Thoughts of the missing woman filled Roxanne's mind.
It was an incident worthy of a social news story, and for some reason, it had a mysterious feel to it.
A mysterious story I studied during my time in a liberal arts college entrance exam preparation class came to mind.
In the late 19th century, a young woman committed suicide by throwing herself into the Seine River.
A river guard guarding the Seine River discovered the woman's body and pulled it out of the water.
One of the mortuary staff secretly took off the death mask because the woman was so beautiful.
Since then, the death masks made of plaster have been repeatedly copied and spread throughout Paris.
In the early 20th century, the death mask of a woman became an icon decorating the homes of the artistic community, known as the Parisian bohemians.
The poet Aragon called this death mask "La Gioconda of suicide" in his poem "Aurelien".
This death mask also hung in Albert Camus's studio.
The feeling emanating from the woman's face was absolutely captivating.
The beauty of her face, with its prominent cheekbones, smooth skin, thin, delicate eyelashes gently framing her slightly closed eyes, and a mysterious smile that seemed to be barely visible, was unparalleled.

--- pp.40~41

“The river water is so polluted that we are exposed to various diseases.
“The woman was drowning, and since she was at high risk for infection, we decided it would be better to take her to the emergency room first.”
"Hasn't the water quality improved a lot compared to before? Mayor Hidalgo promised to improve the water quality of the Seine River to make it swimmable before the Paris Olympics."
“It’s a lot better than before, but the pollution is still severe.
Drinking even a small amount of river water can cause diarrhea and cystitis.
It means there is a lot of E. coli in the river water.
Moreover, there are many dead rats floating in the river, which can cause leptospirosis.”
“Can you get infected with bacteria just by floating in water?”
“The woman had a recently tattooed body.
“If you have a tattoo on your body, your risk of bacterial infection increases significantly.”
Roxanne thought she had misheard Bruno, as the noise of the men working on the ship's repairs around the tugboat drowned out his voice.

“The woman had a tattoo on her body?”
“Yes, both ankles.”
Catherine didn't say a word about the tattoo.
It meant that the police station nursing office had messed things up.
“The tattoo was easy to spot because the woman was not wearing any clothes.
“You could tell at a glance that it was a recent tattoo.”
“What kind of tattoo was it?”
Bruno narrowed his eyes as if trying to remember something.
“I had a crown of ivy tattooed on my ankle.
The other tattoo looked like spotted fur.
If you think of the fur of an animal, you can guess what kind of tattoo it is.
“Should I draw a picture instead?”
“Yes, I would like a picture.”
--- pp.57~59

The watch shop owner said.

“There are two extras on that watch.
“When those two meet, they make one sound.”
“What’s the point of a single sound from a clock?”
The watch shop owner smiled brightly.

“It doesn’t have any special meaning.
It's just the creator's idea.
“It is also a very special symbol.”
“What if it’s a symbol?”
“The first owner, painter Sean Lorenz, described the watch as two hearts beating simultaneously.”
Roxanne is in Aragon's poem 'I put my heart between your two hands.
I liked the expression, which reminded me of 'It beat in sync with your heart and your assistant.'

The watch shop owner brought out a porcelain coffee on a silver tray.
“When Sean Lorenz died, the wife of novelist Romain Ozorski bought the watch as a gift for her husband.
“I specifically asked for the words to be engraved on the back of the watch.”
Roxanne read aloud the phrase engraved on the back of the watch.

“You are both my peace and my chaos.
“This is an excerpt from a letter Franz Kafka sent to Felice Bauer.”
Roxanne found the history surrounding this watch to be incredibly fascinating and poetic.
“I bought it on behalf of Romain Ozorski, who wanted to get rid of the watch after divorcing his wife.”
“Who is that customer?”
“I cannot reveal the identity of the client here, as I have a professional duty to maintain confidentiality.”
Roxanne widened her eyes in disbelief.
“You are not a judge, a doctor, or a lawyer.
“It means that there is no obligation to maintain professional confidentiality.”
The white rabbit's silence did not last long.
“That customer was none other than the novelist Raphaël Bataille.
He was also a huge fan of Romain Ozorski.”
Roxanne was dumbfounded and unconsciously put down the coffee cup she was holding.
--- pp.72~74

“Thank you for taking the time.
“During the course of my investigation, I became deeply interested in the Air France Flight 229 accident, and I am calling to ask you a few questions.”
“Tell me what you’re curious about.”
“I heard that two-thirds of the victims’ bodies were recovered.”
“There were a total of 178 victims, and 121 of them were found and recovered.”
“Who was primarily responsible for finding and recovering the bodies that had sunk into the sea?”
“Our military police carried out the operation with the cooperation of the Portuguese military and the Argentine Ministry of the Interior.
“We spent six months deploying divers to find and recover the bodies.”
“What was the condition of the body?”
“The level of corruption was not as bad as I thought.
This is because the water temperature in that area was low and the water pressure was high.
“The body began to decompose rapidly immediately after being pulled out of the sea.”
“Is it because of oxidation?”
“While the body is submerged in seawater, saponification takes place, inhibiting decay.
“When it comes into contact with air, it begins to decay rapidly.”
The taxi was just passing the Cagnes-sur-Mer racecourse.
During the summer vacation season, the roads are packed to the brim, but these days, it's the off-season, so traffic flows smoothly.
The weather was clear and the sea water, reflecting the sky, was unusually blue.
Perhaps it was the quiet and peaceful scenery reminiscent of the Riviera coast that made the tragic stories the lieutenant colonel told sound unreal.
“How do you identify a body once it has been recovered?”
“The identity verification process can be broadly divided into two parts.
First, we contact the bereaved families and collect personal information about the victims.
Above all, genetic information can be said to be the most important.
By matching the genetic information obtained from contacting the bereaved family with the samples taken from the body by the autopsy team, we can determine the exact identity of the victim.”
--- pp.108~109

