Connexion : The Atlantis Project, Book.1 (6 page)

Francisco was still clutching his tablet, but
had ceased typing for several minutes. He began to speak, staring
into space, “Yes, it has greatly increased. One day he’s going to
wake up, that’s for sure. I will be here to see it, and you too, I
hope. You are going to help me, aren’t you?”

“Francisco is sure that Victor is going to
come out of his vegetative state. I always pay careful attention to
his intuition. He is rarely mistaken and some might say that it’s
actually because of him that you are here. It is nothing magical,
however. Francisco reasons in a way that escapes me, but his
intuition can nearly always be verified. It is usually based on the
correlation of quite concrete factors. He is convinced that you are
the only ones able to make contact with Victor.”

“Just what exactly are you expecting of us?”
asked Jacques. “Unless I’m mistaken, you think that I, Jacques
Guillon, am going to change the face of the world by communicating
telepathically with this being from somewhere else. Well, I’d
rather be quite frank with you; clearly I am not capable of that
and although it’s been a pleasure coming here and talking with you,
I’m waiting for just one thing: to go home and get back to my old
life.”

Breaking with habit, Francisco looked
directly at him for a split second, before speaking again. His face
was blank, expressing no emotion whatsoever. “According to the
information I have received, your apartment building was destroyed
in the explosion and most of its residents had to be evacuated. I
think I can confirm that you are now alone, just like Victor.”

“Francisco is right”, continued Giuseppe.
“Life out there could be very difficult for you. We are offering
you an extraordinary opportunity to collaborate on an exciting
research project. After all, there is no risk in trying. Once the
experiment is over, the army will take care of your return to
civilian life. If, as you say, communication is truly impossible
with Victor, we will know very soon and you will be able to go back
home.”

Charlie and Clementine still had not spoken.
Jacques turned to Clementine. “Clementine, don’t you agree with
me?”

Clementine, in a surprisingly calm and
collected manner, gave him an answer which he was not in the least
expecting. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s your turn to do something for
others now. If I had your abilities, Jacques, I think I would like
to get to know Victor and help him to wake up.”

“But what about you? What are you going to
do? There are people up there waiting for you!”

“We’re not talking about me. They need you
and Charlie. And I’m staying with you whatever happens.”

Charlie, stimulated by what Clementine had
just said, spoke up, “You can count on us, Francisco. We’ll do all
we can to help you in your mission. When do we start?”

Jacques felt a little embarrassed and
offended at being belittled by Clementine, and by Charlie’s
reaction to this unsettling turn of events being so different to
his own. He kept quiet until the end of the conversation.

“Very good,” said Giuseppe. “It’s nearly
midday. Let’s join the rest of the team in Pavilion 28. Today is
Mario’s birthday. He has been in the kitchen all morning preparing
Italian specialties. His father is a famous chef in Naples. Every
year, when he comes back from leave, he brings local delicacies and
new recipes that he is eager to prepare, to the great delight of us
all. Most of the food that we eat is produced here, so you see
there isn’t a lot of variety in our meals.”

8 THE FEAST

It was half past twelve in Pavilion 28. For
the occasion, one large table had been laid in the center of the
canteen. The whole team was gathered together. Even Francisco, in
his own way, had joined the group. He had placed himself at the end
of the table, where he was typing, a white headset over his ears,
his eyes riveted to his tablet. On their arrival, the twins took a
seat at the end of the table, near Giuseppe and Francisco. Before
Clementine even had the chance to sit down, Mario suggested that
she sit opposite him, next to Caterina, the only woman on the
team.

“Clementine, come over here,” said Mario,
“You must feel lonely among all these men. Caterina will make room
for you next to her.”

Clementine moved toward him hesitantly, after
a brief glance in the twins’ direction. Caterina was a very
attractive, tall, slim woman. For the occasion she wore a red dress
with a plunging neckline, over which her long black hair tumbled.
Despite the long months she had spent confined to the base, her
skin still bore the olive tone typical of Mediterranean women. Her
immaculate make-up emphasized her brown eyes and full lips. The
fine, slightly angular lines of her face evoked an intelligent
woman of strong character. She welcomed Clementine with a wide
smile, moving over slightly so she could take her place beside
her.

