Under The Summer Sun

Whenever he left on a reporting assignment, filth and misery inspired him… And Paris was filled with them! Taking postcard snaps did not interest him. To each his own creative universe.

Frank rubbed his eyes. On the phone screen was a text message from Svetlana. This surprise had made him jump off the bed. In the message, Svetlana mentioned that she would be free on the coming Sunday. She would appreciate having a guide to show her around a nice neighbourhood in Paris. She had ended her message with an innocent smiley face emoji. Surprised to have received the text, a profound joy overpowered Frank. He no longer had to torture himself in trying to decide whether or not he should contact her, she had handled it first. That approach meant a lot for him. This woman seemed sincere and really wanted to see him again, walk around with him and get to know him. Maybe she wanted something else too? Frank probably went too far there. This delight would keep him in a good mood for the three days that separated him from this meeting. The psychological torment of the memory of his ex-love was already leaving him. Frank felt ready for a new love story. He responded favourably to her instantly. He also took the opportunity to give her his email address. Svetlana had reacted by giving him hers, again followed by a smiley identical to that of the previous message. This simple icon brought out so much kindness through such a brief exchange that he was sure he had met a wonderful girl.

That evening, Frank waited patiently in front of his computer screen. He had added Svetlana as a contact on Skype. Suddenly, the stranger who he had been waiting for so excitedly connected. She told him about her job as well as her troubles, as if Frank had become an intimate friend that she had been talking to for years now.

She explained to him that at her workplace, the atmosphere was not the happiest. The manager regularly lashed out at the workers that she thought were incapable. Frequently, there were thefts. Nobody noticed anything, not even the watchman. Immediately, hysterical and paranoid, she would accuse each of her workers in turn, even imagining an internal conspiracy against her.

Most of her colleagues were from abroad. Dreaming of discovering France, people travelled to the country during the summer season when a greater workforce was usually needed. Other than Svetlana from Russia, there was a Moldavian, two Ukrainians, one Chinese and a Brazilian. Two French women completed the team. Their boss was also a French woman, with Korean roots from her parents. As for the woman who was managing the shop at the time, she was French. This business was a real melting pot. Some of the saleswomen could not speak a word of French. They compensated for this shortcoming by perfectly mastering English, which became necessary when talking with customers who were often tourists and did not understand French. Svetlana was able to practice the languages she had learned. She found that to be the only advantage of that job.

They had decided to walk around the area of Montmartre. Svetlana had not yet been able to visit Paris. Now that she had more time, she wanted to catch up. She had only seen the Eiffel Tower, and just from the outside. When Svetlana saw the metal mass, she thought, “What? This is the famous Eiffel Tower? It’s really not that extraordinary!”

Her Ukrainian friend who accompanied her had had a total lack of reaction. Known around the world as the symbol of France and “its liberties”, this monument had a pitiful effect on these two women, quite far from the initial excitement they first felt on seeing different pictures of it before they came. All the magic of a shot is hidden in the correct balancing of the shutter that defines the exposure time and the opening of the diaphragm that lets the light through. The choice of focal length should offer a good angle of view and a judicious frame that can give life to any fantasy.

Svetlana’s lack of time, which limited the number of places she was able to visit since her arrival was due to an end of year assignment that she had not yet completed and had to send to her teacher as soon as possible. To connect her passions—art and French—Svetlana wanted to translate into Russian and subtitle several songs from the movie The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. It was her favourite French film. Despite being a little later than the deadline, Svetlana had sent in her work online, once she was done. Then she got the highest mark. How exciting! She could now be sure that she was moving on to her fifth and final year, with congratulations from the teacher as an added bonus. As a reward, she allowed herself to enjoy her free time and relax as much as she wanted after all her hard work.

