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ROULETTE
 
SHORT FICTION 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
MADATHIL NARAYANAN RAJKUMAR 
 
 
 
 
 
1 
​At Salle Blanche, the roulette table did not turn to his 
favour. In this pinnacle of autumn, when even the 
winged animals were kept in for want of warmth, he 
was captured in a chain of alarming musings, yet not 
knowing what couldn't evade from its gloom. He 
knew for beyond any doubt that the adorable 
moments are shorter and on that, he stayed on this 
concrete structure that had a watercourse streaming 
along underneath would further drug mind into 
debacles in thought. Summer has gone. 
Another kin left home with family. They are inspired 
by the family's collective aspirations. Each evening at 
the feasting table, they would describe the day and 
chalk out what ought to be done the next day... This 
was the family's condition in a flourishing time when 
they had land at every alcove of the country. 
He didn't realize what to do precisely. He only 
desired to sit somewhere and disregard all that stuff, 
his own choosing to bring a taxi with his life partner 
with the euros, his father had given at the 
air terminus and come here and partake in the most 
ludicrous of actions ever and lose them all... 
 
 
1
From her part, she was oblivious to everything at the 
start...Her home in Sighisoara was one of handful few 
in that old style with an unmistakable perspective of 
the Tanners Tower. The edifice was displayed on a 
stage house, with great veneers a couple of 
kilometres far from the old religious community. 
Times have changed. 
She met her father before going to roulette with the 
fiance. His absence of excitement was clear in the 
grin right before parting. Still, he gathered himself 
and favoured her and reminded her to see the daisies 
in the garden that have bloomed yesterday. She did 
that and culled a couple of blooms while holding her 
St. John's cross towards the right bosom and 
summoning every single courageous thought 
conceivable, stood there for some time. In the event 
an odd otherworldly phenomenon could have 
forborne her from these future programs, she 
wished... 
She fled the dwelling abruptly, her garments still on 
the drier. She had just a plain cascava and frappes in 
the morning which her mother had given her. She 
made her take the spotted parasol for she supposed 
that it may rain in the regions she went. She took the 
train to Brasov to meet and report to her friend at the 
dance hall, that she would be away for a week and 
charged her to take care of her dancing equipment 
while she was away. 
2
 
In Bucharest, she met a juvenile duo, the musical 
performers. She noticed in the young lady's eye, that 
extraordinary glow for future, just ladies of her kind 
have, a noble and chaste zest of spirit and hope. 
Essentially the equivalent of a saint spending her days 
in a lorn cloister, setting herself up for something 
pure and consecrated and worthy of 
presenting to eras to come. The pair was rehearsing 
an opera, the boy has composed on Emily Dickinson's 
poem No-712. What an accident, she 
thought, she has perused the lines for the nth time. 
She was overwhelmed by the last section of the 
steed's heads turned towards eternity... 
 
 
He stayed in the chamber for three consecutive 
nights, sometimes narrating libystic stories when she 
would rest, her eyes on the roof and her head 
trouncing on the yellow pad. It was on the third night 
that it rained. She had no knowledge of seasons. In 
any case, it down-poured. She held her face toward 
the 
murky void of the sky that was still yet dormant, with 
blended emotions. The branches soaked in the 
downpour, coyed, but lay helpless for some other 
point. The torrent was pounding hard and wide and 
talking to one another in a secret jargon that only the 
3
branches and the earth and the ether knew. The 
sprinkles fell in gigantic sheds and wet the heretofore 
dry turfs in flashes and the water in strong puddles 
occupied every hidden edge of sod at each drive. She 
returned to the lodging and incredibly, a profound 
moan of longing for another territory filled her soul.  
 
When he returned from his walk, doused in water, 
she passed the towel towards him and he wiped the 
head and body mostly and with a sudden energy, 
stood beside and touched her beribboned hair, his 
heart ticking speedier than ever. In any case, she 
realized that he couldn't extinguish even a thin bit of 
what she actually stood for in this life, which will be 
more akin to her choice than something offered by a 
human as gift, a constant deepening of being, in her 
scan for something honourable and excellent and will 
keep going forever. She is alone and still, she will fill 
this vacuum humbly and without a request. 
 
