Argentina's Oranges

The frosty winter morning audaciously beated scarlet cheeks. Stopping nearby an enormous building, I saw a man. The strange man was wearing long "cloths", which flung themselves to the very ground. On his head flaunted An English hat, which English soldiers used to wear. A golden badge with a phoenix emblem hung proudly on his chest, which was a complete contrast to the rest of his attire. The mysterious man swung open a table, placed chess on it and next to them -- a red clock. It was ticking loudly, making the most unbearable sound in the whole world. I decided to come closer. 

The man as if didn't notice my presence and I had to stand at the very board for a long time until I let out a loud cough. The "English" man looked up and right into my eyes. I've never seen such mysterious eyes before. They were dim, as if were crippled by life itself, but at the same time glimmered cunningly. His face was covered in wrinkles and looked kind, just as many old people have. But he wasn't that old, I would have given him 30-40 years old by look. 

I do not remember how our dialogue began, but I only remember that I found myself in a bloodthirsty chess match with my new "comrade". 

At last, Black checkmated white. What a pity, but I don't remember the winner either. Perhaps my thoughts flew on the fluffy snowflakes, ran up the stairs of the building, plunged into the abyss of study, even jumped on the head of the strange man, in fact, were everywhere, just not in the game. 

We fell into a conversation with the stranger again. He talked breathlessly and stormy about a certain Argentina and that there are ostriches, platypuses and swans. It was hard to believe the truthfulness of that, but I nodded approvingly at each word he said. However, he told me about all kinds of countries that exist on earth. He chattered quickly and also managed to answer every question I asked and even a question that didn't exist. He talked very emotionally, constantly shifting from theme to theme (how I wish he would finish just at least one story), waved sharply his hands and sometimes raised his voice. It was only now that I noticed his strange accent. It looked like French. 

I asked where the mysterious man was from, to which he replied that he didn't remember himself. I remember him saying, that he always had to go from country to country, learned in Germany, worked, helping his parents, in Italy and even managed to come to Norway, telling, that he was transferring some kind of outlander "product". 

That got me mindless. What kind of outlander "product" could be brought to Norway? 

He shook his head and told with a smirk, that it's a big secret, which only he has to know. I hurriedly asked about the secret, afraid that he would change the subject again and start talking about elephants, other countries, campaigns during the war and other nonsense. Of course, I would be glad to listen to his stories, but my brain was already full of his words and my interest in the "product" was only growing, beating my mind. 

In return, he replied that he would tell me the secret only if he would be defeated in a game of chess. 

That was a hard time: it was cold outside, the snow beat my eyes, mittens layed on a chair, (since it was impossible to play with them) the wind blew, and a blizzard hurt my face. I already felt my fingers stiffen, as if they had turned into solid stone. 

Finally, I won. I've never been as happy as I was at that moment. My opponent shook his head and ruffled his mustache (and he had a mustache. I remember once being told that every decent man has a mustache, and if he doesn't have one, it means that he simply doesn't know the "beauty of the arts." I hope that my father will still have time to grow them, otherwise suddenly he will be admitted as an artist of modern art, and he will not earn trust and honor due to lack of knowledge about "real art"). 

That's what I heard from the mysterious stranger. This is only the smallest part that is bitten from all sides, because I had to cut out his inserts about our "damned generation", elephants, other countries, campaigns during the war and other "very interesting" information. I hope that my memories and the remaining fragments did not miss his story, because it was so confusing due to the fact that my new "fellow" constantly shifted to a different topic, inserted unnecessary phrases, told tall tales, and still could not tell the story clearly: 

It seems that everything started back in Germany. Back then I had to study there. Honestly, I don't remember much about my studies, it's fair to say that I don't remember anything that I learned during all the years of studying, starting from elementary school. I found a job in the future and that was quite enough for me. At the university, my teachers disliked me because of abstract ideas and, what seemed to them, absurd points of view. Over the years, I have found two or three like-minded people. It's hard to say about what kind of relationship we had. You can't possibly call them strangers, and it would be an exaggeration to call them friends. Otherwise, if friendship means the words "I talked on you to the teacher," constant arguments about space and patriotism, and a painful punch to the back of the head, then it would not be a sin for me to call them friends (Oh, let them forgive me if I was wrong). In fact, no matter from which side you look, these people were close to me, I could talk to them on any topic, find out their point of view (of course, eventually getting a black eye) and do cooperative investigations. 

We started spending a lot of time in the library, trying to find any hints about space. Many started calling us a "sect" or even a "cult". I even remember that there were rumors about us forming an entire organization to take over the world. 

The "sect" consisted of Gabriel Bauer (a true German patriot, we often had arguments with him), Wilhelm Wolf (It rings me a bell that he wanted to become an actor, sometimes despised my opinion and views, also, Wolf often brought me food when I didn't have any, because I often didn't have money. He was a funny friend, a hilarious one), Thierry Leroux (it was from him that I often received an unexpected bruise. He said that it was his method of "communication", I had already accepted my fate, that one day Leroux would become my killer) and, of course, me. 

Each one of them wanted to become someone in the future, when I didn't even think about it. Bauer wanted to become a famous musician, and Leroux, it seems, dreamed of becoming a poet. 

We had a good time together. But after the university, unfortunately, we stopped communicating with everyone except Gabriel, in addition, I didn't have enough money and had to leave Germany. I got a job in Italy, you can't even imagine, how I missed the "old good days". What about Bauer... We began to wrute to each other less and less, because disagreements and differences of our opinions simply didn't allow us to normally correspond by letters. 

After I couldn't make good money in Italy, I returned to France. There my parents were waiting for me. I don't remember if I was born in France, but I do remember that my mother and father were always waiting for me there. As soon as I got there, my parents told me the terrible news: a war had broken out between Germany and France. I had no choice but to die the honest way of a hero. 

The French troops had a bad time. Big losses awaited us... 

I remember seeing a familiar face through the huge crowds of rivals. I remember a loud gunshot and a stunning noise. And then, a corpse lying next to me. 

I thanked the mysterious stranger for his story. He assembled the chess table and placed it in an empty bus, next to many boxes with "Argentina Oranges" on them. The skull of Gabriel Bauer was in the box. I opened it before approaching the stranger. 

He looked at me, smiled and said: 

-- See you in Norway!