Parisian chocolate can be bitter

A short time later, the ceiling boards above Madame Rabinski’s room creak suspiciously, showering whitewash on her favorite grand piano, and the crystal chandelier begins to tinkle as if during an earthquake.

“Go to sleep, go to sleep,” she says, braiding her paces as Mosh shudders. “Dream of Chopin.”

The boy, already a teeny fluff on his cheeks, closed his eyes. He definitely doesn’t dream of Chopin, and black women in slave muzzles feed him boiled pork sandwiches. He smiles in a sweet half-dream and smacks his lips, and his mother immediately goes to her neighbor, having taken the precaution of taking her late husband’s menorah with her. The stairwell is as dark as a Huguenot crypt, and Madame Rabinski’s age and plumpness are successfully retouched by the light of flickering candles. The woman stalks bravely, approaching the door of Basil, a well-known womanizer in the area. It’s a dangerous thing to do with this late-night rendezvous, isn’t it? Everyone knows that he’s been waiting for the prostitute Ellen for almost two weeks, and he always opens the door in the hope that someone will finally satisfy his male needs. Monsieur Crever doesn’t count, of course. But a deeply religious woman does not even look at the dignity baked through her swimming trunks, it is generally difficult to surprise her in this regard, and what did she not see at the Masonic masses of her late husband? She only cares about one thing. Who climbed into the attic? Silently, with a kind of reverent, warning fear, she points her finger upward.

– You’d better see what’s in there, monsieur… It looks like a ghost, “she whispers with terrible mystery, while the neighbor half-asleep rubs his eyes and tries to figure out his location in space.

Then there is what should happen in a dark stairwell between a woman and a man, regardless of race or age, that is, a momentary flash of instinct. Lightning fast, passionate, without any questions or remorse. He’s already got her by the index finger and is dragging her toward him like an alligator dragging a gawky kid to a watering hole. She, weakly resisting, goes with mind-blowing sighs, not believing in her great happiness to the last. But when her centner of pure weight is thrown unceremoniously on the couch as if for butchering, and she can barely hold the candles to keep from burning everything down, her sanity returns.

– It is very commendable, Monsieur Basile, that you have decided to make the poor widow happy, but I have come for a very different reason.

The fog of the night’s enchantment clears.

“I’m sorry, madame,” Basil said. – I’ve got you mixed up with someone else. But you’re good too, breaking into a bachelor’s house at night…

“Yes, yes, I’m not myself…”

“So what happened?” That queer guy again?

“Not him this time. But someone’s on the roof.

“So this is Karlsson, madame,” Basil yawned, making it clear that the conversation was over. “Go to bed.

“You’re joking again,” the woman said reproachfully. – I’m telling you, it’s like a ghost. However, now I am gnawing doubts. Perhaps some madwoman had entered from the street through the attic window.

– What makes you think that?”

– First of all, no one in their right mind would go in there for anything, and second of all, I heard the sound of high heels…”

Basil scratched his unshaven chin. He always did that when he didn’t know what to say.

“Go to your room, madame – » he said, still squinting in the bright light. “And get your damn candelabra!” Burn down the house.

– I didn’t call the police…”

– You did the right thing.

“Maybe we should go get Moreau after all.”

“Unnecessary, madame. If they are able to stand on their feet, it is only conditionally. Don’t worry, I can handle it alone.

“Oh, I can only hope for you, Monsieur Basil. I will pray.

Basile ushered Madame Rabinski out and began to dress. At the last moment, he felt sorry for the coat. Not the best idea for climbing in it on dusty attics.

– Brrr.. Dog’s cold, “he came out of the entrance wearing only a vest.

Now, in the midst of the epidemic, I didn’t really want to go to crowded hospitals with pneumonia. They’ll just forget you in the hallway, dump you somewhere in a dark corner, and at best assign you a number.

– Is it warm for you maiden, is it warm for you beauty?!

With that, Basil tugged at Krever’s fur coat. Well, he could not pass by without mocking the poor.

“Monsieur, shame on you! The insurance agent asked, gritting his teeth. – I didn’t get frostbite insurance.

“I’d rather be quiet, out of harm’s way.”

Basil’s fur coat is too small. It cracks at the seams like expired firecrackers, and the sleeves only reach to the elbow.

“Where did you get it?” Basil frowned, suspecting a trick.

It was exactly the same as his ex-wife’s. It was the one she’d worn to Nice with her lover five years ago.

