Half A Day Away

Chapter 4 ▪ Breakthrough

Marseilles, France

Peter and his former college classmate, Robert, had been working on their idea for months now. Like any true product of inspiration, their journey from light bulb to development was a rocky one. And like the developers of most truly innovative ideas in history, they'd endured an endless parade of scoffers and critics. Never mind.

"Let's get out of Paris," said Robert one Friday afternoon. And by Sunday they had transplanted their work to the seaside city of Marseille. After all, most of the work was securely stored electronically, and everything easily transportable via their van. "This suits me well," murmured Peter, his voice as rhapsodic as the waves cascading along the nearby beach.

It's truly funny - the little ironies of life. The two friends, and now deep-in debt business partners, made no appreciable progress for several weeks, despite the much improved change in scenery ["No offense, my dear Paris!" Robert mused]. That all changed, thanks to a visit from Peter's fourteen year old niece, Babette. Babs, as she was affectionately called, was not the typical modern teenager. She eschewed modernity, preferring instead the feel of old books, the personal connection of hand written letters, and the solitude of long walks or bicycle rides. She had, however taken a train from her home in Limoges, a trip of many hours. She passed the time as she always did, buried in books.

One of her favorite books happened to be the Bible. She liked the historical parts of the Old Testament, the Psalms for their passion and heart-cry, and even the prophetic parts such as Daniel and Revelation. At the time of her visit, she happened to be perusing the Book of Genesis, exploring the early origins of man. Rubbing his eyes and needing a break, Robert headed to the beach where Babs lay curled into a lounge chair.

"What are you reading, my dear Babs?!"

"The Book of Genesis."

Robert grabbed the open book from the outstretched hands of the tender sweet girl he had seen blossom into a young lady. He had known Babette for over seven years. His eyes scanned the open page as his palms rested comfortably on the worn but smooth leather binding.

Suddenly, a new light bulb poured life into his brain. Actually, at the level he was currently processing neural activity, it could be better described as a strobe light. After months, nay years of contemplation, here lay the answer.

"You know, my dear Babs, I'm going to have to name it after you," he happily intoned as he handed the Bible back to her and ran quickly back to his room. Babette gave him the short but dramatic look of inconvenience and incomprehension that she usually reserved for the immature boys in her school, shook her head once, and then resumed reading.