7.6 Deja Vu
Another day pass with no letter from home. Instead of returning to base camp, I followed a small trail in the forest. The trees were buzzing with songbirds and beetles. The river licked the green shore tenderly; every now and again a fish would jump like a dolphin; swallowing insects from the surface. I sat along the shore. The air here lacked the saltiness I remembered. There was no wetness in the air or caressing breeze. I longed to dunk myself in the shallow riverbed; to become part of its rhythm.
"Here am I, yet another goodbye! He says Adios, says Adios. And do you know why she won't break down and cry? She says Adios, says Adios, Goodbye. One by one my leaves fall. One by one my tales are told." (One by One by Enya) I let my voice ring; a soft echo returned from the landscape. Using my native tongue freed me; the trip to this distant land was unlike the last. In Egypt most of the tourists and natives were either of my land or from a British ancestry and English was fluent. In China, there were hundreds of variations to the language. I struggled to decipher the language; comprehending casual conversation between two natives was impossible.
"It's no lie she is yearning to fly. She says Adios, says Adios, and now you know why. He's a reason to sigh. She says Adios, says Adios, Goodbye.." I continued with my song.
"Adios?" A man's voice ceased my singing. I arched my neck up; the man I saw was startlingly different from the natives. His skin was a dark bronze. His hair a bleach blond - so light I doubted it as natural. His accent was thick and not Spanish, although the phrase he spoke might of mislead me.
I greeted him in English; he answered hesitantly, repeating my phrase of 'hello'. I peered up at him with curiosity; we were far from the base. I wondered what brought him to my secluded place.
"Je recherche mon ami." The thickness of his accent were more pronounced in his own tongue. I recalled 'ami' was friend. The verb 'recherche' was - As my brain rattled to translate the sentence, my eyes recognized what I didn't notice before. His traveling outfit was caked with dirt below the knees. The lining of his jacket frayed and stained from the fruit of the wild-berry plants. His hands were red from surface cuts. 'Recherche' meant seek. He was searching for a friend; I had the hunch that he was the friend that needed finding.
"Perdu?" I inquired if he was lost.
His face responded with a bashful smile. "Oui." Confirmation. The sun had begun its decent towards the western world; we had only a few hours left of sunlight. I checked the path I traversed to reached this place; as long as the sun remained in the sky, I should have no difficulty in returning to base. Tonight would land me in the same predicament as him, only I had no friends that would look for me.
As I raised to my feet, I beckoned him to follow. He followed me eagerly; his stride easily matching mine. As I lead him through the thick forest, I pointed silently to the half-hidden landmarks that guided my path. His eyes watched with genuine curiosity, which turned to a giddy excitement as the base camp entered our view.
He raised my hand to his lips and offered his gratitude. "Merci, ma cherie." I couldn't shake the grin from my face as I watched him walk up the stairs. I let out a sigh. I didn't catch his name.
I settled down to sleep; my mind replaying the earlier conversation. It was a relief from my usual thoughts - my memories of home. He referred to me as 'ma cherie'; it meant my darling to the French. If only I was more confident in speaking his language; if I had studied more; if I was able to sprout out more than a few phrases and vocab. I sensed that he was equally as discouraged by his lack of knowledge to communicate with me. In my ignorance, I'd assume that most Europeans understood English. His coloring, however was not typical of France. Perhaps, he'd travel from one of the African countries that spoke French instead.
I tossed in the bed. What good would it be to ask him if I could not understand the answers?
"Hello," said the man.
I set the book beside me and tried to hide the excitement on my voice. "Hello." I echoed, careful to use only what he understood. He motioned to the seat next to me; I moved the book to my feet to grant him space. As he sat down, my nerves tingled.
"I'm Jenny." I stated, motioning to myself. The choice of referring to myself by my sibling's nickname rather than my given name was spontaneous. I suppose I wanted to distance myself from my heritage; my duties as a legacy heiress. I didn't want my name or my history to influence what happened here.
"Jenny." He repeated; his accent causing the word to sound like 'Shay-ne'. I preferred his pronunciation. "Je m'apelle Jean-Claude Boutillier."
A tune played in the background; the music vibrated through cracked doors. One of the other tourists were enjoying a piece of home on a personal CD. My ears tuned into it; I found myself humming to the refrain despite not recognizing the piece.
"Pretty," his voice was low and hushed. He strained with the translation. I wondered if he'd spent the night over a dictionary. "Music. Pretty." He raised a hand to his throat and then his hand motioned as if drawing out the words from his mouth.
"You like my singing?" I replied automatically.
He nodded. I think he understood.
I focused on the background music; it was too upbeat for the song I had sung outside, but it was a comforting distraction to the audience I had now. "My, oh my! She was aiming too high. He says Adios, says Adios, and now you know why. There's no moon in her sky. He says Adios, says Adios, Goodbye. She says Adios, says Adios, Goodbye."
His headed leaned against the back of the chair; his face locked on to mine. My cheeks burned and I stopped singing. His head was inches from mine; his eyes so clear and such a light gray in contrast to his dark skin. His lips were always in a smile; now I wished to touch them.
I rested my arm on the top of the bench. The back of his cotton shirt rubbed against my skin. I heard his breathing; felt the heat from his body. I leaned towards him.
"No." He said abruptly, placing his hand between us.
My eyes shot open. "Why not?" I asked, the hurt leaking into my voice.
Jean grabbed my hand again. He pressed his lips to my knuckles. "Tomorrow." He folded his hands together like wings. "France." He placed his hand on my chest and then his own. "Desole," he apologized. He stood up and repeated the apology. "Desole, Jenny."