“A good Samaritan woman took pity on me,” Krever said, turning up the collar of his jacket, his voice clearly in need of a fresh sip of Madame Rabinski’s hot coffee.

– And where did you meet this Samaritan woman, you idiot?” Do you know, you idiot, that this is my ex-wife’s fur coat? Only she stinks of cat urine in Paris!

Krever pulled a silly knit cap with a pom-pom over his ears.

“Ten minutes ago, she was running past this shop determined to kill herself!” he mumbled, squinting in fear of being beaten up.

– What makes you think that?”

“Well, I’ve got a good eye!” You should have seen, monsieur, her face full of terrible despair, how she started as if shot… I didn’t mean any harm, just called out to her, but she wasn’t interested in insurance… She shook her head like a madwoman and ran up the stairs, dropping her fur coat in her haste… I thanked her for this gesture of mercy, wanted to return it, but then I thought, why would she need a fur coat if she decided to believe the law of attraction?

– Why didn’t you stop her, you bastard?” Basil broke down and swung at Krever.

He cringed even more and put his head between his shoulders.

– Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t leave my post. Otherwise you would think, if you happened to look out of the window, that I was making concessions… oh, my God! How many people are suffering because of you, monsieur. It seems to me that you are a veritable devil!

Basil grinned, scratching his chin. He remembered very well what Monsieur Crever had said to himself when he broke into the flat.

“Yes, I’m good. At least I don’t let someone get cold outside when I’m sleeping soundly in a warm bed…

“Okay, good one. You didn’t see anything, and you didn’t hear anything. If you behave yourself, Madame Rabinski will bring you a cup of coffee.

“I am behaving very well, Monsieur Basile,” Krever said at once. – I’ll also be better behaved if you finally let me in, even on the mat.”

– I don’t have a rug.”

What should I take from this fool? And as they say, hope dies last.

Basil felt a twofold sense of urgency as he headed for the stairs, which, according to Krever, Camille had climbed madly. What could happen if a woman, unencumbered by money and lovers, returns to her ex-husband’s house to throw herself off the roof under his windows? I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. There’s something wrong here… And as he gripped the ladder, which was loosely welded to the end, and it swayed like some kind of free ride of fear, the man suggested that he was simply being lured to some sacrifice, that Monsieur Crever might just be a cheap actor hired by Bruno to get rid of a malicious defaulter as quickly as possible. There’s no Camilla up there! This whole thing is a set trap to put it all down to an accident. Where are you going, buddy? Come to your senses!

He suddenly pictured the tabloid cover of himself lying in the bushes with a broken neck and that stupid outfit. “The former Bébé ours Octagon champion took his own life without paying his bills,” the caption reads. Madness, Basil. You, like everyone else, went unnoticed crazy in this Parisian dump! He looked down at himself again and shuddered. Has anyone tried putting a woman’s fur coat on a vest? Cardin and Gucci smoke nervously on the sidelines. But you can’t back down – you have to die a hero. Madame Rabinski looks out from behind the curtain and crosses herself piously. The late rabbi must have never had time to get the whole heresy out of her.

Basil pulled himself up on his hands, lifting his feet off the ground, and squeezed his eyes shut. It would be wiser, of course, to try to get into the attic by the back door, but it’s been boarded up for a year now…

The ladder shook, but it held, only my fingers froze. One of the bolts holding the tack to the wall came out of the brick. As he carefully climbed the steps, Basil threw his head back for a moment, as if to savor the last moments. The night sky over Paris is very beautiful.

“Only those who have something to lose are afraid,” he thought, but his heart was filled with disgust.

I wanted to smoke again. Basil hated it when someone with a dubious life experience, who didn’t really represent himself, lit a cigarette with a swagger on the edge of a precipice. And then there were the cigarettes left on the table. When he reached the round window of the attic, he ventured up another step. The ladder swayed again, and this time a second bolt clanked down, dragging the next one with it. Barely breathing, Basil pushed the window open, put his hand on the ledge, and peered out. He thought he saw a shadow somewhere in the depths, but it could have been a cat.

“Camille…?”

He was already through the narrow doorway. All he could think about right now was how he could fight back. A second passed, then two. No attempt was made to attack. Basil got up. There was a dim starlight coming from the window, but the attic was eerily dark. The feeling that someone was looking at him from the dark didn’t leave him.

Madame Rabinski’s lit menorah would be very welcome right now, he thought, giving his eyes time to adjust.