3 
 
By all means, he little realized what she was, what she 
proposed to be. Notwithstanding the truth that he 
has known her since childhood and they frequently 
played together being cousins and members of a clan 
that dispersed around in many parts, with deep roots 
and customs and superstitions, scattered kinsmen, 
4
cooperative in times of need and crisis, at dire straits 
and festivities- Still, he admitted to his lack of 
acquaintance with her on many fundamental levels, 
unmistakably enough. This proposed wedlock was a 
little stun to him as much as it was to her. It was his 
loved mother's wish that he marry her and he never 
wanted to affront her in any capacity in her 
debilitated situation. But, did you readers asked what 
was her will? This story is in a way, about that.  
 
She was of a thin frame, but with long athletic legs, 
stout hands, and a longer nose with a unique curve to 
the end of it. Her lips were broad and even while she 
was not smiling, it created an impression that she 
was doing so. Strong, talented- that was the model 
she wanted to build on, and it irked many of her 
peers to admit that she was above them in many 
unpredictable ways... She amazed him in the debating 
club by contradicting his views. He was taking after a 
critic’s line of contentions that portrayed Death as 
the dignified beau, another version of Richardson’s 
courtly love. She said that Emily Dickinson ought to 
be explained in her own terms. First, no one caught 
on. Still, after she made solid harangue against the 
commentator and stated, was it after all the wistful 
aspirations of a spinster, who was denied by all and 
her own particular endeavours to make up for that 
5
the feeling of denial through her poetry--Perhaps, 
that was the 
the minute he took a slight interest in her. He 
realized 
that she was marginally unique in relation to her 
friends, however, they were by all accounts winged 
animals of the same feather. Now, she smiled to 
herself and thought of how she would take up at the 
club her old argument, that is already in some circles 
that Odyssey is written by a woman. 
 
4 
 
At the end of the dimly lit tables, she pondered over 
the scene. As if it were never a part of her life. The 
crowd of busy men and women, all in a self-propelled 
vision, they created for this day or days like this but 
grasping in the depths of mind that it amounted to 
nothing significant. Losing and gaining is distributed 
in the existing spectrum of life within perhaps a 
broader period, but here, the members of this coterie 
wanted to play that game in the wink of the eye. To 
see themselves as the makers of their own destinies 
in a fraction of time. These are bright struggles if it 
has some reciprocity to your fellow souls, but here, 
like the pilgrims of their own selfish pursuits, they 
fancied to disregard that the tables could be turned 
against them mercilessly. She glanced at her fiance, 
6
who appeared cheerful and at a distance chatting to a 
young pair, whom he might have known earlier. After 
all, he is a regular to these destinations of odd 
delights,  
 
All on a sudden, she saw her American Literature 
professor toward the finish of the lobby joined by a 
young fellow who had an interesting coiffure 
touching 
shoulders. Yorick's skull, she thought. She went close 
to the educator and wished him. The teacher was 
moderately astounded at seeing her. He introduced 
the 
young fellow as his son to the members of the 
gathering. She, in turn, introduced her fiance to both 
of them, and in a short span, they became one group. 
The professor said that he comes to Monte Carlo, 
twice a year and he is addicted to the session of 
roulette. She contemplated over this data and this 
was for her another look into a man's life which she 
thought as loaded with numerous inconceivable 
outcomes, maybe some part obscure to her forever. 
They shared a table. The teacher and 
her life partner had a mojito kind of drink. But his son 
requested plain water, and in the wake of opening the 
pack, took the French variant of "Romola" and began 
reading it while tasting the plain water at successive 
interims...He asked her what she would drink and she 
7
answered red wine and with great pleasure,he 
obliged to that. Yet, other than that, they had few 
talks and meanwhile, he took a gander at her in a 
loving manner as though he were in a bar with his 
dearest sister and a spoilt father and an equally spoilt 
brother in law. 
 
Her fiance smiled at the croupier warmly as they had 
associated each other before. She was not amazed. 
He had before posted concise notes from 
different Italian and American gambling clubs last 
summer. With the scholar, he had a spirited 
conversation on Italian table games of Hoca and Biribi 
and besides some French prepackaged games. He was 
reviewing 1886 Hoyle betting books, single zero and 
double zero and your chances of winning and such 
things. She looked around and saw men and ladies in 
an uncommon excitement, somewhat wild yet 
purposeless at root, putting down wagers as the ball 
spun around and the haggle merchant told no more 
wagers. At the point when the merchant got done 
with making payouts, the marker was expelled from 
the board and players looked assuaged and gathered 
their rewards and made new wagers. The triumphant 
chips drowsily rested on the board. 
 
