every other

Every Other Lily Simovitch-Castle took a stroll in the vibrant park, bathed in greenery and sunlight, on a delightful spring morning. She was in search of her friend Sasha Bell. The gathering of people mostly consisted of those in their twenties or thirties, much like Lily herself. Lily scanned the diverse crowd to locate Sasha. The translucent air and cobblestone paths beneath her feet created a serene atmosphere. Lily, with her long curls, eyeliner, and eyes that held a certain depth, wore a red overcoat from C and A, paired with jeans rolled up in her boots. As Lily roamed the park, memories of Sasha's uniqueness filled her thoughts. Sasha, with her slender frame, blond hair, blue eyes, and a charm that seemed almost fairy-like, captured Lily's attention. There was an unspoken connection, a heartbeat, a yearning for Sasha's presence. Despite Sasha's mysterious universe of fantasy, dragons, witches, and a love for Tolkien, Lily couldn't shake a certain fear. Sasha, a Russian, spoke the language fluently, resembling a young countess from another era, captivating Lily with talks of Pushkin and the allure of a bygone era. In another part of the world, Maria explored a small antique shop in her native Copenhagen, seeking a new white hat and perhaps a seascape painting to adorn her bedroom walls. The shop, with its intriguing items, was curated by a somewhat shy owner who appeared more at ease with whiskey than selling antiques. Maria found her perfect hat, bright and white with a soft gold lace. She left the shop with her purchase and a polite goodbye, deciding to paint the seascape herself. Choosing a stormy evening by the shore for her artistic endeavor, Maria painted a scene that blended reality and fantasy. She sketched colored boats on the horizon, turning clouds into characters like Prince Hamlet and Fenrir the Wolf. An adult mermaid and her pet wolf completed the composition. Maria's artistic creation resembled a youth comics series, and she contemplated selling it or keeping it for herself. Back in Switzerland, Lily, feeling alone and missing Sasha, made multiple unsuccessful attempts to reach out. The distance Sasha created left Lily anxious and hurt, leading her to call Sasha repeatedly with no response. Trying to cope with the emotional turmoil, Lily took a walk in her garden, letting her mind wander. In a whimsical daydream, she envisioned herself as a heroine, pondering the roles of Anna Karenina and Aleksiej Kriłłowicz Wroński. Despite the emotional distance Sasha introduced, Lily contemplated finding her own path. In the midst of these personal struggles, Lily decided to learn Russian, enrolling in a class with teachers Miss Star and Monsieur Ben. The evening classes promised a journey into the language, opening the door to magical novels and stories. Miss Star, a charming Russian, and Monsieur Ben, multilingual and clever, fueled Lily's enthusiasm for learning. Meanwhile, Maria, enjoying an evening with her fiancé after returning from Denmark, had a complexion reminiscent of a Spanish dancer in summer. Her experiences inspired those around her to appreciate Irish music or embark on gentle coastal trips. As the stories of Lily and Maria unfolded, a sense of personal exploration and transformation permeated their live

Heather Weinstein, a reflection

 

       

The other

 

Heather Weinstein saw her big curls in the mirror, her plain face, and hazel eyes she felt lonely, a few books she had left on the table, some of them only skim read. She felt torn this morning. The hearth was there, and the fire was flickering then everything was lonesome. A spirit was missing. Heather had been and enthusiastic young woman, enthusiastic about what she read or what she knew, a curious person ready to know of other people and looking forward for staggering things in her life. She had been a woman who was looking for true love fell in love and believed it could be reciprocated and last. Recently she had been witnessing some difficult things some of which would have been unbearable for any human being. She started believing for example that her parents had been replaced by identical impostors or that two female friends of her of Russian decent had gone missing. She also believed a boyfriend of her had done a terrible thing giving her murderous food fortunately she was still alive but then what was going on?     She had picked up a few of William Butler Yeats’ poems this morning “Dannan children”?  She had a blast started equaling the thing to John Carpenter’s” children of the damned” and then calmed down. These are just ordinary American kids related to "Solomon and Sheeba" and growing trees and Yeats may had had some Hungarian Jewish descent, William "Butler" Yeats and Judith Butler. She closed her book. She loved Yeats’s poetry and the imagery of these beautiful magic swans and fairy land. She looked for her book by Turgenev in her library “First love” she loved this translation by Constance Garnett, she may have been looking for some translated Pedro Bloch’s she could not find on a peculiar Swiss history in Ukraine or a book on Swiss colonies around the world notably in Crimea. She had asked herself if people from the colonies in the event of a war would try to replace native Swiss, but this was obviously ridicule as a thought. A matter of fact they could come to Switzerland and there would be twelve million Swiss instead of eight million, but they would never try to steal other people’s lives. Swiss cites within the realm of vineyards in places like Odessa and Crimea had probably been astoundingly beautiful but now with this unfair, inhumane, and incomprehensible waging war, Heather dared not looking for a press picture, why such a war was waged? She would have wanted to visit the place, now it was out of question. From to time she had thought of “Hamlet “what about a visit to Elsinore? One day maybe. She remembered she had the painting of Cathleen Ni Houlihan pinned on her bedroom’s wall she had taken it back as souvenir from a trip she had made to Ireland. Why did not Shakespeare also write a play on her. 

