Wrapped in the thick layers of her late night sanctuary, she escapes into an entirely different world. Her fingers touch the edges of the paperback, gingerly lifting the edges in anticipation of all that lies beneath them. Her eyes scan the brown pages, rivitted by the description; the dialogue; the drama that has captured her for hours. Each symbol translates in her mind as a world that is so distant from her residence yet so real in her surroundings. The words bounce off the page as she ploughs through each chapter with immeasurable excitement. The adventure comes to life before her - each paragraph unfolding more of the mystery. Her eyes refuse to rest, and her imagination begins to take control...
She stands at the entrance of the Louvre in awe at its majesty. The delicately carved pillars. The history in its walls. The grandeur of its contents. Paris, known for its incessant nightlife, is surprisingly quiet at this hour. She pulls the sleeves of her jacket to cover her hands - a late breeze is pushing the soft rain harder into her skin. But it does not deter her from the lure of exploring. The streets are lit with a soft, yellow glow, reflecting the damp pavement and creating an incadescent playground of mystery and dreams.
She takes a step forward. The ground is solid. It is real. She moves towards the rotating doors of one of the world's most famous buildings, and suddenly the scene comes to life. There has been a commotion here recently. There are voices inside the building, sounding panicked and uptight. Someone is barking orders, and suddenly a group of armed men turn the corner and run straight past her, swearing under their breath in fluent French. She attempts to speak to one of them, Excusem moi, s'il vous plaît, savez-vous que je fais ici? There is no answer - they have already left.
Despite the eery darkness, her feet take her across the marble floor, and she realises there is a crime scene further down the gallery. Why doesn't anyone notice my footsteps? she wonders, glancing down. She realises that she is still wearing the socks she'd slipped on before crawling into bed. Hmmm... it won't be much fun cleaning these...
Before her rationality sends her back home, she glances up and realises she is standing right in front of the dead body of Jacques Sauniere. Your name will soon become a legend, she tells him, watching the photographers gather evidence. Writers have a tendency to create legends, and soon, along with Dan Brown and all of his other characters, you'll be one of them. She turns her heel to leave the scene and begins walking down the gallery, realising that the prime benefit of visiting a Parisian tourist destination in her pjamas at such an awkward hour was that she was free to wander around without being harrassed or smothered. She finds herself eyeing The Last Supper in awe, wondering if Da Vinci's code has any relevance to her life back at home.
Her imagination churns images of underground chambers of the Depository Bank of Zurich, private jets spawning cloudless colours of the European sky at dusk, the frail pages of the Magdalene diaries, the black, stone tombs of praised knights, and the grass outside the Rosslyn Chapel near Edinburgh. There is a yearning and sense of anticipation of an adventure so close to her heart. Bring me there... She whispers, reaching for the golden cruciform that lay wedged in the corner of one of Da Vinci's most controversial paintings. She feels it in her fingers and considers the intricacies of its design. So well thoughtout, she thinks.
Breathing a deep sigh, she puts it back in its place, and moves towards the Louvre exit. After a few hours of undisturbed reading, she finds herself at the other end of a suspense-filled mystery. Having travelled around Paris, flown to London, and followed each character with undeterred eagerness, the questions in her mind are now at ease, and the puzzles neatly in place.
Yet she still has a sense of nervousness. She closes her eyes...
...I'll be there soon... I'll be breathing Parisian air, I'll be walking the cobbled streets of London, I'll be waking up to the scent of Europe. I'll be hearing the chatter of locals, tasting the foreign adventures and warming myself in the company of equally rivitted travellers. I will touch the walls of the Louvre, stare into the face of Big Ben, and traverse the steps to the Vatican...
A tremor of restlessness whispers through her veins as the exhiliration builds. As she opens her eyes, her gaze is fixed on the numbers glowing on the desk next to her bed. Back in the warmth of her room, the reality of Europe flies back into the lodgings of a very hopeful mind, and the awkwardly skewed hands of her clock indicate one very clear message: put the story away - its time to sleep.
1 comment:
seeing that you've finally read the Da Vinci Code, i must comment on your blog concerning this book.
did you like it? if not, there's always Angels and Demons. That's a lot faster and more exciting than the code. read it if you don't plan on sleeping on your flight.
and on that note, i'm very happy that you're going to be experiencing the landmarks mentioned in the book, for yourself in a few weeks time.
i know this is short but much more will be said at a later date.
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