The anger in her face had receded, replaced by hurt and sadness, the tears now dangerously close to sliding down her cheeks. “I don’t know who you are,” she said.
“Je m’en fous.” I don’t give a fuck.
To herself she thought, I don’t know who I am.
She turned away so he wouldn’t see her pain and closed the apartment door behind her.
29
SOPHIE
2019
Sophie leaves Taj Palace around ten thirty that night, and, despite Manoj’s warning, goes straight to Bistro Laurent. By the time she arrives at the small street in the second arrondissement, close to eleven, she realizes she is among the few people still walking the streets that late on a weeknight. Perhaps she should have waited until the morning. The soles of her shoes against the sidewalk ring out into the empty night. She pulls her shawl tighter around her and keeps her head down as she walks. Several of the retailers on the street, like the boulanger, p?tissier, and fromager, are closed, given the hour. Many of the cafés as well. She hears a few voices coming from Bistro Laurent and is relieved to see it is still open.
She takes a deep breath before going inside. The few patrons turn to look at her as she enters. The restaurant is quite empty, but that is not unusual for this time on a weeknight. During the day, this area would likely be bustling with wayward tourists but has more of an eerie quality at night, when it is quiet and sullen. There is a tall, wiry man in his early twenties leaning against the door to the kitchen. He wears a white half apron, so she knows he is staff and probably the best person to ask.
“Bonsoir,” Sophie says. “Parlez-vous anglais?”
The man nods. He has the lingering odor of cigarettes, and she suspects he’d rather be smoking one now than speaking with her.
“I am looking for someone who worked here before.”
The man shrugs. “I’m new here. Only worked here six months, so I don’t know many people.”
“Is there someone else? Maybe an owner?”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight. The owner is Laurent”—he gestures toward the stack of menus with the name in large letters—“and he is only here during the day.”
Sophie thanks him for his time and says she will return tomorrow.
As she exits onto the street, she is again enveloped by the night. There are few lampposts along these side streets, and, even though she does not have much money, she decides to find the metro station so that she isn’t walking the entire thirty minutes back to the Latin Quarter at this hour. She starts heading east, thinking she will run into a stop without too much difficulty, given that is the direction of the Louvre and other tourist attractions. A man in a coat is walking along the opposite side of the road and looks up at her before putting his head back down and continuing on his way. Sophie is not used to being so isolated at night. There is nowhere she could have gone in Ahmedabad that would have had so few people out and about, even if it was because there were people living in shanties along the side of the road.
She hears tires crunching against pavement behind her and turns to see someone on a bicycle. She quickens her pace. After a few minutes, she wonders if she missed a street on which she was meant to turn and is trying to get her bearings. She should have seen a metro stop by now and hates the thought of being lost. While she stands on a corner, focused on the street signs, trying to remember which she should take, she hears bicycle tires approaching again. It appears to be the same figure from earlier, but he is not close enough for her to make out his face in the darkness. He is getting nearer to her, and no one else is around, so she makes a quick turn down a narrow street. She is not sure of the right way but starts walking quickly, her nerves setting in. She should have listened to Manoj.
The cobbles are uneven beneath her feet, but she goes as quickly as she can manage. A minute later, she hears the bike tires behind her again and knows it is the same man before she turns around to confirm. Her pulse quickens, and she breaks into a run even though she’s not sure where to go, her shawl loosening around her shoulders and one end now flying behind her. She turns down the first street she sees, hoping to find someone—anyone—walking so she’s not alone with the man on the bike.
She hears him quicken his pedaling and feels him catching up to her. Panic swells within her, and she turns down another street in search of anyone who can help, but there are no other souls around. She then realizes she’s hit a dead end and knows the bicyclist is behind her. Her eyes dart from side to side, looking for an exit, but in the darkness, she can’t make out another pathway. The man jumps off his bike and nonchalantly leans it against the wall before walking toward her.
“Are you okay?” he says.
The voice is familiar. She peers into the darkness, and, as the figure approaches, she recognizes Manoj.
She takes a deep breath. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is angry and agitated.
“I had a feeling you were going to come here even though you said you weren’t.”
Her breathing is still shallow, but she is relieved to see him. “But why were you chasing after me? You scared me half to death!”
He doesn’t seem fazed. “I told you it was not safe to be here late. What if it hadn’t been me on the bike, pedaling after you?”
“But it was!”
“My papa would be upset if something happens to you,” Manoj says. “He seems to have taken quite a liking to you.”
Sophie begrudgingly says, “You were probably right to have told me not to come tonight.”
“Did you find the person you were looking for?” he asks as they start down the street, him walking his bike.
Sophie shakes her head. “No, I have to come back tomorrow.”
He nods. “Let me walk you home. I’m not even sure you know where you are anymore.”
He is right. She doesn’t. And she is grateful she has company, even though he initially gave her such a fright.
After they walk a few minutes, she turns to him. “How did you know I would come here after I said I wouldn’t?”
He laughs. It is the first time she has heard him laugh since she met him.
“Because you are stubborn.”
She is about to protest. No one has ever called her stubborn. She has always been malleable and eager to please, but never stubborn. Her fois had called Nita stubborn when they thought Sophie was not listening. As they walk along the Seine, past all the locked stalls that are bustling and energetic during the day with tourists crowding around them, she realizes she might have some of Nita in her after all. The good and the bad.
“Even if I am, you don’t have to make it your burden,” she says, turning away.
Manoj continues looking at the path ahead of them. “So, what was so important that it had to be done tonight?”
She hesitates, unsure how much to reveal. She has been telling lies and half truths for so long, and she is tired of them. Manoj is the last person she thought she would confide in, but he has made her feel safe as she walks through the streets, and maybe that is enough.
“I’m looking for my mummy,” she says.
He whips his head toward her. “Your mother is here? Then why aren’t you staying with her? And why are you bothering to work at our restaurant?”