Chapter two: Graver l' écorce
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Paris – Late October
Graver l' écorce
Cutting the bark
Jusqu'a saigner
Until bleeding
Clouer les portes
Nail down the doors
S'emprisonner
Imprison oneself
The young man stood in front of the vending booths in Gare du Nord, patiently waiting for one of them to free up so he could buy his ticket. While he waited he was looking around and was listening to the music that came out of the speakers of the portable radio the man behind him was listening to. It was a song by a known French singer, Jean Jacques Goldman and had a slow mourning tone to it.
Vivre des songes
Live dreams
A trop veiller
By over watching
Prier des ombres
Praying shadows
Et tant marcher
And walking so much
J'ai beau me dire
I tell myself
Qu'il faut du temps
That it takes time
J'ai beau l'écrire
I write it down
Si noir sur blanc
So black and white
Quoique je fasse
Whatever I do
Ou que je sois
Wherever I am
Rien ne t'efface
Nothing erases you
Je pense a toi
I think of you
"Funny how the song fits to me right now," he thought.
He was not able to forget that person. Her face wandered back into his head over and over right now and he started to remind himself of the good time they had shared before he had to leave suddenly, almost five years ago now. He felt someone tapping him on the shoulder, bringing him back to reality. He turned to see the man behind him showing him that a booth had freed up and that it was his turn. Thanking the man he went towards it. The lady behind the thick glass looked tired but still tried to smile when he arrived there.
"How can I help you, Sir?" she asked.
"Uh, I would like to buy a ticket to London with the next Eurostar that leaves today," he said.
"Very well," she said, starting to type on her computer, "Will that be 1st or 2nd class?"
"2nd Class please."
"Smoking?"
"Non-smoking," he replied, "And a window seat if that is possible."
The lady, Armelle he could read from the tag on her chest, finished typing the details and the ticket was promptly issued. He paid the required amount and before he left, asked where the platform was located. She indicated to him the right one and, after having thanked her, he slung his bag over his shoulder and started in the direction she had shown him.
"The good thing about the Eurostar is that they do not change platform like the other trains," she had told him.
Not that he would know anything about that. He had never taken that train to go to England before and usually he preferred faster means of travelling. But the suddenness and seriousness of the reason for his travel to England had made it that the train was the only way for him to get there today.
Passent les jours
The days pass
Vides sillons
Empty grooves
Dans la raison
In reason
Et sans amour
And without love
He walked on the platform after having passed the security at the entrance. The yellow and white train was definitely unmistakable and its smooth surface on the outside showed that it was built for speed. He looked at his ticket again to remember which carriage number he had, and saw that it was located at the front of the train.
"Just my luck," he thought, "Getting the carriage that is the furthest away."
Passe ma chance
My luck passes
Tournent les vents
The winds turn
Reste l'absence
Absence is left
Obstinément
Stubbornly
He reached the carriage and went in to find his reserved seat. He settled near the window and t took out some papers out of his bag, documents he had received from England a few days ago. The news they carried were worrisome; this was the reason for his sudden travel. Five years ago he had left England and now he was going back.
"Excuse me, young man," a voice said on his left, "Is this your bag?"
He turned to see a man in his early fifties pointing to his bag that he had left on the seat next to him.
"Oh yes," he said, taking the bag, "I am sorry about that. I forgot to take it away," he added, stowing it under the seat in front of him.
"No harm done," the man said, taking off his light overcoat before seating and taking out a newspaper, "So you're going to London?"
The young man studied his neighbor. He was dressed in a casual business suit and his plump face looked friendly. The English newspaper and the briefcase told him that he was a businessman, most probably traveling back to the English capital after a meeting in Paris.
"That's where this train was headed the last time I checked," he answered.
"A young lad with a sense of humour," the man said, smiling broadly, "This journey should be less boring than usual. Some of the people I travel with can be such bores sometimes. You don't mind if we talk, I hope?"
"It should make the journey interesting," he answered, stowing his papers back in his bag.
"Jolly good!" the man said enthusiastically, "You have family in England?"
"Not much," the young man answered, "Most of my family lives here in France."
"Oh, so you are a Frenchman?"
"Yes."
"You don't have much of an accent," the man said, "You could have fooled me for an American."
"I was schooled in United Kingdom for a few years," the young man explained, "A boarding school in Scotland."
"That explains a lot then," the man said, "Good thing you did not inherit the Scottish accent as well, eh?" he added, smiling.
"Yeah, it is a bit harder to understand than English."