Suddenly Basil heard the rustle of a dress. If it’s a trap, he’s screwed. It stands in the gap, it is visible as in the palm of your hand. There must be some wiring somewhere. Basil ran his hand along the wall. Here’s the relay! Click of the switch… In general, before the attic was boarded up, the light bulb was on. He remembered it clearly.

“Camille…” he whispered again, peering into the darkness.

He could smell the well-groomed woman clearly now. It’s definitely French, but not French. Camille. Why would Camille want to hide from him? It’s close, but where?

“Hey, baby, are you there?” he went forward, plunging completely into the darkness and at random, catching everything that could be grasped and groped with his hands.“Do you want to play?” Ow…

Someone ran past, clumsily stamping their heels, dragging a cloud of dust with them. Basil sneezed. Some kind of ringing in the ears. Poor Madame Rabinski’s chandelier… It’s the one that’s been rattling all this time. Yeah! He seems to have cornered his mouse. Here, she’s breathing fast, unable to control her fear. It will bite, it will definitely bite. Then there was a cry that sounded more like a man’s than a woman’s.

“Don’t even think about it,” Basil warned, grabbing her by the hem of her dress and pulling her closer to the light.

“Oh, no, no! Don’t kill me! Yes, I am guilty before you, but I have always, you hear, always thought about how to redeem myself… Yes, yes, I am not an insensitive dummy! Oh, my God, what am I talking about?

“Julien?” Basil recoiled as he recognized his ex-wife’s lover. How many times had he dreamed of catching this dance master and breaking his legs, and then such an unexpected encounter…

– I thought you were trying to throw me off the roof…”

Basil scratched his chin. So… it’s a good idea to give the brute a well-deserved pendel as a parting gift. Fortunately, mercy took over.

“What masquerade is this, Julien?”

“The dance master was indeed wearing a woman’s dress and heels.

“Looks like you’re going there, too,” he grinned. – Great fur coat.

“Shut your mouth. Is Camille with you?”

“No, I’m alone.

“Alone?” Basil’s eyes flashed angrily.

“They’re looking for me all over Paris, my friend! Stupid story, I’m a total loser.

– What happened?”

Julien sat down on the floor and put his hands to his head.

– But why are you here?”

“Oh, Basil, Basil,” Julien suddenly sobbed. – I didn’t know where to run, and then I remembered you. After all, the police won’t be looking at you. It’s absurd, isn’t it?

“I agree, but you gave fat Rabinski a big scare… She almost gave in to me out of fear.

“I’m sorry, these louboutins… they’re just flour!” I promise to be quiet.

– But what are you up to?”

– I’d like to spend a night, maybe two, and then I’ll leave.” You won’t betray me, will you?”

Basil said nothing. The last question put him in a moral and ethical dead end. Actually, why cover up for some transvestite who’s messed up his life so badly?

Krever’s voice came from below. Here’s a brute, even here it doesn’t fit in your business!

“Monsieur Basile, are you all right?” Can you please reset my keys for me? You made me turn into a piece of ice.

Julien visibly trembled with terror, and his tear-stained eyes wandered in the darkness as if seeking protection.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s an insurance agent,” Basil said with a grin.

“Is that the obsessive guy on the bench?” He chased me like a missionary chasing a virgin, promising me a decent place in paradise. I was saved by a miracle on this roof. I was actually on my way to see you. Don’t give me away, please. I’ve always protected you in front of Camille.

“Help me, asshole!”

Julien, with all possible zeal, began to pull the fur coat off the ex-champion’s broad shoulders. Finally, with great difficulty, he succeeded.

“It’s all right, Krever,” the Russian shouted, throwing the rabbit skin out the window.

“Thank you, monsieur. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ came a voice from below. – But can I at least warm up in the entryway?” That damn fur coat doesn’t keep you warm at all. You tore it up, monsieur, in four, no, five places. It’s terrible, monsieur, to treat things this way!

“Shut up,” Basil snapped, and turned to the hated Julien, grabbing him mercilessly by the ear. “I feel like you two will find each other, you fucking homos.”

The dance master stifled a groan and knelt down in a pleading position.

“Let me sit here until morning,” he whispered through the pain of some delirious fever. – I promise I’ll leave at first light.” Just don’t give me away, just don’t give me away.

“So, what have you done, Julien?”

– We had a little argument. I gave a slap in the face, maybe slap in the face is not the right word…

– Did you slap Camille?”

