VI

As in a dream…

            It felt like a sign inside his head. It was weak and yet Iscleef had, alas, no doubt about the meaning of the code he had learned to recognize. If all went well, his brain would defend itself by releasing natural endorphins to counteract pain. Otherwise, the pain would crescendo to make him suffer horribly. Iscleef who had other plans for tonight, was not so eager to find his bed. Anyway, he knew he would use the stamps to stop the pain at its source or alleviate pain.

            There were not many people in the shop today. Apart Katsuo who looked after a young girl, there was not much to do. Iscleef behind the cash register, labeled them and arranging some items. The shop was not very big. Rather intimate and friendly. The appointment of experts and regulars. A modern and pleasant place for both. He had met all sorts of people. However the items were intended rather to a trendy clientele. Even if the place was comfortable, Iscleef did not want to sell shoes all his life. He had a dream to start his own business, having his fruit bar. A place where the terms: music, fun and entertainment were one. A place where we would queue for Pluto to attend concerts more popular. A project he had proposed to Ouenda which he had made a natural partner. However, their low incomes, both, do not allow yet to fill up their project. A case penniless was that utopia? And if this did nothing here, this would he say it would not work elsewhere? In the worst case even if the American Dream they were denied, there were other places on the planet. Room for everyone, for every dream… this little world is vast.

            Iscleef therefore and recourse to family donations, which enabled them to accumulate gradually and hope. He knew their potential and the project would deliver. Is it the idea that the adventure might prove worthwhile.

            The music flowed like water in the shop. Chungking with the remix: “Les Fleur” by Minnie Riperton and a version of “Up With People” of Lambchop, revisited by Zero 7, enveloped by a creamy charm all who were in the area.

            Then he unfolded before his eyes, a most unusual scene. Katsuo efforts in exaggerated gentleman had turned into an expert masseur. His fingers slid gently under the arch of a client to whom he presented a new model shoes and she seemed to assess the situation. It showed, however, approval by giggles. The foot was there, between the palms of his colleague. It was true that the shoes chosen by Katsuo flattered outrageously long legs of the young woman. Iscleef had not guessed the worshiper exacerbated female feet slumbering in Katsuo. This last, thought he, had missed his vocation. It was however not look far for his conversion: woman feet massager! And it was not far to wear the foot in his mouth, to kiss it and to…

            Iscleef amusing to imagine the other as a sort of buck in rut fantasizing, drool dripping before the ankle offered. It was quite easy to think that his accomplice at the time, in his manner, seemed very exciting also seen as she left to do. Iscleef fully savored the moment. He had already projected that this evening, took advantage without losing a beat. He knew the taste of Katsuo for everything related to the extravagance. You should have seen these outfits one wilder than others. If he had brought in long skirt, it would not surprise. The worst being that he would like a glove, for sure, because Katsuo had this gift of knowing accommodate the most disparate things.

            In the eyes of one obsessive lust that shone as if the foot of the young woman was a candy. Far from being as comically stupid and ugly as his namesake from Japanese manga in hairstyling impossible, Katsuo was, the evidence is irrefutable, a foot fetishist, a real one. A lover… A little feet crazy guy.

            Iscleef was not to intervene because he was already preparing to shoot his colleague ridiculous. The most surprising and he came to realize that what he interpreted as the stitches in his brain, had disappeared completely.

            At the same time, front of cash register when he ceded his place to politely Katsuo in a smile of complicity, which escaped much of the young woman, echoed “comeback girl” of the Irish Republic of Loose.

            Once the client leaved the store: Well, you bastard! Thou hast bestowed a fucking show! What was that? You contest for the title of Employee of the month? I thought you were going to eat him up on this chick, said Iscleef which was laughing out loud.

            — Forget it! You cannot understand.

            — Yeah, I understand everything. In fact, you’re a big sick.

