She passed it to Simon, who paused mid-row, drank, smiled, and then rowed again. After a few moments, the world around them vanished and they were engulfed by fog. The colors around them bled into one another-sky, fog, water-and only the red outline of the boat held them in, containing them.
Simon stopped rowing. At first the boat moved, rocking slightly, and then it slowed and finally stopped. They were silent and the only sound they could hear was the call of a crow somewhere far away.
“I want to make love to you here,” Simon said, his voice soft in the hushed air.
“It’s so cold.”
“We’ll bury ourselves in blankets.”
“We’ll tip over and drown and no one will ever find us.”
“Then we better not thrash around.”
“Impossible.”
“We’ll do our best.”
They drank more hot rum and they cocooned themselves in blankets on the bottom of the rowboat. They shimmied out of their clothes and the boat rocked. Icy water splashed against the side of the boat. They giggled and passed the thermos back and forth and held each other under the blankets, their bodies naked and electric. Josie was both cold and warm, scared and thrilled, energized and terrified of moving. When Simon ran his hand along her thigh, her hip, her stomach, she felt more than she had ever felt before-as if her nerve endings were jagged, exposed. His breath on her neck, his mouth on her breast, his hand between her legs, and the need to keep still, to restrain herself, as if any movement would plunge her into the black lake, made her feel as though she were caught in the whirling white fog around her.
When he slid inside her they kept very still and she could feel his deep breath; she could see his face looking down at her, his eyes holding hers.
“Don’t move,” he said, smiling.
When she came she felt her body exploding within, as if containing herself created something deeper, bigger, more seismic. And then he came, and kept coming, and the boat rocked and the water held them and the fog held them and the heavy sky held them.
He eased himself down and she felt his weight and the heat of his body.
Suddenly there was a cacophony of sound as if the birds had discovered them there, in the middle of their lake. The caws and screeches and trills were deafening, and though they turned their heads skyward, they couldn’t see a thing.
“It’s us making all that noise,” Simon said. “Echoes from orgasms.”
“That’s just what it sounds like inside me,” Josie said.
“I know,” Simon told her. “I just didn’t know everyone else could hear.”
It was later, back in the cabin, when they had taken a long, hot bath and finished the thermos of hot rum, that Simon said, “I love you,” and Josie said, “Don’t leave me.”
Nico looks up at the sky. Clouds linger, and somewhere in the far distance they can hear the grumble of thunder.
“We’re safe,” he says. “For a short while. Shall we try to walk to the train station?”
“We could walk to Provence,” Josie says.
“I’ve never been a patient man,” Nico says. “Put me on the fast train.”
“Then let’s walk to the train station.”
She doesn’t know if he is serious. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know herself these days, nor does she understand much of the ways of the world. So why not walk to the train station?
“What about my shoes?” she asks. Her red high-tops are wet from the rain and her feet are damp and cold.
“We’ll buy them in Provence. We have many things to accomplish today. Make your vowels more precise. Run away together.”
“I don’t even know if you speak English,” Josie says.
“Does it matter?”
“Not at all. In fact, don’t tell me. We need one secret between us.”
“Do you have a secret?”
“I’ve told you all my secrets,” she says.
“Tell me about the book you read when you were young. The book that made you want to come to Paris.”
“Can we sit down? My stomach-”
“Are you going to be sick?”
“I don’t know. We started out too quickly. I’m not used to eating.”
Nico leads her across the street and into a building. She’s confused. Is he looking for a bathroom? It’s a museum-Rodin-but she doesn’t want to walk through a museum right now. He buys two tickets for the gardens, one euro each, and leads her outside again, into a lovely open space. There’s a long expanse of lush, verdant lawn and a wide basin at the far end. She’s stunned. Right here in the middle of Paris they’ve been transported to Eden.
Nico walks with her slowly across the long lawn and they find two lounge chairs at the water’s edge. Josie sits and sighs; her stomach roils.
“Shall I get you some water?”
Josie glances off to the right-there’s a cafe in the garden.
“No. Sit with me a moment.”
He sits beside her.
“Perhaps the baby doesn’t love wine after all.”
“Impossible,” Nico says.
She glances at him; he looks worried.
“I’m fine,” she assures him. “I’m a little tired. My body isn’t used to food.”
“Take your time. This is a good place to rest.”
They look out into the park. A crowd gathers around a sculpture, and Josie sees the head of
“I read the book so many times I could still probably recite the first paragraphs,” Josie says. “But I’ll spare you. It’s an odd little story. A young girl loses her parents in the Champ de Mars. She looks everywhere for them-and then she decides that they’ve gone up to the top of the Eiffel Tower without her. But she’s scared of heights. She can’t go after them. So she waits and waits. Finally it begins to get dark and her parents never appear. With terror in her heart, she begins to walk up the stairs of the tower.”
“Why doesn’t she take the elevator?”
“There are only steps. This is fiction.”
“Of course.”
“She walks and walks, and the higher she climbs the more frightened she becomes. But she can’t go back. She has to decide which is more frightening-life without her parents or climbing to the top of the tower. She keeps climbing. The sky darkens and night falls and soon all the lights of the city come on and there are as many stars below her as there are above. She’s never seen anything so beautiful in her whole life. She forgets that she’s scared and she runs to the top of the tower. There she circles the observation deck, looking up to the sky and down to the city streets with all the brilliant lights. She has no fear-she’s on top of the world.”
Josie pauses and takes a deep breath. Her stomach tightens and releases.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“And the girl on the top of the Eiffel Tower?”
“A guard comes up to her.
“Is she American?”
“Oh, no. She’s very French. She lives on the edge of the Champ de Mars and she’s never ever gone up to the
