CHASING LIFE (17 page)

Chapter
20

Erin’s hair was the same as he remembered—long, dark and wavy. The way she walked and stood, her lean figure—it was definitely her. A bus pulled over and opened its doors. He desperately called her name and waved, but the street noise drowned him out. He was elated; his whole body was lifted in excitement and Dave used all of his energy to make it to the bus. The last passenger was entering and the doors were closing. He was on the opposite side of the street, looking directly at it. All he needed to do was cross the busy street, just a break in traffic and he was there. He was waving his arms frantically, but couldn’t get her attention—there was too much traffic.

             
Dave took a risk and ran across the four-lane road while cars and scooters zoomed past him, braking and beeping their horns at the crazy tourist. A motorbike rider nearly clipped him and swore loudly, but Dave didn’t care. Erin was within his grasp, and that was all that mattered. At last he would be with her again—and there was just one more lane to cross.

             
‘Wait, Erin! Wait!’ he yelled, jumping up and down and waving as hard as he could, but the bus was leaving. The driver was too busy focusing on traffic to notice him. He got to the other side just in time to get a whiff of diesel fumes from the now-departing bus. He still ran helplessly after it and watched the distance between them increase. He saw the indicator come on and the bus pulled over further down the street to pick up another passenger. There was still hope.

             
He was gasping for air like a racehorse running for his life, his muscles burning and threatening to cramp up, but he kept going. He was dodging pedestrians and nearly tripped, but in the end it was no use. The bus took off again, and he saw the last of it as it turned left on Boulevard St Germain. Dave hunched over to catch his breath. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it would explode through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he had run so hard.

             
It was Erin. It was her. He’d seen her at last and couldn’t believe how close he’d come, but she got away again. ‘Damn it!’ he shouted. People passing by looked at him cautiously. Once Dave calmed himself and his body had recovered, he moved along St Michele toward the Seine. As his leg muscles cooled and started to cramp, he needed to sit somewhere for a break. Any café would do right now, he thought, entering the first one he found. He was just in time, as the clouds erupted and rain began falling again the moment he stepped inside.

             
Dave sat immersed in thought while sipping a black coffee. Tourists ran for cover and quickly filled the rest of the tables in the little café, but he was oblivious to the chatter around him. His mind was centred exclusively on Erin. His trip to Paris now was validated. He was in the right place, and he was sure that sooner or later he would see her again. Erin must live close by the university, he realised. A waiter came around, and Dave ordered another coffee. He opened his phrase book, studying carefully.

It was
now 7:30 in the evening and the sun was setting. The café served food, so he ordered a steak while waiting for the rain to stop. Might as well have dinner, he thought and felt a lot better after the big meal. The alcohol he had indulged in on the previous night was completely out of his system. When the rain eventually stopped, he decided to go home and change. Perhaps Erin would come to the Jazz Inn tonight, he thought. His eyes gleamed and just thinking about her energised him.

His impatience made the
walk back to the apartment seem longer than usual and he increased his pace. A smile remained on his face the whole way. The young woman with the little dog entered through the gates at the same time as he did. He held the door open for her.

‘
Bonsoir
,’ Dave said cheerfully, suspecting she was a student.

‘
Bonsoir
,’ she replied, smiling shyly and avoiding eye contact.

‘That’s a cute little dog.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, picking up the creature and giving him a peck on the head.

This was his moment to try out his French and impress,
‘Excusez-moi. Je suis vraiment mauvais en maths.’
He beamed.

The girl gave him a bewildered expression and tilted her head sideways.
‘You are bad at maths?’ she said. ‘That’s fine.’

‘What? No! I meant to say I’m bad at other languages. My French is not good.’

‘That’s fine. My English is not so good, too.’

‘Je ne parle pas très bien fran
çais. L’aime oranges.
How was that?’

‘You don’t speak French very well
, and you like Oranges. That’s fine.’

‘Close enough,’ Dave resigned. He was sweating juts to get those words out.

Dave’s old enemy was dragging bins at the other end of the apartment building and spotted him. The man called out, pointing at the bins and then at Dave’s flat.

‘
Oh no, not this guy again,’ he muttered. He wasn’t up for another verbal joust with the heavyset man. Neither could understand what the other said. What is his problem? he wondered. ‘Excuse me, could you please tell me what this man is saying?’ Dave asked the young girl. She turned to the superintendent and conversed in French. There was a lot of pointing and waving of hands. She nodded a few times, but Dave didn’t have a clue about what was being discussed.

The girl eventually turned to Dave. ‘He says, “Why do you keep taking your rubbish with you? There are plenty of bins here.”’

‘Is that’s what he’s been talking about? Bins?’ Dave was surprised.

‘Yes. We all have our own bins.’

‘Well, I couldn’t see where mine was,’ he replied. ‘Those bins he has all have numbers and mine isn’t marked on one.’

She spoke to the fat man again, who came up to them now and pulled out a set of keys, jingling and pointing at them. He ran through each one while explaining something. The gir
l nodded and turned back to him.

‘He says that your bin is locked because it hasn’t been used yet. Have a look at your keys. You should have a small key that opens a room just down the hallway. You will find your bin there.’ She pointed to indicate a little room.
His face turned red. The whole time he had been supposing that the caretaker had taken a personal dislike to him and his rubbish. Dave checked his keys to see which one it was. As he did so, the man pointed to a small key and nodded his head, his flabby neck wobbling along with it.