He waited a minute more - words on his tongue that he could not translate. I remained as I was, unable to concentrate as my body was slow to recover from the rejection. Jean departed, frustrated by the unspoken words between us.
I could not find sleep that night. Tomorrow he was leaving for France. In the wee hours of the morning, I found myself picking at a fresh plate of salmon. The common area was empty for once. I felt just as empty within. Although, my mother always said I had a lucky trait with how I survived the adventures and 'shenanigans' of my childhood, the last few years proved anything but lucky.
I survived. It was not me that was buried beneath the ground. Still, I had hoped that thousands of miles away from the curse and the family that locked me into a legacy filled with drama and sadness, I'd be able to find some happiness. I pushed aside the plate of food and took out my notepad. This one I addressed to my brother.
Why do you never realize what you have until its gone? I pray that you and the rest of the family are doing well despite my absence. I do not know when I will return; I thought I found what was missing. I have not. Wish me luck, Galen. I love you all.
I had not given up. I sought out release with the discovery of karate. They say that if I learn to focus my energy on a single point of my body, I can slice through stone with my bare hands. Although cynical, the determination I needed to thrive at karate drove the sadness and memories away from my thoughts. The hours of practice on the wooden dummies and the teachers that spoke to me in broken English offered me the distraction I craved.
I advanced quickly through the ranks, studying technique and learning the habits of my fellow students to beat them. I never lost a match twice to the same person. My teacher taught me about meditation - focusing on nothing to clear the soul. My soul desired healing and even if I could not fix the weight of my soul, maybe this would offer me a band-aid to my problems.
A band-aid. That was all it was. I finally received a note from my family. It was short and from my brother.
Gene is getting big. He's already speaking and wandering the house, escaping from his crib at the worse of times. I think you'd be the best of friends if you came home. He has a knack for planning two steps ahead of me and mother; I swear he doesn't even mind the scolding. Somehow Gene still gets what he wants. I miss you, sis. I haven't found any female friends to invite over yet. Have you found any male friends for me to meet? - Love, Galen.
I sighed heavily. My typical workout was impaired by my thoughts. My teacher noticed and confronted me. "You have much sorrow for young eyes."
"Long story." Even if I could find the words to explain my history; there were parts I didn't want to relive or rethink. I hoped he did not press the issue.
He seemed to understand what was not spoken. "You cannot undo but you can redo mistakes." He advised.
There were many mistakes I'd wish to never have done. But which one was I repeating? I thought back. Twice I thought I was in love. Both times I was stopped by the man involved. But how hard did I pursue? I bid my teacher farewell; he was not surprised when I booked a flight the next day.
And where else would I travel but to the place that my last prospect ventured. France. I searched for an address listing for 'Jean Claude Boutillier'. I discovered him in a small village outside of Paris. I settled into a small motel, the bathrooms were shared by many guests but the owners maintained a clean homeliness appeal. I read the texts in the library - translating the novels slowly. By the first week I was still on the first chapter, but I'd begun to recognize many of the vocabulary, making my travels around the area easier.
A cafe in the middle of the town square captivated my heart. The high trees shades me from the heat of mid-day and I could eaves-drop on the locals' conversations without being obvious. My heart held out for some mention of his name - there was none. The children played tag haphazardly through the greenery and traffic. The vendors carried fresh produce through the streets, selling it out of carts.
I'd settled in to such a pattern of habit that I didn't recognize him at first. His garments had changed; he was in typical linens for the area - a dark vest and pants. His shyness had vanished when speaking to this woman. They engaged in rapid French - playfully patting each other on the chest as they spoke. Exchanging jokes, I assumed. My ears could not translate with words spoken that fast.
If only I could.
I don't know what caused him to look my way. Curse my blue skin. As I mentally checked the others in the area - maybe his skin stuck out as much as mine. I averted my eyes, but he still broke off conversation with the woman. "Jenni!" He called. My face reddened with embarrassment.
"Bonjour, Jenni!" Jean yelled again over the crowd, much louder. I pretended not to notice. Silly, I know. I traveled hundreds of miles to see him and now I wished for nothing more than to remain unseen.
He did not call my name a third time; I sighed in relief. "Stupid. Stupid." I cursed to myself. What in SimVille was I doing?
"Jenni need ears new. I speak name." Jean remarked, standing only a few feet from me. I twitched in surprise. I hadn't expected him to come to me. I didn't think he'd remember me; it was a long time and a very brief encounter.
I flustered in my response. "I was thinking."
He pointed to his head. "Think here." Then to his mouth. "Talk here."
I nodded; I couldn't help but enjoy his humor. "Your English is better." I complimented.
"I study for Jenni." He said quietly, his shyness returning.
I was shocked. "Merci, Jean." Had he planned on seeing me again? Or was it a vague hope that he held on to while I dismissed it this last year or two we'd been apart. "You live here now?" I questioned; stupid, of course he did. How else would I have found him.
"I wait for Jenni. I say France I go. I study here."
Oh. This was awkward. "Sorry, I took so long to get here."
He shrugged. "I learn woman slow to dress."
"Sometimes." I admitted.
Jean grasped my hand and held it with a gentle squeeze. My breath caught with the gesture. He lead me to one of the benches in the town square. Deja vu. It was almost as if the time apart never happened. I only hoped that he would not turn me down again - I had no intention to break away from him. I sat down next to him without hesitation. This time, he was the one to drape his arm behind us.
After a few moments, he closed it around me. "Today, I say yes." Jean whispered into my ear.
"No Goodbyes for love brightens their eyes. Don't say Adios, say Adios, and do you know why? There's a love that won't die. Don't say Adios, say Adios, Goodbye."
