01.01. Babel - Chapter One (1 / 4) - Paul Courbis



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Home > Various (and summer) > Babel - A (bad) novel by my friend Luke > 01.01. Babel - Chapter One (1 / 4)

01.01. Babel - Chapter One (1 / 4)

Monday 11 June 2007, by Luc de Bauprois

Chapter One

Alain Montfranc was sitting at a desk, metal peeling paint, busy typing a report on a typewriter he called "old enough to have been used to type the special flash announcing the birth of Christ." You could say it was rather large, as measured 1 m 83, and her face reflected her strong determined character, sometimes passionate.

The phone rang, but he took the time to finish his sentence calmly before leaving:

- Montfranc, "he said firmly, leaning back in his chair.

- Hi old branch! answered a distant voice he knew well.

- Marc! How are you?

- It’s going pretty well ... I changed my service: I am now to identity.

- You spend the day contemplating the portraits and sorting out dusty records, I suppose? Alain quipped.

- Always your fucking sense of humor! It is, you see that the service is fully automated: some keystrokes and you see scroll life of the person ...

- You know me, computers ...

- Oh I know, in your case you can almost speak of allergy!

- It’s not like you! Always fascinated by these fucking machines?

- Yes! I just purchased a new computer: a ...

Alain did not give him time to finish his sentence:

- Oh, the beard! Anyway I do not understand!

- Ok, I am silent ... And you, what has become of you?

- I also changed the service ...

- I’ll come to realize, given the harm I had to find you. Why did you leave your old duty station? I thought the action was your chosen field? What are you doing now?

- I have not really given a choice ... We have found that I had shown too much zeal in the history of nutcase who disfigured whores Boulogne ...

- What? So it was you, the story with the brother ...

Alain did not let him mention the name:

- Shhh! I do not like talking about it ... And I do not even know if I am not listening! In short, I was "promoted" to a fucking position paper pushers they have more or less created especially for me: "Service Statistics Studies Psychology of Crime." A pompous title for a job in an office filthy shit!

- And that is why?

- Simply pick up all the criminal records of the fourteenth district to determine the proportion of crimes committed by mentally ill ...

- I see ...

- You do not see anything, "grumbled Alain. It’s even more boring than you can imagine ... And in addition it will never serve anyone!

- Go courage, if you make yourself forget, certainly you will end up having another promotion ... A return to service work, for example.

- I hope ...

- We dined together one evening?

- Why not? Let’s see, today is Tuesday. Tonight is a bit early. Tomorrow?

- Sorry, I have too much work: my calendar is fully booked until Thursday.

- Next Monday, it suits you?

- It suits me! You still have no car?

- No, I have not changed my opinion: it must be crazy to walk on hand in Paris!

- I understand! I’ll pick you up at six o’clock next Monday. It works?

- It works! At Monday.

Alain hung up the phone, thoughtfully: he recalled the events that had led to his transfer and said he would have done better to crash at the time ... But deep inside himself he knew that he would never drop a case.

He looked up at the clock in front of him: it showed six twenty. Looking down at his paper, he wondered if he would complete his report or return the completed overnight. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and muttered to himself:

- I was criticized my overzealous? Well ...

He put his business quietly, pen, pencil, eraser and other utensils round leather, looking a little absent, looking wistfully his service revolver which lay at the bottom of the drawer. After some hesitation, he decided to take it, "in case" ...

He got up and carefully closed the door of his office ("without noise or any noise," thought he, "especially not to wake the others!") And put on his jacket while walking down a light step the staircase metal sounded ominously under his feet ...

The heavy door of the office once completed, he stayed up the steps of gray concrete steps, like a diver who is reluctant to jump into the tumult of waters at his feet, a crowd of anonymous people thronged , Many People happy to leave work and go home to plant in front of their television sets by gorging of various junk.

His gaze drifted to the sky that displayed his usual yellowish: the veil, it protected the town of acid rain and other pollution, had also lost the sun and clouds, hot and cold ... Only small changes light gave a vague idea of this time outdoors. Anyway, we did not watch the veil, let alone Babel, the tower was his immense support, building of some six thousand feet high, whose base mass occupied more than half of the sixth arrondissement.

Alain looked away. He knew that if we saw the set and turn his head would soon be briefed and Alain would be entitled to comment on his behavior, suspected of sedition curling: admirers of Babel existed, his sincere devotion unofficial mix pagan rituals and conspiracies against the state.

These fanatics were generally collected at the base of the immense building. Occasionally some of them, driven by an ardent mystic frenzy, trying to climb the glass walls ... before falling back soon!

Some were shown unparalleled audacity and managed to rise high enough. But, whatever the height reached, the penalty was still the same, and Alain had more than once helped pick dismantles their corpses ...

Other fanatics were joining the first few times: to fight!

There were fierce opponents who accused the tower of all evils: they claimed that such a gigantic construction site had drained most of the international financial flows, while hypertrophic some sectors of the economy, now become useless. This would, they say, leads to an imbalance in the global economy, the major cause of extreme tension that existed now between the major powers ...

Both groups accused each other of all evil, all corruptions. The fanatics claimed that opponents were responsible for the fire that destroyed the tower a few years ago, opponents responded that they were fanatics who, in a fit of delirium religious group, had caused the loss.

But the two factions formed only a minority of the population, poorly regarded by those they described disdainfully as "neutral."

The voice of the messenger brought him back to reality:

Continued ...


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