8
In a vague vision, she had an inkling of the past when 
she has gone a year ago to a town by the Swiss Alps 
to see his grandparents. It was business that 
brought these folks to Bucharest and additionally her 
dad prized music and theatre….. On Berchtoldstag, he 
made wonderful hawks. She met him again that 
night, her mind loaded with whimsical c eets, half 
painted and they were glad. In 
the lady’s eyes flickered encompassing globes and 
granules. Now she is also away in districts obscure 
yet invariably listened to the rustle of a tyke... 
He came there with an anguished feeling all over 
while he was thumbing down everything that tagged 
along with his way lastly confessing to her that all is 
not well on the front and he required more time to 
settle. No, he was not ruthless, but solely bordering 
into a world of his own, an emperor of his imaginary 
kingdom, with his own rules, vassals and courtiers. 
She would not have bothered much unless it was 
connected to her own story, and now it is soon going 
to happen. Even the greatest saints, she has heard 
copy books in their leisure time ,so that the mind is 
not kept idle. She fussed for many minutes, thinking 
and rethinking pieces of anecdotes of yore and 
finally, his deep-throated voice was heard and he 
decided to go back to the country and he called the 
taxi. 
 
9
5 
 
The train halted at the station. It was an ancient 
country station that was not the standard stop of 
numerous trains, because it was partially wiped away 
from the new railroad map due to some changes in 
policy. There was an announcement that it would 
take a 
few more hours for the locomotive to proceed. Some 
hidden things occurred in transit, maybe a mishap, 
slaughter, or sudden 
switching in social situations, she didn't have an 
intimation. Her fiance recommended that they put 
the halt in the country, which may be an uncommon 
thing to do - and see the 
landscapes in the interim - and push ahead. Some 
time ago, this was a well-known health resort and 
was on the tourist map because of the medicinal 
water in the natural springs. For half of the year, the 
place remained gelid, and in November and 
December there was heavy snowfall from the 
mountains and during that period, the traffic was 
closed...In a way he was confident. He had still the 
fulgurant ring given by his mother, which she got 
from her own mama, and could pledge it or even sell 
it, if essential and can have a fitting time, and if things 
are not reconciled that way, he still has his diamond 
watch and he could accomplish something with that 
10
and she could rest assured that he will take her back 
to 
Bucharest securely...She was walking a few steps 
ahead and stopped suddenly so that he could reach 
her and they could proceed together. She eyed him 
from the corner and laboured to view the whole 
scene in a fresh way, and prayed hard to give her 
such a miraculous stand. All things considered, he is 
his future mate and she will approve of him now and 
perhaps always... 
 
 
Presently they passed the finish of a line of the 
the building, the shopkeeper was going after closing 
the 
shutters hurriedly as his wife was pursuing him. 
Perhaps he had accomplished something not 
fairish. All sights melted in the shimmer of a 
passing day. He was gazing down into the stream, a 
fresh waterway that was very similar to the one he 
saw somewhere in a vision. It was in an eastern town 
he ran with his uncle to see a holy person who had 
put up a cottage into the edge of the stream, that was 
fed just seasonally, and the sire stayed there many 
months a year, but not during monsoon. His uncle 
was an individual who took road contracts and went 
to various towns and villages of the country and was 
revered this man... 
11
 
So, this is her prospective mate and she will approve 
of him now and her grandparents need no doubt 
about it. From the network of roads, they took a turn 
to the left which was inhabited by an ethnic 
neighbourhood and there were lodges and there 
were 
also, a stack of mountains and ridges and falls that 
were coming like a livid stream and there in the sky 
was visible the first thunderbolts of the season, And 
as they were moving the rain poured suddenly. And 
from nowhere he had a joke, a familiar one on his lips 
and he only uttered it half and it rained. Her Fiance 
was not agitated vehemently over the change of 
weather and instead of further complaining about the 
rain, helped him call a carriage after several 
endeavours, as two or three of them, moved along 
without conducting them. 
 
And ultimately they got one, a wagon pulled by a 
single sturdy horse, and there was the little stretch 
inside the cart which smelt of coir and hay and 
sackcloth. He got inside and he pulled her speedily 
into it with a little giggling and she also chuckled, this 
time not thinking anything about their dismal events 
at the roulette table, but reflecting about her 
companion at Costesti who will wait for her at the 
dancehall. Yes, for further reception of the tale. She 
12
closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath 
and closed her eyes for a few more moments. He was 
still, and apparently with a host of feelings, and he 
was looking deeply into the precipitation and trying 
to gather from it a common language all humans in all 
seasons and territories can deduce without an 
interpreter. The gig advanced rocking them and her 
saw herself, much fatigued to the border of a 
slumber and her crest fell on his moving shoulder. 
They were like two kids, in a drizzly season, in a land 
discovered only this day, innocent of the world and 
its dismal passions, and shrouded with something 
immense and hidden, that made them unsuited for 
further lapses​.
……………...
FOLLOW THE AUTHOR'S BLOG @
https://benjaminlally212.wixsite.com/primavera
 
