30. The dance of the Goddesses in Berlin (5 pgs.)

ACT I - CHAPTER 30

THE DANCE OF THE GODDESSES IN BERLIN

Saturday May 19, 2018

Berlin National Stadium

Berlin Germany

It was another friendly match before the World Cup. The French team faced Germany. As usual, he wore Boris’s T-shirt.

“Keep playing like this! Very good, guys! Simple moves! Precision, location, synchronicity, rhythm! Know who to mark! Seek the goal as a team! Alexandre, through the middle, watch offside!” the French coach shouted.

They played well, but so did Germany. First half ended goalless. Early in the second, Germany scored two. The French thought the game was lost, but they counterattacked, overturning the match in the last ten minutes. They won three to two. Unbelievable.

Alexandre had progressed for the next meeting. One week left. He knew he could finish. He couldn’t believe it was the last one.

England had qualified. Victoria and her family celebrated. At the hotel bar, Alexandre saw them talking. Memories of dancing in Dublin surfaced.

“Tonight, we have an intimate philosophy dinner,” Victoria said to Alexandre, winking at Francisca, who returned the gesture.

“Tonight? Where?”

“At the hotel. Everything is ready,” Francisca answered.

“You didn’t tell me,” he smiled.

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“We wanted to surprise you,” Victoria said, with a mischievous smile.

Two beauties had caught him, like a goalkeeper off his line. He would make no effort to stop the ball that would pass over his head.

The hotel’s special suite had a spacious living room. A soft light came from an aquarium. The aquarium wall measured one meter wide, two and a half meters high, and six meters long. Algae, rocks, fish, turtles, seahorses, small rays, octopuses: life flowed in colour and motion. It separated the living room from the dining area. In the latter, a round table awaited.

They changed in the bedroom. Alexandre wore a black suit, white shirt, bow tie, and a red silk handkerchief. The girls wore red leather miniskirts and short white tops, revealing their navels. They walked in high-heeled Texan boots, also red.

A waiter arrived wearing a black formal coat and white gloves.

“We will enjoy special seafood,” Francisca warned.

“They say it’s aphrodisiac,” Victoria added, winking.

The starter: lemon oysters with French white wine.

“1978 Milemau, a gift from our friends at Domaine Estate in Burgundy. Our villa neighbours theirs. They make red and white, but this limited reserve isn’t public. Chosen for tonight,” Francisca said, watching the waiter pour fine Czech crystal.

“To the philosophy of reality! Cheers!” Alexandre toasted, thinking of Arturo, Ricardo, and their meetings.

“Cheers!” they repeated, clinking glasses.

“Delicious,” Francisca said. “Ancient Greeks loved beauty, body and mind. Aristotle would have enjoyed this dinner.”

“And Ronald too!” Victoria added.

“Somehow he is here with us,” Francisca said.

“True. Ronald’s memory stays with us, like Aristotle and Alexander the Great, founders of the Library of Alexandria. Cheers to them!” Alexandre toasted.

“Cheers!” the goddesses replied.

“Alexandria, home of the greatest ancient library,” Francisca said.

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“But fanatics burned it and killed Hypatia, the Hellenic philosopher. Christians, intolerant of rational thought, destroyed her body. A Crusade today, with thousands of nuclear warheads in existence, could end civilization. All because of an irrational concept: God, a human invention, Alexandre said, and he thought, I hope Boris is wrong.

“If there is only one God, yet many exist, someone is lying or mentally ill,” Francisca said. “Polytheism made society more tolerant. The Greek gods were sensual, erotic, human—metaphors of natural forces,” she said, looking at Victoria. “Like Aphrodite,” she added with a wink.

“Like Venus,” Victoria added, returning the gesture.

“Like Apollo,” Francisca said, looking at Alexandre.

“Who is Aphrodite? Who is Venus?” he asked. The goddesses smiled. Their red lips parted, revealing teeth white as snow. “Which goddess will speak first?”

“I will speak. I am Aphrodite, and you are my beloved Apollo, in whom I trust and whom I honor. Receive Venus as my gift,” Victoria said. “Venus, the floor is yours.”

“Oh! Beloved Aphrodite! I feel privileged, and I accept your gift,” Francisca said, looking at Victoria. “Cheers to the Greek gods!”

“Cheers!” Victoria toasted and kissed Francisca’s lips. Following the impulse, she kissed the god who had kissed Victoria, closing the circle of an inevitable destiny.

They ate octopus in green sauce with lemon, strawberry dessert, exotic fruits — passion fruit, mangoes, and raspberries dipped in hot chocolate. Then they moved to the living room.

The aquarium’s light shimmered against the thick glass of the glasses as the waiter served the whisky. Hanging from their necks on gold chains, both diamond tetrahedrons shot rays of colour. It was the light of the goddesses.

“McAllister Collection, 1926,” Francisca said.

“Gift from someone you know?” Alexandre asked, touching his pants pocket. Boris’s GPS and gun-pencil were there.

“Yes. Courtesy of the Old Regatta Hotel owners. Our families have known each other for generations.”

“Delicious,” Alexandre said, watching Venus and Aphrodite. They stood, proud of their short red boots and long legs.

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“Terpsichore begins with Melisa Singleton,” Victoria said, smiling at Francisca.

“Terpsichore?” Alexandre asked.

“The Greek goddess of dance, joining Venus and Aphrodite,” Victoria said.

“Exactly in ten seconds!” Francisca said, turning on the hi-fi. Five seconds before the music, each walked in choreographed steps toward her chair. They placed them five meters apart, centred in front of Alexandre’s sofa. One foot on the chair, heads tilted, red and gold curls cascading. Feet marked the rhythm as music began.

Melisa Singleton’s provocative song played: “These legs are made for dancing!”

Alexandre’s breath stopped at the mischief, beauty, and sensuality. They had rehearsed meticulously.

Their bodies moved closer with precise, coordinated steps, exuding sensuality.

Francisca unbuttoned Victoria’s shirt. Buttons fell, skirts followed, dancing flirtatiously, fiery, and wild.

Lisa Brave’s song started: “God! I know I’m a goddess!” Aphrodite and Venus added feather scarves. Victoria wore garters, stockings, suspenders, black lingerie; Francisca, red lingerie. Her red boots were pedestals for living sculptures, breaking free from marble, exploding in erotic movements. Chorus joined: “God! I know I am a goddess!”

Two goddesses gave themselves to a god in a river of sensuality. Alexandre drank whisky, ecstasy rising. How long had they rehearsed? he thought. He admired Victoria, imagining their future children. Desire for Francisca surged.

Ernestina Laceras played: “Welcome to the Maison Rose.” The choreography peaked. They embraced, lifted one foot onto a chair, then draped feathered scarves around him, helping him to stand up.

They danced around Alexandre. Victoria removed his jacket; Francisca unbuttoned his shirt. Chorus: “Voulez dieu Coucher avec moi.” Both kissed him, walked like models toward the bedroom, then paused, index fingers calling him.

“Voulez dieu Coucher avec nous,” they sang dancing on the bed. He watched from the sofa, whisky in hand, missing nothing.

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Floating on Dionysus’ ship across the burning sea of desire, Eros called him.

Where am I? Alexandre thought, pinching himself. On Olympus, he answered. How can I know it? I perceive with my whole body. Who am I? A pure mind in a nude body. What should I do? Celebrate life.

And the gods celebrated, again and again, in a thousand ways they celebrated, like naked sculptures of fire, freed from the cold of the marble. They celebrated all night, until the last flame of Eros was extinguished, they celebrated… and the universe smiled.

END ACT I

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