A collection of nine short stories developed in surreal environments, some of them tragic, others emotional. Some of these stories have been already published in peruvian magazines or newspapers.
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It was one of those mornings so bone-chilling that causes anybody to flip a coin to decide whether to venture out to the street or not, and the man was there, on the corner, patiently waiting for the bus, when the woman to his right, steeping out of the vehicle, noticed that he had a small blue book nestled under his right arm.
— Excuse me... Is that the rare Fort-Dumont's "ghost edition"?
The gaze of the college student-looking man slowly rose from her thin shoulders to her hair sheltered by a gray rabbit skin cap.
— That's right, mademoiselle.
—It's almost impossible to get any of those. I study theater, you know? —she commented, with a thin voice of total absorption.
— Great election. But, aside of theory, I suppose you also have developed some works from your inspiration.
— Believe me if I tell you I'm working hard to achieve something worthy in that field.
— Maybe we could talk about Fort-Dumont with something sweet on our palates. By the way, my name is Nöel. Nöel Fleury.
— Juliette.
The woman told him she had about twenty minutes free, enough time to go to a nearby café for a couple of desserts. After some minutes of chatting, they saw the waiter returning with the Mont Blanc cake she had ordered, but not with the blueberry clafoutis ordered by Noel.
— This is better, we're out of blueberries — the waiter said, walking away hastily. Noel put a napkin around his neck and brandished the spoon.
—Are you going to let him treat you like this? — asked a disenchanted Juliette. The man left the utensil in the air for a few seconds.
— Do you know? You're right. I should get him fired...right?
— Of course! You should talk to the manager.
— It won't be necessary. Tomorrow you'll see that waiter is no longer working in this café.
— Just like that?
— Trust me. Let's meet tomorrow at the same time and I'll bring you another copy of Fort-Dumont.
The woman spent much of that night dividing her thoughts between Noel's strange behavior, the employee's bad manners, and the long-awaited collector's item. The next day, she went to the place at the appointed time to see with surprise that the place had another name on the marquee: "Café-Pâtisserie Juliette". Nöel was standing at the door.
— What does this mean? —she asked, admiration flooding her face.
— Very simple: I bought the place. Come, we have a table waiting for us.
Nöel led her to an exquisitely decorated table, where they were attended to by a young man with impeccable manners. Juliette, without wasting a second, asked him the obligatory question.
—Why didn't you say you could do this?
— I have my reasons. This is for you — he said, handing her the desired book.
— But... buy an entire business... and put my name on it? It's too much...
—To tell the truth, it is not. Listen. I ride the bus because I don't like driving, but maybe you should stop doing the same.
— What are you talking about?
— Come with me and I'll show you.
He led her to an automobile store, the most attractive shop on the nearby boulevard, and told her to choose any model she wanted.
— They are all so elegant... and so... expensive...
— You don't have to decide now, Juliette. Let me suggest you something: Le Virgule is staging on a new Cyrano that's getting rave reviews. Shall we go see if the critics are as infallible as they claim to be? Tomorrow at eight.
The next day, Juliette didn't dare to ask how come both were conducted to coveted top seats without even waiting in line. After the performance and a private visit to the main performers' dressing rooms, Nöel and the woman emerged back to the street and, with an air of casualness, the man stopped by the car shop again.
— Well... have you decided?
— Maybe...
— Monsieur Fleury! It's good to see our new boss! —an impeccably dressed salesman interrupted. — What model will mademoiselle choose?
— Could it be the Alfa Romeo? —she said, almost hesitant.
— A perfect combination: the beauty of both worlds. I'll be back in a heartbeat with the keys.
Juliette's face went numb with astonishment. After seeing the employee disappear, the woman turned to Noel.
—Did you buy the car shop?
—Actually, the entire boulevard. Now tell me... how would you like a long trip? If you have time to spare, obviously.
—Why are you doing this, Nöel?
He gently took her arms, as thin as beautiful.
— Before I met you, I was like a soap bubble that needed lips like yours to blow it and allow it to rise. Now I feel differently: I am like an arrow of which you are the bow. You encourage me to go to any corner to make it mine and therefore, also yours. That's why I ask you for this trip. There are many things I haven't seen and I didn't want to see them surrounded by the gray indifference of the crowds, something that has had me crushed for years... So... what do you say? Will you accompany me?
Nöel and Juliette spent the rest of the month on two cruises, after which the man purchased the transportation lines so he wouldn't have to wait for reservations; then headed towards Morocco, where they made the Hassan II Mosque their own; later to New York, where the Metropolitan Museum became his property. Nöel had changed, yes, but so had Juliette, who had become ambitious: in Moscow, she made Nöel acquire the Bolshoi Theater to premiere his own works abroad, and in Venice she managed to convinced him to buy the canals so the gondoliers, those iconic figures gliding through the city's watery veins, could belt out only their favorite melodies.
It was at Nicosia airport, which Nöel acquired for her along with a couple of dreamy Cypriot islands, when the man noticed the large number of stamps on her passport. There was almost no room in it.
—Look at this, Juliette. There are as many countries as wars in history. I bet if there weren't so many borders, things would be better for evetybody.
The woman then gave him her most precious smile.
— Buy me the world.
— The world?
—In that way there would be no borders— was the sweet excuse.
The next day, at night, the newscasters were frantic reporting about the new world order, by which everyone was free to enter anywhere without needing passports or any kind of permission. Nöel and Juliette, meanwhile, were lying on the Gardens of Versailles, with a tablecloth decorated with fresh food and the rare Fort-Dumont edition open, trying to guess, by looking at the sky, to whom the moon and the stars belonged.
