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By Root 2061 0

with that. We had a friendly discussion. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost warm. I took her arm as we went back to our seats, and she did not pull away. God in heaven, what was going on? Were miracles actually possible? The sounds of the second half of the concert washed over me, dissolving in the air. The hell with Beethoven! I would apologize to him tomorrow. For the moment I heard only the silence of the enchanting young girl seated on my right. Our shoulders touched, and at times her hair tickled my face. Hanna and me, at last. With me at last, all mine. Thank you, Beethoven, for having brought us together. Thank heaven for orchestrating chance encounters. Thank you, Paris in the spring, for inspiring so many lovers.

The concert ended, and the audience applauded. We joined them. Hanna clapped for the conductor, I for destiny. She seemed happy—my onetime nasty beloved seemed happy. I was delighted. I offered the standard—“Fantastic, huh?”—and for once she agreed. I don’t know why, but the enthusiasm of the audience seemed to draw us together. Slowly the crowd dispersed, and we went out. I asked if she was tired. No, not at all. In fact, she was rather excited. Once again I suggested coffee. I didn’t want the night to end; I wanted it to go on forever. Somehow I sensed that if we separated now, she would be forever lost to me. If I let this God-given opportunity slip away, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I pressed, carefully maintaining a detached tone. “So, do you feel like coffee?” She hesitated, then declined. “Sorry, not tonight. I have to be up early.” Her voice was so sweet and beautiful I forgot to be disappointed. “Should we take the métro?” She preferred to walk. “Where do you live?” Montmartre, near Sacré-Cœur. It was a long way, but never mind. I would have happily walked as far as Saint-Cloud, Versailles, or the end of the world.

So we walked. The night sky blinked with bright stars. Passersby smiled at us, beggars thanked me for my generosity, however modest. At last, near the Lapin Agile, Hanna stopped in front of an immense, darkened gate (which I disliked instantly) and held out her hand. I took it and held it for a long moment. And then, idiot that I was, I managed to ruin everything. Striking a dramatic air and affecting a tone of pathos, I looked into her eyes and asked, “Why is it you used to hate me so? Why couldn’t you have been like you were tonight, so sweet and nice, so feminine? Really, I wish you could explain it to me.”

She suddenly pulled her hand away, her body stiffened, and her face turned blank. “What an idiot you are,” she hissed, “an intolerable idiot.” She tried to open the gate, but I stopped her. Since she had become an enemy again, I decided to meet her on the battlefield. “Listen, Hanna,” I said angrily, “I never understood why you hated me, why you made me suffer the way you did in Versailles. Tonight, for a few hours, I thought that was over. I thought you’d changed. But I guess I was wrong. You still have that chip on your shoulder, still treat me with contempt. If that’s the way you want it, fine. As far as I’m concerned, that’s it. I’ve had it. I won’t try to understand you anymore. I give up. I hope we never see each other again. Good night.”

And I walked away. End of story. Forever.

I was serious, and angry, determined not to look back. Anyway, it didn’t really matter. In three days I was due to leave to cover a story in Brazil, and with a little luck I would fall in love on the boat. People fall in love fast on boats, me faster than anyone else. Hanna was over and done with. Good riddance.

Except that …

The next day the phone rang. How had she gotten my number? I pictured her, so proud and superior, forced to demean herself, to go to mutual friends with some lame excuse to justify her question. I almost felt sorry for her.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s me,” she said.

“Me, who?”

“Hanna.”

I felt like asking, Hanna who? but she beat me to it: “Versailles Hanna.”

“What can I do for you?” I asked in the coldest possible tone.

“I would like to see you again.