So, did we sign this agreement? The next morning, Cordai was still persistent. The agreement, the agreement, Mnusken said, is not as enthusiastic as the first day, don't be so anxious.

We don't have to sign in such a hurry. At the moment, we might as well say that I will be in charge of the production of the work, well, I will do the specific operation. I can't get my money back until it's sold, and then it's up to me to see if it's well received, and if I can find another place for you to exhibit it. In Belgium, in Germany, and so on. If the response is not good, we will have to stay in France and we will try to find a place, let's say, a cultural center or something. And then we're going to try to get a regional shopping federation or a national shopping federation to buy one of them, and you see, and then we can put it on display somewhere, this piece, and that's going to make a little bit of a shock. Subsequently, march to New York.

New York, the other followed like a worm, dumbfounded. New York, Mnusken Revisited, New York. There's always something similar to the plan, isn't it? Then, if all goes well, we will then consider the issue of the letter of agreement as a whole. Please forgive me for delaying you for a minute.

Beside the gallery door, Judicial Officer Supan stood motionless again, thoughtfully facing a new piece on display, a huge bra made of asbestos, which already belonged to the husband of Schovodz's mistress, who had booked it from Mnusken. Suphan, he looks so young, he always wears his standard uniform of a young police officer, he doesn't like this outfit from the bottom of his heart, but after all, as a police officer, everything is out of his own hands. He's there, and he's in Mnusken's gallery, and he's so jovial, modern art, after all, something to my liking.

The Fiat car, said Sypan, I just wanted to tell you that they seemed to be tracking it near the Spanish border. Mobile customs, routine inspections, nothing. They tried to detain the driver for a while, but customs, of course, could not do anything in such cases. We were quickly informed and we had the opportunity to consult with our local counterparts. Obviously, I'm going to do everything I can to keep an eye on that kid, I have colleagues over there, and I'll let them intervene in it, but I can't guarantee you anything. If I find something, I'll call you right away. In any case, whether it's tonight or tomorrow, I'll give you a letter of approval. Please tell me, I just want to know, that one, that big bra, how much does it cost?

Intimidated by the price, Supan staggered away, and though the information he brought with him might have pushed the unsolved case one step further, Mnusken was immersed in a gloomy melancholy. He hastily got rid of Cordai's entanglement, and was no longer even sure if he had promised him, and we'll see.

He should restrain himself in such a way that the transition to the void does not occupy the whole territory, and especially does not corrupt his career and, more generally, does not poison his artistic views.

He cast a roving, suddenly frustrated glance at the works on display in his gallery, and then a suspicion seized him, forcing him to close the gallery door early again.

He sent Elizabeth home first, then locked the glass door, pressed the button and lowered the iron curtains, and then went out, and braved the fierce wind that day, all the way to the St. Lazarus subway station. Reverse at the Opéra station and get off at the Châtelet station, from where you can go to the Supreme Court, which takes less than two minutes on foot and crosses the Seine. Mnusken's various business and financial worries were not the only reason for this blank transition, and there was something else to his blushing face and hunched waist: it was also because it was October 10th, and rushing to get a divorce was never something to be a cause for concern.

Of course, he wasn't the only one in this situation, but that didn't give him the slightest comfort: the waiting room was packed with a couple of men and women who had come to the end of their journey. Some of them, even though they came to the courtroom, did not look like they were speaking ill of each other, and they talked calmly with their lawyers. The summons was set for 11:30 p.m., and until 40 p.m., Lu Quanquan had not yet appeared—always late, and Mnusken did not want to say a word for fear of evoking an uncomfortable memory, but the judge who heard the family dispute was also late. In the waiting room, uncomfortable plastic chairs are fixed on the walls on all sides, and the chairs surround a coffee table with stacks of old publications: law magazines, art or health illustrated magazines, and weekly magazines dedicated to the lives of celebrities. Mnusken picked up a celebrity magazine and began to flip through it: it was fashionably made up of pictures of celebrities, all sorts of stars, from opera, television, film, sports, politics and even cooking.

The middle double page is a photograph of a superstar snuggled up to his newly conquered prey in the love field, and in the background of the photograph the reader can distinguish Bengatnell's figure, which is slightly blurred, but completely recognizable.

Mnusken would have his eyes on the page and the picture in four seconds, three, two, one second, but Lu Quanquan chose this moment to appear, and he closed the weekly without regrets.

The judge, a gray-haired female judge, calm and nervous, said she was calm because she thought she had the habit of being a judge, and said she was nervous because she was good at never carrying this habit.

Despite her obvious pretense of coldness, Mnusken imagined her to be very concerned about the private lives of others, to be understanding, and perhaps even amiable, yes, of course, a good wife and mother, although people don't joke about it every day at home. Of course, this does not rule out the possibility that when she comes home for dinner later, her husband may behave like a cat, doing the housework, and at dinner, they may also discuss civil rights issues. Since she had arranged for the couple to be received together in the first place, Mnusken judged that she would probably only ask aimless questions, and he would not bother to answer.

Most of the time, Lu Quanquan has always maintained caution and restraint, only answering when he has to answer, and trying to use as few words as possible. No, no, Mnusken said, was his answer to the female judge's question to confirm whether they had children. Then you have made up your mind, asked the female judge, as she turned her face to Quan Quan—and then turned to Mnusken: Sir seemed a little less resolute than Madame. No, no, Mnusken said, there was no problem. Then, one by one, she talked to them separately, and Madame came first.

