by Dan Rhodes
Aurélie worked through the afternoon, and when Professor Papavoine came home he asked to see what she had done. She was nervous about showing him, but he insisted, and he looked at her sketches intently. He asked her questions about them, and she was relieved to find she was able to give him coherent answers about her intentions and her technique. He was particularly interested in how she was going to approach her final, enormous, piece, and he offered some very useful advice. When he had finished looking through her sketches, he handed them back to her and said, ‘Very good. Keep it up.’
She could tell he meant it too, and she was pleased. She was starting to feel confident that she was going to produce something decent from this fiasco after all.
‘Professor Papavoine,’ she said, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’ve been wondering – what do you actually do? I mean, what does a professor do, apart from give very occasional lectures? I see Professor Boucher making his rounds of the studios a lot, but I think that’s mainly to pick up girls. You seem to stay in your office a lot more.’
‘Oh, I keep busy,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot of admin to be dealt with – departmental matters, that kind of thing – but I do emerge from my cave every once in a while. You’ll see me around a bit more the further you go in your course. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure a series of lectures from me next year. A bit of art history, and a couple on my pet topic: miniatures and miniaturists. So that’s something to look forward to.’
‘Well, I am looking forward to it.’
‘Do I detect an uncontrollable enthusiasm for miniatures and miniaturists?’
‘You certainly do.’
‘Then come with me.’
Professor Papavoine had turned a bedroom into his studio. He worked at a table over which hung a bright light.
‘Believe it or not,’ he said, ‘I do a bit of painting on the side. This is what I’ve been working on for the past few months. I’m almost finished.’
Aurélie had to get close to see it properly. It was a painting of a school of fish on a small copper plate, about twenty centimetres by fifteen. There must have been hundreds of fish, each one painted in what appeared to be microscopic detail.
Aurélie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was incredible. ‘Fucking hell, Papavoine, this is awesome.’ She stopped. She realised what she had just said, and turned red. ‘Er . . . sorry. What I meant to say was, Gosh, Professor, what a super picture. You must have a terribly steady hand. But really, it’s incredible. I had no idea . . .’
‘Why would you? I’m glad you like it. This kind of work isn’t exactly fashionable right now; in fact it hasn’t really been in vogue for a few centuries, and maybe it wasn’t even all that popular back then, but I’m a long way past caring about that. I’ve been working in miniature for forty years now. It’s just what I do.’
Aurélie felt ashamed at having supposed that all Professor Papavoine did was sit in his office and stare into space. She really admired him as an artist now. She decided there and then that once she was done with her huge drawing of Herbert she was going to have a go at working in miniature herself.
‘And how about Professor Boucher, does he paint, or anything like that?’
‘He sculpts. Nudes, mainly.’
Liliane had returned from work, and tracked them down to the studio. ‘Good, isn’t he?’ she said, looking proudly at her husband, and reaching up to ruffle his hair.
‘Unbelievable,’ said Aurélie, still finding it hard to equate the amiable and often baffled academic she had come to know with the creator of this work of intricate beauty.
‘Now, before I forget, something landed on my desk today.’ He patted his pockets one by one until he found the right one. He pulled out an envelope. ‘It’s addressed to you.’
Aurélie opened it. It was a pair of passes to Life, and a handwritten note: Courtesy of Le M. Unlimited access. Come and go as you please. Bring your friends.
He had been talking to his doctor again.
XXXI
A few phone calls and Métro rides later, Aurélie and Sylvie stood outside Le Charmant Cinéma Érotique with passes in their hands. Art exhibitions tended not to open on Mondays, but Life was buzzing with activity.
‘OK,’ said Sylvie, ‘let’s go in.’
Aurélie had turned white. She didn’t move.
‘Take a few deep breaths,’ said Sylvie. ‘I don’t know how much it’ll help, but that’s what people on television say at times like this, so there must be something in it.’
‘But what if I see him and decide I don’t want to be with him after all?’
Sylvie shrugged. ‘If you don’t, you don’t. That’s just hard luck for him. But wouldn’t you at least want to give it a try? Remember all that stuff you were saying about how he seemed so familiar, as if you had known him for years?’
‘Yes, I do, and now I know why. First there was the Jesus angle – Lucien made a good point about that – but what I didn’t know was that I’d been seeing pictures of him all over the city for weeks. I can’t help wondering if I’ve been cheated. Of course there was going to be something familiar about him. It doesn’t seem quite so magical when you think about it that way.’
‘But what about all the other stuff, about conversation flowing so naturally, and how you made each other laugh, and how good he was with Herbert?’
‘Well, yes, that side of things was fantastic.’
‘How are things going with Herbert?’
‘Pretty well – I haven’t shot him once since Friday.’ She had told Sylvie all about the Sébastien incident.
‘That’s good. You’re getting the hang of it.’
They looked together at the big banner of Le Machine.
‘He’s got quite a body,’ said Aurélie.
‘And that doesn’t hurt.’
‘I wonder why he felt he had to be so secretive with me. That’s a bad sign, isn’t it?’
