FIC : greetings
[Title:] Greetings
[Setting:] AU. Modern day.
[Character(s):] Mireille
[Summary:] She's 17. And she doesn't own a diary.
Dec. 20th, 2002
Dear Jean Louis,
You’ve been to the mansion, of course, but not in the winter. I’m sure. It’s different here, during spring and extremely so, during summer. It’s… more dead, must be the most accurate comparative to employ. Living abroad renders it natural to miss subjectively selected characteristics of one’s native country. Currently, however, I’m residing in Boulaide and I am still missing Luxembourg City. The very definition of irony, contextually. Father enjoys the Belle Epoquesque romanticism that the site continues to be shrouded in and Mother utilises it to its fullest. Upon our arrival a week ago, Father gifted her with a one-occupant sledge. So that she shouldn’t be forced to give up her horses, even temporarily. Despite snowdrifts high enough to close the French borders.
Something I imagine is keeping you confined to your office for too prolonged an amount of time, for the holidays. Due to the consequences rather than the snow itself. The French ambassador had to cancel his trip home, Father’s been informed. With his reputation for a temper, I’ll presume that he’s insisted on an audience with you, days ago. Although certain circumstances are unchangeable, to you as well. The weather doesn’t care much for titles, after all - an observation one could have expected Monsieur Cartier to make from the beginning, seeing how he’s stuck here. Like the rest of us, isn’t that so?
Our library holds a minor collection of past articles from Le Monde, mainly on social sciences and economics. Articles Father has found particularly relevant. Undoubtedly, you’re already familiar with it, but I read an issue from 2000 which featured an article on the post-autistic movement. Truly, the term is as unfortunate as the implications that the main, current economic analyses are nothing beyond the implementation of mathematics. Though, I shall gladly admit that I fail to see the relevance of including psychology in an area which is otherwise entirely objective in nature.
[From this point, her handwriting turns abruptly oblique, indicating that she’s taken up the pen. Later. After an absence of undefined duration.]
Along with the sledge, Father had to invest in a horse to pull it. Mother’s purebred Arabians can’t be subjected to such hard labour. Surely. Neither can she herself be subjected to the duties associated with horse farming. Thus, a grand percentage of the staff at the house is actually working in the stables. Outside. For the sake of luxury, the Friesian came with its very own assistant. He’s told me it’s a matter of comfort and adaption, but I suspect it’s more likely a matter of Mother’s consideration and his own willingness to receive pay. The tending is his, too, and the trips hers alone. Obviously. Considering that she can only ride the sledge on her own. The same route that she walks in the summer, along the river. If you’re unfamiliar with the layout of the surrounding area, I recommend a map.
[The slope changes again, straightens up. An increase in levelling.]
My apologies, Jean Louis. Projection is never attractive.
Earlier this month, Father acquired one of the globe cabinets for himself - as I’m certain you and the rest of the ministry have received yours in advance. Unsurprisingly, Luxembourg is not well represented, in regards to accuracy, but the bottle of whiskey and the crystal tumblers stored in yours specifically should be easily located. No map necessary. Yes?
Your official calendar places you out of the country from Christmas morning and the rest of the year, so I shan’t be expecting to see you at the official New Year party that Father has arranged. He may not yet have discussed this with you personally, but he’s planning on inviting you here from the 2nd to the 4th, instead. Since I’ll be returning to Tressange, Sunday afternoon… Until then, I’ll be entertaining Jacques, it seems. And no doubt, Potos as well. On the 31st. In contrast to these prospects, I hope there’s enough of an incentive to make you accept - once the invitation finds its way to you, be it in the ministry or at your designated vacation spot in Italy.
[Between the two paragraphs, the space is wider. The pace of the words obviously slower, written with a greater focus. Indication of yet another moment away. Another reoccurrence.]
The article on post-autistic economics was stored along with a concomitant Ph.D. dissertation, apparently released a year later by Cambridge students. I’ve attached the original, without its 30 pages of references. Father won’t miss it, if you return it to me next time we meet. Do finish it before then, unless it doesn’t have your interest. In which case, a postcard from Italy would be much welcomed. As soon as possible.
So long as you’re not going to Verona. Or any location in its northern vicinity, where they might grow Christmas roses.
[A few small blotches of black ink. The last remaining lines are written with what is obviously a crude ballpoint pen.]
Merry Christmas. Jean Louis.
Sincerely,
Mireille Barrault