During the three days of waiting, Frank had received an e-mail from one of his friends, Elijah, who he had studied the same post-baccalaureate curriculum with and who, for some obscure reason, then turned to the cinema. A few years later, Frank joined him. Elijah justified this choice with a quote from Jean-Luc Godard, from the movie The Little Soldier, “Photography is truth. The cinema is truth twenty-four times per second!” The truth twenty-four times per second… this idea provokes so much thought that no words can describe the lasting impression.

Elijah had become quite a gifted filmmaker in his genre, a genre that alternated between genius and madness, and which lets a powerful uppercut slip in this snobbish industry that hides a “big family” of false-asses, in which many people hold hatred and jealousy for each other, or who would play a dirty trick on you for no good reason.

Elijah was staying in Lebanon for two months. He was thinking about his second feature film. Just like the previous project, this production would come to fruition thanks to some generous sponsors who knew one of Elijah’s close friends and who were not asking for anything in return. The cost of producing the film would amount to less than five thousand euros, and being surrounded by a few passionate and precious friends who believed in his work. In his email, Elijah informed Frank that his script would be finalized soon. His Lebanese friends were doing well, his family too. He breathed freedom, far from Parisian oppression, far from his dilapidated palace of fifteen square meters, a living space representing the size of one of his bathrooms in Lebanon and in his own words, “The size of my crappers!”

Paris… the artificial heart of France. City of sacrifices and sufferings in hopes of one day “succeeding”.

Frank had replied to the message. He updated him on the details of the past few days, detailing how he had met the eyes of a pretty Russian girl who would perhaps make him forget about the one who had made him feel so bad the previous weeks: his ex-girlfriend, who was also a foreigner. He only considered this person as an ephemeral lover when she came to relax and enjoy herself during a usual Parisian trip that she did once or twice a year. Frank promised to keep him informed if anything happened with this young woman and told him to enjoy his vacation in the sun before returning to looking himself up in a discoloured Paris.

2.

Svetlana and Frank had agreed to meet up at the Abbesses metro station. He planned to show her Montmartre as well as the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris. The weather was not very accommodating; huge grey clouds threatened to pour down. A few beams of sunlight poked their way through the thick cloudy layer here and there, as best as they could. What sad weather for a first date!

Frank had been waiting for ten minutes now. He was not early. No, Svetlana was late. He had already tried calling her but he had gotten her voicemail.

In front of the station’s exit, a married couple had just appeared out of nowhere. Followed by a film crew, these people had invaded the tiny place. Seeing all the equipment, Frank thought for a moment that it was a production for a show. There was a cameraman with a Steadicam around his waist. The equipment seemed heavier than the camera itself which was a small digital camcorder. Another person was pointing a portable light. An assistant guided the cameraman who only relied on the LCD screen. A fourth guy prevented an entire assembly of people from advancing too far—the presence certainly of both families and friends. Frank had moved away from them so as not to be seen. The lovers took acrobatic poses, while obstructing access to the metro. Frank found the whole charade ridiculous. This is the kind of craziness that having too much money causes.

People had finally been able to get out of the underground station, once they were finally allowed to pass. Frank still could not find Svetlana, in this wave of people. He continued to follow the commotion from the couple. Then he turned to watch children screaming around a carousel. Nearby, a clown had started juggling. Tourists circled around him. On the right, a man added a beat by turning the handle of a music box. What an anachronistic atmosphere! The charm worked. The magic of Montmartre was exposed to the eyes of all, despite a gloomy weather.

When Frank had looked again in front of the metro station, a woman started to run in his direction. Frank had not immediately recognized her but it was Svetlana. She had let down her slightly wavy hair that day.

Svetlana had a technique to easily curl her hair. She took a shower, then she made braids that she then undid one by one. This process required a lot of time, but her hair remained styled for about three full days. Just the day before, Svetlana had washed her long mane, so that Frank could see her defined curls. Her hair was ash-blond at the roots and bright at the ends. Seeing it at a glance, the colour seemed chestnut brown, quite light. Frank seemed to like the length of her hair, that reached a little lower than her shoulders, and its distinctive natural colour.

