Sorbonne was closed—I knew that—but what about the universities outside of Paris? The pause threatened to go on too long.
“I’m a student.”
“That’s exactly what you look like.” For the first time, she smiled. “Why didn’t you have to join the army?”
“And what about you, mademoiselle?” I said. I’d had enough of Twenty Questions. “Do you do anything besides sweep up hair?”
“What do you mean by that?” There was a bit of tiny fuzz on her upper lip.
“I know something about you.” I snapped my fingers and pointed to my empty cup. The waiter nodded. I looked at Chantal. “You like butterflies.”
“How do you …” she started to ask, genuinely surprised.
“Every time a butterfly flies away, you feel a little sad.”
Silence reigned. I could feel my heart beating. At that moment, I felt capable of anything, even of walking across the power line that passed over the café.
A P R I L I N PA R I S . 61
“How do you know that?” Her eyes were serious.
“Do you dance?” I heard the soft laughter in my voice. “Surely you know a place where there’s dancing tonight.”
“There’s a blackout.”
“Where there’s dancing behind drawn curtains. ”
“What about the curfew?”
“The Krauts can’t be everywhere.” I said it in French: les boches.
Her glass was empty. She looked inside her purse. “You’re wrong about me. I have to go.”
“May I?” I reached for the saucer with the chits.
“Do you know the fable of the amorous fox?” Chantal asked, standing up. “The fox is in love with a girl. She promises to love him in return, under one condition. He has to cut his claws and have his teeth filed down. The amorous fox does as she orders.
And now, since he can’t defend himself any longer, the girl sets her dogs on him.”
I put some coins on the saucer.
“Do you mean a fox shouldn’t let a girl tame him?”
Without answering, she turned and left, squeezing past the other tables. I put on my hat and followed her. The waiter in the Lubinsky stared in wonder at the departing guest who’d paid for his coffee but hadn’t drunk it. Chantal went west on rue Jacob.
“Do you have to go home already?” I asked as I caught up with her.
The first thunder rumbled in the east.
“What else do you know about me?” She walked faster.
“In the evening, you go to the news shop and read the news.
62 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
You even read the front page of Je suis partout. You buy fruit at Mallard’s and bread at the bakery two doors farther on. You push the black gate open and step into the hidden street and disappear.
Sometimes you sit on a big rock that looks as though it must have fallen from heaven.”
Chantal stopped walking. In the distance, a blue-white bolt of lightning ripped the milky sky.
“My father says a man was asking after me. Was that you?”
The next clap of thunder burst over the fifth arrondissement.
Suddenly, the sky was dark. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur. A swift shadow split Chantal’s face into two halves. A gust of wind threatened to carry my hat away. She came very close to me. “If my father sees your La Fontaine, I’m sure he’ll offer to buy it.”
“It’s not for sale.”
Lightning flashed over the rooftops. The dusty wind pressed Chantal’s dress against her hips. I took off my checkered coat and hung it over her shoulders. The first raindrops spattered on my shirt.
“We shouldn’t stay here.”
We ran toward the storm, which was howling down the narrow street. Chantal’s hair was disheveled and blown about. “Shall I walk you home?”
The wind blew dust in my face, making me spit. Chantal turned her head away. I put my arm around her back, and together we braced ourselves against the wind. At the intersection with the boulevard, we suddenly collided with a wall of rain.
Chantal immediately pulled me into a bumpy side street. Its sur-A P R I L I N PA R I S . 63
face was split, as though
“I’m a student.”
“That’s exactly what you look like.” For the first time, she smiled. “Why didn’t you have to join the army?”
“And what about you, mademoiselle?” I said. I’d had enough of Twenty Questions. “Do you do anything besides sweep up hair?”
“What do you mean by that?” There was a bit of tiny fuzz on her upper lip.
“I know something about you.” I snapped my fingers and pointed to my empty cup. The waiter nodded. I looked at Chantal. “You like butterflies.”
“How do you …” she started to ask, genuinely surprised.
“Every time a butterfly flies away, you feel a little sad.”
Silence reigned. I could feel my heart beating. At that moment, I felt capable of anything, even of walking across the power line that passed over the café.
A P R I L I N PA R I S . 61
“How do you know that?” Her eyes were serious.
“Do you dance?” I heard the soft laughter in my voice. “Surely you know a place where there’s dancing tonight.”
“There’s a blackout.”
“Where there’s dancing behind drawn curtains. ”
“What about the curfew?”
“The Krauts can’t be everywhere.” I said it in French: les boches.
Her glass was empty. She looked inside her purse. “You’re wrong about me. I have to go.”
“May I?” I reached for the saucer with the chits.
“Do you know the fable of the amorous fox?” Chantal asked, standing up. “The fox is in love with a girl. She promises to love him in return, under one condition. He has to cut his claws and have his teeth filed down. The amorous fox does as she orders.
And now, since he can’t defend himself any longer, the girl sets her dogs on him.”
I put some coins on the saucer.
“Do you mean a fox shouldn’t let a girl tame him?”
Without answering, she turned and left, squeezing past the other tables. I put on my hat and followed her. The waiter in the Lubinsky stared in wonder at the departing guest who’d paid for his coffee but hadn’t drunk it. Chantal went west on rue Jacob.
“Do you have to go home already?” I asked as I caught up with her.
The first thunder rumbled in the east.
“What else do you know about me?” She walked faster.
“In the evening, you go to the news shop and read the news.
62 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
You even read the front page of Je suis partout. You buy fruit at Mallard’s and bread at the bakery two doors farther on. You push the black gate open and step into the hidden street and disappear.
Sometimes you sit on a big rock that looks as though it must have fallen from heaven.”
Chantal stopped walking. In the distance, a blue-white bolt of lightning ripped the milky sky.
“My father says a man was asking after me. Was that you?”
The next clap of thunder burst over the fifth arrondissement.
Suddenly, the sky was dark. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur. A swift shadow split Chantal’s face into two halves. A gust of wind threatened to carry my hat away. She came very close to me. “If my father sees your La Fontaine, I’m sure he’ll offer to buy it.”
“It’s not for sale.”
Lightning flashed over the rooftops. The dusty wind pressed Chantal’s dress against her hips. I took off my checkered coat and hung it over her shoulders. The first raindrops spattered on my shirt.
“We shouldn’t stay here.”
We ran toward the storm, which was howling down the narrow street. Chantal’s hair was disheveled and blown about. “Shall I walk you home?”
The wind blew dust in my face, making me spit. Chantal turned her head away. I put my arm around her back, and together we braced ourselves against the wind. At the intersection with the boulevard, we suddenly collided with a wall of rain.
Chantal immediately pulled me into a bumpy side street. Its sur-A P R I L I N PA R I S . 63
face was split, as though
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