While waiting for his turn, Mnusken didn't pick up the same pictorial again, and when Su Luquan came out of the judge's office, he stood up and looked at her, but she looked at her with a loving look.

He walked to the office, his legs and feet inadvertently colliding against a chair. Are you really convinced that you want a divorce? The female judge asked. Yes, yes, Mnusken replied hurriedly. Okay, she said, the colleague closed the file, so be it, it's over.

After coming out of the courthouse, Mnusken wanted to invite Lu Quanquan to have lunch or just have a drink, let's say, in the dining room of the Palace of Justice opposite, but she didn't allow him time to speak.

Mnusken shuddered, waiting for something worse to come, an insulting scolding that he had avoided in January, and now it looked like a bloody spurt was coming, but no, no. She just cocked a finger to shut up, opened her purse, took out the keys to a set of galleries he had left at Issy's house, handed him without saying a word, and walked away without a head, far to the Pont Saint-Michel to the south.

After five seconds of stunned stupefiing, Mnusken also hit the road, heading north onto the trading bridge.

Seeing that it was getting dark, Mnusken closed the door of the gallery at nineteen o'clock, as usual, and as night approached, the sun was no longer visible from this part of the earth, leaving only a very clear gray-blue sky, and in the center of the sky slid a plane in the distance, receiving the last rays of sunlight that could no longer be detected from the ground, drawing a bright rosy straight line. Mnusken remained motionless for a few moments, glanced out into the street, and then began to walk. The merchants in the neighborhood all drew the iron curtains of their shops like him. The workers on the opposite site also got off work, and before leaving, carefully adjusted the crane boom to follow the direction of the night wind. On the walls of the tall apartment buildings nearby, one of the two windows is blocked by parabolic antennas: when the sun is shining, the parabolas are supposed to block it out, but instead they receive images specially provided to the television instead of sunlight, so the television sets replace the windows.

He grew farther and farther away from the gallery, and suddenly, at the end of the street, a figure of a woman appeared, the silhouette familiar to him, but time slipped away a little before he recognized Hélène. It's not the first time that Mnusken hasn't been able to recognize her at a glance: it had happened in the hospital, when she walked into the room, he had felt the same cushion of reaction, and each time, he knew in his heart that it was her, but at the same time he had to reconstruct her every time, starting from scratch, as if her lines would not automatically organize into a whole. However, it is indisputable that the lines are indeed beautiful and harmoniously proportioned, and Mnusken can appreciate them separately, but the relationship between them is constantly changing, and can never be true and unmistakable to the same face.

They are always in a state of unstable equilibrium, as if their relationship is in flux, and one might even think that they are never tired of moving. Every time she saw Hélène again, she felt that she was not exactly the same person in front of her.

Hélena was passing by by by accident, unexpectedly and unprepared, and Mnusken invited her for a drink and reopened the gallery doors.

Then, while going to his studio in search of a refreshing champagne, Mnusken made up his mind that this time he would have to study Hélène's face as patiently and meticulously as in the previous class, and that he would have to master it once and for all, and eliminate the confusion it caused.

But once again, his efforts were in vain, because today, for the first time, Hélène wore heavy makeup, which changed everything and complicated everything.

Because, while makeup adorns those sensory organs, it also conceals them, at least, so to speak, those sensory organs that have multiple functions. The mouth, let's say, has multiple functions, it has to breathe, it has to talk, it eats, it drinks, it smiles, it mumbles, it kisses, it sucks, it licks, it bites, it gasps, it sighs, it screams, it smokes, it grimaces, it laughs, it sings, it whistles, it burps, it spits, it burps, it vomits, it sighs, and now, people have to paint it to motivate it to perform so many noble functions, and that's really the next step. People also draw eye circles, and the eyes are used to see things, it wants to express feelings, crying, and closing it can sleep, which is also noble. People also paint their nails, and the nails are the first witnesses of the great and noble variety of movements of the hands.

However, people do not whitewash organs that provide only one or two service functions. The ears don't make up – it's only for listening – and people just put a pendant on it. The nose doesn't wear make-up – it only breathes, it smells, and sometimes it gets clogged – one can give it the same way one can equip the ear with a bracelet, a jewel, a pearl, or, in certain climates, even a real bone, whereas in ours people are content to give it a little powder. However, Hélène did not show off any of these props, she simply applied a little lipstick called ruby red to her lips, a little yellow fat powder from the land of Siena on her eyelids, and a little eyeliner. In the eyes of Ferré, who is now opening champagne, this would greatly complicate everything.

But no, there will be no time for all this to complicate anything, and at that moment the phone rang: I'm Sypan, I brought you news in advance, I think I found a clue. Mnusken grabbed a pencil at hand, listened intently, jotted down a few words on the back of an envelope, and thanked the judicial officer. Nothing, Sypan said, was a matter of luck. We had a good relationship with the Spanish customs, and he stressed that there was a friend of mine, a distinguished colleague, in the gendarmerie motorcycles there, who did an extra follow-up on the case. You see, it's what people call police-to-police wars. Then, as soon as Mnusken hung up the phone, he trembled and poured two glasses of wine with trembling eyes, and they all overflowed. I've got to get out soon, he said. Before we go, you and I, we might finally be able to have a toast over something.

