Mrs. Flinger: Blog

This Monday, as part of the official kickoff of {W}rite-of-passage, I’m doing a story about “Character.” This challenge originally came from Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott and is the structure for which we’re working. This challenge comes after a small rant I made and decided to do something.

Welcome to my something. I hope you join in.

* Preface: A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to travel to Paris with a friend who lived in Paris and was able to give me a complete tour, on foot, in six hours. One day I’ll eventually share that story with you. For now, though, I am focusing on a character we met on our last leg of the trip waiting for the train back to Leiden. The extent of our meeting was the time it took to take this photo. I saw him from a distance. He is the perfect subject for this post.

He’s been waiting in the station for six hours. He’s working on his last cigarette. The partner is late. He is always late. He misses the train every third trip and Chakov is left waiting in the station. He mutters under his breath as he puffs. He’s another face in the sea of people traveling, waiting, touring.

He sees two tourist across the station taking photos of a homeless man sleeping in the corner. He over-hears the man lean in, “Only in Paris, a homeless man wears a fur coat. Even their homeless are more classy.” She chuckles. He gravitates to them out of boredom. They look American. He has never been to America but hears terrible things. “Phaw, they are all fat!” His grandfather would never have allowed him a trip to the land of abundance.

He asks the man to take his photo. “AH! An American Photographer!” He glances as his partner finally walks up. He laughs. The partner eyes the scene and flicks his cigarette to the ground. He’s disgusted. Chakov looks over his shoulder and sees the tension oozing from his pours. He speaks in French, “I understand you had to wait but you are jerking off with American Tourist?” Chakov fights back, “It was a photo! I had a photo taken. Robert is waiting for you and is bitter. You are late again.”

The two are lost again in the sea of travelers. It is raining lightly as they walk in to the street, the Americans long forgotten now as discussion turns to business. “We have not received the boxes. You do not have them with you, I see,” Chakov glances around dramatically, “so what is your excuse this time?” Pallo is used to his jabs. Chakov has been wanting Partner for 3 years but is too young to understand the implications of that position. “Do not worry of the packages, Chakov, I have it under control.” Pallo speaks to him as if he’s a child, which he almost always act as, and feels already knows more than necessary.

They turn the corner together, the tension growing, as each man contemplates his role in the company. Alpha. Omega. Partner. Prodigy. Suddenly they are confronted by a gang of tall men holding guns. The Ally is dark. This is not the way they usually travel. Chakov glances at Pallo, “What do you mean by this?” he accuses.

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