Authors: Steve Jovanoski
Chapter 16
A
n unpleasantly familiar voice spoke out as Dave walked out of his apartment. He turned around and saw the man from that morning, waving at him, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He shrugged his shoulders in reply.
‘What
, mate? What do you want from me?’ Dave asked. The alcohol made him braver than he normally was, and he challenged the man with open palms as if to show that he could take him on. The chubby fellow puffed on his cigarette and tilted his head sideways as if he were eyeing an idiot. His expression made Dave feel like a fool. The man mumbled something and gestured in resignation.
The Jazz Inn
’s sign pulsed above the door of the bar, and through its windows he could see that the place was packed. A bulky man with the standard black attire and long overcoat of a doorman nodded at him with a blank look and pushed the doors open for him. Stuffy, hot air engulfed him as he made straight for the bar. A band, he assumed Leon Bernard and the Black Kats, was playing in one corner of the crowded but cosy club. He could tell that the patrons were a mix of locals and tourists. The smell of stale beer and cigarettes permeated the carpet and woodwork.
‘Sco
tch and Coke, please,’ he yelled to the bartender, looking around excitedly. Was Erin here? Would he see her tonight? Around the bar and at every table conversations were in full swing, but he could not hear Erin’s voice. It was still early, he reflected. She may come later. I’ll wait, he told himself, taking a sip of his drink while swivelling his head from one end of the bar to the other and back again.
The lively music had the crowd in a frenzied mood. A couple of women danced drunkenly, oblivious to the world and entertaining onlookers with their audacious moves. One of them kicked her legs in the air and crouched like a Russian dancer, falling on her arse and taking her friend down with her. They laughed their heads off
, and so did the crowd. It took them a while to get up, but no one minded. The partying went on, as did the drinking.
He
tapped his fingers nervously on the bar and kept looking at his watch. He had a boyish smile on his face in anticipation of seeing Erin. What a surprise she’d get, he thought. It occurred to him to ask the bartender whether Vincant, Sam’s friend, was there. The bartender told him that Vincant usually showed up later in the evening but tonight he was out of town. He told Dave that he might be in tomorrow. It was fine with him; he was enjoying the music and didn’t mind being alone.
Dave waited
, and the hours went by. It was nearly 2:00 in the morning when he staggered outside, drunk, hugely disappointed and with a sore neck from turning his head in every direction all night. Parisian streets were even more romantic at night, an ambience that added to his loneliness. He sparked up a cigarette and started walking in the direction of his apartment. Drunk in Paris: at least he’d accomplished something new.
‘Bloody hell
!’ he suddenly yelled aloud in frustration. What was he doing? Chasing someone halfway across the world was crazy—and waiting around for her to turn up was madness. He might as well try to salvage what was left of the night and make use of his drunken state. He took his map out and searched for rue Mouffetard. It was close to home, and he’d been there during the day already.
C
rowds of people were dispersed on the streets, which meant venues were closing for the night. Dave realised with disappointment that he would have to continue his walk all the way home. Rue Mouffetard was full of clubs and bars, but they were either closing up or not letting in any new customers. This area of town attracted a younger clientele because of the university’s proximity. Would Erin be among them? he wondered. He searched for her face in the crowd while manoeuvring through groups of students sitting around in clusters. Like him, they were unwilling to end the night just yet.
A local cr
êperie was doing good business serving fresh crêpes with honey and Nutella. It was an interesting combination, he thought. The explosion of sugar would be just right for sobering up. He joined the queue and ate while continuing his walk. Back at the apartment, he turned on the BBC for company again. He unfolded the couch lethargically and sprawled on the bed, his head spinning. He was too tired to undress except for his shoes. As the news anchor droned on about the financial markets, Dave passed out.
The next morning the clip-clop sound of heels awoke him. It was becoming his wake-up call. A headache reminded him of the previous night. After his usual routine of showering, dressing and breakfasting, he left his flat. To his relief, the fat man wasn’t around. Dave wasn’t up for any confrontations in his current state, regardless of what they were about. A young girl entered the complex as he walked out. She was a petite brunette walking a puny dog.
‘Hello, how are ya?’
his question came out in such a bogan Aussie accent that he even surprised himself.
‘I am good, thank you.’ T
he young girl replied in English. She spoke politely but didn’t stick around for a further conversation. It was Dave’s first contact with a resident in his native tongue—a good start, but maybe he would try it in French the next time. ‘Make a little effort with your language, will you?’ he mumbled to himself.
