After the Circus Read Free Page B

the bench next to the window, in the company of two women. One of them was wearing sunglasses. They were having a lively conversation in English. Customers drank their drinks, standing at the bar. To calmmy nerves, I tried to follow the conversation between Himes and his friends, but they were talking too fast, except for the woman with a Scandinavian accent whom I could understand a little. She wanted to change hotels and was asking Himes the name of the place where he’d stayed when he’d first arrived in Paris.
    I watched for her through the window. It was dark outside. A taxi halted in front of the Tour-non. She got out. She was wearing her raincoat. The driver got out as well. He opened the trunk and handed her a suitcase, smaller than the one from last night.
    She came toward me, suitcase in hand. She seemed glad to see me. She was just back from Saint-Leu-la-Forêt, where she’d been able to recover the rest of her effects. She had found a hotel room for the night. She asked me only to bring the suitcase back to my apartment. She preferred to leave it there, “in a safe place,” with the other one. Again I told her these suitcases must be full of gold bricks. But she answeredthat they were merely objects of no particular value to anyone, except her.
    I stated, trying to be persuasive, that she had been wrong to take a hotel room, since I could easily put her up at the apartment for as long as she liked.
    â€œI’m better off at a hotel.”
    I sensed a certain reserve. She was hiding something from me, and I wondered whether it was because she didn’t fully trust me or because she was afraid I’d be shocked if she told me the truth.
    â€œAnd what about you, what have you been up to?”
    â€œNothing much. I sold some furniture from the apartment to get some money.”
    â€œDid it work out?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid you need money?”
    Her pale blue eyes stared at me.
    â€œThat’s stupid. I could lend you some, if you like.”
    She smiled. The waiter came to take our order. She asked for a grenadine, and I followed suit.
    â€œI’ve put some money aside,” she said. “You can have it.”
    â€œThat’s very kind of you, but I think I’ve found a job.”
    I told her about Dell’Aversano’s offer: to work in a bookstore in Rome. I hesitated a moment, then took the plunge:
    â€œYou could come with me …”
    She didn’t seem surprised by my suggestion.
    â€œYes … That might be a good idea. Do you know where you’d be living in Rome?”
    â€œThe bookseller I’ll be working for is finding me a place.”
    She took a sip of grenadine. Its color went very well with the pale blue of her eyes.
    â€œAnd when are you leaving?”
    â€œIn a month.”
    Silence fell between us. Like yesterday, in the café on Ile de la Cité, I had the impression she’dforgotten my presence and that she might just stand up and leave.
    â€œI’ve always dreamed of going to live in London or Rome,” she said.
    Her gaze rested on me once more.
    â€œYou can feel safe in a foreign city … No one would know us …”
    She had already made a similar remark in the metro yesterday evening. I asked if there was someone in Paris out to harm her.
    â€œNot really. It’s because of that interrogation yesterday … I feel like I’m being watched. They ask so many questions … They questioned me about people I used to know, but haven’t seen in ages.”
    She shrugged.
    â€œThe problem is they didn’t believe me. They must figure I still see those people …”
    Some patrons sat down at the table next to ours. She leaned toward me.
    â€œWhat about you? How many were there when you were questioned?”
    â€œJust one. The one who was there when you went in …”
    â€œI had two. The second one came in later. He pretended just to be dropping by, but