In this unexpected behaviour, Frank had noticed her sweetness and felt an immediate attachment to her. Did he fall victim to what is typically called “love at first sight”? Hard to say. In any case, he was hypnotized, seduced and bewitched by her presence. This real spontaneity combined with her innate and undeniable charm made him weak. One without the other would have produced a different effect.

He had already met very beautiful women who were too arrogant or not very friendly, or even those who were so eager that it overshadowed all their attractive traits. Svetlana’s appearance was full of joy, warmth, and was striving to offer a grace that separated her from the multitude.

They had exchanged a kiss on each cheek, both embarrassed and delighted to see each other. She apologized for being late. Frank did not need her to. She was easily forgiven. Her simple radiating aura was enough to redraw a smile on the face of any man in a state of depression. To him, Svetlana a pretty star, which, like an aurora, flooded the sky and the Earth with a special, magical, unique and grandiose atmosphere. She was a hymn paying homage to life.

Frank thought for a while about the best route to climb to the Sacred Heart. They had finally decided to take the first street in front of them, knowing that they had to venture on the sloping roads ahead. Frank, however, had come here on many occasions, without ever taking the same path. There were quite a few access roads. He was very fond of this neighbourhood. He found it perfect for a romantic walk, especially if the sun honoured the day with its presence. Despite not having the best weather, the pair really wanted to get to know each other. They talked about a little bit of everything and nothing, as often happens when two people arrange to meet up and hit it off during a first outing. They both asked questions to get to know each other better, to see if each one reacts correctly, and to see if their conversation could easily flow from one topic to another. Svetlana had told him many random little details. Amongst other things, she did not know how to listen to her voicemail. The instruction manual that came with the SIM card did not have much useful information. Since they were connected to the same operator, Svetlana had given him her phone to show her how to do it. The menus were displayed in Russian! Frank had not been able to navigate through her phone. She had an old coloured Nokia that had clearly been through a lot. Once the summer was over and she had a little money put aside, she was hoping to buy a smartphone. She would return to the technological race and especially to that of consumption… Apart from a caveman, who could resist? This evolutionary process is part of everyday life. Nobody is forced to acquire the latest version of an object, sometimes for a simple change of design and a fake new function presented as revolutionary; revolutionary only for your wallet. Frank took out his Samsung, a very old model, too. After searching through the menu, he told her the right combination of digits that would give her access to her voicemail.

Listening to her voice messages, Svetlana had burst out laughing. There were only three people who had her French number because she knew very few people in Paris and her friends mostly contacted her on the Internet. The first to get her number was her Ukrainian colleague, the second was a Russian friend who came to France to work in a restaurant, on the west coast, by the sea. Svetlana would have hated doing that kind of job. She preferred hers, although in her eyes it did not really suit her. The culprit who had left her two messages was none other than Frank… who wondered why she was laughing so much. He had simply told her that he was at the place and that he hoped she was doing well. Frank stared at her with a soft look. Svetlana’s cheerful and spontaneous disposition pleased him immensely.

They had crossed through several alleys before arriving in front of the basilica, exhausted, following the innumerable slopes they had had to climb. The place was crowded. All weekend long there were performances of acrobatics on skateboards. Multiple CRS officers were present to ensure safety. Between two rows of barriers, they had taken the one and only authorized path that allowed access to the steps of the building. To get to the hall, they had to slalom between the hesitant tourists.

Inside, the crowd was piling up! They were forced to take small steps moving forward. This slow progression helped them to recover from the gruelling obstacle course they had just crossed.

Although a nonbeliever, in the sense of the divinity of Christ—a man who was raised to the rank of son of God so that the ruling bodies of the time could better control the populace—and not the rejection of a message of hope filled with words and noble ideals for mankind and his neighbour, Svetlana questioned herself, sought herself. She wondered about the value of life, about the human condition, which for her necessarily had the most meaning. Nevertheless, she appreciated the grandiose spectacle that this interior offered. They had just entered the lair of one of the last masterpieces built in Catholic France, and they continued their walk by completing the tour. They then went to the basement to visit the crypt. Afterwards, they had climbed to the top.

