Two Steps Onward

by Graeme Simsion

  I pointed out the obvious. ‘Unfortunately, the Pope isn’t in Santiago.’

  He waved his hand as I began to elaborate. ‘I understand, and I am saying this only to you: you should have persuaded your companions to take the traditional option. As it is, I trust you to ensure they have the correct boots and practices to keep them safe. You have the experience.’ As did Zoe and Bernhard, but I kept my counsel.

  He sipped his coffee. Benediction coming.

  ‘People make a pilgrimage for many reasons and all are changed by it. But those who return are seeking something more. If you walk with the right spirit you will find it, even on this St Francis route.’ Dramatic pause. ‘The Chemin will set you free. Now, get the young man. And another cup of coffee for me.’

  It must have taken an hour for M. Chevalier to give his advice and blessing to each of us, enough time for me to duck out and grab bread and salami for lunch. When Camille, his last supplicant, rejoined us, Bernhard grabbed his rucksack with an expression that said, ‘Can we finally get moving?’

  ‘Have we forgotten something?’ I said. ‘What did we come for?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Zoe, ‘he told me he doesn’t do credentials for the Chemin d’Assise. It’s a whole different organisation. In Sainte Cécile.’ And, reading the room, quickly added, ‘It’s on the way.’

  M. Chevalier would likely have argued that the Chemin d’Assise had less history than its more famous cousin, but pilgrims were walking to Rome before Santiago became a destination. As for authenticity, with the exception of a few sections, neither camino follows the ancient paths for the practical reason that they’ve become roads and railways. The nod to St Francis of Assisi had more to do with his roaming and affinity for nature than any documented journey.

  In any case, the first stage of the Chemin d’Assise out of Cluny overlays the Camino de Santiago. Today, Zoe, Bernhard and I were on familiar ground.

  We were soon off the road and the track was reasonably wide, but it would have been awkward to walk and talk as a group, and we split into pairs. Chaucer’s pilgrims sharing tales on horseback belonged to the world of fiction. I wanted to stay with Zoe but needed to send a message to Sarah that I hadn’t invited her as a means to an end.

  As happens when you set aside time to speak about difficult subjects, we made no progress. But Sarah seemed politely interested as I recapped what I’d done first time around. I pointed out the scallop-shell signs for the Camino de Santiago which shared lampposts and trees with the symbol for the Chemin d’Assise: a letter T (more exactly, a Greek tau) on an orange background, with a stylised dove flying left, right or straight ahead to show the direction.

  ‘Which is easier—backpack or cart?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘If I’d answered that question honestly on the first day, I’d have packed it in there and then.’

  ‘And not had all the good bits. Including Zoe.’

  ‘What did Monsieur Chevalier say to you?’

  ‘Just stuff. You know he’s walked it nine times? His wife’s done it, like, thirty.’

  ‘Strange how people can do the same thing over and over,’ I said.

  ‘If I was a surgeon, I’d be doing the same op over and over.’

  ‘You’re thinking of surgery?’

  ‘Doing the same thing over and over isn’t exactly what I want to do with my life. Why aren’t you walking with Zoe?’

  We made Sainte Cécile, ten kilometres from Cluny, just after noon.

  ‘I’ve booked lunch,’ said Gilbert. ‘The restaurant is excellent.’

  Zoe and I exchanged looks. I could see us at 3 p.m. with Gilbert ordering cognacs to accompany the petits fours.

  ‘I’m going to be the party pooper,’ I said. ‘I tried a two-course lunch a couple of times on my first walk and spent the afternoon paying for it. Plus, we’ve got fruit and salami.’

  I could see Gilbert thinking about whether to press his case. I had the advantage of experience, albeit made-up experience. Eventually, he nodded.

  ‘My doctor would agree. Less lunch, more walking.’

  Camille ducked into the church to light a candle and then to the service station for a comfort break, and we were on the road again.

  The address Zoe had been given for the Chemins d’Assise association representative was a couple of kilometres further on. A pleasant country woman issued six credentials over coffee made by her teenage son, with no gratuitous advice.

