Martin, incredulous, unrolls the parchment. Appears under his eyes an old-style engraving depicting the city's Masonic Lodge, it's a reception ceremony, or an enthronement, the newly elected member is apparently taking an oath, the dignitaries of the lodge, standing, solemnly lend their ears.
Gunther's name is there, beautifully inscribed under the engraving, his rank given in the hierarchy of the Order, the date also marked down.
Finger on his lips, Gunther listens carefully at the door, then, assuring himself that his friend has taken in the scene, returns to the table and carefully refolds the document, puts it back in its safe place, screws down the strip, pulls up the carpet.
Fills the glasses again and toasts, without saying a word, knows that Martin understands the importance of the moment, the meaning of the event, small ceremony reviving the former, friendship sealed with the secret being removed, in the long deferred display of the object become a precious asset over time, a testimony and relay of hope, text buried under his feet for so many years, with Gothic letters authenticating an almost sacred bond.
Martin listens to this silence, savours it, he sees himself there in the ceiling lamp's conical beam, and the bottles, the glasses on the tablecloth. Gunther very pale, brilliant eyes behind his glasses, the remainder of the room in shadow, latticework of the skylight and sharp angles of the roof beams jutting in the half-light, a chiaroscuro setting for a mute intimate drama in the great local tradition.
[Disconnection, Ollier, C.]
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