Thump, thump, thump

I was walking in the galleries from one train to another in the Tube today. A mass of people walked regular steps, one after the other, most of them looking down, pensive, tired from the early morning awakening, somehow gray. I heard the distinctive thump, thump, thump of the feet. All at the same time, mine making a weird high-pitch sound compared to the others. Thump, thump, thump. Not a single word, not a sound standing out from the crowd.

Later on, while I was wandering in the fancy streets of Kensington half like a stray dog and half like Alice, I thought about Marianne. Recently she said we could hang a plaque on our front door: House of the lost! We are all lost in a way or another: some from a professional point of view (Marianne), some from a sentimental point of view (Bruno), some from both points of view (me!). And then I thought about my best friend. On such a lovely day she might be enjoying her pregnancy, and in a few months time she'll be strolling about with her pram and her newly-born daughter. The thump, thump, thump she feels now is not of shuffling. It's the kick of life straight from her womb.

I started Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi. It's one of those fine books that, while you read it, it makes you want to change your life completely following in the protagonist's footsteps. So it made me fantasize about a career as a literature teacher somewhere in the world. Until I stumbled in this sentence that had the strength of an epiphany:

It was like this veil that meant nothing to her anymore yet without which she would be lost. She had always worn the veil. Did she want to wear it or not? She did not know.

Maybe Yassi, who has always worn the veil, can join us in the house. We, who do things, have feelings, pursue dreams and don't even know why anymore...