  Fifteen minutes down the road, we heard a motorbike behind us. It was the lad, sliding his back wheel in the gravel as he pulled up.

  ‘Tampons!’ he said. ‘You forget your tampons.’

  I looked at Sarah. She was looking at Zoe and Camille. Her expression told me that she should have paid more attention in French class. I was still laughing as he produced the stamp—the tampon—and christened our passports with the tau symbol, place and date.

  For the second leg, to Tramayes, I walked with Zoe. The route might have been the same, but everything else had changed: Zoe beside me, the freedom of the backpack instead of the cart, and the season. August in France was hot. Caps, sunglasses and shorts had replaced the fleeces, beanies and gloves we’d worn in winter.

  And a curious thing: the first time, I’d become adept at spotting the scallop-shell signposting, but barely noticed the tau and dove markings for the Chemin d’Assise. Now I saw them everywhere.

  The others had gone on ahead. Zoe stopped and reached into the top pocket of her pack. ‘I know you don’t believe in these sorts of things, but…’

  She was holding a small wooden tau that she must have bought from our passport woman. It was on a string, and I let her put it around my neck. She’d already threaded hers on the chain with her dove charm, which I’d noticed the previous day, as it had been the only thing she’d been wearing.

  ‘Did Monsieur Chevalier have any words of wisdom for you this time?’ I asked.

  ‘He said the Chemin would set me free…Why are you laughing?’

  ‘He gave me the same message. I have to say, I came along wondering if it might do the opposite.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you were coming. First I knew was when you barged into my bathroom.’

  ‘Our bathroom, according to your friend.’

  ‘Did I complain?’

  ‘Should I take that as another invitation?’

  ‘Nobody around to spring us this time.’

  5

  ZOE

  ‘So, good decision or bad?’ said Martin after a kiss that was sweet but short and told me that he was still figuring it out. That made two of us.

  ‘No-brainer. Camille needed me. This is beautiful. And it’s great having you here.’

  ‘I was thinking about the decision three years ago.’

  Martin stayed quiet, waiting for my answer.

  We walked a while, immersed in a forest bursting with dense green foliage and meadows sprinkled with patches of wildflowers. Tracking along a ridge, the path was easy, and we had views on both sides of valleys and rolling hills. The only sounds were the birds in the trees above us and the clicking of Martin’s walking poles on the ground.

  I didn’t want to play games. The universe had, out of nowhere, given me—us—a second chance, but we didn’t have long before Martin had to return to work.

  ‘The cartooning hasn’t worked out as well as I was hoping,’ I said. ‘I’m financially okay—that’s a whole ’nother story—but…I’m still missing something.’

  ‘How long ago did you realise that?’

  ‘Does it matter? I didn’t do anything about it; no point talking about things that didn’t happen. What about you?’

  ‘As you say, can’t change the past. But I was pretty knocked around. I thought we had something.’

  ‘You think I was too much of a coward to tell you to your face?’

  Silence.

  ‘Martin, when you left me at the airport, I was going to come to live with you in London—sorry, Sheffield—which was what you were really sa
ying to me, right?’

  ‘Pretty much. I wasn’t just looking for a walking buddy.’

  ‘Tessa was staying in my studio.’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘That’s what happens when you show up without calling.’ It had been a bit like being in a camino dorm.

  ‘She talked you out of it?’

  ‘The opposite. She said, “Mom, you’re so intuitive. Go with your heart—it’s incredible that the dove I gave you is the symbol of the walk…” and I started to push back. I wanted to make my own calls instead of trying to decipher messages from the universe…’

  Martin laughed. ‘Hard to argue, except for the outcome. That’s all?’

  ‘No.’ Better to get it all out. ‘You couldn’t come live with me in San Francisco on account of Sarah’s problems. I got that, I get that, but it was different for me. You’d have been first in my life and I’d have been second in yours. I guess that seems selfish to you.’

  ‘Not at all. If your daughters had needed you…’

  ‘But they didn’t.’

