And the Mountains Echoed
look like youâre dying to be rescued.â
He was wearing a tweed jacket over a sweater, jeans, a wool scarf. His hair was longer, and he had aged some, but elegantly, in a way that some women his age might find unfair and even infuriating. Still lean and fit, a couple of crowâs-feet, some more graying at the temples, his face set with just a light touch of weariness.
âI am,â she said.
They kissed on the cheek, and when he asked if she would have a coffee with him, she said yes.
âYour friend looks angry. Homicidally angry.â
Pari glanced behind her, saw Collette standing with Eric, still chanting and pumping her fist but also, absurdly, glaring at the two of them. Pari swallowed back laughterâthat would have wrought irreparable damage. She shrugged apologetically and ducked away.
They went to a small café and sat at a table by the window. He ordered them coffee and a custard
mille-feuille
each. Pari watched him speak to the waiter in the tone of genial authority that she recalled well and felt the same flutter in the gut that she had as a girl when he would come over to pick up Maman. She felt suddenly self-conscious, of her bitten fingernails, her unpowdered face, her hair hanging in limp curlsâshe wished now that sheâd dried it after the shower, but sheâd been late, and Collette had been pacing like a zoo animal.
âI hadnât pegged you as the protesting type,â Julien said, lighting her cigarette for her.
âIâm not. That was more guilt than conviction.â
âGuilt? Over seal hunting?â
âOver Collette.â
âAh. Yes. You know I think I may be a little frightened of her.â
âWe all are.â
They laughed. He reached across the table and touched her scarf. He dropped his hand. âIt would be trite to say that youâre all grown up, so I wonât. But you do look ravishing, Pari.â
She pinched the lapel of her raincoat. âWhat, in this Clouseau outfit?â Collette had told her it was a stupid habit, this self-deprecating clowning around with which Pari tried to mask her nervousness around men she was attracted to. Especially when they complimented her. Not for the first time, and far from the last, she envied Maman her naturally self-assured disposition.
âNext youâll say Iâm living up to my name,â she said.
â
Ah, non
. Please. Too obvious. There is an art to complimenting a woman, you know.â
âNo. But Iâm certain you do.â
The waiter brought the pastries and coffee. Pari focused on the waiterâs hands as he arranged the cups and plates on the table, the palms of her own hands blooming with sweat. She had had only four lovers in her lifetimeâa modest number, she knew, certainly compared to Maman at her age, even Collette. She was too watchful, too sensible, too compromising and adaptable, on the whole steadier and less exhausting than either Maman or Collette. But these were not qualities that drew men in droves. And she hadnât loved any of themâthough she had lied to one and said she didâbut pinned beneath each of them she had thoughts of Julien, of him and his beautiful face, which seemed to come with its own private lighting.
As they ate, he talked about his work. He said he had quit teaching some time ago. He had worked on debt sustainability at the IMF for a few years. The best part of that had been the traveling, he said.
âWhere to?â
âJordan, Iraq. Then I took a couple of years to write a book on informal economies.â
âWere you published?â
âThat is the rumor.â He smiled. âI work for a private consulting firm now here in Paris.â
âI want to travel too,â Pari said. âCollette keeps saying we should go to Afghanistan.â
âI suspect I know why
she
would want to go.â
âWell, Iâve been thinking about it. Going back there, I mean. I donât care about the hashish, but I do want to travel the country, see where I was born. Maybe find the old house where my parents and I lived.â
âI didnât realize you had this compulsion.â
âIâm curious. I mean, I remember so little.â
âI think one time you said something about a family cook.â
Pari was inwardly flattered that he recalled something she had told him so many years before. He must have thought of her, then, in the intervening time.
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