Haiku of Remembrances

I stopped for a moment in the living room, just past the entrance to the Indian-style decorated living room. I could already feel sweat forming, an unpleasant sensation; Beyond any doubt, due to the recent run along the Parisian subway system and rues. As I trailed my trolley luggage across the small space that the room was, my attention was caught by a glimpse of the Sacre-Coeur basil which, in the fading lights of the Decemberian twilight, glowed as if lit by a mid-summer’s sunshine. At the opposite end of the room my professor, my young host and his mother were enjoying a French apéritif, several bottles of wine aligned on the dark wooden table before them, all shimmer of various shades of red. The Russian accent of my professor had been enhanced by the considerable amount of wine she had been drinking, and she was now intensely discussing the qualities of Russian Vodka compared to French Wine with my host’s mother. Both of them appeared to be enjoying the discussion, whereas my host, in his “suit and white tie” attorney appeared slightly uncomfortable. I leaned my trolley against a wooden bookcase along one of the walls and, careful not to stumble on any of the many statues representing Indian deities, moved to sit next to my professor. “Natasha.” – I whisper to her. “My dearest.” – She answered in a voice several times louder than I would have liked her to, suddenly drawing the attention of our hosts. – “How are you finding Paris? You’ll see, you’ll love this, I suppose your friends are already exploring the city for themselves, why are you still here? Go! Go! We will have to work later tonight!” “May I have a word with you…?” – I insisted, wearing the usual expression I set up whenever I needed to have a word with her in private. She stood up and, without a word of explanation to the looks of slight curiosity and amusements of our hosts took me to the upstairs floor. There, in a kitchen whose modern style severely contrasted with the look of the floor below, she look at me inquisitively. “I think I forgot to buy a present for then.” – I said, with a mix of guilt and shyness, but then continued ready hastily – “But I saw an Italian wine store just around the corner on the street below, I can just run there and buy something now and…” But she stopped me, as she always did, by speaking over me – “My dearest, this doesn’t matter. Now you’re here, and you need to live your life. Pick up everything you can, speak to people, open yourself to the world, ok?”