13

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ROULETTE-SHORT FICTION

  • 2.     1  ​At Salle Blanche, the roulette table did not turn to his  favour. In this pinnacle of autumn, when even the  winged animals were kept in for want of warmth, he  was captured in a chain of alarming musings, yet not  knowing what couldn't evade from its gloom. He  knew for beyond any doubt that the adorable  moments are shorter and on that, he stayed on this  concrete structure that had a watercourse streaming  along underneath would further drug mind into  debacles in thought. Summer has gone.  Another kin left home with family. They are inspired  by the family's collective aspirations. Each evening at  the feasting table, they would describe the day and  chalk out what ought to be done the next day... This  was the family's condition in a flourishing time when  they had land at every alcove of the country.  He didn't realize what to do precisely. He only  desired to sit somewhere and disregard all that stuff,  his own choosing to bring a taxi with his life partner  with the euros, his father had given at the  air terminus and come here and partake in the most  ludicrous of actions ever and lose them all...      1
  • 3. From her part, she was oblivious to everything at the  start...Her home in Sighisoara was one of handful few  in that old style with an unmistakable perspective of  the Tanners Tower. The edifice was displayed on a  stage house, with great veneers a couple of  kilometres far from the old religious community.  Times have changed.  She met her father before going to roulette with the  fiance. His absence of excitement was clear in the  grin right before parting. Still, he gathered himself  and favoured her and reminded her to see the daisies  in the garden that have bloomed yesterday. She did  that and culled a couple of blooms while holding her  St. John's cross towards the right bosom and  summoning every single courageous thought  conceivable, stood there for some time. In the event  an odd otherworldly phenomenon could have  forborne her from these future programs, she  wished...  She fled the dwelling abruptly, her garments still on  the drier. She had just a plain cascava and frappes in  the morning which her mother had given her. She  made her take the spotted parasol for she supposed  that it may rain in the regions she went. She took the  train to Brasov to meet and report to her friend at the  dance hall, that she would be away for a week and  charged her to take care of her dancing equipment  while she was away.  2
  • 4.   In Bucharest, she met a juvenile duo, the musical  performers. She noticed in the young lady's eye, that  extraordinary glow for future, just ladies of her kind  have, a noble and chaste zest of spirit and hope.  Essentially the equivalent of a saint spending her days  in a lorn cloister, setting herself up for something  pure and consecrated and worthy of  presenting to eras to come. The pair was rehearsing  an opera, the boy has composed on Emily Dickinson's  poem No-712. What an accident, she  thought, she has perused the lines for the nth time.  She was overwhelmed by the last section of the  steed's heads turned towards eternity...      He stayed in the chamber for three consecutive  nights, sometimes narrating libystic stories when she  would rest, her eyes on the roof and her head  trouncing on the yellow pad. It was on the third night  that it rained. She had no knowledge of seasons. In  any case, it down-poured. She held her face toward  the  murky void of the sky that was still yet dormant, with  blended emotions. The branches soaked in the  downpour, coyed, but lay helpless for some other  point. The torrent was pounding hard and wide and  talking to one another in a secret jargon that only the  3
  • 5. branches and the earth and the ether knew. The  sprinkles fell in gigantic sheds and wet the heretofore  dry turfs in flashes and the water in strong puddles  occupied every hidden edge of sod at each drive. She  returned to the lodging and incredibly, a profound  moan of longing for another territory filled her soul.     When he returned from his walk, doused in water,  she passed the towel towards him and he wiped the  head and body mostly and with a sudden energy,  stood beside and touched her beribboned hair, his  heart ticking speedier than ever. In any case, she  realized that he couldn't extinguish even a thin bit of  what she actually stood for in this life, which will be  more akin to her choice than something offered by a  human as gift, a constant deepening of being, in her  scan for something honourable and excellent and will  keep going forever. She is alone and still, she will fill  this vacuum humbly and without a request.    3    By all means, he little realized what she was, what she  proposed to be. Notwithstanding the truth that he  has known her since childhood and they frequently  played together being cousins and members of a clan  that dispersed around in many parts, with deep roots  and customs and superstitions, scattered kinsmen,  4
