Betsy and the emperor.(Story)(Short Story)

It's past midnight, and Otilia cannot sleep. She took a Diazepam tablet two hours ago. Then another one, an hour and a half later. Not the slightest sensation of drowsiness. She is as awake and lucid as ever. The tiredness she felt in the evening is gone.

But then ... how could anyone sensible sleep on a night like this? Hot nights like this one are few and far between, in this ever cooler corner of an arid continent. They are like a precious gift.

The window is open and the air that comes in is mixed with the subtle aroma of the climbing roses. One can hear the cicadas, too. Their chant is an explosion of joyous energy, engulfing the familiar orchestration of nocturnal sounds.

No, it's a sin to sleep on a night like this! A night like this is specially designed for thoughts and speculations.

She lights three candles on the bedside table. (On a night like this, using an electric lamp is not only prosaic: it's simply bad taste!) For a while, she watches the merry flames which seem to embody the very spirit of this night.

The cicadas have stopped their deafening music, as if obeying some invisible, ubiquitous conductor. They do that from time to time. During these rare intervals, one becomes more aware of the other noises around, so varied and unpredictable. There is a nature reserve not far from Otilia's house and sometimes you can hear the resident kookaburra's surreal laughter, if you happen to be awake in the early hours of the morning. Would the kookaburra be awake too, on a night like this?

Otilia closes her eyes, in delicious anticipation. A warm breeze brings in a whiff of roses. Much more persistent this time. You can almost taste their pink and purple sweetness. You can almost hear their untold story: