Good Blood

The story opens with a reflective narrator, a young legal apprentice who admits to a restless curiosity that pulls him toward anyone else’s fixed stare. He finds himself one summer afternoon in a quiet wine‑room on the town square, the air scented with Muscatel and cigar smoke. The setting feels both intimate and observant, a place where solitude meets the subtle drama of everyday life.

Across the room sits a retired colonel, a familiar but solitary figure known to the town. His gray beard frames a weathered face, and he watches the bustling square from the window as if a secret were unfolding outside. The murmurs of other patrons and the swirl of smoke create a backdrop for his quiet vigilance.

Compelled to share the colonel’s focus, the narrator rises and looks out to find two schoolboys poised on the cobbles, tension crackling between them. The larger boy towers, the smaller boy looks determined, and a sudden rush hints at an imminent clash. This ordinary scene becomes the catalyst for the narrator’s deeper inquiry into human motives and the hidden currents that animate even the most mundane moments.