Heather Weinstein gazed into the mirror, her hazel eyes reflecting a sense of solitude against the backdrop of her big curls and plain face. A scattering of books lay forgotten on the table, their pages only briefly explored. The morning felt torn, the hearth flickering with a forlorn glow. A certain spirit seemed to be missing, a vitality that once defined Heather.

Once, she was an enthusiastic young woman, eager to delve into the realms of knowledge and captivated by the wonders life had to offer. She embraced literature and sought true love with a belief in its enduring reciprocation. Yet, recent events had cast a shadow over her world. Unbearable thoughts haunted her, like the suspicion that her parents had been replaced by identical impostors or that two dear friends of Russian descent had mysteriously vanished. The revelation that her boyfriend might have attempted something sinister with her food left her shaken but thankfully alive. The question lingered – what was happening to her world?

In an attempt to find solace, Heather turned to the verses of William Butler Yeats. "Dannan children" momentarily conjured images from John Carpenter's "Children of the Damned," but she eventually dismissed the fanciful connection. She closed the book, setting her thoughts adrift on the magic swans and fairy lands painted by Yeats.

Searching her library for Turgenev's "First Love," translated by Constance Garnett, she mused over translated works by Pedro Bloch. Her quest for a peculiar Swiss history in Ukraine or details about Swiss colonies around the world, especially in Crimea, led her to reflect on the beauty that once adorned these places. However, the current inhumane war raging in those regions made the idea of a visit inconceivable. The Swiss cities nestled amidst vineyards in Odessa and Crimea were likely once stunning, but now, the very thought of seeking press images seemed unbearable. Why was such a war being waged? The desire to explore the beauty and history of those places was replaced with a somber acknowledgment of the senseless conflict.

Amidst these musings, thoughts of "Hamlet" and a whimsical visit to Elsinore crossed Heather's mind. The painting of Cathleen Ni Houlihan on her bedroom wall, a souvenir from her trip to Ireland, prompted her to wonder why Shakespeare had not penned a play about her.

In this tapestry of reflections and uncertainties, Heather Weinstein navigated the complexities of her thoughts, seeking meaning in a world that seemed to be unraveling at the seams.

 

Heather Weinstein gazed into the mirror, her hazel eyes reflecting a sense of solitude against the backdrop of her big curls and plain face. A scattering of books lay forgotten on the table, their pages only briefly explored. The morning felt torn, the hearth flickering with a forlorn glow. A certain spirit seemed to be missing, a vitality that once defined Heather. Once, she was an enthusiastic young woman, eager to delve into the realms of knowledge and captivated by the wonders life had to offer. She embraced literature and sought true love with a belief in its enduring reciprocation. Yet, recent events had cast a shadow over her world. Unbearable thoughts haunted her, like the suspicion that her parents had been replaced by identical impostors or that two dear friends of Russian descent had mysteriously vanished. The revelation that her boyfriend might have attempted something sinister with her food left her shaken but thankfully alive. The question lingered – what was happening to her world? In an attempt to find solace, Heather turned to the verses of William Butler Yeats. "Dannan children" momentarily conjured images from John Carpenter's "Children of the Damned," but she eventually dismissed the fanciful connection. She closed the book, setting her thoughts adrift on the magic swans and fairy lands painted by Yeats. Searching her library for Turgenev's "First Love," translated by Constance Garnett, she mused over translated works by Pedro Bloch. Her quest for a peculiar Swiss history in Ukraine or details about Swiss colonies around the world, especially in Crimea, led her to reflect on the beauty that once adorned these places. However, the current inhumane war raging in those regions made the idea of a visit inconceivable. The Swiss cities nestled amidst vineyards in Odessa and Crimea were likely once stunning, but now, the very thought of seeking press images seemed unbearable. Why was such a war being waged? The desire to explore the beauty and history of those places was replaced with a somber acknowledgment of the senseless conflict. Amidst these musings, thoughts of "Hamlet" and a whimsical visit to Elsinore crossed Heather's mind. The painting of Cathleen Ni Houlihan on her bedroom wall, a souvenir from her trip to Ireland, prompted her to wonder why Shakespeare had not penned a play about her. In this tapestry of reflections and uncertainties, Heather Weinstein navigated the complexities of her thoughts, seeking meaning in a world that seemed to be unraveling at the seam

