“The chef is from Marseille.”
“How do you know?”
Before he answered, a short waiter wearing rimless glasses came to our table. Vince spoke to him in French, and the man left.
“Is he from Marseille too?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“No, he’s from a little town in Provence. He’ll send out the chef so we can find out what he recommends.”
“You speak French?”
“Enough to get by.”
I took a sip of water. The more I learned about Vince, the less confident I felt in his presence. The waiter returned accompanied by a rotund man wearing an apron and a tall white chef ’s hat. Vince continued to speak exclusively in French. The chef bowed toward me. Vince held out the menu while the three men had a rapid-fire conversation. Most of the other patrons in the restaurant turned to watch. I pressed tightly into my seat, not even trying to pretend I could understand. The chef and waiter left.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“He’s going to put together something special that isn’t on the menu.”
“The menu didn’t have any good options?”
“Yes, but he wants to make the lunch memorable.”
“It’s already that. I’ve never been in the middle of a French conversation before.”
“What foreign language did you take in college?”
“Spanish, but I’ve only used it in public with a few of the workers at the chicken plant.”
As soon as I mentioned the chicken plant, I wanted to cram my napkin in my mouth. This was not the time or place for another discussion about my previous experience as an eviscerator. Vince looked across the room.
“Do you see that painting?” he asked, nodding toward the far wall. “The one above the fireplace.”
I turned my head and saw a pastoral scene with vibrant colors. “Yes.”
“It’s an original. Twentieth-century but in an earlier style. What do you think?”
“I like it.”
When I looked back, Vince was staring at me.
“Tell me more about you,” he said. “Where you’re from, something about your family, your travels.”
“Well, I’ve lived my whole life in rural north Georgia with my parents, two brothers, and twin sisters. I didn’t apply to any law schools except Georgia because I can’t afford out-of-state tuition. Yesterday, I saw the ocean for the second time in my life. My conversational Spanish doesn’t function past basic communication. I can’t compete with you in any area of life or experience.”
“Life isn’t primarily about competition, is it?”
“No, it’s about glorifying God,” I said.
Vince nodded. “Gerry Patrick told me you were a serious Christian. Your faith made an impression on her, and I wanted to find out why.”
“I’m not sure it was a good impression.”
“She seemed positive, but the Bible says we shouldn’t be surprised by persecution and misunderstanding.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you persecuted?”
Vince shrugged. “Imagine how people at the law school react when they find out I believe the Bible is true and Jesus Christ is the only way of salvation. The only acceptable belief is no belief, and the greatest foolishness is commitment to truth.”
“How did you come to believe?” I asked.
Vince rubbed the back of his scarred right hand. “In high school I suffered a serious chemical burn to my right hand and arm when a lab partner caused a minor explosion during an experiment. The corrosive activity of the chemicals didn’t stop until they took me into surgery.”
I winced.
“I spent almost a week in the hospital and have had multiple skin grafts. I usually don’t tell people this, but as I suffered, I thought about hell, where the fire never stops and the pain never ceases.”
The waiter brought two cups of chilled soup.
“This is an asparagus-based soup,” he said. “It sounds weird, but give it a try.”
I touched a tiny spoonful to my lips. It was a puree with a much lighter flavor than I expected. I ate a larger spoonful.
“It’s good,” I said.
Vince ate several bites without speaking. I waited for him to continue. He kept eating, occasionally glancing around the restaurant.
“Are you going to leave me wondering why you decided not to go to hell?” I asked. “That would be stranger than this soup. Which is delicious,” I quickly added.
Vince put down his spoon. “Sorry, I have a tendency to focus on one thing at a time. I’m not the best multitasker.”
“Then eat your soup before you tell me more.”
Vince efficiently reached the bottom of the cup.