Chapter 49: Coalim and King Clément
Coalim knew how to serve. He was born discreete, didn’t cry in the orphanage. His voive rarely left its hiding place behind his pharynx, his gentle movementes didn’t disturb the environment. Coalim was like an automatic furniture. Until the day Clément said:
‘Try this,’ and extended a fork with a piece of pie.
Coalim took a moment to react and Clément opened his own mouth:
‘Say aaaaaah.’
Coalim obeyed and a piece of pie landed on his tongue. He mashed it against his palate. It was made of soft cream, not too sweet, and little berries that Coalim recognized as the wild raspberries that grew on the mountain. King Clément had very clear eyes surrounded by skin so smooth that it didn’t seem to have pores.
‘Well?’ asked the king.
‘Looks like porcelain,’ said Coalim.
‘The cream?’
Clément took a bite of the pie, moved his lips from ons side to the other, thin lips, soft, wet.
‘Sweet,’ said Coalim.
‘Not too sweet, I hope,’ said the king. He licked the corners of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.
‘Raspberries.’
‘I picked them on the mountain. The mountain is the only place in Deran where you can be alone for a moment. Vivianne taught me to climb, you know?’
Coalim knew it. He also climbed the mountain often, then watched Clément go up the rock, those dapper fingers, droplets of sweat running down his temples.
‘The pie is good,’ he said and walked away.