They continued talking for a while and he discovered a bit more who his neighbor was. Apparently a businessman from Manchester, who was on his way back from a quick trip to Paris for some business. The man, who was presented himself as Mr Hamilton, was very friendly and was a pleasure to talk to. The talk went on until the journey was well underway. At one point Hamilton excused himself and went to get something to eat in the buffet carriage. The young man took out some papers from his bag and started reading them.
J'ai beau me dire
I tell myself
Que c'est comme ça
That it is like this
Que sans vieillir
That by not getting old
On n'oublie pas
One does not forget
He put the documents back in his bag after having gone through them. Not the best situation. No wonder he was needed back. He rested his head on his seat, looking at the passing scenery out of the window. After a while he pulled out a small pouch from his bag and took out some photographs.
He went through them, looking at the people in it going through memories. One of them caught his attention, the one he could not forget, no matter how much he tried. Her smile was still dazzling, her eyes playful, just like her remembered her.
"A fine looking young lady," he heard a voice say next to him.
He gave a start a looked. Mr Hamilton had come back and was looking at him, smiling.
"I am sorry," he said, "I did not mean to startle you," he added while sitting down again.
"It's all right sir," the young man said, "I was lost in my thoughts."
"Is it safe to believe that this young lady might be one of the reasons for you going back to England?"
The young man smiled sheepishly. "Yes," he said, "She is."
"She looks quite younger than you though," Mr Hamilton said.
"The photo is a few years old," the young man explained, "We are of the same age," he added, handing him a photo where both he and her could be seen with their friends.
"I see. Looks like you two were an item," Hamilton said, handing the photo back, "Still are?"
"I doubt it," the young man said, "I have not seen her in ages."
Mr Hamilton chuckled. "Never give up hope," he said, patting on the young man's arm.
Quoique je fasse
Whatever I do
Ou que je sois
Wherever I am
Rien ne t'efface
Nothing erases you
Je pense a toi
I think of you
Et quoi que j'apprenne
And despite what I learn
Je ne sais pas
I do not know
Pourquoi je saigne
Why do I bleed
Et pas toi
And not you
The train arrived in Waterloo station a bit more than two hours afterwards. After having bid Mr Hamilton goodbye, the young man came out on the platform and stood there for a bit, wondering what to do first. He had first planned to go to his parent's home but seeing the time, there was a good chance that they were both at work. It would be a better idea to go to see his father at work. He would then also be able to meet a few friends. With a bit of chance, she would be there too.
He left from the station after having changed some Euros to Pounds and started to walk in direction of Leicester Square. His destination was not too far from there and he did not see the point of taking the bus or the tube to get there.
Y'a pas de haine
There is no hatred
Y'a pas de roi
There is no king
Ni dieu ni chaîne
No god, no chain
Qu'on ne combat
That we don't fight
He arrived there and looked around to remind himself of where exactly what he was looking for stood. After a minute of looking around he spotted it, a vandalized telephone booth. Since the first time he had seen this place, six years ago, it was still the same and had not changed at all.
"A wonder that no one thought of replacing it yet," he thought as he approached the booth.
He entered and picked up the receiver. After a quick look around to see that no one was observing him, he dialed an exact serie of numbers, 62442.
Mais que faut-il
But what is needed
Quelle puissance
What power
Quelle arme brise
What weapon shatters
L'indifférence
Indifference
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a cool female voice said, "Please state your name and business."
He had a slight hesitation before to answer in the receiver. His voice was covered by the sound of a truck passing near. He hung up the receiver and waited until a small badge fell into a little box under the phone. He picked it up and pinned it on the front of his shirt. No sooner had he done that that the cabin started to sink into the ground.
"Well," he thought, "Here goes nothing..."
Oh c'est pas juste
It is not fair
C'est mal écrit
It's ill-written
Comme une injure
More like a insult
plus qu'un mépris
Than a scorn
Quoique je fasse
Whatever I do
Ou que je sois
Wherever I am
Rien ne t'efface
Nothing erases you
Je pense a toi
I think of you
Et quoi que j'apprenne
And despite what I learn
Je ne sais pas
I do not know
Pourquoi je saigne
Why do I bleed
Et pas toi...
And not you...
Et pas toi...
And not you...
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Song and lyrics by Jean Jaques Goldman and are his sole property. The clip that I am putting online is not intended for resale and is of bad quality. If you want to hear the good version, I suggest buying the CD.
http://pageperso.aol.fr/Wandmaster8/JeanJacquesGoldman-PasToi.mp3