Chapter Text
The doors of the bus closed in front of her with the same mocking assurance with which the vehicle pulled away. She huffed in annoyance. She admitted she had come out a little late, but she had thought she would manage to catch the number 2 anyway. It was terribly hot that morning. The ladies at the stop were fanning themselves with fans of the most varied colors. Faced with the manifest reality of having to wait for the next bus, she resigned herself to leaning her shoulder against the pole of the stop.
For many weeks now Oscar had been dividing her time among a million things to do. She worked, ran everywhere, handled extremely important bureaucracy. She was accumulating so much paperwork she could have sold it to smugglers. Perhaps she would have earned more in less time… En tout cas, every day (or almost) someone called her to go sign or collect something. Then she returned to whatever she had left unfinished in order to complete it. With her mind already nine thousand three hundred kilometers away from there.
Seeing him leave her apartment the next morning had been another kind of pain. They had had breakfast together, prepared for the day together. But in silence—just a few words here and there so as not to give too much the impression that they held anything against one another. They had kissed again. André had held her close as if the airplane were about to take off that very instant. Oscar had watched him from the window as he took his bicycle from the sidewalk to go home and change before returning to the newsroom. What sense did it make to try anyway, even just for the weeks that separated her from her departure?
They had published the article on the protests in the south afterward. And everything had been appreciated. Photographs, words, tone. But from the day it had been delivered, the two of them had taken slightly different paths. That had been the moment when they had decided to return to how they had been before. Two people who knew each other, but not too much, so they could keep their hearts safe and avoid unnecessary suffering.
As if that suffering, instead, were useful. As if meeting in the newsroom, greeting each other and pretending that everything between them was fine made any sense. As if sitting across from each other at meetings and trying to get around the embarrassment were simple. As if feeling the urge in their muscles to shout at each other how much they loved one another were easy to ignore.
They missed each other, yet carefully avoided putting themselves in the situation where it might slip out. Meanwhile at home, each on their own, they tried to mend the pieces that had brought them there. The decision they had made, painful as it was, was sensible. To pursue a feeling right now would have brought too much uncertainty. Too much distance, too much awareness that a relationship is built on different foundations than those.
At the parade on July 14 she had believed she might meet him. After all, they still spoke, they worked for the same newspaper. It made sense, therefore, to imagine that they might follow the complicated celebrations of that year side by side. Instead she had found herself with his incredible double. Increasingly happy as the moment approached when his child would be born, but still very passionate about his work. Therefore Oscar had preferred to set the matter aside. She would speak of André only with André, if ever.
She often wondered, especially in moments she knew could have been different, what it would have been like to live them firsthand. Situations she had always observed from the outside. Walking together with him in the Tuileries Garden, dining at the same table while listening to the radio in the tiny dining nook of the Attic. She was not a very physical person, she admitted, but if he had taken her by the hand and led her again through Paris at night she would have felt extremely happy.
- You deserve the best, Oscar.
- You too, André.
But in her mind the best was him. André Grandier: young journalist without money but determined and hardworking. And she reached the same conclusion every time she remembered their conversation about it. The best, the best… Always searching for the best, from whatever perspective. Yet here she was at a bus stop waiting to go collect the letter for the visa. Finally, after having gone through a more complicated process than she had imagined. But very little was left now: a couple of weeks. That was the new best now.
Is it?
She turned to watch a lady walking away with her shopping bags. The reality of her world would soon change. In part she thrilled at the thought; she had always liked challenges. She adjusted her shirt so it would not cling to her skin in the heat and let herself be wrapped in the sensation of wanting to enjoy even those small moments of everyday life.
In the distance the bus began to appear. There were two of them, one after the other, but the second turned right at the first intersection and continued on. She hoped she would be able to get on: it was important to arrive on time. So she moved away from the pole and stepped closer to the edge of the sidewalk.
Perhaps it was better this way. To leave alone. To go down there, to immortalize the atrocities of war without the thought of being able to be happy in spite of everything because the person she loved was beside her. Some experiences must be lived one at a time.