S
treet traffic was lively, and students congregated in cafés. The air was bustling with energy on his third day in Paris. Areas to visit were marked on his map, and he was up for something different today—the Jewish quarter of the Marais district. The throbbing in his head had subsided somewhat but still caused him grief. He caught the subway to a stop at the Place de la Bastille, where he had his first coffee of the day. He realised he’d been constantly on the move since arriving in Paris—there was a lot to see and do.
The flow of life
around Place de la Bastille required a moment of reflection. The July Column was a historic marker, and it demanded to be properly absorbed by the casual passersby. He read on his map that in this very spot once stood the notorious fortress prison Bastion de Saint-Antoine. It was stormed and later demolished during the French Revolution. The course of a nation had been altered right here, and it was permanently marked in the country’s timeline.
Now that t
he sun had penetrated the clouds and warmed his skin, it was a good day for a walk. The closer he got to the Jewish district, the narrower the streets became. Small buildings housed trendy boutiques, patisseries, craft shops, tea salons and dozens of cafés. He knew this was the Marais when he saw rabbis strolling down the cobbled streets and stopping occasionally for a chat with the shop owners. Dave found a cute little
boulangerie
among the shops. He was drawn to the bakery by the sight and smell of fresh baguettes and the delicious-looking chocolate éclairs. I must have one of those, he thought as he gawked in delight.
The b
akery was apparently run as a family business, with the strong father at the helm and a stern mother directing her well-brought-up daughters and two sons in the shop’s kitchen. Dave ordered a chocolate éclair and sat down the minute a chair became available. The dessert felt like a piece of heaven melting in his mouth, satisfying all his taste buds at once. The bakery’s walls were decorated with Jewish memorabilia and posters of Jerusalem.
Dave’s
attention was fully absorbed by the éclair. Such a delicious treat wasn’t meant to be gobbled up so quickly, so he ordered another one to fully savour. He munched on the second one slowly, taking in every bit of its flavour. One particular poster on the wall close to the kitchen took Dave’s attention: a print of a dog chasing a car. The picture itself wasn’t what had caught his eye, but rather the Hebrew writing below it. He stood up when he realised where he’d seen them before, and approached the counter with his mouth still half-full. The words appeared to be the same as Erin’s tattoo.
‘Excuse me. C
an you tell me what that means?’ Dave pointed to the poster and swallowed. The young girl serving behind the counter turned to Dave with a puzzled expression.
‘I
do not understand Hebrew. Sorry,’ she replied and shrugged her shoulders.
‘Does anyone else know?’
‘I think my brother put it up there because he likes the picture. It’s not supposed to be there.’ The girl rolled her eyes, and her attention was diverted by another customer. Dave’s curiosity was left unsatisfied.
‘
Chasing life
.’ A soft voice behind him drew Dave’s attention. An old man in an old-fashioned overcoat was looking directly at him.
‘Excus
e me? Did you say something?’ he asked to make sure that the elderly man was addressing him.
‘Not many of this young generation know Hebrew
these days,’ the man said in his hoarse, accented voice. ‘They put stuff up like this without knowing where it came from or what it means. The words under the picture mean “Chasing life”.’ The man pointed, took out a handkerchief and dabbed his mouth. Dave noticed a number tattooed on his exposed wrist, the ink discoloured and stretched.
‘
Chasing life
?’ he repeated.
‘Yes, that’s what I said.’ T
he response was like that of a teacher, clear and direct. The man’s English was very good and there was a hint of Germanic in his accent. The lines on his face were etched deep, like words in a novel—each one telling a story. His deep-set blue eyes conveyed a sadness and yet he had a presence that suggested a character of resilience and strength.
‘What exactly does it mean?’ Dave asked, hoping Erin’s tattoo was deeper than just a caption for a kid’s poster.
‘
You want a history lesson?’
‘No, I just
…’ Dave stammered, hoping he hadn’t offended the old man.
‘
Ah, I’m joking,’ the man said, smiling. ‘Those words were written on a tomb somewhere in old Judea, but don’t ask me exactly when. A wealthy merchant was said to have been laid to rest in it.’
‘Oh, really? What’s the significance
. . . ?’
‘If you let me finish, I’ll tell you
,’ the man said with gruff good humour. ‘The merchant spent his entire life in search of things that he expected would make him happy and fulfilled, whether they were people or material possessions, but he was never able to satisfy his desires and enjoy his achievements. He died with his whole family around him. Yet, just before he took his last breath, he told them that he was the unhappiest man alive and that they had disappointed him. At his request, the family buried his treasures with him. Those two words were the only inscription they carved on his tomb, which robbers eventually pillaged.’
