"How about we grab a bite to eat?," I suggested.
Marika shook her head.
"No, I have plenty of food in my small room."
I did not insist.
"I leave tomorrow," I said quickly.
She did not answer, turned her head towards me, smiling.
“Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne, je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.” (*1)
I stopped her with a gesture.
"Do you have a poem ready for each circumstance of life?"
Her disarming smile made my heart wince.
Her room was still just as tiny. We sat on a small corner of the bed, as usual. We both had trouble finding out words. With my head lowered, obstinately staring at the ground covered with a fitted carpet which must have been blue, I started to think... Marika wore a red scarf over her ever-present black dress. The gift of a customer? A symbol I didn't understand? She turned to me, gently took it off and handed it to me.
"It's for your," she said finally.
I took her hand.
"I will not forget..." I started.
"You must not say that... You musn't... You should leave now."
"Are you chasing me out?"
"No, but saying goodbye is always difficult and... we will never see each other again."