Book: Delacour Gregoire "What catches the eye. Gregoire Delacour what catches the eye Other similar books

Current page: 1 (total book has 8 pages) [available reading excerpt: 2 pages]

Font:

100% +

Gregoire Delacour
What catches the eye

* * *

Dedicated to Faustina, Blanche, Grasse and Maximilien

Can you see the real me preacher?
Can you see the real me doctor?
Can you see the real me mother?
Can you see the real me? 1
Can you see the real me as a preacher? Can you see the real me as a doctor? Can you see the real me as a mother? Can you see the real me?

Quadrofenia, Pete Townsend, Who

* * *

Arthur Dreyfuss loved big boobs.

By the way, he thought, if he happened to be born a girl, and since his mother had light ones, and his grandmother had heavy ones, at least that’s how he remembered her suffocating hugs, what kind of hugs would he have - big or small?

He found that large breasts required a more flexible, more feminine posture, and the grace of this graceful balance of silhouettes fascinated him, even sometimes excited him. Ava Gardner in The Barefoot Countess, Jessica Rabbit in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. And many others. From these images he was blissful and blushed. The chest impressed, suddenly called for silence, inspired respect. And there was not a man on earth who would not, looking at her, become a little boy.

They could all die for it.

Arthur Dreyfuss, who never had them literally at hand, contemplated these charms in abundance in the shabby old issues of the Modern Man lying around the PP. And on the Internet too.

As for the real ones, Madame Rigotmalolepsy had them, and he saw them falling out of blouses in the spring: two poured watermelons, so light that pale green streams appeared on the surface, hot, trembling; they were stormed when she quickened her pace, catching up with a bus that stopped twice a day on Big Street (a small street where on September 1, 1944, a Scot, one Heywood, fell for the liberation of the commune) or when her ill-mannered red male excitedly dragged his mistress to someone's then the label.

In the third grade of high school, the young Arthur Dreyfuss's penchant for these fruits of the flesh made him prefer the neighborhood of a certain Nadezh Lepti, it must be admitted, an ugly girl, but who had the advantage of an abundant 85C over the dazzling Joel Renguet, who wore only 80A on a flat torso. It was a bad choice. The ugly woman zealously guarded her half-melons, not allowing her mischievous hands to reach them: at the age of thirteen, this beautiful gardener, conscious of her charms, wanted to be loved for her own sake, and Arthur Dreyfuss at the same age still did not know a lot about colloquial and deceitful speeches. He did not have time to read Rimbaud, did not wind around his mustache the honeyed words of the songs of Cabrel or older ones, for example, a certain S. Jerome ( No, no, don't leave me / No, no, give me your love).

Upon learning that Alain Roger, his then friend, already held the modest apples of Joel Renguet in his hands, then in his lips, and then in his mouth, he almost went crazy and seriously thought about whether to radically reconsider his level of pectoral claims. Downward direction.

At the age of seventeen, he went to Albert (the third largest city in the Somme) with the proud Alain Roger to celebrate his first paycheck. He chose there a priestess of love with a fair amount of charms in order to lose his virginity and know the rapture in her arms, but he turned out to be so impatient that he immediately did honor to the canvas of his trousers. He ran away, ruined, ashamed, having missed the chance he had dreamed of a thousand times, to stroke, feel, kiss, tear at the opal treasures. After which it is not a pity to die.

This misfortune cooled his ardor. Put everything in its place. He read two sentimental novels by American Karen Dennis, from which he learned that desire can sometimes be caused by a smile, a smell, or even just a look, which he was not slow to see from his own experience six months later at Dede Free - bar-tobacco-fishing tackle-lottery- local newspapers - anglers were mainly interested in the bar: the red sign Jupiler 2
Belgian beer brand.

It replaced the Shepherd's star with endless and icy winter dawns and attracted smokers, because the law on the ban on smoking had no force here.

It was at Dede-Free's that this simple event took place: when asked what he wanted, Arthur Dreyfuss looked up and met the eyes of the new waitress. Her eyes, gray as rain, thrilled him; he liked her voice; her smile; her pink gums; her white teeth; her smell; all the charms described by Karen Dennis. He forgot to look at her breasts, and for the first time he did not care if she was modest or appetizing. A dull plain or hilly terrain.