starfish, the story of Lana, fiction by Aurélie Asseo

 

       Fiction, the story of Lana.   Aurélie Asseo

                                 Chapter I

Lana Hansen was one of the prettiest young women ever seen. Born in 1986, her father was Hamlet Hansen, a teacher of Danish origin. Her mother was Moira Abravanel, a Jewish survivor of Bergen -Belsen whose origin lied in the South of France. Lana had jet black hair up until she turned thirteen that contrasted with her green eyes and freckles. One day she looked herself in the mirror, her hair was becoming hazel dark and started to curl and tousle for the first time since her being four years- old, she had just washed it and was very happy about the result. After her whole summer holiday spent in Verfeil with her parents and little brother Jacob, her caramel skin was peeling off a little. She had a beautiful face, with rounded lips like a rosebud and green eyes like sapphires and often her skin would spouse milky undertones. She was often playing Irish musical compositions she invented on her piano. She loved doing so.

She sketched a lot, her inventive personal patchworks. Jacob ten years old had climbed upstairs to join her in her room.

“Hi Lana” said the little boy to his sister.

“Hi little Chinese boy “replied Lana.

“I am not Chinese” replied Jacob.

“You look so. Your eyes draw out.”

“Not at all, my eyes are ordinary blue eyes “

“Your eyes? They drown themselves, they’re blue so they are like the sea, that’s why.” Said the young girl in a mocking tone smiling and gently teasing her little brother.”

 “Well, shut it up green grass face, who, had to remove her monkey’s hair waxing yesterday for the first time, miss hairy armpit. “

Jacob ran after Lana and started tickling her. Lana started bursting out of laughter.

“Stop it Jacob” uttered Lana, creasing her t-shirt inside. «Do you wanna watch a film. Lana turned on Free Willy for Jacob and climbed downstairs to fetch a pencil case and paper.

“Jacob, I am going to draw a guy I saw in high school, he may be nineteen already, he is so handsome!”

“More handsome than Dad?” asked Jacob

“I’d say equally handsome but very different, very intellectual, he’s name is Gaspard.”

“Come on, you have a crush on him? Have you tried things?”

“Well, I kissed him on lips.”

“Have you put your tongue inside his mouth?”

“Yes, we did, twice.” Replied Lana.

“O my God, I hope you are not pregnant.”

“No, don’t worry, we did not go into that thing, which is called, what Jacob?

“Sexual intercourse” replied Jacob.

“I’m a virgin. It’s not advised to have sex until you’re sixteen at least, I have been very already far in kissing a nineteen-year-old, please don’t tell mum”

“I’m gonna tell her”Replied Jacob.

Jacob climbed down the stairs hurriedly.

“Mum muum” he interjected “Lana kissed a boy of nineteen” she put her tongue into his mouth. 

Moira Abravanel Hansen replied to Jacob, her long dark hair wrapped in a turban.

“Jacob, mind your own business and Lana, behave wisely don’t take risks” she said.

The family lived in their home in Britany, in bel-Île end Mer at home they spoke French and English. They had their house near the sea, along the beach. Today the weather was a little chilly, it was raining intermittently, and the boats were moored on the white sand. Lana who stepped outside to take a stroll on the beach, could see the waves crashing on the light house and understood trips were cancelled in the event of a grey sky, she was looking for a cave to play in.She found a small one on waters. Lana’s feet hit rock bottom all the time. She did not swim the water was too cold. 