“Dionysus’ mother was not a goddess, but a human being.
Semele, whom Zeus seduced and gave birth to Dionysus, was the daughter of Cadmus, king of Thebes.
She won the love of Zeus, the king of the gods, and became pregnant with his child.
Semele asked her lover Zeus to allow her to see the kingly power of the gods.
However, when Semele saw the lightning and fire surrounding Zeus's body, she was burned alive.
Zeus managed to take the baby out of Semele's womb and sew it up in his thigh.
As a result, we were barely able to save the baby.
Dionysus is a god born from the union of Zeus and humans.”
Roxanne now seemed to understand why it was said that 'Dionysus was born from Zeus' thigh.'
“There are many research papers that deal with the custom of worshipping Dionysus.
“Unconditional worship of someone always degenerates into something demonic and decadent.”
It brought to mind carnivals in the forest, Bacchus festivals, and nymphs offering themselves to satyrs.
To put it bluntly, it was an orgy in the forest.
“Wherever Dionysus went, he seduced women.
Women, obsessed with mystical delusions, began to worship Dionysus.
Dionysus took the women who came to worship him to the forest and performed a ritual of worship.
The women who attended Dionysus' orgy were called goddesses.
The goddesses, along with the satyrs, served as attendants to Dionysus.
“Wherever Dionysus went, he followed him.”
--- pp.142~143

I never once resented my father for the mistakes he repeatedly made.
Because I knew that my father's occasional immersion into the abyss of sorrow actually served as a safety net for his life.
This process was absolutely necessary to alleviate even a little of the sadness and anger that had welled up to the top of my head, and it would not be an exaggeration to say that it was thanks to it that my father was able to survive.

I, too, have periodically experienced moments of sinking into the abyss, moments of going mad, moments of demons taking control of my soul.
Whenever that happened, my father would just stand by and watch over me rather than offering words of advice.
My father would sometimes visit the police station to pick me up.
He even took me to the hospital emergency room twice when I was about to turn my back on the world forever.
My father and I have been each other's support during difficult times.
My father was the man of my life, and I was the man of my father's life.
After putting my father to bed, I went back down to the living room and cleaned up the messy house.
I also removed the Bebelepang doll, which Vera carried with her wherever she went and which was there even when she was dying in agony in her mother's car.
Every time I saw the Bebelepang doll, which must have been deeply engraved in Vera's mind while she was alive, tears would flow from my eyes.
At times like that, I also wanted to go to Vera's side.
Wanting to be with Vera in heaven, he often took out the MR73 pistol his father had hidden and put the gun to his head.
I knew that someday all this tragedy would end.
For a long time already, another me had been secretly preparing for a tragic ending.
However, the MR73 pistol was not what I wanted.

I put the pistol back in its holster and put it back where it belonged.
My father and I had something in common.
We both pursued an irrational yet rational approach.
We have occasionally wandered into a world of chaotic madness, but we have never been completely immersed in lightless darkness.
It was always the hunger for life that brought my father and me back to the world of light.
--- pp.243~244

“There’s a new girl I’ve been seeing lately.”
“Are you a Parisian woman?”
“We first met in Switzerland last month.
“She was a woman who stayed at the same hotel when I was in Lausanne.”
“What business brought you to Lausanne? To work on a novel?”
“There was a reader signing event at Payo Bookstore.”
“What do you do, young lady? You’re a banker, after all, in Lausanne?”
Suddenly, I remembered the CD jacket I saw in my father's bookshelf.
“He is a pianist from Germany, and I don’t know if my father knows about him.
“Have you ever heard of Milena Bergmann?”
Just as I had expected, a rare spark flashed from my father's eyes.
“Milena is my favorite pianist.
I have almost all of Milena's piano recordings.
Schubert, Debussy, Satie… … .”
I enjoyed watching the different emotions cross my father's eyes.
My father initially said, "I can't believe it," then he said, "I wonder what kind of person Milena is," and then he said, "This is really interesting."

“No, are you really saying my son is dating Milena Bergman?”
“We’ve been dating for a month.”
“It really couldn’t be more wonderful.
“Tell me in detail how you met Milena.”
The bomb was launched in that way.
The starting point was something I said to please my father while having lunch at a seaside restaurant.
It was a story created by my desire to revive my father's dying engine.
We ordered coffee and chatted lively for over an hour.

--- pp.254~255