Whether you're crossing the border by motorway or national road, whether you're crossing the border from Hendayé or Behobi, you have to pass through the seaside town of San Sebastian if you're going to the south of Spain. As he drove through the gloomy industrial area and along the depressing rows of Franco-era buildings, Mnusken was asking himself what he was doing here, when suddenly, unexpectedly, his car had entered a large city famous for its luxurious bathing beaches. The city sits on a long and narrow peninsula, flanked on either side by a large river and a mountain, which divides the two bays in almost perfect symmetry, and the double recesses draw a roughly Greek Q shape, and the breast of a woman protrudes into the interior of the land, as if the breasts of two seas, and is clothed by the Spanish coast.

Mnusken parked his rental car in an underground car park near the main bay and stayed in a small hotel in the city center. For a whole week he wandered the wide streets, the quiet, fresh, and clean, with the bright and dimly lit buildings standing on the sides, and the narrow streets, which were also carefully cleaned, dark and short, and bordered by almost nervous buildings. Palaces and luxury hotels, bridges and parks, Baroque, Gothic, neo-Gothic churches, a brand new bullring, a wide beach, a thalassotherapy center by the beach, a royal tennis club, a casino in Cassino. The four bridges, one more brilliant than the other, are paved with fine stones to form mosaics, and the sides are decorated with stones, glass pieces, and cast iron to form lace, and are also decorated with white and gold obelisk monuments, wrought iron mirrors, sphinxes, and small towers engraved with the characters of the royal family. The water that flows down from the upstream is green, and when it rushes into the ocean, it turns blue.

Mnusken often wanders over these bridges, but more often walks along the promenades along the shell-shaped bay, with a small island in the middle of the bay on which stands a small castle.

As he wandered around like this day after day, searching all the neighborhoods, with no other goal but hoping for chance, he finally grew tired of a city that was too large and at the same time too small, in which you could never be sure that you were standing under your feet, but at the same time you knew too well. Syppan gives no other clues, other than the name of the city of San Sebastian, with the hypothesis that its possibilities are very limited. It seems that it is only possible to say that the guy who stole the antique stayed here.

For the first few days, Mnusken used to go to some of the many lively little taverns in the old town, where people liked to stand at the counter and eat as many knick-knacks as they could, rather than having to sit at the table and fill their stomachs alone, which would ruin your mood. But even this Mnusken began to get tired of: at last he chose a little-known restaurant near the harbor, where the atmosphere of loneliness was not so strong.

Every afternoon near evening, he calls Elisabeth in his gallery in Paris, and in the evening he goes to bed early. However, after a week, he began to feel that his search was hopeless, and that searching for a stranger in a strange city would lead to nothing, and suddenly his courage was thrown out of the clouds.

Before contemplating the question of returning to Paris, Mnusken would spend two more days in the city, but he would no longer wander around in vain, and in the afternoon, if the autumn weather permitted, he would prefer to doze off on a transatlantic liner displayed on the beach, and then, in the bar of the Marley Hotel, sit in a leather armchair, face a glass of "Texacoli" and a portrait of a certain governor, and pass the last few nights alone.

One day, the entire ground floor of the Marley Hotel was bustling with a group of cancer specialists who had come to a meeting, and Mnusken changed his mind and went to the London Hotel, which was only slightly less luxurious than the previous one, and its bar had the added benefit of its large airy glass windows facing the bay. That night, it was much quieter than the Maria Inn—only three or four middle-aged couples sat in the hall, and two or three men stood in the bar, with no movement or any contact. Mnusken picked a seat at the end of the hall, next to a large glass of glass. Night had fallen, and the lights of the shore were reflected in the oily sea as floating pillars, and on the other side of the harbor were twenty-five yachts quietly moored, standing tall in the darkness. However, the large glasses, depending on the focal point of the gaze, also allowed him to look both outside and the inside of the hall without moving, because of the effect of reflection. After a while, a movement appeared at the other end of the bar:

The turnstile began to turn for a moment, and Bengtnell peeked out of it, walked into the bar, with one arm on the bar, and stood beside the single men, and turned his back towards the bay. The two shoulders and the back, reflected in the glass in the distance, made Mnusken frown, and his gaze adjusted more and more precisely to them, and at last he rose from his seat at once, and walked cautiously and steadily towards the bar. Just two metres from Bengtnell, Mnusken suddenly stopped, seemed to hesitate for a second, and then approached him. I'm sorry, he said, two fingers lightly on the man's shoulder, and the man turned. Oh, Mnusken said, it's you, Draai. This time, I guessed it right.

De La Ai was not satisfied with the catastrophe, after all, this only surprised Mnusken, who had changed his face in the past few months, which was amazing. It was as if he had changed as a different person. The crooked, twisted, blurry, jumbled mass of obtuse angles that had marked his body earlier had given way to a bundle of sharp lines and sharp sharp angles, as if it were all the result of a rebirth. After becoming Gatnell, everything about him was now a perfectly drawn line: his tie, which was always recognizable if he wore it, was always recognizable, the bow tie was always shrunk under one corner or the other corner of the collar of his shirt, and the folds of the trouser leg were often found to have disappeared without a trace, because the trouser leg was almost rolled up to the knee, and even his smile could not hold up for long, and the shelf often quickly collapsed and became rounded, Like a block of ice rapidly melting and dissolving in tropical temperatures, his casually combed aside, the belt he slung cross-body, the leg braces of his glasses, all the way to his gaze itself, in short, all the hastily formed, rough, unfinished, and undecided parts of his body were now all erected and hardened, as if starched. Even the stray hairs on his unkempt mustache were now cut into a straight line, a carefully trimmed thread, as if drawn in the Latin style with a thin brush clinging to his upper lip.