Only Mario remained standing, a glass in his
hand. “Well now! Dear friends and colleagues, I propose we drink to
the health of our guests, in the hope that they will survive my
culinary experiments, just as you have done all these years! This
year once again, I hope we may enjoy a little rest and recreation
together, over these special Italian dishes I have prepared for
you. I know that for some of you it is a reminder of home; let’s
not give in to homesickness however, but make the most of the
present. So, let’s raise our glasses to the team and our
guests!”

Next, Giuseppe stood to his feet, glass in
hand. “Thank you, Mario. No doubt we will survive your cooking once
again. After all, until now we have managed to survive the canteen
meals.”

There was a burst of laughter which showed
that Giuseppe’s words expressed a sentiment shared by all. He began
again, “Without further ado, let’s wish Mario a happy birthday.
He’s turning 40 today! I’d also like to take this opportunity to
thank him for his sense of humor and the optimism that he has
shared with us for nearly twelve years now. Let’s forget our work
for a while and drink to his health.”

Mario, who had just sat down again,
immediately engaged Clementine in conversation. “Do you know Italy,
Clementine?”

“I went there once when I was small. I have
very happy memories of the trip, although they might be a little
romanticized, being the impressions of a little girl. To be honest,
Italy to me is mainly the memory of walking along little streets
lined with old, stone buildings. When I look back, I see myself as
a little girl walking down a cobbled street in the sunshine with a
gelato in my hand, while my mother tried unsuccessfully to make my
father appreciate the wealth of culture and architecture. I have
never been back, but I’m sure it must be a wonderful place.”

Caterina joined the conversation. “Your
memory is a little clichéd. However, I must admit that for myself
also, what comes to mind when I think of my country is mainly the
warm summer evenings, the smells of Mediterranean cuisine and
little streets filled with people talking in familiar accents. Are
you married, Clementine?”

“Ah, no, not yet,” she replied, a little
surprised.

“Am I to understand that it’s on the
horizon?”

Mario looked reproachfully at Caterina then
chided her gently. “Cati, not so fast; give her time to settle in.”
Then, to Clementine, “You must excuse Caterina; she’s a little too
direct sometimes.”

“No, no, don’t worry about me! No harm done;
after all, there’s no secret.”

“By the way; you didn’t answer me about
Italian cuisine, but I’m sure that you will like the entrée. I have
prepared a
burrata
with some perfectly matured Parma
ham.”

“
Burrata
, here?”

“Yes,” replied Mario, looking very proud of
this accomplishment. “But make the most of it because it’s not
likely to happen again anytime soon. As for all the extra-fresh
produce; transport and entry permits to the base were no easy
matter.”

At this he stood, smiling, and put on his
apron. “And now, I must ask you to excuse me for a few moments; I
am needed in the kitchen.”

“Can I be of assistance?” Clementine asked
enthusiastically. “I certainly don’t have your culinary skills, but
I manage quite well in the kitchen. Maybe I could help you serve
the dishes?” She rose from the table as she spoke, leaving
Caterina, who had not planned on helping Mario, to herself. Smiling
coolly, she looked the new arrival up and down, finding her a
little too helpful for her liking. Mario readily accepted
Clementine’s offer of help. They both headed for the canteen
kitchen, under the watchful eye of a rather surprised and
suspicious Charlie, who had been following the whole conversation
while his brother was recounting their adventurous life to a
captive audience.

Jacques, to all appearances still involved in
conversation with his neighbors, spoke internally to Charlie.
“Let her live a little! It’s pity that she feels for you, not
love. Come down off your cloud every once in a while.”

This cutting remark hurt Charlie all the more
as he could not reply immediately; at least, not verbally. He
turned to Jacques, but he was still in conversation, as if nothing
had happened. So Charlie got up from the table, dragging Jacques
with him.

