In Paris With You by Clementine Beauvais

Author:Clementine Beauvais [Clémentine Beauvais]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571339730
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2018-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

And, like you, I can’t help but envy Eugene and Tatiana

sitting in that sandwich restaurant, by the window,

the view softened by a layer of condensation,

the accumulation of all their breaths and words.

I know – and they knew too, albeit subconsciously –

that they were experiencing, in that moment, a revelation

granted only to the lucky few, and even then infrequently;

one of those instants like a bead of mercury,

elementary,

where everything is simple, whole, perfectly right,

where all the parts mesh – the things that you say,

the tone of your voices, the crossing of legs,

the nodding of heads –

everything is in its right place,

here in this clear, compact space;

nothing could be added or subtracted

without ruining the balance.

As they chatted,

they felt like two peas in a pod,

Adam and Eve in an Eden where God

had gone away for the evening

and apple pie was on the menu.

Time passed, and the restaurant grew dim

as night fell outside:

it was only four-thirty – hardly late,

but it meant that they’d been here,

the two of them,

for three and a half hours.

They realised at last when a waitress came over and asked

if they had everything they needed

Oh yes, absolutely

but it’s true:

they’d been there longer than anticipated!

‘Oh, maybe you’ve got plans,’

(suggested Eugene – or Tatiana, I can’t remember)

‘No, nothing, no plans at all,’ replied the other.

‘We could go for a walk if you like.’

‘Sure, if you like.’

So they grabbed their winter coats,

wrapped their scarfs around their necks,

and went off for a walk like old friends – nothing to report.

Yeah, right.

I’m not fooled. Are you?

When we spend three and a half hours deep in talk

(you know this, and so do I),

we don’t just go off ‘for a walk’

without the pleasant anticipation

that – having left the restaurant

and begun our ambulation

through charcoal streets,

breathing little clouds of steam,

avoiding the glare of streetlights –

that we will reel each other in

with sighs, smiles and silences,

and that, at a given moment

(I know this, and so do you) you will

point out a Space Invader on a wall,

your hand edging towards

my sleeve …

So imagine Tatiana and Eugene,

on Rue de Seine or anywhere you like –

in your own town or in Vladivostok, doesn’t matter –

doing the same things you and I do,

the same things we all do:

shivering it’s got cold all of a sudden

where shall we go?

dunno,

over there maybe

Imagine them making their way

through the Saturday crowds

on this February afternoon,

the passers-by wrapped up warm;

everything is cloaked in the darkest grey,

but the wet pavements shimmer

with silver glimmers like anchovies,

and here and there,

reflected in people’s eyes, are flickers

of orange and red from traffic lights.

Imagine the way they sway

into each other,

the tension ‘watch out, there’s a motorbike’

when he touches her shoulder

to help her onto the kerb;

‘I like your scarf’ –

that old classic, always works,

a stroke of the cashmere, vicarious caress,

and so they come to a stop at the edge of a bridge,

as they must, standing close, leaning over the water

and into each other,

the whitish powder of the stone staining their sleeves,

ostensibly so they can admire the Seine –

a thick sludge of cabbage stew

revealed by the lights of the riverboats

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