‘He says it is that
one,’ the girl pointed. The man said something else and he waited for the girl to translate. ‘If you like, you can give him the rubbish when he’s outside and he will throw it out for you.’

Dave
turned to the girl. ‘Can you please thank him? And also, tell him that I apologise if I was rude, I had no idea he was trying to help me.’ She spoke to the superintendent, who nodded again, waved his hand in dismissal and returned to his previous task.

‘It’s okay
, he said. His wife misunderstands him every day of his life.’ The girl smiled and Dave laughed. He was ashamed to have perceived him negatively; he’d been way off. While walking away, the fat man made another comment.

‘What
is he saying now?’ he inquired.

‘
That you seem like a nice guy, but not those other two who were with you,’ she translated.

‘What other two?’

The girl called out and a long reply came in return. ‘The two men who carried you into your apartment yesterday. The superintendent said, “I was checking a faulty heat valve and went outside to the tool
shed. I saw two men carrying you into your apartment. They kept asking which door was yours, but you were so drowsy you could hardly walk. I asked them whether you were all right, and they told me to piss off. None of my business, they said. I nearly called the police, but they got you inside and left very quickly. They looked like bad friends. One blamed you for his ruined suit.”’ the girl explained. The man was gone by the time she’d finished.

‘Strange, I don’t remember any of that
. What time was it?’

‘
He said around four in the morning,’ the girl answered.

‘
Merci
,’ Dave said to the girl and walked to his door.

‘
De rien
. It’s nothing,’ the girl replied before disappearing into the apartment complex and mothering the little canine on her way. He wanted to find out more but he wasn’t even sure what to ask. Was he that out of it? And why couldn’t he account for all that time?

He entered
his apartment and flicked on the television without thinking about it. His mind was still on the lost time. The latest from the BBC was on the falling value of the euro, which was not bad for him since the Aussie dollar was faring a little better. His body felt deflated, but in a healthier state than that morning. He promised himself to remain in a sober state that night. I might even go for a run tomorrow, he told himself. He would linger around until 10:00 that evening, get dressed and take off for the Jazz Inn.

The rainy evening turned into a balmy night. The streets were still wet, and traffic was just as busy as during the day on account of it being a Sunday. He lit a cigarette and noticed he was running low. Most stores were shut and he couldn’t see any tobacco signs or any convenience stores.
Supermarchés
were still open, but they didn’t sell tobacco.

Altering his usual route, he
walked back to rue Buffon and toward the train station along the Quai d’Austerlitz. Low-end restaurants proliferated in this part of Paris, apparently catering to local residents and railway passengers. Here and there a modern apartment building was squeezed between dilapidated ones from another era. Several seemingly homeless men were sitting in front of a large
supermarché
and targeting customers as they walked out with change in hand.

Dave didn’t see a tobacco sign
, so didn’t bother to enter the store. As he was passing by, however, he took note of five raggedly dressed middle-aged men, as well as a young boy, gathered in a group. Shopping trolleys packed with pillows, tattered blankets, plastic bags and other belongings were parked near them. Three of the five men were drinking from large beer bottles and the other two, including the boy, were sleeping on public benches. They looked tired, dirty and unkempt. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten years old, and he too was dozing off among the cardboard boxes.

When a thickly bearded man
in the group raised his voice, Dave figured that he was being addressed, but he kept on moving straight ahead. Another man stood up and walked after him, talking furiously, but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. After a few hundred metres, the man gave up and turned back.

The experience left
him uncomfortable. He didn’t like ignoring people, and these people were homeless. But what could he do? And how would he communicate? It was the first time he’d been exposed to this side of Paris. He was surprised the street-dwellers were all white, unlike the stereotypical image he held in his mind of the indigent. Farther down the street, more homeless people wandered the streets. Some slept under staircases and others on benches, wrapped in plastic sheets to keep dry from the rain. Among them were men his age, and some women too. A small convenience store came into view on the street’s other side. No tobacco signs were displayed here either, but Dave walked in anyway. He looked around and didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to buy a damn packet of smokes.

The man behind the counter regarded him with suspicion and asked whether he’d like anything.

‘
Parlez-vous anglais
?’ Dave asked.

‘No,’ t
he man said and shook his head.

He
mimicked the action of smoking a cigarette. ‘Cigarettes? Tobacco? Do you know where I can buy any?’

‘Cigarettes?’

‘Yes. Do you know where I can get some?’ he asked.

The man looked around cautiously. It was just the two of them, a local and a tourist. He reached under the counter and pulled out a few packets of cigarettes. A couple of brands were on display, Marlboros among them.

‘How much?’ he asked.

‘
Huit euro
.’ The shopkeeper indicated eight on his fingers.

‘Eight euros? Done.’ He
checked his wallet and pulled out twenty euros. It was all that he had left. On the previous night, he had started off with three hundred at least. Where did they all go? He’d have to control his spending. He walked out on the street toward his original destination, avoiding going the same way. His map gave him the option of a different route, one that would take him through main streets and into familiar territory.

Along the way
, he stopped at an ATM to replenish his nearly depleted bankroll. The machine gave him the option of English, which took him through the usual process. He waited for his money while puffing on a cigarette. The words ‘Insufficient Funds’ came on the display instead, accompanied by electronic beeps. What the hell? Dave wondered. This can’t be right, he said to himself and pressed the cancel button. His card was ejected, and he went through the options again, putting the initial failure down to a clumsy mistake on his behalf.