A Vomit of Diamonds by Boripat Lebel Page B

school
of art critics. ‘I don’t miss the old days one bit. I adore my
neck,’ was her response to a reminiscence of earlier decades. ‘Fame
is the cheapest form of power,’ she quipped to a group discussing a
rising political figure whose reputation preceded him.
    While all this high humor took place,
over near a tall window commanding a gossipy view of a polished
street whereon escutcheoned carriages and glazed landaus passed by
on their way to other mansions, three young nobles stood talking
familiarly about things of existential import. Among them was Zola
de Chichi; a youth of one-and-twenty summers with a slim figure and
medium height, light skin, black hair and green eyes.”
    Returning to present time and
geography, Maxine filled the role of Madame de Chichi of the
Faubourg Saint-Germain; leading the brouhaha with the effervescence
of a lady worthy of being noticed by Louis XIV of France. “That one
is full of pizzazz,” appraised Balzac Bouchard, thinking of casting
such a personality in one of his stories.
    “Nerd!” exclaimed Maxine at Perry,
whose explanation of quantum transportation proved most
enlightening. “Oh, Minho,” was said at one point with an
affectionate shake of the head. “Rome is the mature version of Game
of Thrones,” stated to a person who wondered about the differences.
“Probably astrobiology,” replied to a question regarding her field
of interests. “I’ve always been attracted to little green men,” the
tongue-in-cheek reason. “Let’s play charades!” suggested at a later
stage. “You can only use astronomy-related words or phrases,” was
the rule.
    “ I’m not sure if I’d want to be an
observational astronomer if it means spending months in a creepy
house at night all by myself,” Annika commented, in regards to
Karl’s isolated situation. “You scared?” Minho retorted with a
mischievous grin. “It is lonely,” the former pointed out, not
unreasonably. Indeed, the encounter had been a reality check to all
the young and aspiring stargazers in attendance.
    “ Does it make sense for a scientist
to be wary of the supernatural?” a person from the other Coonabara
group posed for all present to consider. “Why not?” was Minho’s
fast contribution. “That’s actually a good question,” said Maxine,
momentarily sober. “I believe so,” Balzac spoke up, the philosophic
nature of the question emboldening him to share his thoughts; “for
rationality and imagination are different chemical reactions in the
brain.”
    “ That’s an interesting way of
looking at it,” Perry noted, nodding wisely. “History provides many
examples of scientific men who were slaves to their active
imaginations,” Balzac continued, encouraged by his audiences’ kind
attentions; “Take Isaac Newton for example, a brilliant physicist
who pursued alchemy during his free time and in secret. Or Wolfgang
Pauli, the genius behind the Pauli Exclusion Principle, who was
convinced that it was not a coincidence when things broke or
malfunctioned in his presence. In fact, I’m sure the latter was
chilled to the bones every time he experienced the Pauli
effect.”
    “ Good point,” the same person from
the other group conceded, pleasantly surprised to hear Bouchard
speak animatedly. “That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Minho
confirmed, adopting a complacent posture for comedic effect. “And I
knew you were going to say something like that!” Maxine exclaimed
at Minho; thus having the last laugh.
    “Where are you from?” a second year
with curly brown hair asked an unsuspecting Bouchard. “Thailand,”
was the latter’s mechanical reply. “Really?” Minho looked
surprised; “I thought you were Egyptian or something,” he said,
puzzled. “I’m also half French,” Balzac added. “Ah,” Minho
returned, all made sense now. “I have a friend living in Bangkok,”
Maxine joined in, matter-of-fact; “I visited her a couple years
back. It’s so hot there! I