Mnusken and he looked at each other carefully for a moment, neither of them saying a word. Perhaps in a deliberate gesture, Draai, holding the glass in his hand, began to slowly turn the glass in his hand, and then stopped his movement: the liquid in the glass continued to rotate on its own, and then calmed down on its own. Well, Mnusken said, maybe we can find a place to sit down. We'd better talk. Agreed, Draai sighed. They left the bar and walked towards the deeply sunken set of armchairs, in groups of three or four, around a small, one-legged round table covered with tablecloths. Choose a place, said Mnusken, and I'll do it.

So Mnusken followed him, and looking from behind, he noticed the clothes of his former assistant: in this respect, too, things had changed. His flannel gray-black twill suit seemed to be his guardian, for the man was now straight. As he turned to sit down, Mnusken noticed a dark tie over a pearl-colored pinstriped shirt, a pair of leather boots the color of old furniture, a dull glow from the ties and buttons on the sleeves, and a low sound of milky stone and rough gold, all dressed exactly as Mnusken had always wanted him to dress when he was working in the gallery. The only crack in the perfect painting is that when De Laey slumped down in the armchair, the curl of his trousers shrunk up, the whiteness of the blemish was revealed: the elastic bands of his socks seemed to have low blood pressure. You're pretty good-looking, Mnusken said. Where did you buy this outfit?

I didn't have anything to wear, and Dra Ai replied, "Hey, no way, I'll have to make do with something here."

In the downtown area of here, you can really find good goods, and you can't imagine that they are sold much cheaper than in France. Then he straightened up from his armchair, straightened his tie, which had been slightly skewed by excitement, and lifted up the socks that were twisted around his ankles.

These socks, which my wife gave me, he added nonchalantly, but they kept shrinking down, you see. It's all about to fall off. Ah, Mnusken said, it's normal, the socks that people give you, they're going to fall down.

That's right, there's a smile on Dela'ay's stereotyped face, what a pair of perceptive eyes, can I ask you for a drink? Willingly, Mnusken said. De La Ai gestured to a waiter dressed in white, and they waited quietly for the waiter in white to bring him a drink, and then, without a smile, they quietly raised their glasses, and they drank. Well, then Draai broke the silence, you say what should we do? I don't quite know, Mnusken said, that the key is up to you. How about we go out for a spin?

They got out of the London inn and did not go in the direction of the sea, but chose the opposite direction, although that night there was a raging tide. The days have begun to shrink more and more frantically, and the nights have become thicker and heavier more rapidly. They walked up Liberty Avenue to a bridge across the river.

This turbulent water rushes in vain against the Cantabrian Sea, and when the current is too violent, the sea will strike it head-on, invade it with a blow, and push the river back in reverse, and the faint water will suffocate in the presence of so many belligerent sea salts. Its countercurrent then crashes against the piers of the Giuliola Bridge, then crashes into the Santa Catarina Bridge and finally rests behind the Maria Bridge. Not only do they continue to make waves on the surface of the river, but they also swell and roll underneath the water, making the belly of the river wriggle as if it were convulsing until it reaches the Mundardz bridge, and perhaps even further upstream. They stopped in the middle of the bridge, and just as they watched the freshwater and saltwater battle unfolding beneath their feet, and just as Draai remembered for a moment that he had never learned to swim, a thought crossed Mnusken's mind.

I can get rid of you, anyway, once and for all, he said calmly, but he didn't really believe it himself. Let's say, I can let you drown so I don't have any trouble.

Yes, perhaps, I should even do it to repay you for all that you have brought me. Hearing this, Draai hurriedly tried to dissuade him, and such a move would probably only cause trouble for the actors. Mnusken clearly reminds him that you have already died in an official way anyway, and this time the disappearance will only be unknown to the gods and ghosts.

Everyone thought you were dead, and he insisted that you no longer have a legal existence, and that was your own choice, wasn't it? What, then, will I risk if I destroy you? It was not a sin to kill a dead man, he assumed, but he was repeating the reasoning that Draai had already made with the eel. Well, said Delaai, you wouldn't do that. No, Mnusken admitted, I don't think so. Also, I didn't even know how I was supposed to do it, and I wasn't really familiar with the technology. However, one thing is obvious, your kid's handle is in my hands anyway. I admit what you say, Draai, please think twice, but I admit everything.

None of this allowed us to take a step forward, and so, because there was nothing to say, they were silent for a minute or two. Mnusken was asking himself what kind of devil possessed him when he spoke so rudely. From time to time, a more ferocious wave struck, snapped and smashed against a pier, splashing fringe-like droplets all the way to their shoes. Mirrors shaped like sweet bread on the Marian Bridge cast a light like a cronie's conspiracing. Upstream, you can see the mirrors of the Giuliola Bridge, which are shaped like ice cream cones with three or four round balls, but the light is brighter there.

