CHAPTER 5. THE PEACE TREATY.

February 5, 1985.

With a resounding slam of the wooden door, Nuria Lefebvre demonstratively left the house in which she had lived for a considerable time. Jean-Marie Lefebvre, a well-known French scientist who had once left his native home in Marseille for the sake of science or, if you will, for the public good, had been spending too little time, in Nuria's opinion, with his wife this last month, and far too much time with a different woman, Athena, the Olympic patroness of sciences and knowledge. This was the direct cause of the current, though long-brewing, family quarrel.

Not wanting to follow the instructions of her reason in any way, the extraordinarily agitated Nuria Lefebvre surrendered her being entirely to her exceptionally keen feelings. It was for this reason that she did not know where her very wayward being was headed. The unconscious dominated Nuria Lefebvre’s nature at this moment quite distinctly. So, after a certain amount of time, the aforementioned Frenchwoman of Arab descent found herself within the confines of one of the world's most remarkable markets, which was the El Berka market.

“…The Republic of Rome is long gone,

And Carthage has long since disappeared,

But their glory is indestructible,

As eternal as the one who once rose again.

Rome does not despise the Tunisian,

And the Roman is of no use to Tunisia—

So why not reconcile

The peoples who waged war,

In deep antiquity? Besides,

The concept of aggression is outdated:

Today, peace is words and ears,

But before, peace was the sharpness of arrows…”

These Arabic words, mentioned in the previous lines, sounded very inspired amid the truly exceptional chaos of sounds, spoken in a rather melodic male voice. It must be noted that the beginning of this verse, due to the peculiarities of the state Nuria Lefebvre, Jean-Marie’s wife, was in at the described moments, undoubtedly, to her great misfortune, did not reach her ears. However, the part that did manage to reach the relatively sensitive hearing and, what is more important, the extremely sensitive mind of the aforementioned woman, now not only attracted her attention but also naturally prompted Nuria to find the very fiery source of this sound.

“This spoon is made of silver!” a very charismatic Tunisian jewelry seller said in a halting English.

“No, it's made of tin!” a certain, not entirely sensible, but very stubborn European traveler insisted no less persistently in the same language, defending his position—“If it's silver, then why doesn't it shine?”

“Shine?!” this Tunisian minister of the cult of Saint Eligius asked the pilgrim with extraordinary bravado—“Is it possible in this world for the Moon to shine permanently? Yes, the Moon, for the Moon is silver, and gold is the Sun! No?”

“Of course not! But what are you getting at?”

“I’m getting at this, my friend… I’m getting at this: even the Moon, even the Sun, are covered by clouds, so why can’t metals be covered by them? How can you demand permanence from the earthly, if that which possesses nothing more and nothing less than a celestial nature is impermanent?”

“It's hard to argue with your words.”

“And you still don't believe me that this is silver?”

“I confess that after the words you just spoke, I look at the subject of our dispute a little differently! What is the price of this silver spoon?”—this is how Eastern wisdom… yes, wisdom, not cunning!... managed at these moments to most successfully influence European feelings and, what is more important, European knowledge, thereby successfully confirming the following ancient maxim: for a truly European person, unlike a person from the East, being in the empyrean is significantly more important than wealth.

“...Having distorted the lyre with my right hand,

And having delighted my mind with will,

I have destined this song for the world,

As it is, as it was,

But not as it will be—

I did this because

They will forget it anyway…

So let no one have,

The wondrous weaving of words,

Where on the vine there is a shadow of a fruit,

You burn your moment,

And go into nowhere!..”

After a few moments, the voice continued the very inspired recitation of the previously started verse.

“…The Roman state is the sun,

And Carthage is the lunar sickle:

The golden light pours to the West,

While the silver one’s unhurried pace,

Faithfully rushes to the East—

The light of the former, alas, is heavy,

Like a segmented plate that shines,

On which an eagle is painted;

The light of the latter is much lighter,