Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 39

           Whatayearbeforehadbeensprinkledanddappledaboutwasnowblendedintoafaint,smoothstreamofscentthatshimmeredwithathousandcolorsandyetboundeachcolortoitanddidnotbreak.Andthisstream,Grenouillerecognizedblissfully,wasfedbyaspringthatgreweverfuller.Anotheryear,justonemoreyear,justtwelvemoremonths,andthatspringwouldgushover,andhecouldcometocapitandimprisonthewildflowofitsscent.Hewalkedalongthewalltothespotbehindwhichheknewthegardenwaslocated.Althoughthegirlwasapparentlynotinthegardenbutinthehouse,inherroombehindclosedwindows,herscentfloateddowntohimlikeasteady,gentlebreeze.Grenouillestoodquitestill.Hewasnotintoxicatedordizzyashehadbeenthefirsttimehehadsmelledit.Hewasfilledwiththehappinessofaloverwhohasheardorseenhisdarlingfromafarandknowsthathewillbringherhomewithintheyear.Itwasreallytrue-Grenouille,thesolitarytick,theabomination,GrenouilletheMonster,whohadneverfeltloveandwouldneverbeabletoinspireit,stoodtherebesidethecitywallofGrasseonthatdayinMarchandlovedandwasprofoundlyhappyinhislove.True,hedidnotloveanotherhumanbeing,certainlynotthegirlwholivedinthehousebeyondthewall.Helovedherscent-thatalone,nothingelse,andonlyinasmuchasitwouldonedaybehisalone.Hewouldbringithomewithintheyear,hesworeitbyhisverylife.

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