Frank decided to pay for her. Like most monuments, this sanctuary was no different: to go up, you had to take out your credit card. This capitalist gesture made it possible to maintain the buildings, to minimize the number of “curious people” and also, the best yet, to create some jobs. Basically, it was for a good cause. For the good cause then, Frank had bought two entries. And above all, he got them for his own good cause…

A state of the art, cutting edge technological facility stood in front of the clientele. Without even having to chat with a ticket clerk, anyone could carry out the transaction to pay for the passes. A modernity that contrasted with the old cathedral.

Svetlana was holding a camera in one hand. She did not use it, which intrigued Frank. He had asked her if she wanted him to take a picture of her. She had nodded and handed him the camera. Svetlana looked good on the screen. She was so photogenic she paid tribute to postcards. Frank was aware, however, that she would not give them to him. Any photographer, whoever it is, likes to keep proof of his work, even if in a digital form. Even though the shots were not taken under professional conditions and with consumer equipment, what he liked most of all was nothing more than the image of Svetlana. He then took out his old cell phone that did not have very good resolution and immortalized his model in different poses, once again. Despite the lower image quality offered by this product, he figured that at least he would have some memories of that day for if he did not get another chance to see this young woman who he found more and more amazing as the time went by.

At the top, Frank had again lingered to play with Svetlana. He gazed at her, admired her for a long time, prolonged the poses. The shutter was triggered several times in a row. Tourists watched and had to wait to pass. Frank did not even notice the backup he was causing. He had escaped into a closed universe, hypnotized and enchanted by his subject. He directed her, and governed her gestures and conduct. Svetlana obeyed, like a well behaved and obedient model. This girl’s magnetism acted on Frank like a spell that would have taken control of his emotions. As for her, she had perfectly well noticed his little game. Charming, she set herself free in the atypical fantasy of the character. By his attitude she thought he was gallant, kind, sweet, and especially desirable. She was attracted to him.

“Let him have fun so passionately and see if any good will come of it,” she thought.

When Frank had regained his usual behavioural state, in one look he realised the trouble that he had caused. Nobody dared to disturb the man who had been transmuted through an artistic trance. The visitors waited as if they had seen a street show. Embarrassed, Frank smiled. With a wave of the hand, he let them know they could now walk around.

Approaching Frank, Svetlana said that he had acted like a mean person by blocking all those people. In the future, she would have to be suspicious of him.

Frank had given her back her camera. He replied that she would keep a good memory of this place and that putting that device in his hands could become dangerous, especially when the model is so good at what she does. Frank had told her that she looked great on camera. While posing, she had fun in front of the camera. It might be interesting for her to appear in original outfits for fashion spreads, using a less mainstream camera that would offer pictures of a much higher quality.

Svetlana had never thought of it. She said she would think about it.

“In the meantime, I’ll put the camera in my bag,” she added.

After they had completed their tour, two tourists had accosted them in front of the building. In English, they asked how they could pay for the passes to explore the heights of the Sacred Heart. In cash or by card?

Frank had not understood their question. Like all good self-respecting French people, he knew only the official language of the country. While Svetlana was scrutinizing him with her big blue eyes and smiling tenderly, Frank had answered them, “Sorry, I do not speak English,” in English. He had begun moving away from them as quickly as they had been approached. Svetlana stayed put. She translated the question for Frank so that he could understand it. He turned around and was surprised to see that she was still standing near them. He came closer to mention what he had seen before: there was an automatic machine to pay by credit card and a counter with staff who took cash. Svetlana translated what he said immediately after, as Frank, who was captivated as he watched her, found that she mastered English even better than French. He was fascinated to discover that at only twenty years old this young woman spoke three languages. He told her that in her company it would be impossible to get lost abroad because she knew Russian, English and French. She jokingly replied that she knew she was the perfect woman. In this case, they should plan a trip together. Frank thought about it, surprised by this reaction. This suggestion could not have had an ounce of seriousness. As a result, there was no follow-up.

