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