Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Louis Armand

‘I have these dreams,’ I replied, settling myself into the padded leather. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘How interesting.’ ‘I’m trapped in a maze and can’t get out.’ ‘Really? Can’t you do better than that?’ ‘It’s the same thing. Nothing’s changed. I feel as if I’m caught up in a game with a deadman.’

‘Your father perhaps?’ ‘I don’t have a father.’ ‘Of course. I meant Professor Hájek.’

I looked away from him, at the scenery through the window. A pair of wasps were coupling on the ledge outside, one almost twice the size of the other, its black and yellow striped tail curled up underneath it, the sting firmly embedded in the tail of the other which in turn opened outwards at the tip like some sinister yellow mouth trying to swallow it. After a while Volta broke the silence. ‘Tell me about it.’ ‘I’ve been telling you about it for weeks. It makes no difference.’ ‘Yes. You feel that you are caught in a game. And that in this game your very existence is at stake. Only you

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