…
And when had he ever pedaled so fast uphill? Never, exactly. But he had to, he absolutely had to hurry. He had to rush because they had told him things would soon change and it was important to let her know before it happened.
André had not answered her. He had only asked for time to think about it. And Oscar had granted it to him, because she knew his plans were different. That had also been one of the reasons why they had chosen to put a full stop after that evening and that morning. So they could make a decision guided by the mind instead of the heart. But then the moment had come when hesitating became an obstacle to a shared departure and she had understood. Even before he told her. He had thanked her because the thought she had given him was more than he could imagine. Because the opportunity was enormous, it would have changed both their lives. But his plans, truly, were different.
He crossed the street carefully watching the distance between himself and the buses behind him. He accelerated just enough to move farther away from them, to reach the sidewalk beside the building across the street. His bicycle by now was used to being treated without much care. Especially if they were on that street and there was a rush to get to number 18.
In his life, not even Marie Christine had had the strength to shake him to that point. To put him in the position of looking around and understanding that the point of view had to change. And surprising too had been the fact that wherever his gaze rested and from whatever height, it was always her, always Oscar toward whom it tended.
Breathless and with his heart pounding in his temples (partly from the effort, partly from everything else), he pedaled hoping he was not already too late for everything. Because the day he had wished her the best, the exact instant he had done so, he had regretted only one thing. Having had too much restraint to ask her to come back to him after all those months apart.
- Take care of yourself.
- Thank you, truly. Give my regards to your grandmother. I will come back to Arras to meet her one day.
Yesterday he had called Marie. The usual weekly call in which he told her how his life in Paris was going. What he did, whom he met. And between one important piece of news and a lighter one, he had asked her something rather specific that the elderly woman had not expected.
- Grandmother, do you remember ever knowing anyone from the Jarjayes family? I was told they have a country house.
- The Jarjayes family? Of course! When you were a child, after the war, they used to come on holiday to Arras. You were little, perhaps you have forgotten the period when I worked for them in the summer and you stayed at Marie Christine’s house…
- … It was them.
- Yes, I am sure. Why?
- I have to tell you something…
When he entered the building entrance, the concierge was arranging flower pots beside the booth. He greeted her quickly and headed for the stairs he already knew, announcing it as if they had known each other forever.
- Monsieur, you will not find her! — she called out loudly, stopping him.
André returned in a flash to the foot of the stairs. - What?
- She left a little while ago. She asked me if there was a faster line than the 12 to get to avenue Gabriel, so I suggested the 2. If you hurry you might find her at the stop at the end of the street.
- Thank you very much, madame. Goodbye!
He left, leaving the woman just as perplexed as the first time they had met.
On avenue Gabriel there was the American embassy. Turning to the United States had become the most common path for reporters since relations between France and South Vietnam had been interrupted. Therefore it made sense that she was heading there. It took quite a while to get there on foot or by bicycle, so he had to reach her before the bus arrived. He turned and saw it pass the intersection the instant after the one ahead of it had turned right.
He began to run, but as expected the vehicle overtook him. Yet since he had spotted Oscar, taller than the ladies standing around her, he decided not to give up. At worst he would climb aboard. He began to call her, but between the noise of the bus stopping and the traffic farther away she could not hear him. He was grateful that she was polite enough to let the others get on first and give him time. He was now very close; he could make it.
- Oscar! Oscar, wait!
She turned when she heard her name. With one foot already on the first step, she held the metal bar so as not to fall. She saw him coming closer and asked the driver to wait a moment.
She was surprised to discover herself relieved to find him before her. The preparations for departure had distracted her a little. But it was certainly impossible to forget him or what they felt for one another—even if they concealed it. She seemed to hold her breath while André ran and the driver urged him to hurry. There were too many different needs colliding at that moment.
Oscar reached out her arm and took his hand when he arrived before her. The doors closed immediately behind them, and the bus departed.
They dropped their coins to the driver and slipped the tickets into their pockets before going to sit in the first two empty seats nearby.