‘It sounds as though they had the same problems back then,’ responded Dave, thinking
about Erin’s tattoo. ‘We’re chasing life today, and it always seems out of reach. Someone or something gets in our way.’ Dave thought of Erin’s beautiful face, out of his reach now.
‘Is that what you think it means
?’ The man gave him a questioning look, his eyebrows raised.
‘Well, yes. I
sn’t that it? We’re all looking for a better life and greater happiness. It’s a constant search, whether it involves people or material possessions.’
‘
My young friend,’ the man chuckled, ‘that’s what is wrong with the world. People don’t realise it until they either reach my age or something happens to them.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t
…’ Dave said, confused.
‘Of course you don’t, you need it to be explaine
d to you, and that’s the problem. The words were written on the merchant’s tomb as a mark of irony, but they have been misinterpreted ever since. They are a warning. The man never knew how lucky he was to have such a family. That was his wealth. He died a broken man because he chased life instead of living it, and he lost his material treasures anyway. The phrase has the same meaning as that picture of a dog chasing a car: he can never catch it. Yes, he thinks he has a purpose, to catch the car. But even if he does, he won’t be happy. He won’t know what to do with it, and he’ll wait for another car to come by and chase that.’
Dave realised that the o
ther customers in the bakery had been listening curiously to their conversation. Reflecting on what the man had said, Dave nodded without knowing exactly why he was confused. The young girl behind the counter handed the old man two freshly baked loaves of Vienna bread. He politely thanked her in both French and Hebrew.
‘My grandchildren
will enjoy this,’ he said to Dave, sniffing the bread. ‘You should try it.’ The old man gave him a goodbye tap on the shoulder. ‘Enjoy life and stop chasing it.’ With those words, the man disappeared out the door and into the crowd.
Dave tried to speak but didn’t know how to say what he was feeling. ‘Thanks. Bye,’ were the only words he managed.
Chapter 17
Dave wandered for hours
through Paris, getting lost among the streets and in his thoughts. The lustre of excitement and adventure had faded for him the moment he left the bakery, replaced only by a sense of bewilderment.
‘
Chasing life
’. The words whirled in his mind. Was that what he was doing? Was he a dog chasing after a car? Was he pursuing an impossible desire? He wished he could recall a happy memory to lift his spirit, but instead, he thought of the night he last held Julia. Dave’s whole life changed that night. The invisible fog of depression was settling down on him again.
This was
her fantasy destination, France. Julia would say, ‘One day, when we get to Paris, Dave, I want to see everything. I want to see a painting and cry, I want to drink the best wine, I want to walk along the Seine at night and roam the streets until daybreak.’ He’d never given it much thought. Julia always had adventurous ideas, and it was just another one to add to the list. Those words were once taken lightly, but now they meant so much—and being there without her didn’t feel right. ‘How can I do the things we planned on doing on my own?’ he whispered. He rubbed his stinging eyes and swallowed.
Dave
looked at his watch and took his phone out. It’s okay, it’s not late, he told himself. The phone beeped a few times before he heard a muffled voice.
‘H’llo?’
‘Hey, Amy. How are you?’
‘Dave
? Hey. What’s new?’
‘Nothing
much.’
‘How’s the t
rip going?’ Amy sounded groggy. He must have woken her.
‘It’s a little
. . . well . . .’ he was struggling to find his voice. ‘It’s funny you know?’ Dave’s eyes went watery and his throat closed up.
‘What?’
‘Uh. I’m having a little trouble. Nothing really. I just needed to talk to someone. Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d wake you. Forget about it. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ It was going all wrong. Instead of some light conversation with Amy, he was bungling the call.
‘What’s happened?’ Amy’s voice was clearer now. He could tell that he’d alarmed her
, and he felt foolish. ‘Dave. Talk to me, Dave. What’s going on?’
He paused for what felt like a long time. Finally, he said,
‘I can’t stop thinking about her. Here I am on the trip of a lifetime, and I can’t enjoy myself for more than a day.’ He pretended to laugh. ‘I’m such an idiot. I’ve gotta go. Sorry I woke you. I shouldn’t have called.’
‘
Wait! Talk to me, Dave,’ Amy pleaded. ‘Come on. Say what’s on your mind. Talk to me.’