  • 6. cooperative in times of need and crisis, at dire straits  and festivities- Still, he admitted to his lack of  acquaintance with her on many fundamental levels,  unmistakably enough. This proposed wedlock was a  little stun to him as much as it was to her. It was his  loved mother's wish that he marry her and he never  wanted to affront her in any capacity in her  debilitated situation. But, did you readers asked what  was her will? This story is in a way, about that.     She was of a thin frame, but with long athletic legs,  stout hands, and a longer nose with a unique curve to  the end of it. Her lips were broad and even while she  was not smiling, it created an impression that she  was doing so. Strong, talented- that was the model  she wanted to build on, and it irked many of her  peers to admit that she was above them in many  unpredictable ways... She amazed him in the debating  club by contradicting his views. He was taking after a  critic’s line of contentions that portrayed Death as  the dignified beau, another version of Richardson’s  courtly love. She said that Emily Dickinson ought to  be explained in her own terms. First, no one caught  on. Still, after she made solid harangue against the  commentator and stated, was it after all the wistful  aspirations of a spinster, who was denied by all and  her own particular endeavours to make up for that  5
  • 7. the feeling of denial through her poetry--Perhaps,  that was the  the minute he took a slight interest in her. He  realized  that she was marginally unique in relation to her  friends, however, they were by all accounts winged  animals of the same feather. Now, she smiled to  herself and thought of how she would take up at the  club her old argument, that is already in some circles  that Odyssey is written by a woman.    4    At the end of the dimly lit tables, she pondered over  the scene. As if it were never a part of her life. The  crowd of busy men and women, all in a self-propelled  vision, they created for this day or days like this but  grasping in the depths of mind that it amounted to  nothing significant. Losing and gaining is distributed  in the existing spectrum of life within perhaps a  broader period, but here, the members of this coterie  wanted to play that game in the wink of the eye. To  see themselves as the makers of their own destinies  in a fraction of time. These are bright struggles if it  has some reciprocity to your fellow souls, but here,  like the pilgrims of their own selfish pursuits, they  fancied to disregard that the tables could be turned  against them mercilessly. She glanced at her fiance,  6
  • 8. who appeared cheerful and at a distance chatting to a  young pair, whom he might have known earlier. After  all, he is a regular to these destinations of odd  delights,     All on a sudden, she saw her American Literature  professor toward the finish of the lobby joined by a  young fellow who had an interesting coiffure  touching  shoulders. Yorick's skull, she thought. She went close  to the educator and wished him. The teacher was  moderately astounded at seeing her. He introduced  the  young fellow as his son to the members of the  gathering. She, in turn, introduced her fiance to both  of them, and in a short span, they became one group.  The professor said that he comes to Monte Carlo,  twice a year and he is addicted to the session of  roulette. She contemplated over this data and this  was for her another look into a man's life which she  thought as loaded with numerous inconceivable  outcomes, maybe some part obscure to her forever.  They shared a table. The teacher and  her life partner had a mojito kind of drink. But his son  requested plain water, and in the wake of opening the  pack, took the French variant of "Romola" and began  reading it while tasting the plain water at successive  interims...He asked her what she would drink and she  7
  • 9. answered red wine and with great pleasure,he  obliged to that. Yet, other than that, they had few  talks and meanwhile, he took a gander at her in a  loving manner as though he were in a bar with his  dearest sister and a spoilt father and an equally spoilt  brother in law.    Her fiance smiled at the croupier warmly as they had  associated each other before. She was not amazed.  He had before posted concise notes from  different Italian and American gambling clubs last  summer. With the scholar, he had a spirited  conversation on Italian table games of Hoca and Biribi  and besides some French prepackaged games. He was  reviewing 1886 Hoyle betting books, single zero and  double zero and your chances of winning and such  things. She looked around and saw men and ladies in  an uncommon excitement, somewhat wild yet  purposeless at root, putting down wagers as the ball  spun around and the haggle merchant told no more  wagers. At the point when the merchant got done  with making payouts, the marker was expelled from  the board and players looked assuaged and gathered  their rewards and made new wagers. The triumphant  chips drowsily rested on the board.    8