  We were doing what I’d told myself I wouldn’t do—re-litigating the decision. I’d spent enough nights doing that by myself, often close to calling him.

  ‘But you got through it, right?’ I said. ‘Have you been dating?’

  ‘Couple of actors, bestselling writer, Danish princess. Nobody special.’

  ‘Wha…?’ He was laughing. I gave it right back to him. ‘But you couldn’t stop thinking about me.’

  ‘That part’s true.’

  There was a real chance I was still in love with him. But I wasn’t going to wreck his life—or mine—till I was sure.

  ‘My daughters put together a profile for me on a dating app. I gave them a photo you took of me just after we arrived in Santiago. Because there was so much positive energy.’

  ‘And you got about a million replies?’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘I should have used a photo without the backpack. Lots of walkers wanting me in their sleeping bags on the Appalachian Trail. I mean, I enjoyed the Camino, but these guys were hardcore dried-eggs-and-raw-noodles and no-change-of-underwear types.’

  ‘That was all?’

  In three years? ‘Hey. I told you. I dated. Nobody special. How are you doing with Julia?’

  ‘We have a common interest in Sarah’s wellbeing. We’ve learned to discuss it without throwing things.’ He smiled. ‘You want to see a picture?’

  He pulled out his phone, opened a webpage, and there she was: a striking older version of Sarah with a don’t mess with me look. I guess that’s why he’d chosen the photo: to let me know what he was up against—or what he could deal with. The caption was Keynote Speaker, Lean-In Conference. If Sarah was as vocal as her mother on feminist issues, it would be interesting to see how she got on with Camille.

  ‘What does she do?’

  ‘Human resources. But she’s living her own life. I’m still single, and I’m here with you again. You remember that last night in San Francisco?’

  ‘Uh-huh. And I haven’t forgotten what we said. But it wasn’t a promise that we’d feel the same way after not seeing each other for three years.’ It had been too painful to stay in contact—easier to cut the tie.

  ‘No. But…’

  ‘We’ve got how many days?’ I said.

  ‘Three weeks. Or I’ll be out of a job.’

  ‘Give me a couple days to get my head straight. You too.’

  We walked on a bit. ‘Did the Camino really change you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m more aware of my environment. I mean, in an immediate sense. Plants, seasons, what’s around me. And I spend more time gazing at my navel: I think that was some Californian woman I met more than the Camino. What about you?’

  ‘I guess I’ve just tried to be more self-sufficient and practical. And I don’t buy stuff—my friends think I’m Marie Kondo.’

  ‘And the most important lesson?’

  ‘Easy. One day at a time. I should listen to myself. We should listen.’

  Martin laughed. ‘I’ll be fascinated to see what Camille takes from it. Are they serious?’

  ‘I haven’t really talked to her but, believe me, she was never the walking type.’

  ‘Maybe doing something so out of character is an indication that she’s serious.’

  ‘At college, she did weights because someone told her it would make her arms more attractive and then someone else told her it would make her less feminine, so she stopped. It’s not that she isn’t passionate—but she’s impulsive.’

  ‘Must have been fun being her roommate.’

  ‘You know, when I think about Camille and college, it’s all about that road trip. Nine days that shook the world. Our world, anyway.’

  ‘So, are they going to take taxis all the way to Rome or give up and go home?’

  ‘I’ll be surprised if they make three days. But there’s something about Gilbert proving himself to her. She’s always been disappointed with men, but it looks like he’s getting a second chance.’

  ‘Him too, eh?’

  It took me a moment to get what he meant. We’d been climbing, but even after four hours, I felt good.

  ‘I’ve missed this,’ I said. And then, because it was true, ‘It was the best time of my life.’

  Martin stopped and looked at me. ‘There was a reason I flew to San Francisco.’

  We joined the asphalt road into Tramayes and waited until Camille and Gilbert caught up. Gilbert was looking beat, but Camille seemed okay. A car heading in the opposite direction slowed, and the driver called out to us: ‘Courage.’