And then a revelation dawned on him. There are not only breasts in the world. Not only they are attractive to a woman.

That was his first love. And the first auricular extrasystole is a violation of the heart rhythm.

But he had nothing with the aforementioned new waitress, because, firstly, it makes no sense to start a love story from the end and, most importantly, because the waitress with rain-colored eyes had a lover: a truck driver who traveled to Belgium and Holland, square burly man with small but powerful hands; on the serious biceps of this strong man, the name of the charmer was tattooed - Eloise: it is immediately clear that she is the owner. Arthur Dreyfuss did not know karate and from similar Chinese tricks he knew only the commandments of a blind teacher from "Kung Fu" (unforgettable master Po!) And the wild cry of Pierre Richard in "The Return of the Tall Blonde" (Yves Robert). So he chose to forget the poetry of Eloise's features, her moist gray eyes and pink gums; I no longer went out to drink coffee in the morning and even quit smoking so as not to risk meeting a jealous trucker.

The organ of Cavaillé-Coll and the swamp, for the ecological maintenance of which Camargue horses were brought in), due to the work of an auto mechanic, from which hands are always black and greasy, Arthur Dreyfuss, twenty years old, a handsome, by the way, guy (Eloise as- then compared him to Ryan Gosling, only better), lived alone in a secluded house on the edge of the village, off the departmental highway 32, which leads to Allies-le-Haut-Clochet.

For those unfamiliar with Ryan Gosling, this is a Canadian actor, born on November 12, 1980, whose worldwide fame will come in 2011, a year after this story, with the magnificent and very black "Drive" by Nicolas Winding Refn 4
Thriller directed by Nicolas Winding Refn and won the 2011 Cannes Film Festival for Best Director.

But it is not important.

On the day this book begins, there was a knock on his door.

Arthur Dreyfuss was watching another episode of The Sopranos (season 3, episode 7: "Uncle Junior goes in for stomach cancer surgery"). He jumped up. He shouted: who is there? The knock was repeated. Then he went to open. And he couldn't believe his eyes.

Before him was Scarlett Johansson.

* * *

Except for a hefty booze at the third wedding of Pascal Payen, known to everyone as PP, his patron - from drinking, by the way, he became so ill that he sucked orange oil for two days in a row - Arthur Dreyfuss did not drink. Perhaps a bottle of Cronenburg in the evening, from time to time, under a TV series.

So the incredible appearance of Scarlett Johansson on the threshold of his house cannot be attributed to alcohol abuse.

Until then, Arthur Dreyfuss had lived a perfectly normal life. Let's go through her milestones to get back to the exciting actress: born in 1990 (the year of the release of the novel "Jurassic Park" and the sensational second love marriage of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman) in the Camille Desmoulins Maternity Hospital in Amiens, the main city of the canton in the prefecture of the Picardy region; parents - Dreyfuss Louis-Ferdinand and Lecardonnel Teresa-Marie-Francoise.

The only son until 1994, when Dreyfuss Noya was born. Noah, which means Beauty of the Lord.

And again the only son in 1996, when a hefty Doberman mixed up his neighbor Beauty of the Lord with your food. The swallowed face and right hand of the baby came out from the other side in the form of excrement canis lupus familiaris and remained lying in the warm shadow of the Renault Scenic wheel. The Commune supported the heartbroken family with the whole world. Little Arthur Dreyfuss did not cry, because because of his tears, tears of his mother flowed and terrible words about the abominations of this world, the deceptive beauty of things and the monstrous cruelty of God. Again, the only child kept his grief to himself, like marbles in the back of his pocket.

He was pitied; wiped their hands on his hair; whispered poor thing or poor boy, or it's not easy for this kid. It was a sad and joyful time at the same time. In the Dreyfuss house, they ate a lot of pies with dates, baklava, baba ganoush 5
A dish of oriental cuisine, an appetizer of eggplant with spices.

And, in tribute to Picardy, cheese pies and chicory coffee charlottes. From sweet they get fat, and the pain is dulled.

