Flowers of Darkness Tatiana Rosnay (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📖

No one knew for sure. At last, just as she had given up hope, Toby called, much later, with the good news. Jordan and Ivan were safe, with Andy, at home. She had broken down and wept.

It had taken a few days for her to be able to get back to Paris. The capital had been on lockdown. She finally returned on a jam-packed train. The city was coated with powdery black dust. Intensified by broiling heat, the acrid, stuffy atmosphere was stifling. Clarissa told Andy that the Olympic Games had been canceled. All the athletes had been told to go home. In her neighborhood, near the Luxembourg Gardens, nothing had changed, on the surface. But the attack could be glimpsed in people’s gazes, expressions, and stances. Tourists had fled; they wouldn’t return for a long while. She hadn’t wished to see the crater left by the bombings; it was splashed over every screen. There was no way to escape it. But her past profession as a property surveyor caught up with her, and the yearning to apprehend the lay of the land, the configuration of places, egged her on. She wanted to see it; she wanted to understand. She waited for as long as possible. A few months went by. She was aware that such widespread damage couldn’t be dealt with speedily.

She had gone there on a rainy day, at the end of autumn. High metallic fences hemmed in the entire area. She drew closer, near the ruins of the École Militaire, and had a look. It took her breath away. The damp stench of muck and plaster wafted up toward her. An enormous chasm gaped open below her, enfolded by demolished edifices. Crumbling walls still bore traces of wallpaper, unsteady doors absurdly hanging on hinges, flights of stairs spiraling into nothingness. The immensity of the urban wasteland overwhelmed her. The large boulevards dotted with linden and chestnut trees that she so clearly recalled were now reduced to mountains of rubble lining a bottomless pit. In the distance, the tortured vestiges of the Tower seem to twist with agony toward the drizzling sky.

“Mums, look!” cried Andy. “The hologram! We mustn’t miss it!”

The moment had arrived. They both dashed to the living room, opening the main window. They leaned out as far as they could over the railing, the evening air fresh on their faces. High up above, a brilliant light juddered, a lone star glowing in the dark blue sky. The star seemed to dance, flickering like a fairy or a butterfly, and as they watched, a contour slowly flourished below it, drawing a familiar, beloved silhouette all the way to the ground in bold iridescent strokes. The Tower’s outline materialized through the darkness, like a divine apparition, as nearby crowds applauded and cheered. Hundreds of people were watching from their windows, as well. It was as if the sparkling Tower had always been there, the powerful beacon shooting from its crown like that of a lighthouse, exactly like it used to. Andy let out a cry of surprise.

“It looks so real!” she said, elated.

Clarissa had to admit that, yes, it did. She reached out to hold her granddaughter tight. Andy was too young to remember the terror in the aftermath of the attack. Later, there was a message from Jordan to her mother. She had finally decided to watch the event; it had given her a sort of hope, the sense of a page being turned at last. Andy asked if she could sleep in the big bed with Clarissa. She didn’t want to be alone in the little office. Clarissa had teased her.

“You look worried about something, missy.”

“No, I’m just tired.”

They had gone to bed before midnight, after a cup of hot chocolate for Andy. It was strangely reassuring to hear someone breathe and move next to her. Clarissa, as always, found it difficult to drop off. She remembered what Jordan had said when her application to the C.A.S.A. residence had been accepted. Had it been a good idea to live in a place where so much suffering had occurred? She suddenly realized she had moved into a dwelling she had never seen beforehand. She had been shown a couple of photos, and that was it. How could she have taken that risk? The irony was that, for so long, her job had been to assess and evaluate apartments for future occupants. She wasn’t going to have any regrets. Ever.

“Are you awake, Mums?”

Andy’s voice whispered through the dark.

“Yes, my angel. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Too much stuff on my mind. Sometimes thinking stops me from sleeping.”

“Story of my life.”

“What do you think about?”

“I try not to. I empty my head; I visualize an immense lake, a thick forest.”

“I would have loved to have known the world the way it was before. The way it was when you were young. A world with bees, birds, flowers. A world we hardly see nowadays.”

“I understand.”

“Today’s world is so ugly.”

“Andy, you sound like a glum old lady.”

“I don’t care, Mums. Check it out! I don’t need to spell it out for you. Look at our situation! Look at where we’re heading! Do you think it makes anyone happy? Look at what’s happening to the planet. Look what we did to it. Look what’s left of the forests. Can you believe I only saw snow once in my life? Heat waves, floods, hurricanes, pollution. And that awful president! People like her have power, all over the world. Look what happened to the Tower, to Venice, to London, to Rome. What are we going to do? Do you see a way out? I don’t! I see sod all.”

“You need to resist, Andy. Every day.”

“Oh yeah? And how?”

“Not thinking like them. Fighting back. Never giving up.”

“You say that because you’re mature. You know all the stuff I don’t. And when you were my age, did you have any idea of what you wanted to do? I have no inkling. And that scares me. Mummy knew.”

“Well,