Every Hidden Thing Read online

Chapter 2

  September 1967

  ‘I think you’ve found a good place here, Ari. I like this little kitchen. A bit small, but you can see it has been redone recently. And I like your pots. Le Creuset. You bought them in Israel? Must have cost the earth over there! You should have waited to buy them here,’ Rose was busy unpacking his crates that had arrived the previous week.

  ‘Well, at the time I didn’t know I was coming back. You’ll have to come and sample some of my cooking soon.’ He winked at her. He was surprised at the easiness of their friendship. He was a shy man and didn’t easily make friends with anyone, let alone with women. ‘Thanks for helping me with the move. With the autumn term starting in a couple of weeks, I don’t think I could have got this sorted by myself!’

  When he had been accepted for the post at the Sorbonne, he had found a place to stay on the Left Bank off the rue de Sevres, a comfortable walking distance from the University. The furnished apartment was on the fourth floor and the living room windows overlooked the courtyard. He was pleased with the cosiness of it. It had two small bedrooms, one of which was ideal for his study. He had not acquired much in the way of furniture and ornaments. He had only his leather armchair, an old-fashioned desk, a richly coloured oriental carpet, the framed antique maps that were his passion and his beloved books that overflowed the rather inadequate bookshelves onto the floor. He realised he’d have to invest in more bookshelves in order to unpack the last boxes.

  On Sundays he often walked around his old haunts and one glorious autumn day he and Rose climbed Montmartre and he couldn’t help remembering how he and his father and Matthieu had wandered around Paris before the war. With his back to the great white basilica, he stared out over the city, counting all the landmarks he remembered from those long ago days. Afterwards they had lunch at a small restaurant in the Place du Tertre. He wasn’t very hungry and finally he put down his cutlery, his food half eaten.

  ‘This is very painful for me Rose! How do you bear it, living here with all the memories? Often when I walk around Paris, all the streets are so familiar and I imagine that if I turned around quickly I will see my father and Matthieu walking behind me.’

  She gently took his hand across the table and patted it. ‘I know Ari, but afterwards, you make a new reality for yourself. Your certainty of that life ended abruptly when you left here, and you must let other memories cover the old ones. We don’t ever forget our loved ones but we have to live on, and live well to honour their memories, if for no other reason.’

  He rubbed his face with both hands. ‘You are right, Rose. This kind of melancholy won’t get me anywhere.’ But the recollections had cast a shadow over the afternoon and, at his suggestion, they took the metro in Pigalle instead of walking so that he could get back quickly.