The Sunday Story Club by Doris Brett

Author:Doris Brett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia
Published: 2019-06-18T00:19:06+00:00

Being Known

He who knows others is wise; he who knows himself is enlightened.

Lao Tzu

Do you feel ‘known’ by the person or people closest to you, or are there parts of yourself that are unknown or held back?

It was July in Paris. The city of lovers had been the city of my fantasies since I was a young girl. In my imagination, I would wander its streets, wide-eyed and dazzled on my honeymoon or I would sip coffee in a small dark cafe with my new, passionate lover. There was always a man in my imaginings, even if his face and name were still hidden from me – Paris needed a man. I learned French as a schoolgirl and from the time I first heard its breathy, husky consonants and those vowels, so stretchy and sensuous that they melted into its rhythms, I knew it was the language of love, the language of seduction and romance. And I knew that one day I would go to the country where it was spoken.

And so, it was July in Paris. I was 48 and this was my first visit to the city. Indeed, it was the first trip overseas I had taken on my own. The marriage I’d imagined for myself was very different from the one real life had in store. The real-life marriage had ended in separation nearly three years earlier, but it had truly ended long before that. I had obligations, people for whom I had to stay, but I always knew I would leave – it was just a matter of waiting until the time was right. And then, finally, it was.

And so, I had not come to Paris mourning a lost relationship. I mourned that relationship while I was still in it. Leaving had meant freedom. Release from being someone I was not. I’d never pictured coming to Paris alone or so much older, but I was glad to be here, glad that I had made it happen. And being on my own was okay.

I was only here for five days, and I had a list of the usual touristy things to see and do – the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, the Moulin Rouge – but more compelling than any of these was the luxury of simply wandering, letting Paris seep into my skin.

It was evening, around the middle of my stay, and I was out walking, dreamily absorbing the sights and sounds of Paris streetlife, when someone approached me.

He was an older man – at least ten years older than me – and he looked it, with his grey moustache, thinning grey hair, age spots and wrinkles.

‘Are you in Paris alone?’ he asked.

I nodded. I am someone who talks to strangers – I chat to everyone and anyone, and I have never been afraid to walk the streets at night.

He made a sad expression. ‘You shouldn’t be alone in Paris.’

I smiled. Or maybe I nodded. Whichever it was, I agreed with him. Paris was not supposed to be for the single.

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