  • 10. In a vague vision, she had an inkling of the past when  she has gone a year ago to a town by the Swiss Alps  to see his grandparents. It was business that  brought these folks to Bucharest and additionally her  dad prized music and theatre….. On Berchtoldstag, he  made wonderful hawks. She met him again that  night, her mind loaded with whimsical c eets, half  painted and they were glad. In  the lady’s eyes flickered encompassing globes and  granules. Now she is also away in districts obscure  yet invariably listened to the rustle of a tyke...  He came there with an anguished feeling all over  while he was thumbing down everything that tagged  along with his way lastly confessing to her that all is  not well on the front and he required more time to  settle. No, he was not ruthless, but solely bordering  into a world of his own, an emperor of his imaginary  kingdom, with his own rules, vassals and courtiers.  She would not have bothered much unless it was  connected to her own story, and now it is soon going  to happen. Even the greatest saints, she has heard  copy books in their leisure time ,so that the mind is  not kept idle. She fussed for many minutes, thinking  and rethinking pieces of anecdotes of yore and  finally, his deep-throated voice was heard and he  decided to go back to the country and he called the  taxi.    9
  • 11. 5    The train halted at the station. It was an ancient  country station that was not the standard stop of  numerous trains, because it was partially wiped away  from the new railroad map due to some changes in  policy. There was an announcement that it would  take a  few more hours for the locomotive to proceed. Some  hidden things occurred in transit, maybe a mishap,  slaughter, or sudden  switching in social situations, she didn't have an  intimation. Her fiance recommended that they put  the halt in the country, which may be an uncommon  thing to do - and see the  landscapes in the interim - and push ahead. Some  time ago, this was a well-known health resort and  was on the tourist map because of the medicinal  water in the natural springs. For half of the year, the  place remained gelid, and in November and  December there was heavy snowfall from the  mountains and during that period, the traffic was  closed...In a way he was confident. He had still the  fulgurant ring given by his mother, which she got  from her own mama, and could pledge it or even sell  it, if essential and can have a fitting time, and if things  are not reconciled that way, he still has his diamond  watch and he could accomplish something with that  10
  • 12. and she could rest assured that he will take her back  to  Bucharest securely...She was walking a few steps  ahead and stopped suddenly so that he could reach  her and they could proceed together. She eyed him  from the corner and laboured to view the whole  scene in a fresh way, and prayed hard to give her  such a miraculous stand. All things considered, he is  his future mate and she will approve of him now and  perhaps always...      Presently they passed the finish of a line of the  the building, the shopkeeper was going after closing  the  shutters hurriedly as his wife was pursuing him.  Perhaps he had accomplished something not  fairish. All sights melted in the shimmer of a  passing day. He was gazing down into the stream, a  fresh waterway that was very similar to the one he  saw somewhere in a vision. It was in an eastern town  he ran with his uncle to see a holy person who had  put up a cottage into the edge of the stream, that was  fed just seasonally, and the sire stayed there many  months a year, but not during monsoon. His uncle  was an individual who took road contracts and went  to various towns and villages of the country and was  revered this man...  11
  • 13.   So, this is her prospective mate and she will approve  of him now and her grandparents need no doubt  about it. From the network of roads, they took a turn  to the left which was inhabited by an ethnic  neighbourhood and there were lodges and there  were  also, a stack of mountains and ridges and falls that  were coming like a livid stream and there in the sky  was visible the first thunderbolts of the season, And  as they were moving the rain poured suddenly. And  from nowhere he had a joke, a familiar one on his lips  and he only uttered it half and it rained. Her Fiance  was not agitated vehemently over the change of  weather and instead of further complaining about the  rain, helped him call a carriage after several  endeavours, as two or three of them, moved along  without conducting them.    And ultimately they got one, a wagon pulled by a  single sturdy horse, and there was the little stretch  inside the cart which smelt of coir and hay and  sackcloth. He got inside and he pulled her speedily  into it with a little giggling and she also chuckled, this  time not thinking anything about their dismal events  at the roulette table, but reflecting about her  companion at Costesti who will wait for her at the  dancehall. Yes, for further reception of the tale. She  12
  • 14. closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath  and closed her eyes for a few more moments. He was  still, and apparently with a host of feelings, and he  was looking deeply into the precipitation and trying  to gather from it a common language all humans in all  seasons and territories can deduce without an  interpreter. The gig advanced rocking them and her  saw herself, much fatigued to the border of a  slumber and her crest fell on his moving shoulder.  They were like two kids, in a drizzly season, in a land  discovered only this day, innocent of the world and  its dismal passions, and shrouded with something  immense and hidden, that made them unsuited for  further lapses​. ……………... FOLLOW THE AUTHOR'S BLOG @ https://benjaminlally212.wixsite.com/primavera   13