The destitute family moved to the small commune of Saint-Saens (department of Saint-Maritime), near the state forest of Eavi - this is how it is pronounced: e-a-vee where Dreyfuss Louis-Ferdinand became a forester. He returned sometimes in the evening with pheasants, red partridges, and other game, which the Picardy wife turned into pâtés, suprems, and stews. Once he brought a dead fox to be made into a fur muff (winter was not far off), but Lecardonnel Teresa screamed, turning pale as death, that she would never, for anything in the world, warm her hands in a corpse.

One morning, just like any other morning, the poacher went hunting with a game bag and snares on his shoulder. At the door, as he did every morning, he dropped: Until the evening! But no one saw him that evening or any other evening. Ten days later, the gendarmes stopped searching; Are you sure he didn't have a hottie in town, some cutie? Men often disappear like this: in some places it itches, it pulls on young meat, I want to live, we know, we know. Not a single thread, not a trace, not a body. Lecardonnel Teresa then quickly lost what little joie de vivre she had left, became addicted to martinis: first in the evenings, when the forester returned home, then earlier and earlier, and soon began to start at a very early hour when he left. Vermouth (18 degrees) at first gave her wit (since then Arthur Dreyfuss became a silent), then plunged into a very dangerous blues, and as a result, she, as in the "Open Window", saw the ghost of a forester appearing at odd hours. And behind him are other ghosts.

Quadrupedal Predator.

American actress who played Cleopatra.

Meat on hand.

Dusty eyelids.

Arthur Dreyfuss sometimes cried in the evenings in his room, hearing from the kitchen the sad and hoarse voice of Edith Piaf and guessing in what darkness his mother was wandering. He did not dare to tell her that he was afraid of losing her too, afraid of being left alone. He didn't know how to tell her that he loved her, it's so difficult.

At school, Arthur Dreyfuss is a strong average student. It's easy to be friends with him. He is invincible in grandmothers, who have returned to fashion for a while. The girls liked him and was chosen as the second hottie in the class; the laureate - tall, gloomy, gothic, with transparent skin, with ears pierced in many places - you can’t take a dotted line for cutting, - with a collar tattooed on the skin (twisted rope is the result of a reading of the “Ballad of the Hanged Men” heavily flavored with alcohol), and most importantly , poet: crackling rhymes, viscous consonances, stupid words. Example: Live - rot, death - laughter. The girls were dragging.

Arthur Dreyfuss's only known weakness was in gym class: one day, watching a certain Liana Le Goff, 80E (stunning cups, Jane Mansfield, Christina Hendricks) jump over a gymnastic horse, he passed out.

He hit his eye socket on the horse's metal leg, the skin burst, blood splattered. It was neatly sewn up, and since then a modest memory of a sweet swoon has remained under the eyebrow.

He did not shy away from reading, on the contrary; he liked to watch movies - especially TV series, because there is time to become attached to the characters, to fall in love with them, to create a semblance of a family - and he also liked to disassemble (and reassemble) everything that has a motor or mechanism in it. The school sent him for an internship with Pascal Payen, known to all as PP, the owner of a garage in Longes, where he once found a book of poems and an exciting work that always blackens and greasy fingers; he said to the ladies with a breakdown: we will fix it in the best possible way - you are a genius, my dear, and a handsome man besides; I said to the gentlemen with a breakdown: we will fix it in the best possible way, - hurry up, my boy, I won’t be stuck here forever; and from this job he soon made enough money to buy on credit a house (three floors, 67 square meters) on the edge of the village, off the departmental highway 32, which leads to Allies-le-Haut-Clochet, where on windy days a bakery Legiffa is fragrant throughout the neighborhood with warm croissants and brioches with brown vergeoise glaze (but there was no wind that fateful morning), the same house that Scarlett Johansson once knocked on the door.

Well, here she is; finally.

* * *

Scarlett Johansson looked exhausted.

Her hair, I don’t understand what color, was disheveled. Her curls fell, dripping from her shoulders, heavily, as if in slow motion. There was no famous gloss on plump lips. The mascara was smeared with coal dust, circling the eyes in sad circles. And, unfortunately for Arthur Dreyfuss, she was wearing a loose sweater. Not a sweater, but a bag, a blatant injustice: he hid all the forms of the actress, as everyone knows, charming, one might even say, charming.

