Connexion : The Atlantis Project, Book.1

by LEMPEREUR

  There was a burst of laughter which showed that Giuseppe’s words expressed a sentiment shared by all. He began again, “Without further ado, let’s wish Mario a happy birthday. He’s turning 40 today! I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank him for his sense of humor and the optimism that he has shared with us for nearly twelve years now. Let’s forget our work for a while and drink to his health.”

  Mario, who had just sat down again, immediately engaged Clementine in conversation. “Do you know Italy, Clementine?”

  “I went there once when I was small. I have very happy memories of the trip, although they might be a little romanticized, being the impressions of a little girl. To be honest, Italy to me is mainly the memory of walking along little streets lined with old, stone buildings. When I look back, I see myself as a little girl walking down a cobbled street in the sunshine with a gelato in my hand, while my mother tried unsuccessfully to make my father appreciate the wealth of culture and architecture. I have never been back, but I’m sure it must be a wonderful place.”

  Caterina joined the conversation. “Your memory is a little clichéd. However, I must admit that for myself also, what comes to mind when I think of my country is mainly the warm summer evenings, the smells of Mediterranean cuisine and little streets filled with people talking in familiar accents. Are you married, Clementine?”

  “Ah, no, not yet,” she replied, a little surprised.

  “Am I to understand that it’s on the horizon?”

  Mario looked reproachfully at Caterina then chided her gently. “Cati, not so fast; give her time to settle in.” Then, to Clementine, “You must excuse Caterina; she’s a little too direct sometimes.”

  “No, no, don’t worry about me! No harm done; after all, there’s no secret.”

  “By the way; you didn’t answer me about Italian cuisine, but I’m sure that you will like the entrée. I have prepared a burrata with some perfectly matured Parma ham.”

  “Burrata, here?”

  “Yes,” replied Mario, looking very proud of this accomplishment. “But make the most of it because it’s not likely to happen again anytime soon. As for all the extra-fresh produce; transport and entry permits to the base were no easy matter.”

  At this he stood, smiling, and put on his apron. “And now, I must ask you to excuse me for a few moments; I am needed in the kitchen.”

  “Can I be of assistance?” Clementine asked enthusiastically. “I certainly don’t have your culinary skills, but I manage quite well in the kitchen. Maybe I could help you serve the dishes?” She rose from the table as she spoke, leaving Caterina, who had not planned on helping Mario, to herself. Smiling coolly, she looked the new arrival up and down, finding her a little too helpful for her liking. Mario readily accepted Clementine’s offer of help. They both headed for the canteen kitchen, under the watchful eye of a rather surprised and suspicious Charlie, who had been following the whole conversation while his brother was recounting their adventurous life to a captive audience.

  Jacques, to all appearances still involved in conversation with his neighbors, spoke internally to Charlie. “Let her live a little! It’s pity that she feels for you, not love. Come down off your cloud every once in a while.”

  This cutting remark hurt Charlie all the more as he could not reply immediately; at least, not verbally. He turned to Jacques, but he was still in conversation, as if nothing had happened. So Charlie got up from the table, dragging Jacques with him.

  “I’m sorry, but my brother and I need to pay a visit. Could you tell us where the restroom is please?”

  Jacques, surprised, was obliged to follow, abruptly leaving off his conversation. The twins were soon alone in the canteen restroom.

  “Couldn’t you have waited a little?” asked Jacques, reproachfully. “I don’t need to pee. What are you talking about?”

  “That’s true; the bladder is one of the organs that we share. I can’t lie to you about that. It’s a shame we don’t share the same heart. That way, you might be capable of sparing me that sort of hurtful remark.”

  “Were you offended by what I said to you earlier?”

  “Don’t you feel anything for her?”

  “Yes, I do. Clementine is a very pretty girl. She’s also very sweet, and certainly the only woman who’s ever considered us as men, and not as monsters. But to go from there to seeing anything more than a friendship… I really think you’re making a mistake. Don’t go spoiling everything and making yourself miserable over a desire that you can never satisfy.”