A warm July morning surrounded them beyond the windows. And a variety of people filled the vehicle, some having boarded with them and others already on the bus. A man held a little dog on his lap a couple of rows behind. Both of them watched the traffic weaving through the streets and around the roundabouts. A soft murmur mingled with the sounds of a living Paris, never tired. The violence seemed to have calmed.
Then there were the two of them. Who had known each other since May; whom fate had brought together and whom, even though they had tried with the force of reason to push apart, fate—far more stubborn—had worked hard to place in the position of getting back on track. There were the two of them realizing they had been truly naïve to believe they could win against eternal return.
- There is… there is something I have to tell you. It is very important. — André was still out of breath, but he wanted to come straight to the point.
- You should be at the newsroom, you could have called me.
- It is my day off.
Oscar squeezed his hand. Even though with other people present it embarrassed her a little, but now everything she wanted to focus on was him. She noticed that he returned the pressure and was grateful to discover that her reluctance toward openly displayed affection came from the fact that no one was André.
If it had depended on her will, she would have kept everything. The professional opportunity of a lifetime, the flood of adrenaline, and love. Because she felt suited for everything now. In the right place, at the right moment. With the right person. So in those couple of weeks she wished to have for herself—for them—what in the previous ones they had believed must be set aside forever.
André looked at her and thought that his life was truly permeated by a very subtle irony. They could have known each other as children if Marie had brought her grandson to the Jarjayes villa in the summer. And yet they had still managed to meet, discover each other, fall in love, move apart and find each other again. So there was no point in hesitating any longer. One must seize the moment.
The bus stopped with a very soft, slow jolt. The doors opened and they both stood when they saw an elderly couple climbing aboard looking for seats. They slipped into an empty space in the aisle between the rows of seats. Close enough to speak softly and still understand each other.
They had ended up beside people who pretended to ignore them, but it was almost impossible. Because now they were so happy that even with their eyes closed someone would have noticed the smiles on their faces. And perhaps the road had opened for the new France, but people still took offense because two young people had written across their faces that they loved each other and refused to hide it.
Oscar grasped the metal bar to her left. Just beneath André’s hand, while he placed an arm around her shoulders and looked into her eyes. Those were the eyes that had first conquered him, beneath the rain of May.
For a moment he looked outside: the entrance of the Luxor cinema reminded him they were on boulevard de Magenta. They had already crossed that avenue together. Late one spring evening, by bicycle. And they both remembered well the sense of euphoria that had accompanied them along the whole route. It had never abandoned them when they were together.
Perhaps their reunion could have happened in another way. André might have found her still at home and told her everything again on the landing. Or he might have realized later they had been truly foolish and had to chase her at the station while she caught the train to return to her parents’ house in Versailles to gather what she needed before departure.
Perhaps he would have found her already on the platform. Heading toward the door of her carriage. Immersed in her usual thousand thoughts, maybe she would not even have noticed someone calling her from behind. She would probably have climbed the steps of the train and only then would she have seen him. While the conductor invited passengers to take their seats, he would have asked at least to say goodbye one last time and wished her a good journey. She would have restrained the desire to hold him close, not to let him go. But then she would have done it. She would have turned and disappeared into the corridor of the train. She would have walked it silently to her compartment. And without realizing that André had managed to jump aboard at the last moment and buy a ticket on the train, Oscar would have looked at him with tearful eyes because what were they doing, for God’s sake!, and they had to stop chasing each other like this but it was impossible, not even thinkable, and so she would have thrown her bag onto the seat just so she could hug him.
But their reunion was happening differently. And this was not a film; they did not have to keep the audience breathless until the end in the relentless hunger to know what would happen next. They were two young people in love, protagonists of their own lives, and whoever happened to be there at that precise moment had done so by pure chance. Never mind if their closeness was indecorous in public! They could afford to cause a scandal, pressed together halfway down the bus aisle.
André placed his hand over Oscar’s on the metal bar. They smiled at each other and the temptation to kiss was strong, but it was truly better not to cross that line. So they both breathed deeply, and while the driver braked at the red light of the intersection he gently tightened his grip.
- I have decided to accept your proposal. I am coming to write about the war. — he said softly. — I will join you in Vietnam.