In her hand she held a Vuitton bag in a poisonous color that looked suspiciously counterfeit.

Arthur Dreyfuss, on the other hand, was in his favorite TV-watching outfit: a white T-shirt and long, colorful shorts; Far from Ryan Gosling only better. But still.

And yet, the very second they saw each other, they both smiled.

Did they like each other? Did you instill confidence? Did he expect, upon hearing a knock on the door, an urgent call, a cylinder or rod failure, a problem with the debitometer? Did she expect, standing on the other side of the door, to see in front of her a pervert, a warty monster, an old hag? Be that as it may, these two, who met in an incredible way, smiled at each other as a good surprise, and from the parched lips of Arthur Dreyfuss, who received a “lightning strike” for the second time in his life (wet palms, tachycardia, perspiration, icy goosebumps on the back, rough, sticky tongue), an unfamiliar word flew off.

Comin.

(For discerning linguist readers and other amateur geographers, it should be clarified that there really is a city called Comines, located in the canton of Quenois-sur-Del, in the North, near the Belgian border - a town, in all likelihood, small and rather sleepy, with at least five holiday committees trying to shake him up—but he has nothing to do with this story.)

instinctively timid comin Arthur Dreyfuss seemed to him the second he saw Scarlett Johansson at the door, the most appropriate, the most polite and the most elegant, because in the subtitles of undubbed serials it meant "enter."

And what man in the world, even in a T-shirt and colorful shorts, would not say “come in” to the phenomenal actress from Lost in Translation?

The phenomenal actress whispered thank you sticking out the pink tip of the tongue between the teeth on th and entered.

Quietly closing the door with wet hands and again feeling the auricular extrasystole in his chest, yes, he will die now, yes, now he maybe die,” he furtively glanced outside to see if there were any cameras, and/or bodyguards, and / or evil jokers from television, after which, although not reassured, he closed the valve.

* * *

Two years earlier, the gendarmerie delivered to the checkpoint the skeleton of a Peugeot 406 that had overturned on the departmental highway 112 near Cockerell (located 2.42 km from Long in bird's eye view) for the purpose of examination.

It was at night.

The driver was driving fast; he seemed to have lost control, trapped in the insidious dampness that was transparent, seeping with algae, covering the broken pavement of the departmental highway near the Provision Ponds. The driver and passenger died at the scene. Firefighters had to cut off the man's legs to get him out of the car. The woman smashed her face against the windshield, and a strand of hair on a blood clot was stuck in the star of cracks. Arthur Dreyfuss, at the request of the PP, examined the inside of the car and found a book of poetry under the passenger seat. Immediately, on some sort of reflex, he tucked it into one of the large pockets of his overalls. How did the book of poems end up in the car where two people died? Was she reading a poem to him when they got carried away? Who were they? Did you break up? Or, on the contrary, did they find each other? Decided to commit suicide together?

That same evening, alone in his house, he opened the book. His fingers trembled slightly. The collection was called "Exist", the author - a certain Jean Follen. There are many voids on each page, and in the middle there are short lines, grooves plowed with a plowshare of letters. He read simple words, behind which, it seemed to him, there was something very deep, for example, these, which reminded him of his father:

(…) and at hand, full of strength,
Not seeing a single tree
He desperately held
Faces of the whole world 6
Jean Follin's poem "Atlas" from the Territories cycle.

Or these, who spoke of Noah and their mother:

(...) but the one that will die young,
And the one whose body will be lonely 7
Jean Follen's poem "Children" from the same collection.

There was not a single word that he did not understand, but their arrangement in the lines fascinated him. He had a vague feeling that well-known words, strung in a certain way, could change the perception of the world. To pay tribute, for example, to the beauty of the ordinary. Embrace simplicity.

He savored the wondrous combinations of words, page after page, month after month, and thought it was a gift to tame the extraordinary if it ever knocked at your door.