‘Usually. But he does seem pretty mortified now. And let’s not forget that he wasn’t the only one who was holding back tiny nuggets of information. It’s not as if you quite got around to telling him how you came to be hanging around with Herbert, is it?’
‘I suppose not. But what if he sees me and doesn’t like me any more? Every girl in town’s going to be after him now he’s a hit, and I bet loads of them will be better-looking than me.’
‘If a naked man sends you secret texts via his doctor, it’s a pretty good sign that he likes you. And look at yourself, for God’s sake. You’re magnificent. You’re going to be every bit as good-looking as any of his wannabe groupies, and he’s going to know that you liked him before you even knew he was Le Machine, and that counts for a lot.’
‘But what if he notices that my ears aren’t quite symmetrical?’
‘He’ll already have noticed.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Yes, but as I’ve explained to you a thousand times before, men like that kind of thing. They find minor imperfections endearing, even sexy.’
‘I hope that’s true.’ Even so, she decided she would try to angle her head in such a way that wouldn’t draw attention to them. ‘But what am I going to say to him?’
‘You’re not going to say anything, are you? You won’t be able to, for a start. Stick to the plan. Remember the plan?’
Aurélie nodded.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m just going to go in, and watch him stand around naked for a bit with all the other people. If I’m lucky I’ll get to see him go to the toilet, or blow his nose into a test tube. And as soon as he looks in my direction I’ll give him a nice smile to let him know I’ve forgiven him for having had a bad day.’
‘Precisely. And then you’re going to come with me and meet my new boyfriend – Toshiro Akiyama.’
‘So that’s something else we have in common – boyfriends we barely know, and who we can’t have private conversations with.’
‘I know!’ Sylvie said this as though it were a wonderf
ul thing, and Aurélie found herself inclined to agree. There was something undeniably romantic about both their situations. Once again, Sylvie’s turbo-charged positivity had saved the day.
Léandre Martin, Le Machine, was standing at the end of the runway, and the sound of his breathing thundered through the room. Aurélie froze again, overwhelmed with shyness. Sylvie took her hand, and together they snaked their way through the crowd. Soon she was just feet away from him. He didn’t see her. He walked back along the runway to the stage. She watched him, and she also watched the other people who were there. She could tell by their faces that they were being transported by the experience, and she felt so proud of Léandre for doing what he was doing, and pleased with herself for having a brilliant boyfriend with such a great body. They stood there for a few minutes, but he didn’t seem to be at all inclined to look in their direction. She wondered how she could let him know she was there.
Sylvie solved the problem for her. As he stood on the edge of the stage and surveyed his audience, she jumped up and down, waving her arms. People standing around them gave her pitying looks, but as soon as Le Machine had noticed the movement she started pointing at Aurélie, and he knew exactly what was going on. He walked back up the runway and stopped as close as he could get to them. Aurélie smiled at him, and at once he knew everything was going to be OK, that she had forgiven him for his pitiful performance at lunch, and was ready to give him another chance. He smiled too, and did something he wasn’t supposed to do, that was contrary to the rule he had set himself for Life that stated no physical contact with members of the audience, but just this one time he would break it. He reached out, over people’s heads, and she reached out to him and, just for a moment, they resembled the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Léandre Martin touched the tips of Aurélie Renard’s fingers, and Aurélie Renard touched the tips of Léandre Martin’s fingers, and they understood one another perfectly. And as they touched, something happened to him, something to do with blood rushing to a particular destination in his body, filling certain sponge-like tissues. But he felt no shame. It was natural and normal, and if he hadn’t allowed it to happen from time to time it would have diluted Life into pointlessness. Their fingers parted company, and he stood on the runway, looking at Aurélie Renard, and she looked at him and she wished with every cell in her body that it was three months from now. She had a lot to look forward to.
She knew she had to stick to her plan. She had seen him, and let him know, and now it was time to leave. And that was what she did.
Aurélie and Sylvie made their way back through the crowd to the exit, and Le Machine, standing proud, smiled as he watched them go. He walked back along the runway. The feeling hadn’t gone away. Soon it would be time for number three.
‘Wow,’ said Sylvie, as they stood on the front step of the cinema. ‘That was quite something. You don’t have to worry – he definitely likes you.’
Aurélie couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of what she had just seen.
‘So,’ said Sylvie, ‘are you going to come back every day?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It would seem a bit like spying on him while he’s at work. I’m just going to keep busy until it’s all over. I may not even go back at all. I’ll get in touch with his doctor from time to time though, to let him know I’m thinking of him.’ She lit a cigarette.
‘Good idea. You don’t want to seem needy, or like you’ve got nothing else to do. Now, let’s go and find the Akiyamas and hand over the passes. Madame Akiyama’s desperate to see your boyfriend without his clothes on.’
‘And I’ll get to meet Toshiro at last.’
They walked on to where the others were waiting, so happy with the turns their lives had taken, and so deep in conversation that neither noticed the black-clad figure walking along a few paces behind them, speeding up when they sped up, and slowing down when they slowed down.