            — Is what I say. All of this is too high for your little sparrow head. It’s beyond your understanding of sparrow, Katsuo retorted.

            — Bullshit! This is usually the output when they close was not an answer. What I will not understand? Tell me, therefore, what I missed? I’m waiting for you! You got nothing to say! I am sure that had you serious you want to rub on his ankle, he said. You’re screwed!

            — Phew! Are you really stupid or you’re doing it on purpose? I had a true masterpiece in the hands just now. She had beautiful feet…

            — Yeah, I saw that, cannibal! You would have eaten if I had not been there, confess?

            — Very little fuck! That is what you do not see, said Katsuo, irritably, pointing to a phone number listed on a receipt damaged.

            — Then do not forget to tell that it was his feet that make you hard! Kind of freak!

Katsuo not rise. He saw no utility. In addition, he used this kind of situation. He loved the ambience here and he knew too well Iscleef not blame him. Moreover, it was surprising that Ouenda is not yet gone to see them. But the day was not over and he was closed this evening.

            At the four corners of the store that was… desert, the speakers spit back “call me, call me” of the Seatbelts Yoko Kanno. Iscleef mimicked the air guitar and violin, while Katsuo, leaning against the counter, blow up the vocal cords in an interpretation breathtaking. He was almost sixteen hours, the time came for deliverance. The day job of Iscleef ended.

            …/… The sky was covered by myriads of pink and blue stripes that gave this aspect imaginary city wrapped in a soft warm orange welfare.

            Magali was already there in the tail. She was about to call Iscleef to inform him of his arrival but put his cell phone when she saw him. There were few people and so much the better. The bulk of the troops would arrive shortly.

            Iscleef was delighted to attend the concert Natalia M. King, he who had missed three months earlier than Malia, the Afro-British crooner with the long endless legs (that singer had fallen under the spell of the voice of Liane Foly, had he learned) that Amel Larrieux (including its related “Make me Whole”, had finally won), another artist whom he adored and who had provided the first party to the Café de la Danse.

            Magali did not return home from the office apparently because she was still dressed for work and especially betrayed by the inevitable small rings under the arms, born this morning. Fitted white shirt on a nice black canvas pants that fall just on fine black shoes with pointy heels that seemed bare, slightly supported by a thin strip. If his attire was also made to embellish her, Magali divinely embellished what she wore. It is easier to forgive the beautiful people, perhaps because it is naturally create in us a feeling of sympathy for them. And assuming that Magali is dressed in rags and tatters, the effect on Iscleef would still be great.

            Comfortably within this small temple of the music scene, as there was something intimate and friendly in this magical place that had seen so many famous artists. Such Akosh S, Lokua Kanza, the voice of velvet Marcio Faraco or former drummers of Miles Davis, Mino Cinelu accompanying Natalia M. King tonight.

            They were confronted with the sincerity of the artist with his guitar under his arm which seemed bathed in a light-blue with purple hues soothing as unreal as supernatural. Iscleef caught herself from time to time to cast furtive glances at Magali completely captive by the beauty of the moment. He had the joy of sharing the things he loved and flattered himself that this pleased to Magali.

The hall was crowded but a table they had naturally devolved through their status as first arrivals. There was an installation to allow other artists to settle. Magali took the opportunity to go to the toilet. Moreover, by forcing a passage where she was a little difficult to extricate himself from his place. She slalomed between the tables being careful not to overthrow. His post steatopygous did not pass unnoticed. Iscleef noticed in the lost and bewildered eyes of a spectator who had all the trouble to loosen and whose face was saying something vague. When Magali always returned with much difficulty, old memories rose to the surface. For those in very urban and friendly suddenly had the audience at the sight of beautiful forms of Magali, Iscleef remembered that he was an actor who played in this kind of syrupy television movie of the week we forgotten soon after. He came a strange feeling. Iscleef was strangely satisfied with what he had seen.

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© Copyright – Enrick CINDY – 2005 April