What will go on with that guy now? “Lana asked herself, “I am definitely too young for such an affair, I don’t want to endanger myself, however I think I like him, It’s been already three years I’m on period but, I don’t feel ready, I’m thirteen not nineteen, I am only in 8 th grade, I enjoy spending time with Becky, yes Rebecka is really my best friend and I don’t want to ruin it all, going with high schools’ boys” Rebecka indeed, was more outgoing less conscientious than Lana. She had turned fourteen, she started having a boyfriend, already. Lana did not want to yet, she wanted to know more of life itself, she wanted to know more of Rebecka maybe. Becky Rault    was pretty, tall with a perfect body and big dark eyes she looked like a Greek statue, well her mother was Greek and when alone with her mother, they spoke Greek all the time, Lana did not understand a single word of it when she visited them and heard them spoke, but she would not mind.

 “Maybe I should invite Becky and her mum for a shopping day and I want to buy Irish books, I start liking more and more our English teacher Catherine Adams, who told me she was Irish, she so looks gorgeous with her red hair, I want to know of Ireland” Lana told herself.

Lana felt thrilled about this new idea of knowing about Ireland and hastily went back home, climb up the stairs and jump on her bed in her room, perched in the attic on the second floor. 

 

She had her very own land phone and TV, for a mobile phone she will have to score seventeen out twenty at her brevet exams next year.

Lana dialed Becky’s number on her land phone. The phone rang three times and Lana ‘s mother answered.

“Rault-Leonidas speaking”

“Hello, Lana Hansen speaking, It’s Delia? Is Becky here, I’d like to talk to her”

“Becky, Lana’s calling, she ‘d like to speak to you.”

“Hi Lana, what’s up? “ replied Becky.

 

“Becky bee, I have an idea, let’s go for a shopping day with your mum this week, I’d like to buy books on Ireland.”

“I bet you have a crush on Miss Adams” said Becky sneakily.

“Somehow yes, then please, don’t be too sneaky and go telling everybody or her, she’s married, she’s not informed of my crush, I never told. I also kissed a boy. Then I just want to rest with books on Ireland, that’s all” Lana said.

“Hey you know what dude, the whole class developed a crush on Miss Adams and nobody told her, but, I saw boys giving her love letters with poems and I love you’sand Dave gave her an apple” said Becky holding her guffaw”

“Dave Hornby, the nine-year-old who looks like Charles-Edouard in the Rugrats? Asked Lana, “she could not hold her guffaw.

“Yes and he, changed his glass taint from green to pink. Said Becky

“Oh this is so cute and innocent” replied Lana still laughing gently.

“Next time you see little Dave, put brown eyes on, he is into a child’s romantic phase, «said Becky.

“Come on Becky,no way “ replied Lana.

“So let’s plan this shopping day, tomorrow at 10 am ?” said Becky

“Yes. “ Said Lana.

“See you then «said Lana

“See you. “Replied Becky

Lana spent the rest of the day studying, what was on the agenda:

Latin : Déclinaison à réviser et trois citations à traduire

Français composition : Description de soi-même, de ses meilleurs amis et de la ville de Bel île en mer, trois pages.

 Grammaire Française : Comment bien utiliser le présent de narration. Lire  Page 8 à 10 du manuel

Chapitre du livre à lire :   MERIMEE P., La Vénus d’Ille. Page 1 et II

English writing lab : Write a short report or short story about a place you’d like to visit or a phenomenon you’d consider fantastic or supernatural. I.E. a haunted castle, or my summer holidays in Venice (fictious title) ten pages, three week assignment. Vocabulary and creativity considered as well as grammar, punctuation and syntax.

Histoire – géographie, lire le chapiter sur l’Egypte antique, lire l’extrait du « Journal d’Anne Frank » et répondre aux questions annexes à partir du texte. Situer la Bretagne sur la carte de France et répondre aux questions en page 3 relire la page sur la géographie de l’union Européenne

Dansk mellemliggende page 3 et 4

Occitan : page 5 et 7

Breton :page 5

Espagnol : page 3

Italien : page 1

Corse page 4

Hebreu niveau élementaire à intermédiaire : page I0

English grammar- c1 and c2

Page I and II.