At that time, Frank did not know that Svetlana had already bought tickets to visit Belgium and the Netherlands in the coming days. They were short trips but still special for Svetlana who wanted to discover Europe. She didn’t think she would ever get another opportunity to do so. Somehow, she hoped that Frank would propose to join her, more for fear of a solo exploration than some ambiguous thought. Frank was not going to say anything like that when she told him about her plans. Deep down, he would have liked to accompany her, even the idea had crossed his mind. Except that, financially, he could not afford it too much. In addition, another constraint prevented him, professional this time. Their schedules were not compatible. It was useless for him to dwell on the thought.

Frank had suggested that they continued their trip by visiting the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, which she accepted willingly.

The journey had taken a good hour. Frank had underestimated how long it took to walk to there from the basilica. On the way, they continued sharing snippets of their respective lives. Frank had told her about his photography work. Svetlana found this very interesting. For her, photography was a wonderful form of artistic expression. She had pointed out that he had not brought a camera to immortalize their outing. She was teasing him…

“But I do not have any of my own… I rent it when I need it for a report or a photo shoot,” he explained.

She was surprised. She had not realised that professional equipment was so expensive, especially optics. Frank did not need it for more than two days at a time, so renting was the best choice. It was a choice that allowed him to avoid having to endure a consumer credit that he would have struggled to pay back, pushing his already unstable situation to a worse place. In that moment, Frank considered himself as just another other tourist using his phone to take pictures. Svetlana was a very bad photographer. She preferred to look at the photos. On the other hand, her parents wanted her to bring back some pictures. They had never had the opportunity to travel across Europe.

Conversation between them flowed effortlessly. Frank was genuinely beginning to fall for her. From time to time, he corrected some mistakes with her French. She was happy he did that. Yet she would have hoped more from a Frenchman who mastered the language. Svetlana wished that Frank had interrupted her every single time she made a mistake and that he corrected the construction of her sentences too.

Staying in France caused a great cultural shock for Svetlana. Life and people here seemed different from back home. She did not feel comfortable hearing conversations in French all around her. She felt like her French language skills weren’t that great. Her colleagues tried to reassure her: they themselves thought they did not have enough knowledge to speak properly in French. However, unlike Svetlana, they were happy just being understood by the French.

Frank thought it was normal for Svetlana to face difficulties, since she was in France for the very first time. She was not familiar with the sound of the language. Svetlana was surprised that Frank understood everything correctly when she spoke. She was also surprised to understand every last word he said. At the store, dialect problems arose when she had to decode the gibberish of some customers who were nevertheless native French people. So, their clear exchange delighted her. The communication was so smooth it allowed them to focus on getting to know each other.

When Frank did not correct Svetlana, it was because the fault seemed minimal to him. Above all, he was accustomed to spending time with foreign women and decrypting their strange sentence constructions, in some cases. As Frank did not pay attention to all the mistakes, he was a little taken aback whenever Svetlana she realised that she had just made an error. Frank tried to reassure her: it was only minor faults in the conjugation or placement of words. Nothing serious, according to him. For her, making such mistakes seemed like the end of the world. She was ashamed of it and considered herself worthless in French. She wanted to master the language perfectly.

To get to the park, they had crossed a large part of the nineteenth arrondissement, some of the gloomiest corners of Paris among which it would be possible to award the gold medal of French rot. And this filth is a good business, the price per square meter is higher than in sunny southern areas. Svetlana felt like she was at home. It was the buildings, the shops, the particularly ugly and dirty aesthetics that reminded her of the city she came from. It was not at all like the touristy areas that visitors strolled through to admire. Here, they roamed an area at the antipode of Paris that sells through postcards. And yet, in these places the greatest human values are certainly hidden, far from this false and mannered bourgeoisie.