Castle of Water: A Novel(52)

“No, she would wait until her friends leave, then she would go with you to the market downstairs, and she would get the ingredients to make you a proper salade ni?oise, not this American can nonsense. And then, after dinner when you are walking her home, she would pull you under the Saint-Denis arch and then she would kiss you at last.”

“And I’d be a good kisser?”

“Yes, she’d be surprised. You’re actually pretty good.”

“Well, merci.”

“De rien.”

“Sounds like it would make a beautiful story.”

“Oui, ce sera une histoire très belle, mon chéri.”





35

The second time it happened was two months later, when they were together on the slender deck of the Askoy III. Barry’s fishing excursions had initially been solitary affairs, but after several trips out to the reef, he began to take note of all the sea life that skittered below in the coral. With only the one pair of contact lenses he was wearing remaining from his initial three, he was understandably reluctant to engage in any activity that might put them at risk. Sophie, however, whose vision was unerringly set at twenty-twenty, had no such compunction. When Barry mentioned the crabs and lobsters and conchs he had witnessed just a short dive from the surface, she volunteered for the job. And as such, perhaps once a week, she would accompany him out in the boat, bobbing like a pearl diver between the throws of his net to see what she might find below.

This day in particular had been especially good, as in addition to Barry’s three netted snappers flopping on the canoe bottom, Sophie emerged from a dive with an enormous rock lobster writhing in her hands. She tossed it over the side before climbing in and wringing out her hair. Once the lobster was corralled near the prow, she reclined at the opposite end to let the sun dry her skin. Barry, meanwhile, prepared the net for another throw. A distant shelf of cloud hinted at rain, but for the time being, the day was brilliant and clear.

“So what do you think would have happened after that first night?”

“Hm?” Barry’s eyes were fixed on a tangle in the net, with his fingers patiently at work on the filament.

“After the first night, and the kiss in Paris. After I find the painting. What would happen next?”

Barry took a seat beside the twiddling lobster and the flopping fish and considered the question—weeks had passed since their first musings on the subject. “Do you really want to know?”

“Of course I want to know. I told you the first part. Now, it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” Barry said, continuing with the snag in his net, “I’ll tell you.”

“Please do.”

“Well, naturally, his visa would expire. He would have been in France on a tourist visa, which is only good for three months, so after that, he would have to go back to New York. You’d promise to write and keep in touch, but neither one of you would know what was going to happen.”

“So what would happen?”

“At first, nothing. He’d move into his new little studio in the East Village, you’d keep working in Paris, and the two of you would go on with your lives. But neither one of you would be very happy, and every night you’d stare at the painting he made for you, which you’d keep over your bed. One day you’d happen to walk down rue du Chateau d’Eau, where he used to live, and you’d decide to write him a letter.”

“Not an e-mail or a phone call?”

“No, letters are more romantic.”

“God, you Americans. Why does everything have to be so romantic?”

“Maybe we read too much Hemingway.”

“Pfff. More like Hollywood. But go on. What does it say?”

“That you miss him. That you want to see him again.”

“And what does he do?”

“He invites you to come visit him in New York.”

“La Grosse Pomme?”

“Yep. The Big Apple. You would have plans already to take a little vacation to Lisbon, to see your friends from when you studied, but you’d rethink it. You’ve never been to New York, you’ve only been to America once, and you do miss him quite a bit. So, instead of Lisbon, you’d buy a ticket on Air France to New York City.”

“Yes!”

“Indeed. And the whole flight, you’d be nervous, and you’d wonder if New York would be like it is in the movies, or completely different, and you’d wonder if you’ll still like him, or if maybe your feelings have changed.”

“Would my feelings have changed?”

“Nope. He’d meet you at the gate, and you’d rush into each other’s arms.”

“But I would be very jet-lagged, non?”

“Well, you would be, but you’d also be very excited. Like I said, it’s your first time in the city. And for your first date, he’d take you to get a real New York hot dog at Gray’s Papaya.”

“Avec beaucoup de moutarde?”

“With lots of mustard.”

“And what else?”

“To eat?”

“Oui. Tell me, I’m starving. I want to imagine it.”

“Of course, a hamburger at Chumley’s, the one with the buttered English muffin as a bun, and with bacon on top.”