mood.
“The orange energy of the sky,” Isaac commented pensively.
“The creativity of the sky, expiring at dusk, reborn the next day with not a drop lost,”
Bikie commented rather neatly.
“Beautifully said! You’re a genuine poet,” commented Sandrine. She and Peter were
sitting beside the pool with their arms around each other and also looking out to sea.
“I write songs and play sometimes, but mostly rock’n’roll, not lyrical stuff. I even used to play in a rock band at college.”
“Peter, why don’t you write me poems? Long ones…”
Peter started fussing about and ventured over to the table to fill the glasses, ignoring Sandrine’s remark.
“Friends, I declare the official ceremony to celebrate your moving in open!”
Peter knew how to create a distance when he wanted, and also how to break it down
quickly, and then you could feel like a really old friend of his.
“Bikie, by the way, why are you Bikie?” Peter asked.
Bikie didn’t like to answer the question about the origins of his nickname, because mostly it came from drunken customers at the bar. But he was still feeling pleased with Sandrine’s compliment and decided to answer.
“The usual story, that name has been with me ever since school. I’ve liked motorbikes all my life. On my way home from school, I always looked at the mopeds, and the choppers
especially. . I used to ask a lot of questions and even made friends with a few grownup biker dudes. I dreamt of getting my license as soon as possible and dreamed about having my own Harley. But let me tell you: there are different kinds of bikers. Let’s say, there’ve been some gangs whose business was drugs or guns. And then there are folks who are there for the love of art. I’m one of those. There used to be a whole set of us at university. It’s fallen apart now though. One became a Veggie, one grew up and lost interest, one was killed in a crash… yeah…
Well, as for my nickname, I got it when I was still a kid. My parents bought me a scooter, a red one, so I could easily be seen on the road. And I went straight into my dad’s garage, where he kept his paint. That chrome stuff, you know. And black too. I glued on a Harley emblem (I had a real one that someone gave me) and drove off to my friends. Didn’t even wait for the paint to dry, got my trousers all soiled. Everyone said, now you’re a true biker, kiddo, only a little one.
So we’ll call you Bikie and it stuck. Bikie it was. Basically I got to enjoy being Bikie and then I shot up and no one dared hang any other nicknames on me, cuz I could hang a punch on them that they wouldn’t forget in a hurry.”
“When I was a little girl my mum used to call me Sasha,” Sandrine’s added in a gentle
voice. “In the Russian style from some Russian book. And I just couldn’t understand, I kept asking: ‘Mum what is this nickname of mine?’ ”
Everyone laughed except Isaac who looked morose.
“Isaac, what’s up?” Wolanski asked.
“His sister, stepsister, has Russian roots,” Bikie explained. “She’s in the hospital now.”
Sandrine put her hand on Isaac’s shoulder.
“Don’t feel bad, Isaac. Everything will be all right. We have to give all these new
inventions their due, medicine has become excellent, a real breakthrough. I’ve never seen such equipment before. For instance, I recently had an x-ray or a scan, I don’t remember exactly what.
I was roller-skating down a steep slope and I fell, so I went to check that everything was all right.
They put this kind of special elastic suit on me, and a helmet. I stood in the middle of the doctors’ office like an astronaut. And the doctor had a full 3D image of all my internal organs on his monitor. Yuck! And then he pressed a button – click! – and his screen showed my skeleton.”
”My father was amazed that no one was afraid of dentists anymore,” Peter added. “I told him: not only is no one afraid of them, no one ever goes back to
“The orange energy of the sky,” Isaac commented pensively.
“The creativity of the sky, expiring at dusk, reborn the next day with not a drop lost,”
Bikie commented rather neatly.
“Beautifully said! You’re a genuine poet,” commented Sandrine. She and Peter were
sitting beside the pool with their arms around each other and also looking out to sea.
“I write songs and play sometimes, but mostly rock’n’roll, not lyrical stuff. I even used to play in a rock band at college.”
“Peter, why don’t you write me poems? Long ones…”
Peter started fussing about and ventured over to the table to fill the glasses, ignoring Sandrine’s remark.
“Friends, I declare the official ceremony to celebrate your moving in open!”
Peter knew how to create a distance when he wanted, and also how to break it down
quickly, and then you could feel like a really old friend of his.
“Bikie, by the way, why are you Bikie?” Peter asked.
Bikie didn’t like to answer the question about the origins of his nickname, because mostly it came from drunken customers at the bar. But he was still feeling pleased with Sandrine’s compliment and decided to answer.
“The usual story, that name has been with me ever since school. I’ve liked motorbikes all my life. On my way home from school, I always looked at the mopeds, and the choppers
especially. . I used to ask a lot of questions and even made friends with a few grownup biker dudes. I dreamt of getting my license as soon as possible and dreamed about having my own Harley. But let me tell you: there are different kinds of bikers. Let’s say, there’ve been some gangs whose business was drugs or guns. And then there are folks who are there for the love of art. I’m one of those. There used to be a whole set of us at university. It’s fallen apart now though. One became a Veggie, one grew up and lost interest, one was killed in a crash… yeah…
Well, as for my nickname, I got it when I was still a kid. My parents bought me a scooter, a red one, so I could easily be seen on the road. And I went straight into my dad’s garage, where he kept his paint. That chrome stuff, you know. And black too. I glued on a Harley emblem (I had a real one that someone gave me) and drove off to my friends. Didn’t even wait for the paint to dry, got my trousers all soiled. Everyone said, now you’re a true biker, kiddo, only a little one.
So we’ll call you Bikie and it stuck. Bikie it was. Basically I got to enjoy being Bikie and then I shot up and no one dared hang any other nicknames on me, cuz I could hang a punch on them that they wouldn’t forget in a hurry.”
“When I was a little girl my mum used to call me Sasha,” Sandrine’s added in a gentle
voice. “In the Russian style from some Russian book. And I just couldn’t understand, I kept asking: ‘Mum what is this nickname of mine?’ ”
Everyone laughed except Isaac who looked morose.
“Isaac, what’s up?” Wolanski asked.
“His sister, stepsister, has Russian roots,” Bikie explained. “She’s in the hospital now.”
Sandrine put her hand on Isaac’s shoulder.
“Don’t feel bad, Isaac. Everything will be all right. We have to give all these new
inventions their due, medicine has become excellent, a real breakthrough. I’ve never seen such equipment before. For instance, I recently had an x-ray or a scan, I don’t remember exactly what.
I was roller-skating down a steep slope and I fell, so I went to check that everything was all right.
They put this kind of special elastic suit on me, and a helmet. I stood in the middle of the doctors’ office like an astronaut. And the doctor had a full 3D image of all my internal organs on his monitor. Yuck! And then he pressed a button – click! – and his screen showed my skeleton.”
”My father was amazed that no one was afraid of dentists anymore,” Peter added. “I told him: not only is no one afraid of them, no one ever goes back to
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