"The only reality in art is art."
Paul Valery.
11:30 a.m.,
About fifteen minutes had collapsed during which Maria had dozed off, when she opened her hazel eyes, the taxi had stopped.
- And here we are, Señora. A little tired from the trip I see!, laughed the driver heartily when he saw the young brunette yawning.
Several two-storey buildings followed one another in a myriad of pastels that their doors exhibited like witnesses of their experiences.
The street was deserted if you didn't count the traffic. And several posters plastered the walls as if they were all in a hurry to divulge some big secret.
Maria got out of the vehicle, immersed in her contemplation of the place, she even forgot her two huge suitcases.
- Oh ! Wait, I'm coming to help you, the driver said, hurrying up his wide pants that matched his Nike tracksuit.
Arrived at his height, he carried one and walked ahead of the young woman towards number 802 located at the corner of the street, an old building in small bricks, with closed shutters, and half repainted in yellow and white.
The address was precise. Just a few numbers. Nothing could be more banal, but in Maria's eyes every detail counted and launched her into endless daydreams.
Cut off from time, the young woman turned her head and saw a nice café at the other end and smiled at the idea of going there after a long day of work. But that was not all, she felt inspired...It was time to paint...
A pleasant smell invades her: sweet, light, vaporous, gently moist, oily, slightly empyreumatic, almost suave which could have bewitched her if anything; or rather someone; hadn't suddenly hit her before fleeing, dropping at the same time her pink shoulder bag that she had dragged everywhere with her for years.
Her passport, some papers and coins, her cell phone and a mini-bottle of Dior perfume came into contact with the asphalt behind small puddles which, curiously, were tinged with a dark red.
The young woman bent down and quickly picked up what had fallen before looking up but the person who had hit her was already far away.
She furrowed her thin eyebrows but decided to forget this slight incident which was in no way going to ruin her good mood.
After all it was time to paint...
. . .
Leaving his gigantic mansion, a few drops of blood impregnated his coat and delicately skirted his right hand.
The sky was treacherous, an azure blue that should not make him forget that it had rained earlier in the day as well as all night. The Mercedes was swallowing the asphalt when Felix glanced at the watch face that appeared between the snaps of his now gloved hand.
He had decided to take care of this case himself this time.
His rage for vengeance was growing from minute to minute, from second to second and it was frightening to see.
It was the same rage that had pushed him to pull the trigger a few minutes earlier.
Because someone had to pay. And this boy had been there at the wrong time. Tragic circumstances certainly but the man behind the wheel did not care in the least.
After all, life was like that. Of people who die and others who survive.
It is the law of the strongest.
A bit like Zuno...his late friend who was dear to him, cruelly killed by the enemy camp the "Navaro Cartel".
Felix knew he had to act fast, because soon his men will be asking questions.
The call for blood had to end with blood.
His revenge was going to be dazzling.
Unique.
And when he'll complete his task, he will come out of it the most victorious, Navarro's head on the armrest.
So it was with his dark thoughts that he headed for the calle lope de Vega where the tragedy had happened.
And at the entrance of the small alley in question, he saw a taxi in the color of independence stop and a sublime young woman get out of it, amazed by the scenery...
. . .
12:00 p.m.,
Curious to discover the interior, Maria passed the entrance hall to lead to a magnificent studio, a thousand times better than she could imagine. Or maybe she was overdoing it a bit, but her enthusiasm overcame everything.
It was another dimension, a space certainly a little small but that was just enough for her.
It was both warm and comforting. Functional with the several huge pots of paint deposited beforehand by Chantale, the former owner of this small and familiar place, the same person she had contacted two days before starting her trip:
"- I would have liked to welcome you myself but I will have an impediment on March 9, medical visit you probably know the song, she had said to her, adding in a frivolous tone, but I will come to see you during the day don't hesitate to write to me until then, I'm sure you'll enjoy your life here! »
"What about the keys to the studio?" she had asked her, slightly worried.
On this, the owner had always replied in the same frivolous tone:
"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you, the keys to the studio are behind the flowerpot, and she seemed to read her mind as she continued, but don't worry Mrs. Mayor, I've been here for years." put it in this hiding place, you risk nothing. Looking forward to seeing you in person and bon voyage!"
And she had hanged up without even deigning to retort.
The young woman had therefore followed the instructions of the former owner of the premises; under the bulging eyes of Carlos, the taxi driver who had introduced himself when he had finished depositing the enormous suitcase on the threshold; and she had indeed found the keys of the studio in the indicated green spot near the front door.
Besides before leaving the young women Carlos didn't want to be paid for the trip, but she had insisted several times "so that one day you can go around the world with your wife for Valentine's Day," she finally replied. And then he laughed heartily, no doubt touched by her remarks, and wrote down his phone number on a piece of paper, insisting that she call him at the slightest concern, an act of kindness, which she think so, will she remember all her life...
Now alone, the young woman opened the bay window overlooking the other street, a coffee in her hands, and leaned on the balustrade, her eyes unfocused, taking full advantage of the birdsong and her moment of tranquility, the fine rain caressing her honey hair made her smile for the umpteenth time that day.
The young woman gently blew on her drink, then finally decided to go home, having a little peckish.
A patio with ocher facades welcomed her, on the right was a small sleeping room and on her left in an ingeniously geometric way was her small workshop which will be dedicated in the future to her creation.
Since she didn't have enough money in reserve, she had decided to opt for this type of accommodation for both her home and her place of work, and she did not regret her decision in the least.
After swallowing a tuna sandwich that she had bought herself on arriving at the airport, Maria took out a huge canvas already placed there by Chantale included in the studio prices and let her inspiration guide her, passionately listenning to the song that she had heard earlier during the ride of the famous Vicente Fernandez.
Hardly had she given a stroke of the brush that a discreet noise brought her out of her bliss.
Paralyzed, the young woman had a strange feeling.
There was someone in the studio...