Listening for Jupiter

by Pierre-Luc Landry

  “Tomorrow, as in, in a few hours?”

  Gia smiled.

  “Say, tomorrow evening?”

  “I’ve got a conference in the afternoon. I’ll skip the cocktail and come see you.”

  “Thank you, Xavier. See you soon.”

  I said goodbye and left the room. I looked at my phone: 5:36 a.m. I walked to San Mamés metro station, which didn’t open until six. I read a newspaper that someone had left behind while I waited, then I took the first train. I got off at Casco Viejo station, because I knew how to get back to the hotel from there. I retraced my steps from the day before. It was barely snowing; maybe the storm was finally over. I walked for about twenty minutes, then turned right onto avenida Sabino Arana. To my left I saw San Mamés station, which turned out to be right beside the hotel. I sighed and turned right onto Rodriguez Arias Kalea. I pushed open the lobby door and went up to my room, dragging my feet. It was almost 7 a.m.

  In the stairwell, I realized I hadn’t introduced myself to Gia. How did she know my name? I slid the key card across the magnetic strip in the lock at least twenty times without any luck. She’d called me by my first name… The door swung open and Antony was standing in the frame in his underwear, his hair a mess of tangles.

  “Xavier? What are you doing?”

  “Oh sorry, wrong room.” I walked to the next door. My key worked on the first try. I nodded at Antony before closing the door behind me. There was a knock right away.

  “You just got in?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to sleep. I’m tired.”

  I wanted to close the door, but Antony came into the room. He didn’t appear to be in a good mood.

  “No shit you’re tired! It’s seven fuckin’ o’clock. We’ve got a pitch in six hours, man.”

  “I know, which is why I’m going to bed.”

  He stretched, then looked me right in the eyes.

  “You won’t pull the same shit as in London, will you? I know I can do the job by myself, but I don’t have a partner for nothing. Xavier, shit, what’s going on?”

  “Relax, Antony. I’ll sleep a little, take a cold shower, and the pitch will be fine. It’s my product, I know it by heart.”

  “You know, Pullman called about London and I didn’t tell on you… Don’t make me change my mind and call him back.”

  “Go back to bed, Antony.”

  I pushed him out into the hallway and closed the door.

  I hadn’t fallen asleep without pills or alcohol for a long time. It was strange when I woke up: I felt great, even though I’d only slept two or three hours. I dressed quickly and went downstairs to eat in a little café. A blazing sun shone in a cloudless sky. The snow was melting slowly and barely dressed children were throwing snowballs and shouting. The storm was over. I would be able to go back to Toronto. I sent Antony a message asking him to meet me in my room an hour before the pitch. Then I sat down with an orange pekoe and a pan tostado con tomate y queso and pretended to read the newspaper; I hardly understood a word and didn’t much want to know what was going on in the world.

  “Did you knot your tie yourself or did you ask your daddy?”

  “Fuck, man, what’s your problem? This is the way I always tie it!”

  “Yo, Xavier, calme-toi!”

  Antony tossed his leather briefcase onto the bed, laughing.

  “Come here, I’ll fix it for you.”

  He undid my tie, turned up my collar and slid the jacket down my shoulders. I felt like he was going to undress me, as if we were rehearsing a love scene for a B movie.

  “Have you ever kissed a guy?” I asked him.

  He stopped tying and took a step back.

  “Quoi?”

  I looked at him without saying a word. He stared at me, then went back to the tie. He tied it tight and I pretended to choke. Antony turned down my collar, pulled up my jacket and brushed his hands across my shoulders as though to be sure no dust would disgrace the immaculate black. He gave the lapels a quick tug as a finishing touch and took another step back.

  “There, that’s better.”

  He picked up his briefcase.

  “If that’s what’s bothering you, Xavier, it’s not the end of the world. My sister knows a lot of people, I could ask her to set you up with a good-looking rich dude.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not gay. I just don’t know what to do with my life and I thought maybe…”

  “You thought that kissing a guy would change something? And you want to kiss me?”

