The Extraordinary Journey of the Fakir Who Got Trapped in an Ikea Wardrobe Read Online Free Page B
Author: Romain Puértolas
they had to be changed.
Of course, he did not mention that he was flat broke and that his journey here (he had chosen Paris as it was the cheapest destination he hadfound on an Internet search engine) had been funded by the inhabitants of his native village, who, believing him to have magic powers, had hoped to help cure the poor fakir of his rheumatism by buying him a new bed. This was, in fact, a sort of pilgrimage. Ikea was his version of the grotto in Lourdes.
While he was telling her all this, Ajatashatru felt embarrassed, for the first time in his life, by his own lies. For him, not telling the truth had become second nature. But there was something about Marie that made the act more difficult. He found this Frenchwoman so pure, so gentle and friendly. He felt as if he were dishonoring her somehow. And dishonoring himself at the same time. It was rather disconcerting for him, this new feeling, this shadow of guilt. Marie had a beautiful face that shone with innocence and kindness. The face of a porcelain doll filled with that humanity which he himself had lost during his battle to survive in the hostile jungle of his childhood.
It was also the first time that he had been asked questions about his life, that someone had shown any interest in him for something unconnected with curing chronic constipation or erectile dysfunction. He even came to regret having conned Marie in such a despicable manner.
And the way she looked at him, the way she smiled at him … He could be wrong, but it seemed to him that she was chatting him up. This was a strange situation because in his country it was always men who chatted up women, but it made him feel good anyway.
Inside his pocket, Ajatashatru caressed the frames of his fake sunglasses. A secret mechanism enabled the six pieces of glass to interlock and be held in tension. Bang them even slightly and the pieces burst out of the frames, giving the illusion that the glasses had smashed.
Ever since he had started using this trick, he had noticed that most people felt so guilty that they gave him money as compensation for their clumsiness.
In fact Ajatashatru, who did not have an original bone in his body, had merely tweaked the famous broken vase illusion, which he had found in an old book on tricks and hoaxes.
THE BROKEN VASE TRICK
Material: a parcel, a broken vase, wrapping paper.
You walk around a large store holding a parcel covered in wrapping paper. Inside this parcel, you have previouslyplaced the pieces of a broken vase. As you walk around the store, you spot a victim, approach her, and press your body against hers. Your sudden presence so close to her will make her jump. When this happens, you should drop the parcel. The sound it makes when it hits the floor will give the impression that the beautiful vase you were planning to give to your beloved aunt has just smashed into a thousand pieces. The victim will feel so guilty that she will instantly offer to compensate you for the damage.
“So now I know how you charm women,” said Marie with a sly little smile, “but what I would like to know is how you fakirs charm snakes … That has always intrigued me.”
Truth be told, the Indian had not intended to charm the Frenchwoman, but he accepted the compliment, assuming it was a compliment. And as he felt he owed her something, having so foully cheated her of €20, he decided he would not lose face if he revealed one little fakir’s secret to her. She deserved it.
“As I find you charming, in the literal meaning of the word, I will reveal to you thisfakir’s secret,” he told her solemnly. “But you must swear to me that you will not repeat it to anyone.”
“I promise,” Marie breathed, her hand brushing his.
In the real world, they were separated by two plates of Swedish food, but in his mind, he took her in his arms and whispered his secrets into her ear.
Blushing, Ajatashatru pulled his hand back.
“In my village,” he stammered, “we grow up in
Of course, he did not mention that he was flat broke and that his journey here (he had chosen Paris as it was the cheapest destination he hadfound on an Internet search engine) had been funded by the inhabitants of his native village, who, believing him to have magic powers, had hoped to help cure the poor fakir of his rheumatism by buying him a new bed. This was, in fact, a sort of pilgrimage. Ikea was his version of the grotto in Lourdes.
While he was telling her all this, Ajatashatru felt embarrassed, for the first time in his life, by his own lies. For him, not telling the truth had become second nature. But there was something about Marie that made the act more difficult. He found this Frenchwoman so pure, so gentle and friendly. He felt as if he were dishonoring her somehow. And dishonoring himself at the same time. It was rather disconcerting for him, this new feeling, this shadow of guilt. Marie had a beautiful face that shone with innocence and kindness. The face of a porcelain doll filled with that humanity which he himself had lost during his battle to survive in the hostile jungle of his childhood.
It was also the first time that he had been asked questions about his life, that someone had shown any interest in him for something unconnected with curing chronic constipation or erectile dysfunction. He even came to regret having conned Marie in such a despicable manner.
And the way she looked at him, the way she smiled at him … He could be wrong, but it seemed to him that she was chatting him up. This was a strange situation because in his country it was always men who chatted up women, but it made him feel good anyway.
Inside his pocket, Ajatashatru caressed the frames of his fake sunglasses. A secret mechanism enabled the six pieces of glass to interlock and be held in tension. Bang them even slightly and the pieces burst out of the frames, giving the illusion that the glasses had smashed.
Ever since he had started using this trick, he had noticed that most people felt so guilty that they gave him money as compensation for their clumsiness.
In fact Ajatashatru, who did not have an original bone in his body, had merely tweaked the famous broken vase illusion, which he had found in an old book on tricks and hoaxes.
THE BROKEN VASE TRICK
Material: a parcel, a broken vase, wrapping paper.
You walk around a large store holding a parcel covered in wrapping paper. Inside this parcel, you have previouslyplaced the pieces of a broken vase. As you walk around the store, you spot a victim, approach her, and press your body against hers. Your sudden presence so close to her will make her jump. When this happens, you should drop the parcel. The sound it makes when it hits the floor will give the impression that the beautiful vase you were planning to give to your beloved aunt has just smashed into a thousand pieces. The victim will feel so guilty that she will instantly offer to compensate you for the damage.
“So now I know how you charm women,” said Marie with a sly little smile, “but what I would like to know is how you fakirs charm snakes … That has always intrigued me.”
Truth be told, the Indian had not intended to charm the Frenchwoman, but he accepted the compliment, assuming it was a compliment. And as he felt he owed her something, having so foully cheated her of €20, he decided he would not lose face if he revealed one little fakir’s secret to her. She deserved it.
“As I find you charming, in the literal meaning of the word, I will reveal to you thisfakir’s secret,” he told her solemnly. “But you must swear to me that you will not repeat it to anyone.”
“I promise,” Marie breathed, her hand brushing his.
In the real world, they were separated by two plates of Swedish food, but in his mind, he took her in his arms and whispered his secrets into her ear.
Blushing, Ajatashatru pulled his hand back.
“In my village,” he stammered, “we grow up in
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