The following day, of course, I saw Marika again, and the day after that... My stay was getting close to its end. I would have liked to... What would I have liked, exactly? To prolong my stay? To no longer meet up with her each evening around "21 hundred hours"? To break up, if one can use such an ambiguous word... or quite simply to announce in a light-hearted tone to my family: "Here, let me introduce you to Marika. She is a student of French, and a prostitute in her spare time to pay for her studies. She will be living with us"? But, it is a well-known fact, the human being is generally weak. Undoubtedly, I would not make any departures from that rule.
It was the eve of my departure. That evening, she was not "taken" or, perhaps, she'd freed up her schedule to see me. I arrived a little early at the infamous square where I could no longer feel the evening freshness. As if they'd agreed on it, none of the prostitutes paid any attention to me. And I reciprocated, ignoring them. All dressed in black... they wandered about in silence. To what was this unusual garb due? Vaguely nauseated by the smell of cheap perfume, too strong and heady for my taste, I wandered about in the middle of a strange female ballet, which evoked for me Death's dance, roaming in search of approving victims. My throat was dry. My student ran towards me, her hand stretched out. She seemed delighted to see me. I kept her hand in mine, perhaps a little too long.