A cappella

Chapter 24: Exception to the Rule

"Max! Phone !"

Max ran down the stairs and took the handset from his grandmother's hands. It was a fixed telephone, an antique, with a handset as big as a brick attached to the telephone set by a spiral cable. "Who could it be?" he wondered. A young voice hesitated for a moment:

"Max? Is that you? It's Marion ... At last! I've been trying to reach you on your cell phone since yesterday... and nothing ... You never pick up, or call back ... What's going on?"

Max pulled a little on the wire to be able to close the door with his foot that led to the kitchen where his grandmother was busy. Then he answered, while wiping the dust with his finger which was incrusted on the ornaments of the old wooden dresser in dark wood:

"Marion ..." There was in his way of pronounce her name a lot of things that would remain for the moment unsaid, everything from "it's been good to hear your voice!" to "How did you get this number?", and also "I closed my phone because I was sad and wanted to be alone, but I'm still happy to hear from you... "

"I have something to tell you," he said without preamble. 

"I knew it, felt it" she replied, attentively. "That's why I'm calling you ... Normally, the rule says, it's the one who has something to say that calls, but anyway, tell me. What's going on?"

"You know, what we talked about the other day, the dream of the skeleton butterfly?"

"Yes," said Marion in a small voice.

"She died, Delphine, yesterday afternoon."

While uttering this phrase, Max looked at his reflection in the large mirror fixed above the furniture of the entrance, a mirror pierced by the wear and tear of time, where he saw himself as a tragic character of a film in black and White, wide-eyed eyes fixing destiny, crumpled shirt, long hair covering his forehead.

"My God," said Marion, after a moment's silence. 

Max slipped into the big armchair, the handset sticking to his cheek, his fingers rolling and unrolling the thread. It was a premonitory dream, he would have meant, dream being the only dimension that still allows man to know the future. But he did not say it, these words belonging to his other culture, his Arab side, which he did not know how to pass to Marion. That was what he wanted to tell her, and at the same time, it was also why he could not talk to her. "It was a premonitory dream," she said at last.

Max sat up in his seat, taking the handset back. "Yes," he confirmed. It was very special, not like an ordinary dream ...

"Do you realize what that means?"

"It could mean a lot of things, Marion, and that's why I hesitated to call you. The other day, in the hospital, you already looked like a real doctor when we discussed my dream. I was afraid that you would say, as my English neighbor, the psychiatrist with green eyes, once said "dreams are the reflection of our anxieties..."

"Yes, I know Dr. Allan," smiled Marion, because Max had imitated the psychiatrist's strong English accent.

"She's right, of course, they are, in general. But you must recognize that I said nothing like that! Your butterfly-skeleton, it felt ... exceptional ... gosh, the thought of it makes me shiver ... Poor Delphine ..."

Max stood up. He had suddenly chosen confrontation. Suddenly, the abolition of the barriers between them seemed possible, and for that, it was necessary to speak without detours, for Marion had the scientific spirit. She tried very had to take an objective view and judged from the facts presented to her, even if it contradicted the established rule.

"For you, Marion, what does that mean, a premonitory dream?"

"This assumes that the future is known, before it actually happens. This assumes that someone knows what is going to happen and is capable of telling you about it. It's quite unbelievable..."

There was a silence. She hesitated.

"Of course, we can always say that it is a coincidence. You've had this dream and then Delphine died ... But if you choose to believe what you felt, to your impression of a premonitory dream, then, it's definitely dizzying!"

He laughed, satisfied with the vertigo which was setting in between them.

 "Will you go to the funeral?," she asked.

"Yeah. It's tomorrow. I feel that I have to go, for my pupils ... And then for her, because I really did nothing for her during her lifetime.. I would like to compensate."

"Do you feel a special bond between the two of you?... I mean because of your dream."

"That's it, yes ..." said Max, as if some weight had come off his shoulders. Around him, the furniture of the entrance, centenarians, who had assisted in silence to so many misunderstandings or dialogues of the deaf, were the only witnesses of this small miracle: between two people, suddenly, the barriers fell and both spoke openly, honestly, and freely about what they cared about.

"Tic-tac," said the old clock, "be careful, fragile! Emerging feelings require delicacy..."

"Don't interfere," replied the old dresser, who had seen others. "It is not a question of time, but of depth and field..."

"Hold your tongue," interrupted the great mirror, "it is I who gives the perspective!"

.....

Voilaa with another chapter❤ and yes, furniture does always have things to say❤ please vote and comment❤

Oh and for you readers who made it to this chapter... thank you.