  “Not you, necessarily. Oh, forget it.”

  “Yeah! Bonne idée…”

  We left the room. The conference was less than five hundred metres from the hotel, in the Palacio de Congresos Euskalduna. We walked over. The melting snow slowed us down, since we had to avoid the puddles and mud. We got to the Palacio in less than ten minutes. Our meeting with the leading experts from the Colegio Oficial de Médicos de Bizkaia was in room D3.

  This time, I pulled off the sale. With Antony’s help, of course.

  Xavier

  Journal entry XXX

  Dreaming is our way of fleeing—reality, and everything else. We flee because we aren’t comfortable anywhere and we want to see if things might be better someplace else. And because we need to believe in something. Something beautiful. Even if we know nothing is real.

  If only life could be a burst of fireworks or a meteor shower, like in my dreams. Is it because the storm is over that I suddenly feel lighter, less empty? Or is it because of Gia?

  When I finally close my eyes, the dream picks up where it left off. As if whole days were nothing but short breaks. Even if we don’t always meet up in the same place. There is a seemingly indistinguishable boundary that can nevertheless be perceived by the mind: sleep. Beyond this, though, I cannot comment on what possibly or probably happens while we’re awake or asleep. How can we understand what we never witness? I have only memories of my dreams, memories unrelated to any “real” event, but which are just as true as the fact that I exist.

  Hollywood

  “Hollywood! I just got a letter and some cash from my parents. You are coming shopping!”

  She shut the door as fast as she’d opened it. I got up and put on my socks and shoes. Saké was waiting in the lobby.

  “Did they tell you where they are?”

  “Who?”

  “Your parents.”

  “Oh, them… Nope. Take a look for yourself.”

  She handed me the letter.

  Saké. We hope you are well. We are thinking of you. Here’s a little money for you. Please say hello to everyone for us.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “What?”

  “That they’re not telling you more, as if they’d just gone off on vacation?”

  “You think they went off on vacation?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  Saké took my head in both hands.

  “Yo, Hollywood, listen to me: I don’t know where my folks are and it really doesn’t bother me. I’m not in denial, I know it’s sad and all, but I’m not upset. I’m totally OK with the fact that I may never see them again. So stop it already: don’t worry for me or try to push feelings onto me. This is my reaction: we’re going shopping!”

  She dragged me into the first store we came across. Luckily, it was a second-hand store, and a decent one at that. We could’ve landed just as easily in a medical supplies outlet or a health food store.

  “Get whatever you like. I’m paying,” she said, tossing me a bunch of clothes to try on: a denim jacket, a pair of corduroy pants, a flower print shirt, a long skirt and a few wigs.

  “I’m not a doll, Saké.”

  “Oh come on, we’re just
having fun. Plus I think you should dress a little more… fierce.”

  “Like wearing-a-skirt fierce? No thank you!”

  “OK, I’ll drop the skirt. But try on the rest.”

  I did what I was told. I locked myself into a fitting room and started catwalking for Saké, who giggled when she saw me in the denim jacket. She insisted on buying me the flower print shirt. She bought herself a couple of wigs, a few pairs of jeans and leggings, a bunch of shoes and close to a dozen handbags. The salesgirl smiled when we got to the cash register. She was having a good day: Saké had just bought three hundred dollars’ worth of used clothes.

  Outside the store, I asked her how much her parents had sent.

  “A thousand bucks. Why?”

  I shrugged, and we walked on, passing a used book and record store. I stared a little too long at the display window.

  “You want to go in?”

  “No, I’m OK.”

  She dragged me by the sleeve.

  “We’re going in!”

  We emerged an hour later with a dozen LPs, two books on bird watching and a huge laminated Flashdance poster of Jennifer Beals’ shower scene. “My favourite movie!” squealed Saké. I wasn’t surprised.

