The Island of Golden Zandolie 4. The Blue Blood

In the very center of Paris, in the legendary Latin Quarter, two young men were sitting on the roof of a mansard, half-hidden by the illusive cover of a summer city night.

The eldest of them was about thirty-five years old, with a shock of unruly chestnut curls falling chaotically over his face and shoulders. Short and wiry, with a broken nose of a boxer, he was not quite handsome.

The second young man was just beautiful. As if the live statue “David” of Michelangelo, he was distinguished with the classic perfection of his facial features and proportions of his figure. An avant-garde haircut slanted on one side and an earring in the ear added the famous bohemian flair to the young man.

At the moment, the handsome young man looked angry. Huge brown eyes with long eyelashes threw lightning bolts. He even jumped out of his chair and loomed over his older companion.

“Jean-Paul! After all the troubles in the press, dismissal from your job, complete discrediting in the scientific world, do you still dream of returning to this, how to call it,… the Island of Golden Zandolie? And why do you even call it that? There is no such place on the map!”