Russe avancé : p10

Arabic: intermediate p1

Lana’s homework was huge then she was interested in all she was learning and had learned. The fact that she had grown in a linguistic environment that was plural since she was little had triggered her ear for languages. However, she sometimes needed to relax and forget it all from time to time. This was the exact reason she needed this shopping day. She wrote on her diary, what can be said about Ireland. And fell into a deep sleep.

 

The next morning Lana, undoing the blanket she had wrapped herself in, awakened, she felt better, unloaded from homework related anxieties, and refreshed about this idea of the new knowledge she will have to acquire, a new adventure, The sunlight was tickling her face throughout the window. She had a few sensual dreams during the night of Catherine Adams and Gaspard, had been feeling in love with both with a huge heartbeat, but then she had told herself she should put her emotions into proportions, even if doing so was hard.

She had woken up, taken a shower, dressed wonderfully in light pink of silk, an amazing high tailored pant and a pink blouse, with her tousled and curly hair and pink eyes shadow, mascara and lip balm, she also had powdered her cheeks and put on a cherry flowered perfume, she enjoyed listening to Genesis and X ray, her dad, had offered her these albums, while waiting for Becky. She really liked this X ray singer Poly Styrene and had a poster on her on wall, she enjoyed dressing like her sometimes. For ten minutes she took one of her instruments, a mini-Celtic harp and play a piece of music known to Barry Philips and his orchestra “orison” the air was called morning rain.    

Lana had heard the door rang and her mother opening it joyfully, chatting with Delia, while Becky was climbing upstairs, Becky knocked on Lana’s door.

“Hii baby “exclaimed Becky rushing to hug her.

“Hello Becky Bee” replied Lana.

Becky looked amazing, thought Lana, she had braided her long dark hair in tiny braids down to her bottom, had black eyes made up in white eyes shadow with a lot of mascara and foundation and lip balm, she was all tanned and muscular and slim, wore a short top that displayed her slim and muscular belly, she had a piercing on her navel, wore an Adidas baggy trousers white with an vertical black line going from hip to feet and Adidas shoes. She had a husky voice and smoked a lot.

“So, what have you been up to? “Asked Lana

“Arts all week dear, cinema, drama, cinema, drama, cinema, drama and then, Classics and Greek class.” Replied Becky.

“Let’s go to the shopping center and then let’s go for a sail on boats and fun along the beach, I’ll read my books on the beach,” said Lana.

Delia Leonidas, Becky’s mother greeted the girls and drove them to the shopping center, Lana talked to them all along. She enjoyed the presence of Delia, a chubby woman, very religious and warm, who spoke French and English with a Greek accent.

 

Lana worming her way into the book section, found a small collection of books, Becky who walked along, exclaimed herself, wow this is nice look, From Aristotle to André Breton, “this book covers a huge period from the ancient time to the Surrealists a relation to Arts and cinema, the finest reporters ‘pictures and of the authors themselves. This is what I need for my class, «said Becky.

Lana found two books: everything about Ireland in Pictures and realm of fairies and bought them both.

 

 

                                                         Chapter II

Lana had read her books on the beach and had started taking notes into a notebook where she also had scribbled a few things in Russian. Lana knew Russian because her father had taught her this language and why so? Part of Her father’s mother’s forbears had lived in Russia for centuries migrating from the whole of Scandinavia to Russia in the 19th century, they all had Russian names, the other half, her grandmother’s father was from the Polish nobility mostly Christian and a partly Jewish, and they had found a Yugoslavian ancestor too. Her father’s father was Danish, and all his ancestors were Danes.  

What interested Lana was all that was related to princesses, princes, kings and queens somehow and now fairies. Becky had put on a bikini and had climbed on a sailboat, driving it along. Lana was keeping an eye on her and while she was half asleep after forty minutes reading,

The Abravanels ‘s story was also interesting, Moira Abravanel, Lana ‘s mother was born in 1946 and had survived Bergen- Belsen. She was Jewish, Moira’s father was a Sephardi Jew of Spanish and Portuguese origin whose family had migrated from the Iberian Peninsula in 1492 and settled all over France and Italy, Moira ‘s mother was a French Jew who had entered the resistance and had settled in France and Switzerland, Moira’s grandmother had Ashkenazi Jewish roots from Russia and Armenia.

 

Lana Hansen was asleep and started hearing a voice that wasn’t Becky’s “Laanaa, Laanaa, waaake up waaake up, now” whispered the spectral voice.A boy of thirteen came to her.

Gaspard Smith, Lana’s flirt, a blond fellow of nineteen had come to her.

“Hey boy, what are you doing here? I am alone with Becky”

 

Gaspard Smith had a brief looks at Lana’s books and took her by the hand.

“Come wit me” he said. 

Lana woke up and followed him near isolated rocks.

“How old do you think I am’?” said Gaspard Smith

“Nineteen” replied Lana.

“Not really honey.”

“What?” replied Lana.

“I am twenty-seven,” Said Gaspard.

“What? What are you talking about?” Said Lana 

“I lied because, you are only thirteen, “said Gaspard.

“Yes, I am and still I think I like you” replied Lana.

He kissed her a third time and told her.

“Now I will have to leave you for a couple of years” he said.

“Why?”

“I am an agent and a hoe boy.

“

“A what?” said Lana surprised.

“ I am American and my story is complicated”

“OK, I am very much at lost with the whole thing and so is Becky now.”

“Hi” said Becky very surprised, she had just turned to them.

She added “Lana, in case you don’t know we’ve been together for the last three months, him and I” she added surprisingly.

“Mmm Becky Gaspard Smith just told me he was a hoe b. Well, I believe he knows a lot about sexual matters, is that it? “She added.

“Yes. “He replied.

“I felt there was something like that, «said Becky.

“Come on girls, is it a bad thing to have a friend forever?” Said Smith

“No at all. Although are you with wives all day?” Asked Becky

“Not really, I have been with all sorts of individuals, but yes, a lot of women too.” But this is not my primary job I have been in primary school, and I have been a stuntman with horses, «Said Gaspard Smith.”

“Are you allowed to marry “Asked Lana?

“Yes, I can” He replied

 

Chapter I

 

   Lana Hansen was a captivating young woman, born in 1986 to a Danish father, Hamlet Hansen, and a Jewish mother, Moira Abravanel, who survived Bergen-Belsen during World War II and had roots in the South of France. With her jet black hair and striking green eyes adorned with freckles, Lana's appearance was truly mesmerizing. She had just turned thirteen when she noticed her hair starting to change, becoming hazel dark and gaining a newfound curl, a welcome change from her straight locks since she was four. Her summer holiday spent in Verfeil with her parents and little brother Jacob had left her with a peeling caramel complexion.

Lana had a beautiful face, with lips resembling a delicate rosebud and sapphire-like green eyes that often shimmered with milky undertones. She had a penchant for playing self-composed Irish musical compositions on her piano, which brought her immense joy.

One day, as Lana sat sketching in her room, her little brother Jacob, a ten-year-old with ordinary blue eyes, joined her. Their playful banter filled the room with laughter.

"Hi Lana," said Jacob with a mischievous grin.

"Hi, little Chinese boy," Lana playfully retorted.

"I am not Chinese," replied Jacob with a hint of indignation.

"Oh, but your eyes are like the sea, so blue and deep. That's why I call you that," teased Lana.

In a teasing retort, Jacob exclaimed, "Well, at least I don't have hairy armpits like you!"

This playful exchange between siblings soon turned into tickling and laughter, bonding them even closer.

As the day progressed, Lana's thoughts wandered to a guy she had seen in high school, a nineteen-year-old named Gaspard. She blushed, admitting to herself that she found him handsome and even shared a few kisses with him. She confided in Jacob, who, in turn, promptly ran to their mother to share the news. Moira advised Lana to be wise and cautious, reminding her that she was still young and had plenty of time to explore relationships when she was ready.

Their family lived near the sea in Brittany, along the picturesque beach of Bel-Île-en-Mer, and today, the weather was overcast with intermittent rain. Lana decided to take a stroll on the beach, hoping to find a secluded cave to play in. Amidst the crashing waves and chilly breeze, she found solace in the tranquility of the sea.

Thoughts of Gaspard lingered in her mind, but Lana knew she was not ready for a serious relationship at thirteen. She cherished her friendship with her best friend, Becky, who was more outgoing and adventurous. Together, they shared a plan to learn more about Ireland and its culture.

