Puzzled

At the doorstep Nicolas stands, a Russian ushanka-hat on his head and a bottle of French wine in his hands.

“Hey, you’re early.” I say.

“No, I am not. Right on time, as agreed, at seven.” He replies, presenting me with the bottle.

“Thanks. I must have been dreaming, then.”

“Yeah. The happy don’t keep account of time, as one of your Russian classics said once.”

“Do you mean Alexander Griboyedov?”[2 - Alexander Sergeyevich Griboyedov (January 15, 1795 – February 11, 1829) – a Russian diplomat, playwright, poet, and composer.]

“That’s right,” says Nicolas, pulling his hat off, and walks in. “That phrase is the only legacy left to me by my ex, a devotee of Russian classics.”

“And the hat?” I ask, smiling.

“And the hat too…”

I leave him in the hall and head to the kitchen.

Episode 3 – What Girl?

Monte Carlo, 24 December 2010

Before me, the sea stretches out into the horizon. Above it, the dark purple clouds hang low in the sky.

I hear gusts of wind, crashing against the French windows of my room. With every gust the glass trembles and sweats down glistening droplets of rain.

I sit at the desk, cocooned by the soft glow of the candle standing by my laptop.

The sound of rushed footsteps and lifted voices is coming from downstairs. Maman is throwing a big reception tonight: her annual Christmas dinner. If it were for me I wouldn’t attend it. I hate chatting to the girls of her friends, pretending to be interested in nonsense they utter at me.

Directing my thoughts towards more positive subject, I Google her name, which by now has become so dear to me, and scroll through the links. A site that seems interesting catches my eye.

I click on it.

Suddenly, the door opens and in marches maman.

“Mum, why on earth you can never knock?” I cry out, deleting the page from the screen.

“What an annoying habit to sit in darkness,” she says and turns the light on.

I squint.

“Chéri[3 - Cheri (Fr.) – dear], why are you sitting at your desk, not ready? The guests will be arriving in half an hour and, apparently, you haven’t been to shower yet!”

“I can’t care less for your ludicrous guests.” I say.

“These, as you call them, ludicrous guests are the most influential families of Monaco. At your age, I was already engaged and you don’t even have a decent girl!”

“What girl?” I reply.

“Don’t play stupid. You know what I mean!”

“All-right. But what has it got to do with anything?” I stand up and turn the light down.

“It has to do with everything, because all you do is stare into your stupid computer and listen to your stupid music!” She cries out, her diamonds fiercely sparkling in the candlelight.

A furiously sparkling Christmas tree… I turn away, trying not to burst into laughter.

“Luke, you don’t listen to me at all!”

Episode 4 – The Number of The Beast

London, 24 December 2010

“Shall I keep my shoes on?” Nicolas shouts to me from the hall.

“As you wish,” I shout back.

“Do you need any help?” He asks, walking into the kitchen.

“No, thanks, it’s fine. Mum’s cook took care of everything this afternoon. She said just to heat it up whenever we wish.”

“Here, I’ve got a little present for you.”

He hands me a shiny red package, tied up with a golden ribbon.

“Thank you, I’ve something for you too.”

I take his present to the living room and come back. Nicolas sits at the bar in the middle of the kitchen, studying his reflection in the polished pans that hang above his head.

I peek inside the oven. The roasted duck is warming up nicely.

I take out plates and start arranging steamed vegetables and boiled potatoes on them.

“Do you know anything about The Number of The Beast?” I ask, finishing with the vegetables and moving to French cheeses.

“What do you need that for? Are you into occultism now?”

“No, I’m not, just being curious. I heard about it once from an acquaintance of mine. But it’s a long story…”

“I see. Well, as far as I know, The Number of The Beast has got something to do with the name of the Antichrist that corresponds to a certain numerical value. The mark can be identified by either the beast’s name, or the numerical of his name. For example, Friedrich von Hezel believed that Napoleon Bonaparte [4 - Napoleon Bonaparte – born Napoleone di Buonaparte, (15 August 1769 – 5 May 1821) was a French military and political leader who rose to prominence during the latter stages of the French Revolution and its associated wars.]was such a beast.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Sure about what?” He looks up at me.

“Well, you know, about the beast thing…”