  Charlie, his eyes filling with huge tears, looked at his brother without speaking. Jacques, who would have liked to console him, searched for words he could not find. So he placed his hand gently on his brother’s shoulder, all the while looking into his face. Then Charlie, his voice still quavering, changed his tone and confided in him, as a child would confide in his mother.

  “I know you’re doing this to protect me, but sometimes I’d just like to be able to live my own life, without you always there observing my slightest move, or even worse, guessing my most private thoughts. Even if nothing can happen, I’d like to be left to dream on, and even deliberately deceive myself with own little fantasy. Don’t you understand?”

  “Of course, Charlie. But you’re not alone. I’m here, too. What’s more, I’ve always been here and I probably always will be. For better or worse.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that I like pretty women, too. I’d like to have some intimacy, too. I’d like to have a sex-life without a price-tag, too. I’d like to feel that a woman loves me. But I understand one important thing: it will probably never happen, and if it does, she would have to love the both of us.”

  After a short silence, Jacques spoke again, “Right now, we’re experiencing something incredible; an adventure which you didn’t hesitate to take on earlier, in spite of my reservations. I only hope that you’re not doing this as some proof of your courage and self-sacrifice to Clementine.”

  “You’re probably right,” answered Charlie, both resigned and relieved to have confided sincerely in his brother. “I’ll try to live in the present and fully enjoy what is happening to us here. Let’s go back to the others. They’re probably starting to wonder why we’re taking so long.”

  Back in their seats, the conversation picked up again and this time, Charlie gave in to the natural interest he usually had in other people. He willingly let himself be carried along by the engaging flow of conversation, forgetting about Clementine for a while. Around four o’clock, when the meal was coming to an end, Giuseppe rose from the table, wishing them all a pleasant evening. He thanked Mario warmly and left, leaving Clementine and the twins in the company of their new colleagues and housemates of Pavilion 28. Curiously, they were quite at ease and not overly concerned by the departure of the man who had been their guide until now. In fact, it was a long while since they had spent such a pleasant afternoon, surrounded by a group of people who were both friendly and intelligent.

  By half past six, there were only five people left in the canteen, grouped around one end of the table. Mario and Alvaro were still in deep conversation with the twins and Clementine, over a glass of Cognac.

  “What kinds of alcohol are typical of your region?” asked Alvaro.

  “To be honest, I don’t really know. We live in the center of Paris and don’t often have the opportunity to get out of the city.”

  “Yes we do”, Charlie contradicted him. “Remember? Michel took us to the Passerelle restaurant one day for a regional wine-tasting. If I remember rightly; there was one called le Noyau de Poissy.”

  Jacques replied teasingly, “Yes, that’s right. I think it was more a sort of liqueur – a sickly sweet one. But you liked it, though.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” said Alvaro, “but after hearing what Jacques says, it doesn’t sound too good.”

  “If I understand correctly, you do not always share the same tastes?” joked Mario. “I hope it
’s not the case when it comes to women?”

  Charlie, embarrassed, began to blush at the thought of broaching this delicate subject in the presence of Clementine. Jacques decided to come to his aid by taking things in hand. He broke into a forced laugh, anxious not to let anyone notice the embarrassment caused; then he steered the conversation back to the initial topic.

  “Charlie loves fruit liqueurs. Actually, for that reason alone, I’m sure he would like Italy. As for me, I prefer to savor a good French wine from time to time, or an old Cognac like this one.”

  “But we have some excellent red wines in Italy,” replied Alvaro, a little put out. “You French are not the only ones who know how to make good wine.”

  “Ah, Gentlemen, you mustn’t upset Alvaro about his homeland, or you’ll pay for it!” Mario interjected playfully. “And you, Clementine? What do you usually drink?”

