Velvet Totalitarianism by Moscovici Claudia;

Author:Moscovici, Claudia;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UPA
Published: 2009-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

That evening a momentous national event was about to take place: the Yankees were playing the Red Sox. Being an avid baseball fan, Paul prepared to give the match his undivided attention. Before the game, he drank two glasses of water and ate the five almonds usually reserved for the evening to aid the digestive process. He also took his shower early, shampooing and drying his hair very gently, by patting it softly with a towel, so as not to lose any more hair than nature intended. He then scribbled in his journal the most exciting activities of the day, as was his habit since adolescence: “Today I got up at 8:30 a.m. Listened to sports radio half an hour. Ate breakfast: glass of orange juice, bowl of cornflakes and five almonds. Went to the Eureka Café to see Eleni. Ordered coffee with salt instead of sugar, just to see her smile. She wore a miniskirt. Returned home ecstatic. Tended to boring administrative stuff. Read Gombrich. Ate two boiled eggs and toast for lunch. Taught The Modern Vision again. Class in vegetative state except for Monica Levin (too bad she’s not my type). Went to the library. Read Le Monde and Libération to keep up with real news. Tonight, big baseball game: Yankees versus Red Sox. Can’t wait!”

With the possible exception of the baseball game, Paul could have simply copied the journal entry from the day before verbatim, or the day before that for that matter, since his activities were ritualized. He never missed a single chance of writing in his journal, however, firmly adhering to the principle “A day not recorded is a day not lived.” To make himself more comfortable, Paul took off his jeans and stretched out on the sofa in his paisley boxer shorts, which enabled him to concentrate more comfortably on each move of the game. He shouted, screamed, made loud commentaries, gave advice and applauded just like a regular fan at the stadium--minus the dress code. Around 8:00 p.m., the doorbell rang. “Geesh! I hope it’s not one of those salesmen,” Paul thought and went reluctantly to open the door.

He blinked twice, to make sure that he was not imagining things. “May I help you?” he asked the young woman who was waiting by the door. With her long brown hair and expressive eyes, she seemed very familiar, but Paul couldn’t quite place her. Was she one of his students? An ex-student perhaps. But since she was a pretty girl, wouldn’t he have remembered her? After all, he wasn’t senile yet.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Irina said looking at Paul, who, clad in his boxer shorts, didn’t seem exactly prepared for her visit.

“Not at all,” Paul lied, feeling too flustered to invite his guest inside.

“If this is a bad time, we can set up another meeting,” Irina noticed Paul’s reticence.

“Meeting? No, that’s okay. Please come in,” he said, flustered.

Irina walked in and took a seat on the edge of the sofa. She was surprised by the fact Paul had no French accent.

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