No, after all, the conversation in a peaceful way will not work. He clenched his free fist and raised it to the dancing master’s nose.

– Can you smell it, Julien?” Can you smell it, you brute?”

“Well, I don’t remember…” he said, sobbing. “She took me out… You know her quarrelsome nature… Anyway, she yelled at me to return her clothes immediately. One of the neighbors called the gendarmes. They started breaking in and breaking down the door, and I thought they were some bandits, so I fought back.

– What do you mean by ‘rebuff’?”

“I fired, Basil. I think I killed one. Then he set fire to the house and left through the window.

– You set fire to the house with Camille?” Are you out of your mind, kid? What did you expect? You thought I’d pat you on the head?”

– I didn’t realize… besides, I was counting on understanding… Camille is a total bitch, so what can I get out of her?

“Yes, but she had a cat with her!”

“I was…” and the light from the stars lit up a pale, pained face with dripping mascara. Then the fugitive smiled, showing off his gold crowns.

– And what are your plans, Julien or what’s your name, Juliette?” Basil asked, clearly disgusted. He even let go of his ear.

– Go to Spain. I’m not going to jail. You know what happens to people like me out there… Please don’t turn me in! and the unfortunate dancing master suddenly crawled on his knees in the direction of Basil, bursting into burning tears. – What have I done?” What have I done? I still can’t believe it happened to me. Poor Camille, poor…

Basile scratched his chin while Julien continued to sob and hug his legs. The situation amused me on the one hand, and depressed me on the other.

“Okay,” he finally said to the arsonist ex-wives. – I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Madame Rabinski and that faggot Krever I’ll shut up. But you will sit here quietly until I decide what to do with you.

– I need some warm clothes… Camille said…

– And don’t expect anything more! Basil showed his powerful fist again to the sobbing Julien. – You’ve already skinned me.” Good, good. Perhaps I’ll bring you something – " and to forestall the endless stream of words of thanks, pushing the fleeting dance master away from me with a feeling of utter disgust.

– Montmartre running tour

If someone tells you that tourism in If it’s finally gone online, spit on it. Oh, yes, wait! For such an action, you can be held accountable and sent to forced labor in the so-called red zone of Drinking-Salpetriere, and there you can look for fistulas. But if you’re a young, carefree jerk, and a fast runner, then the flag is in your hands.

“Hey, nigga, my friend and I got a little lost. We can’t figure out where the Sacre Coeur is…

What exactly did Basil expect, wiping spittle from his unshaven cheek and following the flickering heels with a look of regret? No, he had never run so fast. All these morning runs through the streets of Paris were more an opportunity to look around, to feel the ground under your feet, so to speak.

Mignot grunted, clutching at his belly. – Finally, someone put you in your place. Look: what a chirp the brat gave! Where do we go! It is unlikely that Lemaitre himself will catch up with him at the hundred-meter race.

– I don’t know what he’s doing."… I just asked which way the basilica was. It seems normal without a mask, but I didn’t get a good look at his face.

“It doesn’t matter. All these guys look alike. I had a friend who only knew them by their egg piercings.

“Shut up,” Basil gritted his teeth. “Let’s try to catch up with the bastard.”

“What are you, what are you – » Minho was even startled, waving his arms. “He’s as fast as my sperm in a crocodile’s ass.”

Basil was still watching him run away with a murderous stare.

“Maybe he’s one of Bruno’s gang.” Minho suggested, continuing his leisurely run. “I heard that your master is recruiting a new team…”

– I don’t have a master!” And I don’t care about Bruno! How many times have I told you – " Basil fumed. “A brick will catch up with this nimble one.”

“That’s right. You can’t let that happen. Today he spits at you, tomorrow he fucks your wife. How’s Camille?”

“I invited you to the carnival samba,” Basil said reluctantly. He didn’t like to talk about his ex at all.

“You?”

– What’s the big deal?” After all, we’re just friends now.

“Now, now, my friends,” Mignot said with a chuckle, “If I give you guys free rein, you’ll cling to each other like a cat and a dog.”

“Don’t get worked up. What do you care? And Basile took a sharp leap forward down the alley, so that Mignot had to cut across the lawn with all his strength to catch up. It was funny to watch the fat bald man work his elbows like a toy train with drawbars.

“Oh, my God! – Stop it! “he suddenly yelled, starting to limp.

Basil stopped. He scratched his chin as always.

“What’s up again?”