  “Oh, I’m rather like Charlie. I like fortified wines and a good on-tap beer from time to time. Apart from that, I don’t know a lot about wine. I was working in a bar and tobacconists’ before the explosion.”

  As she said the words, images of the disaster flooded her mind. Her face clouded suddenly and tears started to run slowly down her cheeks, now flushed with emotion. Sitting beside her, Mario wondered what was wrong, but Clementine could not manage to speak. So he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and said nothing.

  In the end it was Jacques who broke the silence.

  “The explosion has affected us deeply. You could say that we lost everything in the disaster, starting with our friends, but also our homes and our way of life. It dawns on you gradually. Until now none of it seemed real, but as the days go by, you start to feel the pain. Even today I’m not sure if I’ve really taken in what happened to us that day. Anyway, there’s a “before” and an “after”, that’s for sure. For now, it’s as if my mind refuses to think about the past. All that remains, are images of the explosion, in flashes; bodies lying on the ground, dust, blood, the feeling of solitude, injustice. Why others and not us? Women, children, everyone was dead except us. And then there was this little girl who I’d been horrible to just moments earlier. Just because of a look and a tactless question. I can’t help thinking about her today. I imagine her lying dead, beside her mother. Those thoughts come back to me often, but I try to chase them out of my mind, to push them away, as far away from me as possible. It’s too late now; it wasn’t our fault and we can’t change anything.”

  The mood had become heavy, much too heavy for Jacques, who had said much more than he intended. Just as he would push away the images that regularly invaded his mind, he quickly pushed away the emotions that were starting to get the better of him. Taking hold of himself brusquely he steered the conversation in another, more technical direction this time.

  “I guess we don’t know any more about the explosion? What really happened? Do you know? Was it an attack? Maybe Giuseppe knows. He’s the one who brought us all the way here.”

  Mario exchanged looks with Alvaro before answering Jacques. “I’m sorry, but we don’ know much more than you do for now. We simply assume that there could be a link between that event and the research that we’re carrying out here. At least, that’s the theory maintained by Francisco. He is personally convinced of the simultaneity of the explosion that happened last Sunday in Paris, and the sudden increase in electrical activity detected in Victor’s brain.”

  “That said, it is only a hypothesis, and not even a very scientific one,” added Alvaro. “After all, it wouldn’t be the first time that two events have taken place at the same time without there being any link between them. But Giuseppe has blind faith in Francisco, anyway. Those two are like an old couple.”

  “How so?”

  “Alvaro means that they have known each other for a very long time. Francisco is the son of his first wife. Giuseppe raised him as his own son. It’s thanks to Giuseppe that he’s here today. I suppose you were told that Francisco is autistic?”

  “Yes, we were”, Charlie replied.

  Mario decided to launch into a detailed explanation of the bonds that united the two men, who seemed so different.

  “During his childhood, Francisco was placed in a so-called special center, where he vegetated more than anything else. One day, his mother walked out, leaving no address. She left everything behind; her personal belongings, her car, her dog, her son and, of course, Giuseppe. Francisco showed absolutely no emotion following her departure. Since then, Giuseppe, who had grown attached to him and saw huge cognitive potential in him, decided to take over his education, with the help of his colleagues from the neuropsychology lab where he worked at the time. So Francisco grew up surrounded by some of Italy’s most brilliant scientists. Little by little he learned to communicate, be sociable and especially to exploit his extraordinary capacity for logical reasoning and memorization. With Giuseppe’s help, he then went off to study in prestigious Parisian universities and eventually found his place in the small, very closed world of fundamental research. In fact, I believe that his mother’s leaving was the best thing that could have happened to him. Giuseppe doesn’t seem to have been too affected by it. Anyway, even when she was there, he hardly noticed her at all; he was so absorbed in his work. The world of research is probably one of the places where highly autistic or simply unusual people, can fit in most easily. To want to spend our lives gazing at test-tubes, forsaking all else, I think we must all be slightly autistic or sociopathic. But, you see, with occasions like today I try to make up for that.”