Like this Wednesday, September 15, 2010, at 7:47 pm, when the stunning Scarlett Johansson, American actress, born November 22, 1984, suddenly appears before you, Arthur Dreyfuss, a French auto mechanic, shocked to the core by Longines, born in 1990 m.

How could this happen?

Why didn't the words of poetry come? Why do dreams paralyze when they come true? Why was the first thing Arthur Dreyfuss managed to ask if she spoke French? Or for me, he added slowly, blushing in French, English, Chinese.

Scarlett Johansson tossed her head gracefully and replied, almost without an accent - no, there was an accent, but quite elusive, charming, candy-flirtatious, something between Romy Schneider and Jane Birkin accent: yes, I speak French, like my friend Jodie. Jodie Foster! exclaimed Arthur Dreyfuss, startled, you know Jodie Foster! - and then, shrugging his shoulders, he muttered as if to himself: of course, of course, how stupid I am; and that is to say, at such meetings, and even at the very beginning, the mind cannot compete with stunnedness.

But women are women for that, to pull out bogged down men, to raise them high - in their own eyes.

Scarlett Johansson smiled at him and with a gentle sigh she took off her wide hand-knitted sweater, removed it gracefully, in the manner of Grace Kelly in Rear Window pulling a muslin nightgown from her tiny purse. You are warm, the actress muttered. The mechanic's heart skipped a beat. No matter how lightly he was dressed, he suddenly felt hot. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in a faint, something sweet and at the same time terrifying came over him; his mother danced naked in the kitchen. When he opened his eyes, the American was wearing a tight bustier t-shirt, pearly white, silky, with lace straps, fitting her chest like a glove around her hand (he crossed his bare legs, holding back the beginning erection), and he saw, and was almost shocked and touched by this, a delicious crease at the level of the navel, a small, copper-tinted ring that looks like a plump donut. You are warm, the actress muttered. Yes, yes, stammered Arthur Dreyfuss, regretting from the bottom of his heart that in real life there are no skilled screenwriters; a courageous monologue by Michel Audiard would not hurt 8
French screenwriter, novelist, film director (1920–1985)

A couple of exact replicas of Henri Janson 9
French screenwriter, director, actor (1900–1970)

They looked at each other again; he turned pale, then blushed; her face was eerily pink, the perfect Barbie doll. They coughed at the same time and began their own phrase at the same time. You first, he said, no, please, she said. He coughed some more, wanted to gain time, find the words, put them together into a beautiful phrase, like a poet. But the soul of the mechanic was stronger. Are you... are you broken? - he asked. Scarlett Johansson laughed. God, how beautiful her laugh, he thought, and what white teeth. No, I don't have a breakdown. The thing is, I work in a garage and… I fix the best I can. I didn't know10
I didn't know ( English.).

She said. Cars, I mean, I fix cars. I don't have a car, she said, not here. There in Los Angeles I have hybrid, like everyone else, but it never breaks, because there is no motor there either.

And then the son of the silent father, the son of the father, whose body disappeared without a trace, gathering all the strength of a man being born, and in an almost unwavering voice said:

What are you doing here, Scarlett? Sorry. I wanted to say madam.

* * *

Let us remind ourselves of something.

The one that won the title of "Hollywood's Most Beautiful Breasts" according to the American TV show Access Hollywood (for the curious and connoisseurs - Salma Hayek was in second position, Halle Berry in third, Jessica Simpson in fourth and Jennifer Love Hewitt in fifth), was worried love story and practiced tantric sex with actor Josh Hartnett from 2004 to 2006.

Then, in 2007, she met Ryan Reynolds at a New York movie theater.

That was the beginning of an idyll.

On her new lover's thirty-first birthday, Scarlett Johansson (who was then twenty-three) gave him a wisdom tooth, removed and, of course, set in gold to wear on a chain; it was not an example of chic, much more trendy11
Fashionable ( English).

Than some shark tooth. Whoever thinks that such a gift can overshadow the beauty of the nascent feeling, let them admit their mistake: in May 2008, the doves got engaged, to the great chagrin of Scarlett's mother, Melanie. Indeed, back in January 2008, the puffy actress swore and swore that she was not ready for marriage! " I am not ready for the Big Day12
I'm not ready for the big day English.).

