatters. But no one would see!
He was tax counsel and, like a hermit, he spent his days in front of records and to his PC. We also wondered if he had a life outside of Taxes. He left the last, and we never heard of him. One day, however, I met his sister who told me what had happened. I hope your site is strong and that I will not saturate your email with my story.
was the last Christmas before demolition block. There was more than him on the spot. Everything was empty desert, walled. He was immersed in the accounts of its customers. The night was clear, not like now, where the amount of Kilowatts which towers and glittering department stores like jewels set in the adornment of the night prevents me not to feel like a wartime atmosphere when I walk into town at night.
But how did they enter, these two children, a boy and a girl? Diaphanous, they regarded him with that mixture of timidity and insurance for children who know what they want and they know they will.
"Give us the VAT, all VAT
Stunned, he looked incredulous, and would first take it as a fantasy:
" And why not the business tax, children ? "
" We do not like the color of the paper. This green it is a bit murky. "
" Tell yourself, children, the Treasury is not an impressionist painter. "
But without further delay, the children went to his PC, set to keyboard and mouse, and the figures began to dance a jig. And they said to him: "Now, grab your checkbook and credit card, and follow us." Why obtempéra he? He did, anyway.
They disappeared into the night in the neighborhood. Not far: they took the dead nearby, and entered the abandoned house by a notch opened in the planks which condemned the entry. At Upstairs, they found a young couple in extreme poverty. They came from Eastern Europe, and the young woman seemed to have become a mother soon. Driven by unemployment, they had finished their course here, distraught and overcome with hope.
Overwhelmed and uncertain, he saw the children, who simply told him: "Take VAT. Once again, he complied, without even wondering why this time it had become so docile. Soon, a doctor was called and the young woman was admitted in the clinic. It was time, he was born on Christmas night, beautiful twins, a girl and a boy. The young man, meanwhile, was installed in a warm hotel, paid in advance for a month, with enough to see come and find a job.
Children do not allow him to breathe. Leaving behind the boy who knocked out of surprise and happiness, did not know how to say his gratitude, they went around the neighborhood. There was not a homeless person for whom that night, Christmas was not a softness in reserve, not to mention the girl who came to take her little cream bar every morning. Do you remember? Hustler of us suspected, and feared that one day does not end up falling under the sway of a "protector". It was actually a student who imagined he could safely be funded and part of his studies. A little help enabled him to deal with urgent deadlines, time also to think, to turn away from a life at risk, and not to lose her friend, she really liked, and that she had said nothing .
As always, there was one night, and there was morning. But it was a special night for the neighborhood! At dawn, the children smiled at him with a malicious tenderness, then disappeared into the wall.
Alone on Christmas morning, he wondered how he would explain to her why her Inspector of Taxes Accounting like a day after raves . Mechanically, he lit his PC, and consulted the balance of his accounts ... and did not return.
In short: he was VAT credit and account fees receivable had increased. And everything was fair and justified. The Treasury repaid him his credit in 15 days. As for his customers, they also found themselves in VAT credit, which put them in so much joy they réglèrent all their fee notes with a quickness usually unknown species. And to top it off, he received an extension to the promoter's compensation for expropriation. There were months that the dispute dragged Call in, and no one thought more.
In total, he received three times seven times what he gave. Shortly after he closed his business and left. The bulldozers were at his door.
that settled in Marseilles, with his sister, who had, and it always has, a company that seems to work well. At first, he helped his sister manage the business, but it did not last because the Accountant of the company threatened to drop them. Indeed, every day of VAT, the firm's employees returned in tears, as our friend remade all their statements and submitted them an interrogation worthy of a criminal investigation of the judicial police. He therefore ceased to interfere.
Anyway, that's when he fell ill. He based visibly, it became almost transparent, but he was beaming, to believe that its substance was gradually replaced by light.
I dream, Marie Claire, to take you with me in Marseilles. Say yes, please ... We assemble in the morning at Notre Dame de la Garde. When the sun comes out from behind the horizon, there, behind the islands, behind the Chateau d'If, the cloak of darkness that covers the sea, the bay, Hills, retired, and the city gradually penetrates into the Kingdom of Light. We did not want to go down when we saw it up there ...
is what he saw every morning since he had settled on the hill, and all parts of his apartment gave sea, where his sister was found dead on Christmas morning. He smiled at sunrise, to believe that the sun and he had made a contest of light, which both radiate the most.
Hear me well, Marie-Claire, I swear to the city, the sun, sky, earth and the sea that morning, for once: The sun is lost.
A Marc and Verena Tenneroni.
Hervé Mousset
Hervé Mousset
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