“I’m sorry, but my brother and I need to pay
a visit. Could you tell us where the restroom is please?”

Jacques, surprised, was obliged to follow,
abruptly leaving off his conversation. The twins were soon alone in
the canteen restroom.

“Couldn’t you have waited a little?” asked
Jacques, reproachfully. “I don’t need to pee. What are you talking
about?”

“That’s true; the bladder is one of the
organs that we share. I can’t lie to you about that. It’s a shame
we don’t share the same heart. That way, you might be capable of
sparing me that sort of hurtful remark.”

“Were you offended by what I said to you
earlier?”

“Don’t you feel anything for her?”

“Yes, I do. Clementine is a very pretty girl.
She’s also very sweet, and certainly the only woman who’s ever
considered us as men, and not as monsters. But to go from there to
seeing anything more than a friendship… I really think you’re
making a mistake. Don’t go spoiling everything and making yourself
miserable over a desire that you can never satisfy.”

Charlie, his eyes filling with huge tears,
looked at his brother without speaking. Jacques, who would have
liked to console him, searched for words he could not find. So he
placed his hand gently on his brother’s shoulder, all the while
looking into his face. Then Charlie, his voice still quavering,
changed his tone and confided in him, as a child would confide in
his mother.

“I know you’re doing this to protect me, but
sometimes I’d just like to be able to live my own life, without you
always there observing my slightest move, or even worse, guessing
my most private thoughts. Even if nothing can happen, I’d like to
be left to dream on, and even deliberately deceive myself with own
little fantasy. Don’t you understand?”

“Of course, Charlie. But you’re not alone.
I’m here, too. What’s more, I’ve always been here and I probably
always will be. For better or worse.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I like pretty women, too. I’d
like to have some intimacy, too. I’d like to have a sex-life
without a price-tag, too. I’d like to feel that a woman loves me.
But I understand one important thing: it will probably never
happen, and if it does, she would have to love the both of us.”

After a short silence, Jacques spoke again,
“Right now, we’re experiencing something incredible; an adventure
which you didn’t hesitate to take on earlier, in spite of my
reservations. I only hope that you’re not doing this as some proof
of your courage and self-sacrifice to Clementine.”

“You’re probably right,” answered Charlie,
both resigned and relieved to have confided sincerely in his
brother. “I’ll try to live in the present and fully enjoy what is
happening to us here. Let’s go back to the others. They’re probably
starting to wonder why we’re taking so long.”

Back in their seats, the conversation picked
up again and this time, Charlie gave in to the natural interest he
usually had in other people. He willingly let himself be carried
along by the engaging flow of conversation, forgetting about
Clementine for a while. Around four o’clock, when the meal was
coming to an end, Giuseppe rose from the table, wishing them all a
pleasant evening. He thanked Mario warmly and left, leaving
Clementine and the twins in the company of their new colleagues and
housemates of Pavilion 28. Curiously, they were quite at ease and
not overly concerned by the departure of the man who had been their
guide until now. In fact, it was a long while since they had spent
such a pleasant afternoon, surrounded by a group of people who were
both friendly and intelligent.

By half past six, there were only five people
left in the canteen, grouped around one end of the table. Mario and
Alvaro were still in deep conversation with the twins and
Clementine, over a glass of Cognac.

“What kinds of alcohol are typical of your
region?” asked Alvaro.

“To be honest, I don’t really know. We live
in the center of Paris and don’t often have the opportunity to get
out of the city.”

“Yes we do”, Charlie contradicted him.
“Remember? Michel took us to the
Passerelle
restaurant one
day for a regional wine-tasting. If I remember rightly; there was
one called
le Noyau de Poissy
.”

Jacques replied teasingly, “Yes, that’s
right. I think it was more a sort of liqueur – a sickly sweet one.
But you liked it, though.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Alvaro, “but
after hearing what Jacques says, it doesn’t sound too good.”