Tell you, Mnusken imagines calmly that I can accuse you of such points, theft or robbery, abuse of trust, I don't think it's enough for you, I don't know. However, just one theft is already illegal. I guess it's not that legal to pretend to be dead, right? I don't know, De La Ai made it very clear, I really didn't consult about this.

In addition, as a corollary, Mnusken said, "I suspect that you are guilty of more than that, and that there must be some other little problem that is not clear."

Remembering the unfortunate fate of the eel, De La Ai did not dare comment on this speculation. Well, he said, I threw in the towel. Okay, agreed, I threw in the towel, these things are facts. But, now, what am I going to do about it, have you thought about this? Anyway, in the end, you are good, it is you who won by luck, he cheekily added, it is up to you to get out of this predicament.

So, with a great effort, Mnusken pressed Draai on his back against the railing of the bridge, and he scolded him in a few muttered remarks, and then recklessly choked him by the neck. You dog, he then yelled, so that people could hear it clearly, and he completely forgot that he was still condemning himself for spilling too much wild tonight, you filthy pig, at this time, the other leaning back head was already hanging above the rolling river, he had already scolded, and now he was just shouting and begging for mercy, don't, don't, I beg you, don't do this.

It is better to briefly mention Mnusken, a man of considerable height, with black hair, black eyes, and sometimes gray, and it can be said that he is not in good health, but to be more precise, although he fears that his heart will have all kinds of problems, and he is not particularly strong, when he is angry, his strength is incomparably multiplied.

That seems to be the case at the moment.

Dirty pig, stinking shit, he's still scolding while dangerously crushing Delaai's throat, you little liar. Cars drove over the bridge, fishing boats passed under the bridge, all the lights were off, and four pedestrians came from the sidewalk on the other sidewalk, not caring at all about the fight between the two of them, and although they heard the movement, none of them stopped, completely unaware that this thrilling scene could lead to a tragedy.

Don't, now Draai's voice is sobbing, please, don't do that. Shut up, stupid pig, shut up, Mnusken shouted, a little red-eyed, you look at it, see if I don't pull your nose off.

The other had begun to twitch incessantly, and Mnusken frantically felt that Delaai's carotid artery was throbbing under the horns of his jawbone, so conspicuous and so intense, that he couldn't help but think of the beating sound of his own artery coming from the ultrasound machine a few months ago. But, hell, at this time he asked himself, what the hell is wrong with me tonight, to be so swearing?

The rest of the days will be spent in a customary order. First of all, it will be a whole day on the road, because Mnusken has decided not to have to rush back to Paris. Stopping for a long time near Angoulême and having a sure lunch gives a carefree return a special taste of tourism, just to give yourself a little time to look back and anticipate. In the car, because there was no radio conditioning system, he had to adjust the radio band every 100 kilometers he drove in order to have a barely listening effect. In any case, Mnusken listened absentmindedly to the radio, always at a low volume, and was used only as a dubbing tape to sound the surround screen stereoscopic film he had shown for the last twenty hours.

Against Delaai, it was almost too easy to deal with. After a frenzy, Mnusken's mood calmed down, and then the two finally reached a showdown to reach a compromise. Delaai is besieged and cornered.

Expecting great antiques on the black market, he began to spend so much on a spree that in a few months his savings had been converted into the comforts and glamour of luxury hotels: now he was almost penniless. With Mnusken's arrival, his good hopes burst like a soap bubble. Once Mnusken regained his normal senses, he dragged him to a bar in the old town and discussed with him how to deal with the aftermath. They argued more calmly, they thought about the future. Mnusken politely addressed his former assistant again as you could.

Now, in view of the fact that there is no better way, De La Ai hopes to humbly and finally retain the surname Bengatnell, and it seems that in the first place, in order to obtain this false surname, he had to go to great lengths: my God, this is a last resort. That's because, earlier, he also spent a lot of money to get it, and it was a very expensive deal to be able to use a fake ID card, and any form of regression seemed impossible at the moment. Nevertheless, he tried to bargain: he agreed to obediently give an account of the location of the antiques, but in return he demanded a considerable sum of money. Although Mnusken decided that the request was forgiving, he happily slashed and accepted only a third of the price offered to De La Ai, which was enough for Dra Ai to see that the opportunity had come for him to choose to go to a foreign country, because the exchange rate of foreign exchange was so low. The other also stopped counter-offering, and they agreed on it. They finally parted politely, and Mnusken went to Paris in the evening.

The day after his return, the first thing Mnusken did when he got up in the morning was, according to the honest confession of his former assistant, to rush to the small town of Charenthorn, to retrieve the treasure he had obtained from the North Pole, and then rented a large safe in the bank, and hastily, and certainly did, to hide the antiques in the safe. When he had done this, in the afternoon, when he went to Raymond to get the final antique appraisal report, he had just arrived at the secretariat when Mnusken found Soni standing in front of him. She was still the same, with her Ericsson and Benson, and when she saw her and her things, Mnusken couldn't help but think of that "baby wind". She looked at him with some contempt, as if she didn't care, but as he followed her down the hallway to Raymond's office, she suddenly turned around and began to complain angrily about him, blaming him for not calling her once. Seeing that Mnusken was indifferent to her words, she then muttered unrelentingly, and then, seeing that Mnusken wanted to sneak into the toilet to hide for a while, she hurried over too, blocked him, and threw herself into his arms, ah, she said, "Have me." He resisted, and tried to explain to her that there was neither time nor place, and she stirred up, trying to scratch his face, to bite his flesh, and then, throwing away all self-control, knelt down before him, and unbuttoned his clothes, bent on doing the kind of thing known to all, and not pretending to be naïve, for you knew exactly what it meant. But, everyone knows why, and Mnusken struggles desperately. After finally getting rid of this treatment, he regained a little composure and could catch his breath, but his mood was messed up. Thankfully, when he returned to the gallery a little later, he found that the affairs of the gallery had been in good order during his absence from Paris. The business seemed to be picking up a little, but Mnusken couldn't concentrate all afternoon.

