We call him the Chinese.
We laugh at him.
He is a writer in need of inspiration, his head always in books, who, as soon as he is handed a glass of Abricotine, delivers Mao Tse-Tong's little red book and who always has "bullshit theories". ".
So much for the portrait.
The Chinese, therefore, would like to find a subject for a novel.
When Rosalba comes back to him, this pretty young girl he fell in love with when he was 15.
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At the time, the Chinese was not called like that, he rode a moped, his idol was Mike Brant.
He fantasizes Rosalba.
But she prefers "older guys, who drove their own cars and slept all night on Saturdays."
The Chinese still dreams of her.
He declines it in all flavors: Rosa, rosam, rosae... He remembers her beauty, her hips, her white bikini... And here he is writing a story without really knowing it.
Memories are fragmented, the book mirrors them, a bit of a mess.
Jérôme Meizoz is having fun.
We laugh with him.
The time has passed.
Rosalba got married to a blond male, heir to a scrapyard.
She becomes a mother but she is not happy.
Would she have been alongside the Chinese?
There he is, still dreaming of her.
He invents it on skis, in the middle of a crowd, between two ibex... Until the day he learns that his beautiful Rosalba has disappeared.
Rumors are circulating.
Did she flee?
Is it a suicide?
a murder?
RAS
The world resumes its course, not for the Chinese, who decides to go looking for it.
His funny investigation takes him to the lands of the "clan", gangsta-machos who drive racing cars, a revolver in the door, then to a Dutch family who made their fortune in Papua... What really happened?
An absolutely awesome book.
Mismatch, by Jérôme Meizoz, Zoé, 160 p., €16.