  “But you, Mario, what brought you here?” asked Clementine. “You seem to enjoy the good life.”

  “That’s true; it’s sometimes difficult to remain shut in here for months on end, even if the place is big. I –”

  “Don’t you have a wife or children back in Italy?” interrupted Charlie.

  “You know, I’ve been here for over ten years. Giuseppe came and found me when I had only just finished my thesis. At the time I was not ready to settle down. When he told me about the N.H.I. program and the existence of this base, I immediately saw it as the chance of a lifetime. I finally had the opportunity for a unique experience of furthering myself. And also, I was flattered that Giuseppe had chosen me to be part of his research team. At the University he was a role model for many of us. His work on reprogramming stem cells was opening the door to all kinds of possibilities and had our young apprentice sorcerers’ imaginations running wild. Today I don’t regret my choice, even if coming back from leave is sometimes difficult.”

  Jacques seized the opportunity to bring up another topic that was close to his heart.

  “A nice cigar would be just the thing to round off this delicious feast you prepared for us with such finesse, I must say. Unfortunately, it’s one of the many things we’re not permitted to do here. Do you smoke, Mario?”

  “There are a lot of regulations here but, you know, there’s always a way to allow oneself a few liberties as long as one maintains a certain level of discretion.”

  At these words Jacques’ face suddenly lit up with a blissful smile. Mario left the table for a few moments before coming back to them.

  “Come with me. I’m going to take you to one of the hanging gardens. There’s no place better for savoring a last moment of relaxation and meditation before going off to the land of Nod.”

  The little group moved as one man toward a door at the end of the canteen, but Alvaro left them, after wishing a good evening to all. A staircase led to the landing where they had seen Francisco come down a few hours earlier. Mario stood in front of a small console with a tactile screen which allowed him to choose the hanging garden he wished to bring down. He asked Clementine and the twins, who had been standing back, to come closer so he could explain how it worked.

  “You can choose any one of the unoccupied gardens. There are fifteen different gondolas. Each one has its own special features. It’s up to you to choose according to your preference. It’s mainly the kinds of plants and t
heir arrangement that differs, but the gondola’s position under the dome is also very important, especially if you want to be shielded from curious eyes. Strictly speaking, there are not supposed to be more than two people per gondola but for tonight we can make an exception. Garden number 13 is one of the highest and most pleasant.”

  After selecting number 13 on the screen, Mario looked up, pointing to the highest point of the dome. They could hardly make out more than a dark smudge coming down toward them. The intense light coming from the concave ceiling enveloped the small platform so that the first details were only perceptible when it was halfway down. First, it was the flowers’ vivid colors that stood out, and then a small, low table between two wooden lounge chairs became visible through the glass floor. The seat cushions were of the same green as the first leaves of spring, when the buds are just starting to open – that soft, peaceful green that brings back the optimism and taste for life that usually accompany the first signs of warmer weather. A discreet fence, hidden in the shrubbery, marked the edge of the landscaped platform. Only its steel gate was visible, opening automatically as the gondola touched the ground. Slowly, the cables lifted the little group into the heights of the dome, amidst a surreal décor, still bathed in light despite the lateness of the hour. Mario took a small silver case from his pocket. With one deft clip, he cut the end off of the first cigar, which he held out to Clementine.

  “Ladies first!”

  She accepted it with only slight hesitation. Mario took an old Zippo out of his other pocket. Clementine’s first breaths let out large puffs of opaque smoke, releasing a characteristic aroma.

  “I can see that you’re an old hand. I chose small Havanas that I get from a specialist shop in Naples. Actually, I am no expert, but it’s a pleasure I have become accustomed to over the last few years. Apparently these ones are particularly appreciated by connoisseurs.”

  Mario turned to the twins. “Jacques, I suppose you are eager to try one? Charlie, do you smoke too?”