Of course, Soni is not the solution to the problem, but, as everyone knows, Mnusken is a man who can't live without a woman, and from the third day, he turns back to the love scene to find an affair. Whether it's those latent loves, or flirts in the corners, old relationships that have been broken, or new contacts that are being made, or related things, they are all more or less interesting. Those who might have activated him are now somehow nowhere to be found, either living elsewhere or working elsewhere. Only those who didn't mean much seemed to be able to restore contact, but, now, on the other hand, he was hesitant and didn't want to find them.

Apparently, there's also Hélène, though Mnusken is still hesitant to get in touch with her. He hadn't seen her since the day she put on her makeup, because he himself had left for Spain and never quite understood how to treat her and what kind of person he should imagine her to be. She was far away, and so close, and she was at her fingertips, cold as ice, thick and smooth, and left Mnusken with no clues, so that he could not fathom her thoughts, but nevertheless he made up his mind to call her, but, even with Elena, he could not book a date within a week. The week passed, during which he had three times and three times cancelled his intention to postpone the appointment, but everything happened in a desperately ordinary way, that is, they had dinner together and then they slept together, which was not a perfect success, but they did it. Then, they redid it again. It went a little better, and they started from the beginning, until it was very good, especially because, in the midst of these hugs, they began to talk more easily, and even they talked and laughed together:

They moved forward, maybe they moved forward.

Let's move on, and now, let's get up to speed. In the weeks that followed, not only did Elena come to Eminem Street more often to spend more time with Mnusken, but she also frequented the gallery more and more often. Soon she had another set of keys to his residence, and soon Mnusken did not renew Elizabeth's work contract, so she was naturally replaced by Hélène, and at the same time inherited the keys to the gallery that Lu Quanquan had returned at the courthouse.

Elena learned to do this profession fairly quickly. She acquired the art of smoothing the edges with such a delicate degree that at first when she was working part-time, Mnusken entrusted her with the basic PR work of dealing with artists. For example, she was tasked with overseeing the progress of Spondini's work, improving Guldel's moral character, or dispelling Martinov's extravagant expectations. This role is so important, especially since Mnusken is so busy dealing with the recovered antiques that he can't take care of anything else.

Soon, naturally, and without much of a word, Hélène moved to Eminem Street, and then, as the business became more and more popular, she soon took up full-time work in the gallery. It seems that the artists, especially Martinov, preferred to deal with Elena rather than to Mnusken: she was more tranquil and emotional than him, and he was content to listen to her tell the story of the day every night on Eminem Street. Although the two of them never really went through the formalities, everything gave the impression that they were already a loving couple. One can see them going in pairs in various places, every morning, with a cup of tea in front of her and a cup of coffee in front of him, the two of them discuss advertising, budgets, production schedules, exchanges with foreign countries, etc., and finally, when it comes to the budget for the plastic artwork, they finally give up. In addition, Mnusken is now thinking about moving. This has become entirely possible. In addition to the treasure found in the Silik, he made a windfall, and during this time, the art market rebounded, the telephone rang incessantly, and the collectors reopened the lizard's eyes, and their checkbooks popped out of their pockets like red-eyed mackerel. The abolition of the plastic works of art did not create any vacancies, and at the same time, Martinov was rapidly rising to the post of official painter.

He was asked to paint buildings such as the Cabinet Hall in London and the population of a factory in Singapore, the stage curtain in the east and the theatre roof in the west, and his work is increasingly being exhibited in retrospectives abroad, which is good, very good. Bukele and Spontini, after the initial amazement, began to strengthen their prestige with determination, and even Guldare, who was not favored by anyone at all, began to have several buyers.

With all this glamorous liquidity, Mnusken decided that he could, that he should, that he was going to change apartments.

Now he was more than able to buy a house: so he found himself a house in the thirteenth arrondissement, more spacious and brand new than before, and he chose the one on the top floor, embracing the blue sky, the house had just been built, and it would not be finalized until the first half of January.

While waiting for all the details of the new house to be ready, they began to receive visitors from their home on Emu Street. They hosted a couple of cocktail parties, a couple of dinners, and they invited collectors like Rebala, who came without his wife, some art critics, some gallery owners, and one night they even invited Sypan, who had brought his fiancée. In gratitude for his help, Mnusken solemnly gave him a painting, a small lithograph by Martinov, which Elena told him to give him this time at a very low price. Thrilled, Zipan declared that he couldn't accept it, but eventually left with the bag of paintings under his armpit and his fiancée's under the other. It's November, the weather is dry, the wind is beautiful, and the autumn is beautiful. When they don't invite people to their house, they sometimes go out for dinner, and after dinner they go to the bar for a drink, to Sunflower, to Rum, to Son of the Wind, and in these bars they sometimes meet insiders, colleagues or art critics who have just invited to open a gallery the other day.