". But not the point. In September 2008, a Canadian and an American got married in Vancouver. It was a beautiful love, but if love usually lasts three years, then the one that interests us waned much earlier.

I couldn't take it anymore, Scarlett Johansson continued, when Arthur Dreyfuss served her two cups of instant Ricore 13
Chicory coffee drink.

He switched to Kronenburg himself; I couldn't take it anymore, she repeated, I needed to get some air, so I came here for the Deauville festival without my husband. But Deauville is 180 kilometers from here! Arthur Dreyfuss didn't understand. I know, but when I arrived in Deauville, I was frightened, she confessed, suddenly lowering her voice. I didn't want to be under again spotlights(she said spotlights as if sucking on a candy; a tiny bubble of saliva burst on my lip), especially since I don't have a film in the competition. I took a bus, wanted to go to Tuque incognito, stay in a small hotel, and lo and behold. And so what? And here I am. But this is not Tuque, this is Long; there are ponds here, water striders dance on the water at night, animals rustle, sometimes howl, but there is no sea here.

You're so cute14
You are so nice ( English.).

Scarlett Johansson decided to go to the 36th Deauville American Film Festival, but changed course at the last moment.

Like many unfortunate people who want to get lost in order to be found.

Which unsuccessfully cut veins and incorrectly select doses of pills. They call and shout. And a thin thread of voice, incomprehensible to anyone, is lost in the distance.

Arthur Dreyfuss, resplendent in a T-shirt and flowery shorts, opened a new Kronenburg, offered her this time, and repeated his question: What are you doing here, Scarlett?

“I want to disappear for a few days.

The day disappeared outside the windows.

* * *

This recognition excited Arthur Dreyfuss to the core.

In two seconds, his decision was made: he will support, protect, hide and save the unfortunate actress. He will take care of the star incognito. About the beautiful fugitive. He will be a positive hero, like in a movie, strong and reliable, on whose shoulder the unattainable cry, pouring out their dramas, and who, after a thousand plot twists, fall in love.

His life will change irreversibly - so be it.

And he suggested the most beautiful breasts in Hollywood his bed - and he himself will lie on the sofa.

He showed her (it took quite a bit of time) the whole house. Here, on the ground floor, there is a living room and a kitchen. Three-seater sofa "Ectrop" (Ikea), only forty euro difference with a double, he specified; the weather was good, and we assembled it on the street together with PP, my patron, but assembled, with armrests, it did not fit through the door, and PP, beside himself, took the door off its hinges; in the end, when pressed, he passed, but the upholstery at the back was torn - fortunately, this is not very noticeable; an old wicker chair, a table and a big mess, dirty dishes and so on. I didn't expect you today, he apologized, laughing. She blushed. On the second floor there is a bathroom, light blue tiles, boyish, cast-iron bath, huge, mini-steamer in the tiled sea. Quickly - toilet, shorts, socks; hop hop, everything is gone. Here are two clean towels, I have more if you need them; and here is the bath mitt, it has not been used yet, but, hmm, this does not mean that I am not, she smiled, charming, understanding, here is the shampoo and the new soap, with almond milk, look, it is written here. On the third is his bachelor's bedroom, a small window, behind it is already darkness, the moon, vague images, scientifically called pareidolia. On the walls: posters of Michael Schumacher, Ayrton Senna, Denise Richards, Megan Fox - naked, Whitney Houston; pictures - Dodge Viper V10 engines, 6‑flat 911.

- You don't have my photo? she asked a little slyly as he changed the sheets. He blushed.

She helped him make the bed, and this somewhat embarrassed him, because there is no man on this earth who would not dream sooner. spread out your bed with Scarlett Johansson. I know what you're thinking, she whispered, and it touches me, and thank you, and he smiled timidly at her, not quite understanding how to interpret this whisper.

Before leaving her alone and heading to his three-seat Ectrop sofa, he asked her what she preferred for breakfast (American coffee and French croissants, please15
You are welcome ( English.).

), after which they wished each other good night in the most casual way, and this unexpected closeness (Good night, good night16
Goodnight ( English).

