His, Body and Soul(3)
“Does that mean you'll direct my work?”
“Yes, of course,” she says, before leaving.
I’m relieved. Of course, I don’t have a specific topic, but I have a professor who’s rather well-known, and there’s no way I’m going to disappoint her. I read her prescription and decide to go to every class. A few are literature courses, a little bit of philosophy, sociology….it’s perfect and it’s…now! My first class in French literature is going to start immediately! Luckily, the classroom isn’t too far away and I avoid the embarrassment of being late for my first class. I sneak in right when the door is about to close. I take a seat in the first available chair and listen dutifully to the teacher. He introduces himself quickly. This is a class in medieval literature, a field completely unknown to me. We’re going to study a novel from the 12th century. I rejoice. I’m in Paris and I’m going to study medieval texts! I turn towards the girl sitting next to me, who’s taking out her book. Lucky me! I sat down next to a bimbo, a gigantic blonde with blood red nails and lips. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress…She’s probably not going to be someone who can help me…or make me look good, I imagine. By chance the professor, who’s probably attracted to her, asks her to read and translate the introductory section.
I want to crawl under my seat. But Manon, which is her name, is able to do this with a disconcerting ease…and a real passion. The professor is obviously impressed. Me too. I swallow my hasty judgment. I’ll try to talk to her next week, I think while gathering my things together. But Manon is not just gifted, she’s also extremely nice. She waits for me in front of the classroom.
“Emma? Is that your name?
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go for lunch?”
I accept eagerly. She does everything she can to make me feel comfortable. I find out that she’s also spent quite a bit of time abroad and knows it’s a responsibility to guide and help students in similar situations. She’s working on a master’s degree in classical literature, she tells me. Her great passion is dead languages. That and fashion! And also a certain Mathieu, her boyfriend, who meet us at the university cafeteria. A curious couple, these two. She’s as tall and beautiful as a supermodel, he’s small, poorly decked out, maybe a little chubby…They kiss passionately, with open mouths. I’m almost embarrassed. Luckily, they stop soon enough and devote themselves to their meals and their new classmate, soon to become a new friend.
3. Parisian life
It’s been a week already since I started living the high life! I’m joking. I live like a hermit. I leave my room at dawn and go to school, spend all morning in the library. Then I head to the cafeteria where I choke down some bland meat drowning in brown sauce. I try not to look at it too closely. In the afternoon, I go back to my spot in the library or attend a few classes in obscure literature or history. In the evening, I make my butter coquillettes, using a traditional French student recipe Manon gave me. I’m not bored, I don’t have the time to be bored. But I have to admit that, perhaps unconsciously, I excepted more from my Parisian life. A little craziness, maybe.
I’m always alone in my large mansion. Sometimes I feel afraid when I come home at night. The building caretaker has generally left by then, no one makes a peep and all of the lights are turned off. I feel incredibly miniscule in this giant corridor, not even my footsteps make any sound. I sometimes feel like a ghost or a burglar. In any case, someone who doesn’t belong in this cold and solemn place.
I have to say that I’m spared from the hustle and bustle of the capital in Monceau. Sometimes to the point that I forget to wake up…which is what happened this morning and, as I do ever morning, I lazily stretch and tell myself I have plenty of time to get to the library…Except today I have an appointment with Mrs. Granchamps in thirty minutes! Forget about taking a shower, I throw on my jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt and a jacket. I pull my hair back into something that resembles a ponytail, which to me seems very French. I grab my bag and zip down the stairs, no time to wait for the antediluvian elevator this morning. I jump down the last three steps and, after a quick look to my right – no governess in sight – glide across the marvelous marble floor of the entry hall. Right until my slide comes to a sudden stop.
My head bumps right up against a man’s torso, I put my hand against it to steady myself. Two weeks without seeing a living soul around here and this morning, a torso suddenly appears in front of me! Nothing seems to make sense around here. I look up. A man, a very manly man, looks at me with a curious expression, as if I was a little lost cat. Tiny dimples frame his dark black eyes. He’s got the kind of look I would gladly linger over if only I wasn’t in a hurry! I quickly disentangle myself from the stranger and race away like a thief.