Woman in the Fifth

both received tenured positions at the college. But once my tenure came through, she felt we had to find the ‘right time’ to take a sabbatical, and the ‘appropriate moment’ to take Megan out of her local school without damaging her ‘educational and social development’. Susan was always obsessive about ‘getting the timing just right’ on ‘major life decisions’. The problem was, things never went exactly according to Susan’s plan. There was always something holding her back from making the jump. After five years of ‘maybe in eighteen months’ time’, she stopped auditing the language classes and also ended our nightly conversations in French — two events that dovetailed with her withdrawal from me. I kept taking the classes, kept telling myself that, one day, I would get to live and write in Paris. Just as I also kept reassuring myself that Susan’s distancing act was just a temporary thing — especially as she would never acknowledge that she had pulled away from me, and kept insisting that nothing was wrong.

But everything was wrong. And everything went from bad to catastrophic. And Paris didn’t turn into a fantasia, but …

‘Coming here was a way out for me,’ I told Adnan.

‘From what?’

‘Problems.’

‘Bad problems?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Then he excused himself. He arrived back with the omelet and a basket of bread fifteen minutes later. As I ate, he said, ‘I will ring the doctor tonight to confirm that he will be seeing you tomorrow.’

‘I can’t afford the doctor. I can’t afford this hotel.’

‘But you are still very sick.’

‘I’m on something of a budget. A tight budget.’

I was waiting for him to reply with something like, ‘I thought all Americans are rich.’ But Adnan said nothing, except, ‘I will see what I can do.’

The sleeping pills did their chemical magic and sent me through the night. Brasseur arrived with the breakfast tray at eight and relieved me of another hundred-dollar traveler’s check. I managed to make it to the bathroom again without aid — but only just. I spent the day reading and flipping mindlessly through the television channels. Adnan arrived at five.

‘I called the doctor before I came to work. He said that he didn’t need to see you as long as your condition hadn’t deteriorated …’

Well, that was one bit of decent news.

‘But he was also very adamant that you did not move for at least another forty-eight hours, even if you are feeling better. He said that there is a high incidence of relapse with this flu, so you must be prudent — otherwise you could end up in hospital.’

Where the tarif would be a lot more than one hundred bucks a night.

‘I guess I have no choice but to sit still,’ I said.

‘Where will you go after here?’

‘I need to find somewhere to live.’

‘An apartment?’

‘A very cheap apartment.’

A small nod of acknowledgment, then he asked, ‘Are you ready for your bath now, monsieur?’

I told him I could take care of it myself.

‘So you are on the mend?’ he asked.

‘I’m determined to check out of here in two days. Any thoughts on a cheaper place to live?’

‘My arrondissement still has lots of inexpensive places, even though people with money are starting to buy them up.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Do you know the Tenth? Near the Gare de l’Est?’

I shook my head.

‘Many Turks still live around there.’

‘How long have you lived there?’

‘Ever since I came to Paris.’

‘Always in the same place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you miss home?’

He looked away from me.

‘All the time.’

‘Can you afford to get back there occasionally?’

‘I cannot leave France.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because …’ He halted for a moment and studied my face, seeing if he could trust me. ‘… if I leave France, I will probably have difficulties returning. I do not have the appropriate papers.’

‘You’re illegal here?’

A nod.

‘Does Brasseur know that?’

‘Of course. That’s why he can get away with paying me nothing.’

‘How much is nothing?’

‘Six euros an hour.’

‘And you work how many hours?’

‘Five until one, six days a week.’

‘Can you live on that?’

‘If I didn’t have to send money back to my wife …’

‘You’re married?’

He avoided my eyes again.

‘Yes.’

‘Children?’

‘A son.’

‘How old?’

‘Six.’

‘And you haven’t seen him … ?’

‘In four years.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘Yes, it is. Being unable to see your children …’

He broke off without finishing the sentence.

‘Believe me, I know,’ I said. ‘Because I have no idea if I will ever be allowed to see my daughter again.’

‘How old is she?’

I told him.

‘She must miss her father.’

‘It’s a very difficult situation … and I find myself thinking of her all the time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘As I am for you.’

He acknowledged this with a small, hesitant nod, then turned and stared out the window.

‘Can’t your wife and son somehow visit you here?’ I asked.

‘The money doesn’t exist for that. Even if I could somehow find a way for them to come, they would be denied entry. Or they would be asked to give an address at which they were staying. If the address didn’t check out, they’d be deported immediately. And if it did check out, it would lead the police directly to me.’

‘Surely the cops have other things on their mind these days than busting one illegal immigrant.’

‘We’re now all potential terrorists in their eyes — especially if you look like you come from