) made him happy for a moment, but also saddened him with a prickly feeling, how much he had lost in the chaos of his childhood.

This tenderness - cozy, disinterested.

Of course, Arthur Dreyfuss slept badly that night. How would you sleep?

You heard the water flowing in the bathroom. Imagine water in her palm; the palm slides along the neck, along the chest; water flows down the body; the skin is covered with goosebumps, it is cold. And now Scarlett Johansson is two floors up in your bed, on your sheets, maybe naked, and only thirty-nine stairs separate her from you. There isn't even a latch on your bedroom door. No one will hear her scream. And there is no helicopter noise, no blinding races, no monstrous black SUVs like shadows in American movies; nothing that would betray the hunt for the famous fugitive, not a single hint of a joke. Everything is true. Terrifyingly true.

And only silence.

This silence at night, which frightens the locals, and no wonder, there is the proximity of swamps, and moving shadows, and the moon illuminating human lies, and also legends, a lost poacher and, perhaps, a beast, one of those that Follen wrote about: All animals of her breed / live in her17
Jean Follen's poem "The Beast" from the collection Exist.

Only silence.

Only your desire.

your fear. Your wet fingers. And your misunderstanding, coming along with awkwardness, with some kind of unexpected anger at the absurdity: what is she doing here, this cannot be, it simply cannot be. The mind is still fluttering, struggling, making its way in this game, in chaos; you are ready to cling to anything: at least the TV, of course, the tricks of François Damien, the new Ryukier program, and maybe Dominique Cantien will return. Madness threatens; deaf, subdued. It doesn’t happen like that, it’s a dream that a star of such a size suddenly becomes flesh, weight and blood. You know it doesn't happen that Scarlett Johansson rings your doorbell and smiles at you and sleeps on your sheets. There must be some explanation for this. Like the tricks of magicians, when they saw off the legs of beautiful women, cut off their heads, resurrect, laughing, torn doves.

And here comes the clock. And you decide on. But cowardice still interferes with those who want to get into a mess. Then doubt wakes up (and if, and if she does not say no). Finally, you quietly tiptoe up. You step over the seventh, thirteenth, fifteenth, twenty-second and twenty-third steps - they creak, through the eighth - it squeaks at all, like a mouse caught in a mousetrap, it was still not enough to be mistaken for a rapist. But all your fears suddenly disappear as if by hand. You hear her breathing, a low, very low sniff, like the purring of a cat that has bitten on the said mouse. And you--you're touched by her weakness. Her fragility. And now Scarlett Johansson girl in your bed, not a world-class sex bomb, but a sleeping girl.

Just a sleeping girl. Sleeping Beauty.

Arthur Dreyfuss descended, slowly, with the gait of a somnambulist, stepping over the treacherous steps; and collapsed on the sofa.

What would you do in my place, dad. What would you do? Talk to me, tell me: where are you? Do you come to me sometimes at night, do you still think of me?

Did you leave us - or just lost?

* * *

In the morning in the PP garage, he had to change the oil in a Renault Clio, the valve in a 1986 Peugeot 205 (antique) and check the operation of a Toyota Starlet. Starlet - the name made him smile.

Garage - like all village garages. big wooden door, Station Payen painted in long, faded letters; inside - a pit, a bridge, dozens of leaky tires, shiny cans of oil, grease, oily tools, sticky fingerprints everywhere: on the walls, on battery boxes; several enamel plates, Veedol, Olazur, Essolube, and a solexin column (self-lubricated fuel), long out of use. In the corner, under a tarpaulin, was the Aronda 1300 Weekend, which PP kept swearing to restore to himself someday, but for now it was corroded by rust every day.

How it corrodes the souls of those who do not fulfill their dreams.

Toward noon, Arthur Dreyfuss, taking advantage of a test ride in the Starlet, drove incognito past his home to see if Scarlett Johansson was still there. Didn't he dream it all? Are there any journalists? crowds. When he saw the stunning silhouette scurrying through the kitchen window and no one in front of the house, his heart jumped (made Boom. / When my heart goes boom / Everyone goes boom with it), and it was a blessing.

