A bitter misanthropist,
Tristan led a cloistered life in his sinister appartment,
where he fostered his hatred of the world.
Thinking himself a fated man,
the only thought of going out without looking for a few encouraging signs
highly distressed him.
He tried to foretell the celestial will he believed hidden
in tarot cards,
the lines of his hand
or the abstruse birth charts he fevereshly drew
so as to know what was bound to happen to him.
He looked out the window and counted the pigeons,
examined which way the aerials tilted,
counted the red cars, then the blue cars,
inevitably coming up with ominous figures.
He never went out
for fear of getting his head crushed by a piece of the MIR space station
and remained burried away in his den, terrorized.
Aware that he only was in on the secret,
he decided to advise the earthmen of the terror that would strike them without fail.
To an audience consisting only of Theresa, his thirteen-year-old neighbour
he explained about the stars, the arcane mysteries
the irrefutable signs of an inevitable and inexorable future
Theresa attentively listened to Tristan’s explanations
When he was done, she said :
The end of the world would suit me best on Monday
‘cause I have a maths test
But right now, I’m meeting up my friends for a tektonic session
and you’re in the way
That’s when Tristan wondered
if the treasure mentioned in the title
could be the detachment
that made the little girl’s life lighter than his
traduction : Laure Mancea