‘I hate this,’ he
burst out. ‘I hate this merry-go-round of loneliness and this sense of worthlessness that gets me every time. I get in these fucked-up moods more and more. Back home I had a monotonous life, but at least I wasn’t like this. It’s as if my mind has exploded since I left Melbourne. I just can’t seem to just be here and enjoy myself.’ His heart was racing and he was breathing rapidly.
‘
You had to deal with it eventually, you know,’ Amy’s voice came across the line matter-of-factly. ‘It’s all coming out now and you can’t just shut yourself out. It’s just thoughts and memories, Dave. They’re not real. How you interpret them makes a difference. You need to learn to deal with your emotions.’
‘I know
,’ Dave sighted, pulling himself together, ‘and I’m fine. I’ve exaggerated. Just forget about it.’ Dave regretted calling her. He felt like a nuisance now and just wanted to end the conversation.
‘I know you’re far away, but that shouldn’t matter. You can talk to me anytime. It’s all right to feel what you’re feeling. But you have to learn to let it go. You have to let her go, Dave.’ Amy’s voice had softened. He could detect her concern.
‘
Yes, all right,’ he said, but her words had hardly registered.
‘Promise me, okay
?’
‘I do promise. D
on’t worry. Bye.’ He hung up abruptly, resolving never to do that again.
Dave
trudged on until his feet ached. Police sirens sped by and momentarily took his attention. As if snapping out of a daydream, he started noticing people around him again. His feet found their way back to the Seine and followed it down to Notre Dame. Sidewalk vendors were hawking everything from prints of priceless paintings to nineteenth-century postcards of nudes. The sun was setting and the cold wind nipped his exposed skin. It felt like hours must have gone by since he’d lost himself in thought. The footbridge on which he was walking to get to the Latin Quarter had wire fencing on each side, and he noticed padlocks hanging off it. Hundreds of them were attached to the protective barricade, in all shapes and sizes. Some looked very old and others brand-new.
Dave
took his map out and found the name of the bridge—Pont des Arts. The description said that partners engraved their initials on padlocks and locked them on this spot to commemorate their love for each other under the watchful gaze of Notre Dame Cathedral. He bent down to examine one engraving: ‘Love Never Ends’. Others bore initials with a little heart between them. He found one with ‘J’ and ‘D’ engraved on it and wondered who they were. How long ago did they come here? Were they still in love?
H
e ran his fingers across the surface of the little metal objects, feeling the grooves of the engravings. He stood up to gaze at the horizon as the last moments of sunlight fell and disappeared behind Notre Dame. His mind calmed and he continued walking home via the university district. Perhaps, he thought, Erin might appear out of nowhere from some lecture room. The idea put a smile on his face.
Back in the flat he took a long shower, feeling every droplet soothe his skin and wash away the day. But languishing in the massaging waters eventually had to end. After dinner, he dressed for a night out and opened a bottle of wine while watching Bloomberg’s presenters debate the latest stock-exchange results. The mind-numbing dialogue paralysed his brain as he stared at the television. He poured more red wine. Above the ceiling he could hear little feet running as kids giggled and their mother chased after them. Life went on around him. He was a stranger without a place in the world.
The
bottle of red wine seemed to stare at him, and he decided that it was enough—this night would be different. He left the apartment with renewed hope of encountering Erin at the Jazz Inn. At the club’s front doors a new schedule said tonight was an Evening of Soul. The same doorman as the previous night gave him a nod. Dave was tipsy, but he was allowed to enter without a problem.
‘Wait
,’ the bouncer pointed to his mouth.
‘Oh,
désolé
,’ Dave apologised, taking a last drag from his cigarette before he threw it out.
The establishment once again was full of patrons, although
this time it was more subdued because of the mellow music. ‘Scotch and Coke,’ he asked the barman. He scoured the crowd for that familiar face, the one he could spot anywhere, but she wasn’t there.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to the bartender. ‘Can you tell me if you’ve seen an Asian girl named
Erin? I was told she comes here sometimes.’
‘No, sorry. I do not know her.’ The barman shrugged his shoulders
, and Dave realised the silliness of his question in a metropolis like Paris, visited by many Asian tourists.
‘Is Vincant here tonight?’ Dave inquired
, trying another tack.
‘Yes, I think he is here. One moment.’ The man snapped his fingers and yelled out to a busboy in French
. He heard Vincant’s name being mentioned and the busboy disappeared somewhere. A minute later the busboy returned and reported that Vincant would be there in a minute.
‘Vin, caaant. Vin, caaant. Vin, caaant,’ he found himself chanting.