  It gave me a flashback to my first camino: the calls of bon courage or just courage, and later, in Spain, buen camino. I liked the French expression: of course I heard it as the English word courage, but it meant good luck and came from the French word coeur—heart. Camille was going to need all three.

  A few hundred yards on, we reached a signpost where the two routes parted—our dove sending us direct to the village and the scallop shell taking a detour via the church.

  ‘The Camino hits every church it can,’ I explained to Camille and Gilbert.

  ‘Then I will take the scallop detour. To light a candle,’ said Camille.

  Martin and I looked at each other. ‘How many churches do you reckon there are between here and St Peter’s?’ he said.

  6

  MARTIN

  By 7.30 p.m. I’d showered, shaved and changed, checked my email and the news, and familiarised myself with the next day’s walk on the Chemin d’Assise website. Zoe had apparently also kept herself occupied, to the extent that she didn’t feel any need to knock on my door.

  Our conversation had given me some reassurance that she was open to rekindling our relationship. I was a step ahead of her. The moment I’d seen her at Camille’s, I knew I’d made the right decision in coming. There was a reason why I hadn’t signed up for Elite Singles and why three years of therapy and self-talk hadn’t banished her from my mind.

  We were now seated in the courtyard of our small hotel in Tramayes—we being Sarah, Zoe, Bernhard and myself. Camille and Gilbert were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘How long do we wait for them?’ said Sarah. ‘I’m going to eat my arm off.’

  ‘We should order,’ said Bernhard. ‘French service is always slow.’

  ‘Someone should go to their room.’ Sarah looked at Zoe.

  ‘No need to knock,’ said Bernhard. ‘Possibly you will have your revenge.’

  Zoe got up and returned a few minutes later with Camille and Gilbert, both looking as if they had just woken up.

  The owner—who had served me coffee here on my previous walk—appeared and embraced Gilbert.

  ‘We have only one vegetarian?’ said Gilbert, indicating Zoe.

  ‘Meat’s okay,’ said Sarah, ‘but not, like, a whole steak.’

  ‘Two vegetarians,’ said Gilbert. Sarah smiled. Well picked.
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  ‘Should we ask for the carte?’ said Zoe.

  Gilbert waved dismissively. ‘Everything is fixed.’

  Camille explained. ‘Gilbert is a wine merchant. In Cluny.’ That’s where I’d seen him, during the year I’d lived there. He took the introduction as a cue to give us a lecture on the wines we’d be drinking.

  ‘Beaujolais, the best value for money in the world.’ By which, of course, he meant France.

  I put Gilbert at about sixty. His English was more accented than Camille’s, but at least as good as my French. A Cluny wine merchant would spend a lot of time dealing with tourists. He’d sparked up today, but tomorrow, according to the guide (hilly) and the weather forecast (thirty degrees Celsius), would be more testing.

  Dinner was foie gras maison and steak for the meat-eaters, goat-cheese salad and omelettes for the vegetarians. Frites for everyone. There were a few other customers, who appeared to be tradesmen rather than walkers.

  With a complimentary glass of eau de vie in hand (‘Ethanol,’ said Sarah, almost spitting it out), I thought I’d do a little bridge-building with Bernhard.

  ‘Did you find somewhere to pitch your tent?’

  ‘No need. I will sleep with Sarah.’

  It was my turn to almost expel my drink. I shouldn’t have been surprised: Bernhard had travelled from Stuttgart to Santiago on the generosity of women who had offered the young pilgrim a bed and a meal, and, he was happy to imply, sometimes more than that.

  Sarah jumped in. ‘It’s fine. No different from a dorm.’

  ‘You’re paying half?’ I said to Bernhard, but Zoe rested a hand on my thigh and I waved my hand in dismissal. We could sort it out later. Along with other practicalities: Gilbert was at the counter settling the dinner bill.

  Camille joined Gilbert inside, and when Sarah went to the bathroom Bernhard seized the opportunity to show his appreciation, in his own way.

  ‘Thank you for being reasonable. There is no marginal cost for the second person. And you should not worry about Sarah. I don’t find her attractive.’

  He must have seen my expression—or Zoe’s.