Palafox Read Online Free PDF Page B

keep it short, we have already been to the pen. Olympia grabs Palafox by the skin of his neck, or sometimes by the ears, and plunges him into the water. Hissing and screaming is all one hears.
    Palafox’s excrement: Olympia sweeps or shovels, picks up or mops, or simply seeks in vain, some, nearly imperceptible, disturbing only flies.
    More than one hundred journalists, all biases lumped together, collaborate each week in the conception and execution of his litter. Investigative reporting undertaken under conditions less than ideal, by men and women who risk their skins, followed then by the actual layout, involves designers and printers and delivery men and a big guy all bundled up opening his kiosk in the morning and Algernon Buffoon, who had been stamping his feet on the sidewalk for a good fifteen minutes, ostensibly staring at his wristwatch, picking five or six magazines, pulling some coins from his pocket, forking over the change and moving off, crossing the street, getting brushed by a cyclist - these are merely a few facts and acts in his risky existence, as emblematic as any of the thousand others anecdotes one could tell. In his living room, Algernon takes the time to read the magazines carefully. Sometimes he gets up to feed the fire, to get something to drink. He has misplaced his lighter again. He lights his cigar from kindling. A faraway look on his face, his fingers stroke the arms of his comfortable chair. A cat on his knees takes the opportunity to leave. It falls to the floor, supple and silky, as somnolent Algernon tries vaguely to grab it by the tail and falls victoriously asleep, his fist closed around his extinguished cigar. Olympia gathers the newspapers and magazines, goes through them carefully, eyes wet, before throwing them every which way into the back of the bungalow. Palafox later lounges in them. He nibbles them unread, curiosity unpeaked even by those with cover stories promising to tell everything one could want to know about the salaries of executives. In reality, they can vary from simple to triple, with equal qualification, depending on the sector, private or public, cutting edge or family business. Palafox is ignorant of all of this, of course, Palafox has everything to learn. Algernon puts off the I.R. courses for the time being, everything in its time. For now, he teaches him to stand upright. The whip is cracked, Palafox withdraws. Driven back to the chicken wire, he rears onto his rear paws, the whip cracks again, he makes a vague step or two, steals a sardine from Algernon’s hand and falls heavily back down to earth.
    Our friend thus alternates threat and reward by design. Similarly the miller moved the otherwise inanimate ass. Palafox is a beginner. First of all he has to abandon his millipedal past. Algernon tries hard to convince him. When he walks on two legs, he will rediscover the instinct to use his arms, then his hands. Without hands no history, no art, no science, why bother to conceive a masterpiece or a rocket engine if its execution is unmanageable? Consider for a moment this brain boiling over with ideas, inventions, projects, this inexpressive thinking head, consider the seed - pure potential - when we’re talking about conceiving a plum. His still swollen fingers will little by little lose their stiffness thanks to appropriate exercise, qwertyuiop, do ré mi fa, he will then have the choice between two careers. But nothing is played out yet, Palafox falls heavily and shakes his mane of flames, despite hyperbole less red than his tail of plumes, it is far too early for applause. Algernon proceeds in stages. He gives his student goals: the portico, leaving the chicken wire, the bungalow, leaving the portico, the chicken wire, leaving the bungalow. Later he will increase the distances: a lap around the pen, two laps around the pen, then one more time, faster, and now backwards, then onto hikes in the country - before the final test of the town, of the random crowds