The drink was getting to his head, an added fuel to the wine he’d already consumed. I’d better slow down, he thought. But he was in the mood for it tonight and so he ordered another drink.
A short
and slim man with North African features came out from the back. The barman spoke to him and pointed to Dave.
‘Hello. I am Vincant.’
‘Hi, I’m Dave.’ He was unprepared for Vincant’s crushing handshake.
‘How can I help you?’ Vincant wore a tailor-made black suit with a vest underneath and silver cufflinks.
He was clean-cut and looked like a movie star who had just stepped off the red carpet. Even the way he stood at the bar was staged; every mannerism seemed performed with a purpose.
‘
I was told to say hello by Sam. I recently arrived here from Hong Kong.’
‘Sam?’
‘Yes. He said to make sure that I pronounced your name correctly.’ Dave waited for a reaction and was afraid Vincant might have misunderstood. Then Vincant burst out in laughter.
‘
It’s true I must say, tourists always get it wrong. But I don’t get upset. How is that Australian playboy? Has he married Carla yet?’
‘
He hasn’t married, no.’
‘I told him he was crazy to have a girlfriend. I do okay, but that man is a magnet for women. Still,
Carla is a sexy lady who knows how to party, no?’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Dave
replied.
‘Is he still running The Base
?’ Vincant inquired when he got interrupted momentarily by a young couple. They extended a hand, and he greeted each one politely. He gave them his full attention as if they were the most important customers in his club. He seemed like Sam in many ways.
‘Yes, he’s do
ing really well,’ Dave resumed when the couple had left.
‘
I am sure he is. I begged him to come and work for me, but I knew he was ready for his own place. That man will make it big one day. He invited me to go there, but I don’t like Hong Kong’s weather. It’s too hot and humid, you know? I sweat like a pig. It’s not nice.’ Vincant curved his mouth in distaste and shook his head.
‘
Yes, I know. It’s crazy during the monsoon season.’
‘I miss him. We had some wild parties there
, and Sam can drink, I tell you.’ Vincant narrowed his eyes to make the point.
‘You’re right about that,’ Dave replied
with a laugh.
‘
Dresses like a Frenchman and drinks like an Australian, no?’ Vincant winked. They both laughed. Dave took a closer look at his companion. Vincant appeared to be the same age as Sam—late twenties, perhaps early thirties—with a square jaw, short spiky hair and well groomed goatee.
‘That’s bloody true
,’ he said.
‘
Okay, what are you having, Dave?’ he placed a hand on his shoulder and politely guided him toward the bar.
‘
Another scotch and Coke would be great,’ Dave replied, taking his wallet out. He had a bundle of cash stuffed in there and was prepared to shout Vincant a drink.
‘Great. Bennie, two
scotch and Cokes please,’ Vincant instructed the barman, looking down at the euros sticking out of Dave’s wallet.
‘
I like this jazz club. It’s such a laid-back place,’ Dave commented.
‘Yes,
it was me that made it into what it is,’ Vincant said. ‘Please, put your wallet away. You should take more care. The drinks are on me. You are my guest tonight.’
‘
Thanks Vincant,’ Dave acknowledged, pocketing his wallet. He realised how ignorant he must have looked and appreciated the gesture that Vincant was looking out for him.
‘Are you here on holiday?’
Vincant resumed, taking a sip of his drink.
‘Y
es. Sam told me you may be able to help with something.’ There was only one thing Dave was after, and he desperately needed to know.
‘Yes, of course.
I will try my best.’
‘I’
m looking for a girl named Erin. Do you happen to know her? Sam told me that she’s been here before.’ Dave was trying to ask casually, but his eagerness for an answer was eating him up.
‘
Erin?’ Vincant’s eyes lit up.
‘
Yes. She’s American and came here from Hong Kong to continue her university studies a few days ago. But she’s been here before.’ Dave focussed squarely on Vincant.
‘Ah,
Erin.’ The bright and uplifted facial features of the Frenchman suddenly altered. He sighed and paused before speaking again, lost for a moment in his own thoughts. ‘Yes, I know her. But I haven’t seen her since she left for Hong Kong.’ It seemed as if he was reliving a moment that ended in a good but sad way.
‘
Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I would know whether that beautiful girl had come here. She may be in Paris, but she hasn’t visited the Jazz Inn lately.’
‘Were you two …?’ Dave asked, feeling a sudden flash of jealousy that he tried hard to conceal.
‘No, but I did try. That girl is one classy and sexy woman. Have you met her?’
‘Yes, in Hong Kong.’