In the weeks that followed, until the end of the month, there were a few occasions when Mnusken stumbled upon several women with whom he had been in a relationship, some up close and some from afar. One day, he saw Lance, who was waiting for a green light like him, on the side of the pedestrian crossing near the Cathedral of Madelai, but Mnusken remembered their break-up full of bad words, and wished she hadn't seen him, so he hurried around to the adjacent traffic light to cross the street. Another day, in Plaza Europa, he was suddenly caught by the aromatic aroma of elixir, and he inhaled cautiously, but could not identify the woman who had left him behind. He couldn't be sure that it was Ariel, because at this time, the number of users of this brand of perfume did not seem to be small. He desperately restrained himself from following the thread of smell he had never liked, and he even turned his head to avoid it.

One night, at the "Sunflower" bar, when Mnusken and Elena went there for a drink, Mnusken suddenly bumped into Tuva, whom she hadn't seen since the beginning of the year. Her appearance hadn't changed much, except that her hair had grown longer and her eyes had become more distant, as if the focus of a pair of eyes had receded in order to embrace a wider field of view, a more distant panorama. In addition, there was a hint of weariness in her expression. They exchanged three or four pleasantries, and Tuva, looking absent-minded, threw a smile at Elena as a liberated captive or a defeated conqueror, and Elena dropped a sentence - you can talk, I will come as soon as I go - and walked away. Tuva did not seem to know about Dela'ai's disappearance, so Mnusken provided her with an official version of the incident, accompanied by a sad look, and then he gave her a cup of dry white and followed Hélène away.

During this time, Mnusken and Hélène were busy preparing for their new home: their common bedroom, and their respective bedrooms when they wished to sleep separately, because everything was to be foreseen, as well as the study, guest room, kitchen, and three bathrooms, and, of course, the platform and the outbuildings. Mnusken came to his new house several times a week, which was almost finished. He walked on the rough concrete floor, breathing in the smell of plaster powder emanating from the walls, while anticipating the finishing touches and the painting work, imagining the color of the curtains and the style of the furniture, ignoring the real estate agent's stumbling between the beams, staggering, and spreading out his inaccurate blueprints. In those days, Hélène preferred not to accompany Mnusken to the house, but to stay in the gallery, to deal with the artists, especially with Martinov, and to keep an eye on him, because a success, it was so fragile, it pleaded with such constant attention, it was a work that had to be done without slackening, and at this moment, Mnusken was watching the storm rise from the platform of his future roofhouse.

This cloud array is menacing, neat, and steady, like a well-trained army. Moreover, the weather had changed suddenly, and winter hastily announced its coming, and with a gust of wind swept away autumn without a trace, and hurriedly replaced it, and chose a day at the end of November, and in less than an hour it swept away the curly leaves of the trees. Climatically, we cannot expect a bright future.

Winter is coming, with winter, the end of the year is approaching, and with the end of the year, Chinese New Year's Eve will also come, and for that Chinese New Year's Eve, everyone sends out invitations early, accepts the invitation, either I go to your house, or you go to his house. In the past, the prospect of that night had always made Mnusken a little excited, but this time it didn't, not at all. He had all arranged to take Hélène to Rebala's house, where there would be a grand reception: it would be full of guests, a band of twelve, fourteen cold tables, three hundred celebrities from all over the world, two of whom had already gone down, and all this foreshadowed a grand event.

On the evening of the 31st, shortly before the start of the television news program, Mnusken told Elena the news with a smile on his face, when there was a knock on the door, and the postman came in, with an assistant, who had come for the New Year's bounty, and brought an almanac as a gift, and the almanac was full of colorful patterns, such as dogs standing still, cats lying and sleeping, birds perched on tree branches, beautiful harbors, snow-capped peaks, in short, it was difficult for you to choose. Of course, Mnusken said enthusiastically, please come in.

With a look of agreement on her face, Elena and Mnusken chose the colors of the almanac, and they decided to have a two-page almanac printed on both sides and one for each quarter, and then, as soon as the spirited Mnusken made a move, he gave the postman three times the usual reward. The joyful postman wished the couple all the best.

When Mnusken went to close the door, she heard them commenting on the scene on the stairs, but after the incident, Hélène declared that she had something to say. Well, of course, let's say, Mnusken, what's the matter? That's right, she said, the reception of the Rebala family tonight, she thought about it, but she still felt that she didn't forget it. Martinov also held an evening today, inviting a dozen friends to his new studio, which he had bought with the money he had recently sold, and as a result of his current esteemed status, which she wanted to go there more in the evening. If that doesn't bother you.

