Daughters of Babylon Read Online Free PDF Page A

raining.”
    They looked out the window together. Elke Füme was the name of the pub downstairs where undergrad students from the University of Toulouse drank, debated politics, and flirted across rickety wooden tables, making her feel old at thirty-seven, when she popped in sometimes for late-night nachos. But it was Elke’s strobing reflection in the print shop across the street that Silvina had grown accustomed to: a fantasy in neon, lolling naked in a martini glass, her shapely legs dangling, one arm thrust boldly upward. The cigarette holder she once brandished had broken off, giving the impression with what remained that Elke was giving the world the finger.
    Beneath the halo of a streetlamp, a young couple were making out in a sinuous tangle of leather and black denim. Behind them, under the print shop awning, a man in a light-coloured fedora was scrolling his mobile with a large cardboard box propped on one leg, one glove pulled off. He put the phone to his ear, jammed the glove underneath the twine that held the parcel together, and tested its weight like a suitcase. He wore a dark jacket with the fur collar turned up and moved slowly along the sidewalk, looking around in the drizzle as if taking in every detail. He did not look up at the window above Elke Füme again.
    “The guy who’s walking away, that’s him,” Silvie said. “I’ve never noticed that Elke’s reflection is centered on the print shop door. No one ever comes out after hours, so when he opened it…”
    “His only exit was through her plumbing,” Alphonse said in perfect deadpan.
    “Exactly.” She switched off her BlackBerry and headed toward the documents arranged on the coffee table. She sat in a faux velvet chair that let off a slightly higher popping sound than the matching loveseat. “Crikey, I will not miss this furniture. So what do we have here? Anything I should read on the train?”
    “On the train, you should read nothing. You should eat beignets with fig jam and dream of unicorns.” He pointed to the first stack. “These are contracts for next term, followed by testimonials—initials only on the latter, please. Here we have expressions of interest for FST from Stockholm, Berne, Cologne, and Salamanca. It is as I told you, Silvie. Full Spectrum is awakening EU’s hopeful spirit.”
    “That is nice to hear.”
    “And lastly, the sublet papers in French legalese. I have reviewed them, they are in order. If you would be so kind as to sign at the Xs, s’il vous plaît .”
    While Silvina scanned and signed, Alphonse retreated to the kitchenette. She picked up an email from the expressions of interest pile.
    Esteemed members of Tri-Partite Academy: Attention has come to me by way of the French ambassador of a program you have initiated with great success called Full Spectrum Training. I am the owner of a small clock manufacturing firm and survivor of a terrorist bombing…
    The second letter came from an IT specialist in Spain who’d been downsized with a severance large enough to seed a new business. I look at my young children and do not wish to leave them a world that shames me. Your organization suggests to me there are better ways of doing business…
    They’d been receiving messages like this for weeks. Silvie had even shared a few with Vivian, who’d been her first mentor. She was fighting the urge to check for new texts when Alphonse appeared with a tray bearing one snifter of cognac and a small unwrapped parcel.
    “This should help you relax.” He slid the documents aside and set the tray in their place.
    “Thank you. Aren’t you having any?”
    “It’s airplane Courvoisier, I only had the one bottle in my pocket.” He handed her the parcel. “Claire-Elise insisted I should be present while you open this.” The parcel was wrapped in white, crochet-trimmed cotton that had been gathered at the center, so that the needlework created a frothy, ivory-coloured posy. “She sews the fabric giftwrap