Feeling excited about this new endeavor, Lana called Becky to invite her and her mother for a shopping day to buy books on Ireland. Becky enthusiastically accepted the invitation, and the two friends planned to explore the shopping center and later enjoy sailing boats along the beach.

   chapter II: Surprising Revelations

Chapter II

Lana had read her books on the beach and had started taking notes into a notebook where she also had scribbled a few things in Russian. Lana knew Russian because her father had taught her this language and why so? Part of Her father’s mother’s forbears had lived in Russia for centuries migrating from the whole of Scandinavia to Russia in the 19th century, they all had Russian names, the other half, her grandmother’s father was from the Polish nobility mostly Christian and a partly Jewish, and they had found a Yugoslavian ancestor too. Her father’s father was Danish, and all his ancestors were Danes. What interested Lana was all that was related to princesses, princes, kings and queens somehow and now fairies. Becky had put on a bikini and had climbed on a sailboat, driving it along. Lana was keeping an eye on her and while she was half asleep after forty minutes reading, The Abravanels ‘s story was also interesting, Moira Abravanel, Lana ‘s mother was born in 1946 and had survived Bergen- Belsen. She was Jewish, Moira’s father was a Sephardi Jew of Spanish and Portuguese origin whose family had migrated from the Iberian Peninsula in 1492 and settled all over France and Italy, Moira ‘s mother was a French Jew who had entered the resistance and had settled in France and Switzerland, Moira’s grandmother had Ashkenazi Jewish roots from Russia and Armenia. Lana Hansen was asleep and started hearing a voice that wasn’t Becky’s “Laanaa, Laanaa, waaake up waaake up, now” whispered the spectral voice.A boy of thirteen came to her. Gaspard Smith, Lana’s flirt, a blond fellow of nineteen had come to her. “Hey boy, what are you doing here? I am alone with Becky” Gaspard Smith had a brief looks at Lana’s books and took her by the hand. “Come wit me” he said. Lana woke up and followed him near isolated rocks. “How old do you think I am’?” said Gaspard Smith “Nineteen” replied Lana. “Not really honey.” “What?” replied Lana. “I am twenty-seven,” Said Gaspard. “What? What are you talking about?” Said Lana “I lied because, you are only thirteen, “said Gaspard. “Yes, I am and still I think I like you” replied Lana. He kissed her a third time and told her. “Now I will have to leave you for a couple of years” he said. “Why?” “I am an agent and a hoe boy. “ “A what?” said Lana surprised. “ I am American and my story is complicated” “OK, I am very much at lost with the whole thing and so is Becky now.” “Hi” said Becky very surprised, she had just turned to them. She added “Lana, in case you don’t know we’ve been together for the last three months, him and I” she added surprisingly. “Mmm Becky Gaspard Smith just told me he was a hoe b. Well, I believe he knows a lot about sexual matters, is that it? “She added. “Yes. “He replied. “I felt there was something like that, «said Becky. “Come on girls, is it a bad thing to have a friend forever?” Said Smith “No at all. Although are you with wives all day?” Asked Becky “Not really, I have been with all sorts of individuals, but yes, a lot of women too.” But this is not my primary job I have been in primary school, and I have been a stuntman with horses, «Said Gaspard Smith.” “Are you allowed to marry “Asked Lana? “Yes, I can” He replied

Try to catch a glow/wives.

 Try to catch a glow/wives. Aurélie ASSEO

 A poem Inspired by the beauty of the actress Maya Deren and encounters with Sophie and Alexandra separately   

A glow in eyes, dances swing then are past.

A slow turn on the lights tousled.

A dancer, a woman’s touch of grace.

All eyes fly her cloudy blue smile, hands around her hips.

Now as I tickle a friend’s wrist, she looks at me, compassionate or complacent? I could not tell!

Blond she stands with that fine figure that of a countess. She calls my driver’s van a carriage.

I am all buttoned up with my winter red coat I wear in October, I too have brown curls, dark eyes then. This friend who stands next to me she seems to bear will-o-the wisps.  What she embodies are not dead spirits but a flighty creature I would have met on the North seas if she was not from St Petersburg. Her soul sister is mine too, she a friend. A lover or a wife she could have been forever. Did she leave to the U.S.A? Red haired, and that smile, a little red sea fish, a mermaid. Beautiful and bold.