All right. Minho’s white sneaker slammed into dog shit. But why be surprised? Mignot is always like that, always getting into trouble.

– Do you always think of God when you’re in trouble?”

“There you go again with your moralizing! Mignot was fuming now, trying desperately to wipe his soiled shoes on the grass. “You’d better go to the carnival samba.

– I’m not going.

– why? After all, she invited you. Note: I’m not here! But in vain! Mignot tried to do a Latin dance with his hips. – I’d love to relax.” Camille always had great girlfriends. Carnival samba. Mmm. I can’t imagine what it is…

– The usual party in masks. Now there is a carnival samba all over Paris, you don’t have to go anywhere.

They ran a little further, and Minho began to give up noticeably and clutched at his liver with oohs and ahs. It was a pity to look at him. Even the windbreaker was soaked on the back. He’s about to fall down somewhere and curl up. But Basil did not spare his friend and gave a scoring impulse on the first flight of stairs. What can you do. All the stairs for him are always associated with Montmartre. Here are the familiar places. It is worth pushing, so as not to look like a half-dead nag in the eyes of the neighbors. Let them know that the Bear is still in shape. He even straightened up proudly as he turned into the rather picturesque rue Chevalier de la Barre.

“Well, that’s it, I got you out, then I’ll go on my own,” Minho reared up from somewhere far behind.

He was so tired that he even leaned his bald head against the first wall he saw. His heavy breathing under the flowered mask could easily have been mistaken for a death rattle.

“Fool, take off your visor. You’ll die! Basil looked back as he climbed the new steps. “Even negroes don’t wear masks.

“I can’t, there are cameras everywhere,” Mignot managed to say, wiping the sweat from his brow. – I have a remarkable face.” My mailbox is fed up with happy messages! I don’t even know where they come from. I am a law-abiding citizen…

Basil cleared the height and stopped. He estimated his strength and decided that he could run home without slowing down his pace. Above, the dome of the Sacre Coeur Basilica was already pale against the blue sky above the tiled roofs of the houses.

“Coward! he called out to Mignot.

“Give me Camille!” he groaned in response, finally revealing the real reason for their run together.

“Well, of course, it’s all about To Camille! What a sly fellow!”

“Not today! – waved off the ex-champion.

“You bastard!

“Aha!

“What else! He wanted Camille. If only it was specific, and then, God knows, some kind of psychopath’s daub. Bl.! How the French men crushed! Go n..”

His strength was already running out, the steep climb was draining the last of his strength, but somewhere up there he was waiting for a rather pleasant Turlyur Park, where he could slow down a little and work out his neck muscles, nodding to local mothers. With one of them, Basil somehow started an affair in this way. She’s probably still waiting for him in the shade of the chestnut trees while her little ones dig in the sandbox.

“Bonjour, mes crottes … (Good afternoon, my poop),” Basile calls all the kids in the neighborhood under the age of five who are more or less like him.

“Bonjour, papa,” they say in unison, not even looking at him.

Yes, you can get burned like that, damn it! Basil trudged down the alley, dragging his feet, tired from the sudden climb. It’s a good thing that just behind the park is his native Saint-Vincent and the so-called gravedigger’s house, where he vegetates after his divorce from Camille. This woman still sticks in his mind, but not because he misses her so much. It’s just that her portrait hangs in Basil’s room in the most prominent place, and it’s impossible to get used to it. Mignot, the businessman, has long had a keen eye for this valuable item, which is why he runs circles around Montmartre, even though his fiefdom is the Bois de Boulogne. Friends even have such an unspoken concept. If Basil really needs something, then he’ll have to scratch all the way to Bagatelle, to hell with the middle of nowhere, and if fat Mignot is up to something, then sorry, running up stairs is just the thing for his plump buns.

And here was a nondescript mansion, screened from the sun by the ivy-covered wall of an old cemetery. Pots once filled with bright red geraniums-the pride of Madame Rabinski-look more and more like depressing graves for gnomes by winter. In them, even the cats-the eternal scourge of Montmartre-stopped shitting. Everything is disgusting and pathetic. The peeling plaster and red brick breaking through it only add to the depressing impression. Also add a couple of trash cans, from which skinny rats jump out when you approach, hoping to profit. All this is one common landscape. However, if you run past without turning anywhere, you can get to the intersection with the street de Sol, where the “Agile Rabbit” is located. This is already a civilization. There you can get a beer to take away and the famous rabbit fricassee with baked apple.