CHAPTER EIGHT
Simon suggested that they spend Easter in Paris. His uncle Rupert owned an apartment that they could use while he was away holidaying in Guadeloupe. Simon would take his girlfriend, Nina, and Carl would take Sonia. Carl liked the idea but doubted if Sonia would like it.
The apartment was located in the fashionable 9th arrondissement, close to the place de la Madeleine in an affluent area of the city where women wearing furs and carrying miniature dogs strolled the Place Vendôme and Champs Elysées. The women amused Carl for he could tell that being seen was just important to them, if not more important, than what they had purchased. What would it be like, he wondered, to sit and watch their comings and goings? But he and Sonia never stayed long enough to observe and, except for a visit to the opera and an evening of coffees and mille feuilles at the café de la Paix, they spent little time in the neuvieme. Instead, for the first few days, they walked through the Jardin Des Tuileries onto the Seine and over to the left bank, which was Carl's favourite part of the city. Paris was a place Carl knew well, as he had visited it many times as a child and on their walks he recounted for her benefit its history, explaining to her the origin of the Ile de la Cité and the distinctive architectures along the Seine. It was Sonia's first visit and each day she found herself newly impressed by its beauty. It made her want to travel to as many European countries as possible before returning to Nigeria, and especially to Vienna, Prague and Amsterdam. In a strange sort of way, Paris reminded Sonia of Nigeria, even though in its appearance it was quite different from anything back home. The buildings were old, the diets rich in dairy products, and the climate cool, but in its feel there was definitely something reminiscent of home. It might have been the bustle, the incessant talking and the way people argued openly and loudly on the streets. The bureaucracy was also excessive, like home and there were many African-French-speaking ones. Carlhad bought her her first writing journal to record her thoughts, which she began doing on their first day.
Today I can't stop smiling. I imagine walking with you forever, hand-in-hand, strolling through the Jardins de Luxembourg. It seems like we could laugh and talk, and never run out of things to say. This afternoon, as we sipped our cafés au lait at Les Deux Magots, and as you charmed the proprietaire with your fluent French, I watched you with such pride. I love you Carl, so much that I think of nothing else. Tomorrow we will visit new places, but it hardly matters where we go - just to be with you is heaven.
The next day, however, was not so romantic, for a while she and Carl were out on the streets of Montmartre, a Congolese man approached them and asked to take a photograph.
"I'll make you beautiful picture. You give me your address and I send it to you".
"Rubbish", Sonia thought. It was obvious that the man had other intentions, and yet Carl gave him his address! Sonia was quiet for the rest of the afternoon and doubly annoyed because Carl could not see for himself what was bothering her. It grew into a long simmering argument that lasted all day and was only resolved the following morning as they walked to the Sorbonne, down the Rue Des Escoles, in search of Présence Africaine, a tiny bookshop, filled with books by African Caribbean authors. Sonia thought, not for the first time, about Richard and how much he would have liked the place. Out of guilt, she bought him a copy of the Presence Africaine Revue with special essays in tribute to Malcolm X. She also bought some work by James Baldwin, which she and Carl read together on a park bench nearby. And this was the pattern of each of their days: long stretches spent wandering, Paris followed by evenings with Simon and Nina. They lived the bohemian life, eating baguettes with Brie and saucisson, and drinking red wine as they debated world politics. They spoke frequently of America - Malcolm's tragic death - and Vietnam. Carl and Simon argued vehemently against intervention while she and Nina played devil's advocate. On the final night they talked for hours on the subject of society and who was best placed to critique it. Carl suggested that only those who had travelled away from home could really see their countries for what they were, which led to a long discussion of Herodotus and De Tocqueville. Sonia wondered how she could perceive Nigeria once she returned. Would she see things more clearly? And what, as a foreigner, were her thoughts on England? What insights might she have to offer?.
The next morning, their last full day in France, they were to visit Versailles and were packing for a picnic. They were almost ready to leave when the telegram arrived: Richard was dead. Suicide. It had been an overdose and the body was found only several days later by the cleaning lady. Whitney was the one who gave Sonia the details over the phone, telling her that relatives had come immediately to take the body away and clear out his room.
"Why did he do this?" Whitney kept asking. Sonia did what she could to reassure her, telling her that these were questions no-one could answer, but inside she asked the same questions and more. Everyone believed that things between her and Richard had ended up a long time ago but, in reality, it had been only a few weeks since Sonia stopped visiting him. He had sent her several notes that she had chosen to do nothing about and now she felt devastated.
Even though there was nothing in notes to suggest desperation, Sonia felt that had she responded to them properly, the suicide wouldn't have happened. He told her so many times that he felt caught between two hands, never fully belonging to England or Nigeria, but she had never taken it seriously, always thinking that he was the strong and privileged one. But now she could see it clearly - the peripatetic lifestyle contributing to his anxieties at Oxford and amplifying his desire to please his family with academic success. But the taking of his life? How could he have done this? Why hadn't he talked to someone? And why, how, had they all failed to realize the depth of his despair?
She asked herself why she had not been honest enough to tell him that she wasn't ready for a serious relationship, instead of making up excuses she knew he hadn't believed anyway? Why hadn't she been more of a woman and told him that she had once loved him, for God's sake? And now she was caught up in another web of untruths. She had lied to Carl about Richard. Sonia clasped her hands tightly behind her neck and pulled her head down to her knees. She still had his notes to her, but she couldn't bring herself to re-read them. Yet the phrases were branded in her mind: Maxwell tells us you are busy with your new man. Please, spare a few moments for your old friends.
The notes were sitting on her desk, and, next to them the journals that she had got for Richard in Paris. She flicked through them, tears welling in her eyes as she realised that he might have already been dead when she bought them. And then she thought of Carl who would by now be back in France for the summer. How patient he had been as she grieved for Richard.
"He's not what you think," she found herself mumbling as though Richard were with her. "Carl's not just any white man".
She was supposed to be packing her things to spend the summer with her cousin in Bradford, a trip she had planned months before, but she couldn't bring herself to start. Instead she sat before her empty trunk grieving for Richard, missing Carl and staring at the Nigerian newspaper cutting sent by her father. Richard Arinze, who died of sudden illness while studying abroad at Oxford university. May his soul rest in peace. April 4, 1965.
"Rest in peace, rest in peace," Sonia whispered.