It doesn't matter at all, Mnusken said, whatever you want. Of course, given his relationship with Rebala, there would be a little bit of subtle embarrassment in the matter, but he would take care of it and he would cancel the trip without any trouble. That said, no, Elena said, turning around, that's not what I was trying to say. After pondering for a while, she said that she thought it would be better to go alone. As Mnusken held her lips and frowned, listening to me, Elena said and turned to him again, listening to me. She calmly explained that she had thought it through. This new apartment. All those furniture. The prospect of living together, and the sky above them, was no longer too clear to her. She wasn't sure if she was ready, she needed to think about it again, and they had better talk about it later. I'm not saying that it should all be thrown away, you know, I mean, I'd love to think about it again. Then, we'll talk back in a few days. Well, Mnusken said, eyes on the tips of his new shoes — brand new shoes, all the shoes he's worn since a few weeks — okay, agree.

You're so nice, said Elena, and I'm going to change my clothes. Tell me how the party at the Rebala family went. Okay, Mnusken said, I don't know.

She left Emu Street, a little too early, he thought, for this kind of gala. Alone at home, pacing back and forth in the living room for a while, turning on the television and turning it off as soon as possible, Mnusken involuntarily cursed Dr. Deman, blaming him for forbidding him to smoke. Then, he casually made three or four phone calls, but on this Chinese New Year's Eve, no one answered, and only the recorded phone mechanically asked him to leave a message.

He was no longer too eager to go to Rebala's house, and if he had gone alone, Rebala would have been surprised by her absence, for he had treated her well since she worked in the gallery. Since I hadn't scheduled any other events beforehand, it seemed too late to change the program at the last minute. Especially since he had already declined some other invitations, and now he was a bit of a dilemma to call and recommend himself in a reckless manner: even when he got there, people would be amazed and would ask him a lot of questions, and he would not intend to answer any questions at all.

He tried to make several more calls, much more than he had been, but the results were exactly the same. He put a record on the stereo, immediately turned the volume down, and then changed another record but turned off the volume, but then turned on the TV, and stood in front of the TV for a long time, not changing the channel, and not knowing what he felt.

He also stood motionless in front of the refrigerator with the door open for several minutes, in the same state of confusion without taking anything from it. Then, two hours later, he finally left his home and walked along Rue Roma in the direction of the Rue Saint-Lazar metro station, from where he took the metro directly to Clintin and Serton. Around eleven o'clock in the evening of December 31. It's not too crowded in the subway car. It was easy to find a long seat that was open face-to-face to Mnusken's taste, and for now, he had consciously chosen one that might be the worst decision for him. Mnusken knew that it had been a year since he left Lu Quanquan, to be precise, only two days less to complete a full year, this Lu Quanquan was an expert who was very good at spending New Year's Eve. At the same time, he knew that he was already in a bad situation, and this bad situation would be confirmed, and he knew more clearly that Lu Quanquan might react strongly when he saw him, and all this would be extremely dangerous. It might even lead to suicidal behavior, but, even then, he felt that it didn't matter to him, as if he had no choice but to do so; I know it's silly to do that, but I just did it. Neolithic violence was infused with it, and Mnusken sometimes asked himself if he had seen her at the mouth of a cave. Lu Quanquan held a mace in her hand and a flint axe pinned to her belt, and that day she wore a suit with pterosaur wing pleats, a raincoat cut from the heel eyelids of an ichthyosaur, and a helmet made of avian dragon nails. The next five years were already not easy, and there were many battles to be fought against, but things may have changed, so we'll see. In any case, the look of the house has changed a little. Like the doorknob on the porch, the mailbox was painted red, and the owner's surname on it was no longer Mnusken, but it was not Lu Quanquan's maiden surname. All the windows are lit up, and it looks like there are many people in this small building now, and people are celebrating the New Year with a party. Mnusken was at a loss for a few minutes, and had no idea what he was going to do, or what he wanted to do, when the door of the little building opened, and with the sound of loud music came a young girl, holding a wine glass in her hand, standing firmly in the wind. There was no hint of any intention to walk away, and judging from her appearance, it seemed that she was just going to get out and get some air.

She looked like she was about twenty-five to thirty years old, and she should have been a fairly gentle girl, and when she saw him stay aside, she smiled at him and said hello. She feels really good, and there seems to be something about her that that resembles Rare, but it's just a little bit inferior. You can't help but say that she's a little bit drunk, but she's just a little drunk, and it's not worth the fuss at all in a party like this. Seeing that Mnusken had been curled up by the porch, she opened her mouth to talk to him, "Are you a friend of George?"

Mnusken was a little puzzled and didn't react at once. Let me ask casually, isn't Lu Quanquan in it? He finally answered her.

I don't know, the girl said, I didn't see Lu Quanquan, but maybe she was inside, there were so many people in the house, I didn't know them all. I'm the sister of a colleague of George's who just moved here.

Inside the house, that's called heat. Yes, Mnusken said, it looks like a real house, but it's good.

Would you like to come in and have a drink? The girl kindly persuaded him.

The door was open, and behind the girl she found the entrance to the foyer repainted, and saw some other furniture, an unfamiliar chandelier, and paintings hanging or pinned to the wall, which would be neither to Lu Quanquan's taste nor to his taste. I'd love to have a drink, he replied, but I especially don't want to disturb you. There was no disturbance at all, and the girl said, smiling, please come in. I'm sorry, Mnusken said, cautiously moving forward, I didn't expect any of this. It's all complicated to explain, though. It doesn't matter, the girl said, even I came here by chance, and as you will see, these people are quite funny. Hurry up, come here. Well, Mnusken said, though, I'm only going to be there for a while, really for a little while. I'll just have a drink, and then, I'll go.