Series: "Intellectual bestseller (mini)"

The second novel by the French prose writer Gregoire Delacour bears little resemblance to the first ("The Box of Desires"), but he is just as talented and original. In addition, a high-profile scandal is associated with him - actress Scarlett Johansson filed a lawsuit against Delacour for using her name in his novel. Fortunately, the conflict has been settled, and readers around the world can enjoy the exquisite and subtle book of Gregoire Delacour. During the first three weeks of sales in France, 93,000 copies were bought. This novel may seem simple, but this simplicity is deceptive. Arthur Dreyfuss is twenty. He is a simple mechanic. He likes big breasts and the poems of the little-known poet Jean Follen. Janine Fucampre is twenty-six and bears a striking resemblance to Scarlett Johansson. One day they will meet, and something will happen, after which Scarlett Johansson will cease to exist in the mind of Dreyfuss.

Publisher: "Eksmo" (2015)

ISBN: 978-5-699-80325-5

Author	Book	Description	Year	Price	book type
Delacour G.		The second novel by the French prose writer Gregoire Delacour bears little resemblance to the first (The Box of Desires), but he is just as talented and original. In addition, a loud scandal is associated with him, the actress Scarlett ... - @EXMO, @ (format: 70x90 / 32, 256 pages) @ Intelligent bestseller (mini) @ @	2015	139	paper book
Gregoire Delacour		The second novel by the French prose writer Gregoire Delacour bears little resemblance to the first ("The Box of Desires"), but he is just as talented and original - @ @ (format: 107x165 mm, 256 pages) @ intellectual bestseller @ @	2015	146	paper book
Winston Churchill	Winston Churchill. Aphorisms	From Yakaboo: This wonderful edition can be a great gift not only because of its content, but also because of the wonderful design - the first thing that catches the reader's eye when looking at the cover ... - @ @ (format: 70x90/64 (~84x110 mm), 256pp. (illustrations) p.) @Thumbnail @ @	2009	45	paper book
Gregoire Delacour	Four seasons of summer	Four seasons of summer, four ages of love. Here are young lovers whose romance did not take place, because youth does not know patience and first love is rarely happy. And here is an elderly couple, touching ... - @ Eksmo, @ (format: 107x165 mm, 256 pages) @ intellectual bestseller@ electronic book @	2015	164	electronic book
Vladislav Schmidt	Theatre	An experimental story that is a weave of references and metaphors. The very structure of the work is unusual, which catches the eye at the first reading, you just have to pay attention ... - @LitRes: Samizdat, @ (format: 70x90 / 32, 256 pages) @ @ e-book @	2018		electronic book
Zamyatin E.I.	The word is given	As you know, a cultured person should, if possible, not have a face. That is, it’s not that it doesn’t have at all, but like this: like a face, but like not a face - so that it doesn’t catch your eye, how it doesn’t catch your eye ... - @Zebra E, @ @Travel book @ @	2009	28	paper book
Zamyatin Evgeny Ivanovich	The word is given...	As you know, a cultured person should, if possible, have no face. That is, not to not have at all, but like this: as if a face, but as if not a face - so that it does not catch the eye, how it does not catch the eye ... - @AST, @ @Travel book @ @	2009	151	paper book
Evgeny Zamyatin	The word is given...	As you know, a cultured person should, if possible, not have a face. That is, not to not have at all, but like this: like a face, but like not a face - so that it doesn’t catch your eye, just as it doesn’t catch your eye ... - @AST, Zebra E, @ (format: 70x90 / 32, 512 p. ) @Track series @ @	2009	86.8	paper book

Book: Delacour Gregoire "What catches the eye. Gregoire Delacour what catches the eye Other similar books

Gregoire Delacour
What catches the eye

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

Other books on similar topics:

See also other dictionaries:

Read also:

Recent Entries

Book: Delacour Gregoire "What catches the eye. Gregoire Delacour what catches the eye Other similar books

Gregoire Delacour What catches the eye

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

Other books on similar topics:

See also other dictionaries:

Read also:

Amount of movement Amount of movement of a system of material points

Eccentric tension - compression

Examples Determine if a sequence is infinitesimal

Recent Entries

Gregoire Delacour
What catches the eye