The Extraordinary Journey of the Fakir who got Trapped in an Ikea Wardrobe by Romain Puertolas

Author:Romain Puertolas
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2014-07-30T22:00:00+00:00

Italy

‘AND THAT IS how I ended up inside your trunk, madame,’ Ajatashatru concluded with a half-smile.

Disappearing inside a piece of luggage in Barcelona and reappearing in Rome was, by far, the best magic trick he had ever performed. Houdini could not have done better.

The beautiful young woman with green eyes and brown hair looked at him, her expression wavering between surprise, scepticism and the desire to scream. But this was better than the hysterics that had gripped her when she had first opened the trunk and discovered him. She lowered the bedside lamp she had picked up as a weapon. The story was far-fetched, admittedly, but there was something sincere and genuine in the man’s tone. And how could anyone come up with such a ridiculous lie?

‘I will now leave this room. I will not bother you any more, madame. I will vanish completely from your life. But before I do, I would like to ask you a question.’

‘All right, I’m listening,’ she managed to stammer in excellent English.

‘Where are we? This must be the fourth time I’ve wondered that in the last two days. You can’t imagine how annoying that is . . .’

‘In Rome,’ replied Sophie Morceaux. ‘At the Hotel Parco dei Principi.’

‘Ah. You mean Rome in Italy?’

‘Yes, yes. Rome in Italy,’ confirmed the Bond girl from Tomorrow Is Not Enough. ‘Do you know another one?’

‘No.’

The man seemed so harmless and the situation so comical that the actress could not help smiling. Having thought at first that he was some kind of maniacal fan, she now felt relieved.

She looked at this Indian, tall, thin and gnarled like a tree, with a large moustache. His white, crumpled shirt was covered with tiny writing. It looked like a shroud printed with pencilled hieroglyphics.

‘What is that?’ she asked, pointing to his shirt.

‘That? Pencil. An Ikea pencil, in fact. But, to be more precise, my latest novel . . . or rather, my first novel, written in the dark.’

‘Do you usually write your books on your shirts?’

‘Would you rather I’d written it on yours?’ joked Ajatashatru.

Sophie Morceaux giggled. Then she turned towards her open and hopelessly empty trunk.

‘Talking of my clothes, I presume they must have stayed in Barcelona. In fact, if I understand you correctly, I have nothing else to wear.’

Ajatashatru bowed his head like a guilty child. He did not have the courage to tell her that he had kept a pair of her knickers in his trouser pocket.

‘Me neither,’ he said.

Little remained of the beautiful suit, shirt and tie that he had rented from old Dilawar. The jacket and the tie were mouldering in France, and the shirt was covered with the opening pages of a novel.

‘Well, I didn’t like those dresses anyway,’ Sophie Morceaux lied. ‘This is Gucci and Versace country, after all,’ she added, happy at the idea of going on a shopping spree. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to find something, should it?’

‘I think . . .’ said Ajatashatru, who never knew how to reply to negative questions.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.