Toshiro Akiyama had chosen their base camp for the evening, Café des Deux Moulins on rue Lepic. He knew it was touristy, and he was a little bit ashamed to mention it in front of people who lived in the city, but it was his first time in Paris, and when he read in the guide book that the café actually existed, he had become determined to go there at the earliest opportunity. With Le Charmant Cinéma Érotique just a short walk away, its time had come. He sat at a table with his mother and father and Lucien, and the moment he saw Sylvie he stood up and braced himself. He knew what was coming next. The prettiest, happiest girl he had ever seen was going to fly into his arms and pepper him with kisses. He was enjoying Paris.
Lucien had insisted on interpreting Sylvie and Toshiro’s conversations. Both of them had told him that they didn’t expect him to put himself through such an ordeal, but he assured them that it fell within the remit of his professional engagement, and that even if it hadn’t he would have done it anyway, as a friend, and that they were to look at it as if they were doing him a favour. He explained that being with the love of his life as she excitedly discussed her future with another man would be such an excruciating tribulation that it would help him in the long term – he would gain strength from the torment, and as he was sure it would be the absolute low point of his existence, he would try to find comfort in the thought that things could only get better for him from then on. And, he told them, he had accepted that he could never make Sylvie happy by loving her, but he was comforted by the thought that he could make her happy in other ways, and he would start by helping her to cement her romance with the man of her dreams.
Neither Toshiro nor Sylvie were convinced by his assurances, but he was adamant, and they couldn’t see what they could do but allow it to happen. At least this way they were able to hold conversations, and they were sure that Lucien was so sincere that he would never misinterpret anything. They were right to put their trust in him. He never abused his power by putting inappropriate words in their mouths; all he did was translate their conversation as literally as he could, down to the finest nuances.
Sylvie, he said, as the pain tore through his flesh and bones, I didn’t know what love was until I found you, and Toshiro, you are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
Whenever Sylvie or Toshiro used lines like these they would realise halfway through what they were saying, and add the brief addendum: I’m sorry, Lucien. He would translate these postscripts as he translated everything else. He saw no reason why he should spare himself.
This was Lucien’s last night in the employment of the Akiyamas. The next morning they would be heading back to Japan, and he had another party of visiting tourists arriving straight away. He was going to be accompanying them on a trip around the countryside on a coach, and he was looking forward to getting out of the city.
Without Lucien there, communication between the new couple was going to become a lot harder. They had already planned for this, though. Once they had seen Monsieur and Madame Akiyama on to the plane, Toshiro would move his bags to Sylvie’s apartment and while she was at work he would keep on top of his music, and explore the city, and when she wasn’t at work they would take their clothes off and lie down together. For Lucien’s sake they hadn’t gone into further details about what they planned to do once they had taken their clothes off and lain down, but they had agreed on this broad outline. Each wanted to be sure that the other was ready to take that step. So far they had only kissed, but they could tell from this that they were absolutely compatible, that their bodies would fuse into a thing of extreme beauty. And when they weren’t lying down together they would play backgammon, and cook for each other, and learn odds and ends of vocabulary, and be happy just being close.
While Monsieur and Madame Akiyama were away watching Le Machine, Aurélie got to know Toshiro. She even asked him the question that Sylvie hadn’t dared to ask: How did Natsuki take the news that you were flying to France to be with somebody else?
Toshiro didn’t take this question lightly. It hadn’t been quite as slick a break-up as he had hoped it would be
. It turned out that Natsuki had loved him deeply after all, and as he told her he was leaving she had caved in straight away and finally admitted to herself that the cat had been a mistake, that she had bought him in a moment of weakness to keep her company on the long nights when Toshiro was so absorbed in his work that he was barely there. She sobbed as she told him that he was right, that they should have discussed Makoto before she got him. She told him she didn’t even like the cat, that she had accepted that he looked mean and had a matching personality, and she had even grown tired of crafting hats for him. He wasn’t the kind of cat that looked cute in novelty headgear anyway. She would try to find another home for him, and if nobody was prepared to take in such a nasty creature she would drive him to another city and abandon him, so things could go back to the way they had been before.
‘Just don’t leave me, Toshiro,’ she had said, and he had seen the love and the fear in her eyes.
But he had left her, a sobbing wreck with a cat she didn’t like, and he had taken the plane to Paris to meet a girl he had seen in a photograph and who, according to his mother, was very nice.
Via Lucien, he told them he felt sorry for his ex-girlfriend, but he knew he had done the right thing. He had come to realise that he had never loved her the way he loved Sylvie, and that the relationship had to end. If he were to stay, it would only be out of pity for her, as well as being a terrible act of self-sabotage. Lucien’s own love for Sylvie was confirmed when he felt no urge at all to fly to Japan with the Akiyamas, and find Natsuki Kobayashi and comfort her. He had seen a photograph of her, and until days ago he would have considered her to be his type, on a par even with Akiko. He would have been ready to dry her tears and help her rebuild her life. He would even have helped her to rehome the cat, if she had asked. But, no, there really was only one girl for him, and there she was, right by his side as he helped her to plan the practical details of her forthcoming life with another man, her face aglow as he confirmed that this other man’s previous relationship was definitely over.