  We were loaded up like mules, but Saké insisted on going to the bakery opposite the store. She ordered ten plain and ten chocolate croissants; two loaves of bread, one with sunflower seeds, the other with olives; a cheesecake; and a lemon pie. We walked home. My arms were aching from carrying so much stuff and my ribcage felt a little sore. I lay down on the couch, while Saké sat on the floor and tried on her wigs. I told her then about the surgery, and about the cramps.

  “Are you having one now?”

  “Yes. Not quite as bad as usual, though.”

  I paused.

  “I’ve never told anyone before. About the cramps.”

  “Why? You don’t want your parents to know?”

  “I’d rather they didn’t. They’d get worried and make me go see more specialists. I’ve had enough. I never asked for anything, and I know they mean well, but playing the lab rat pisses me off… And for what? I don’t feel any better than before. I never even felt that bad, really… they were the ones who worried. I suppose they were right. I am a little rough around the edges, but I’m OK with the way I am. I don’t want to change just to make them happy.”

  “I’m sorry. For earlier. I didn’t know.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For having you try on all those clothes.”

  “Oh that… Don’t worry: it’s all good.”

  We snacked on the croissants and watched TV while waiting for my parents. The Jupiter documentary was on again. It fascinated me to think that you could pick up signals from Jupiter with nothing more than a shortwave radio and a dipole antenna. They sounded like waves breaking on a beach. I promised myself I’d try it soon. When the documentary was over, I turned off the TV.

  “How much do you have left?”

  Saké went through her pockets and threw a wad of cash over the floor. I helped her count.

  “Two hundred and sixty five. Not too shabby.”

  “And what are your plans now?”

  “I’m trying to save up to move to San Francisco for a while.”

  She sprang up, as if she’d just had a eureka moment.

  “You should come with me!”

  “What would we do in San Francisco?”

  “I don’t know. I asked a couple of people at work if they could recommend me to a hair studio over there. They have connections. Nothing’s settled, but even if the studio thing falls through, I’m going all the same. I’ll sift through the classifieds. Join a band and play the tambourine. And you could become a journalist and write about the underground music scene or whatever. We’ll spend whole afternoons doing fuck all. Raid second-hand stores in Haight-Ashbury. I’ll paint massive frescoes and we’ll be rich. You’ll be my agent and negotiate with galleries for me. We’ll eat late at night and sleep all day. Rob banks and go to the movies in the morning. We’ll buy a car and dump it in the ocean. Climb hills and throw confetti to the wind. I’ll learn Spanish, you’ll learn Russian, and we’ll sing folk songs in the cable cars. We’ll feed the seagulls on Alcatraz and swim across the bay. I’ll enroll at Berkeley and get kicked out because I can’t pay my tuition. And you’ll become a ballet dancer.”

  “OK,” I said. “OK, we’ll go. How much money did you save?”

  My sudden enthusiasm caught her off guard.

  “Er… I’m not sure. Not enough yet, a thousand, maybe two?”

  “Perfect. That’ll give me time to put some aside as well. And what about school?”

  “I’m almost done. I graduate at the end of the semester. You?”

  “I’ve a ways to go, but that doesn’t matter. Let’s wait a few months, OK?”

  “Sure, a couple more months.”

  We got up at the same time and shook hands to make it official.

  After my shift, I went to the park, where Chokichi was waiting for me.

  “Hey! How’s it going?”

  “Meh. My folks kicked me out of the house.”

  Chokichi told me everything: his parents had found out their son was selling cocaine and other drugs. They’d thrown him out, yelling that he was a disgrace to the family and they didn’t want to hear from him until he’d gotten his act together.

  “So I was wondering… Could I crash at yours for a while?”

  “I’d be glad to take you in. Not too sure about my parents, though. Saké just moved in. I’ll have to ask them first.”

  He handed me a cigarette. We smoked in silence. The old swings creaked in the wind. The street was empty, the park was deserted, night had fallen and the sky was starless, as usual. I wondered if the sky was just as bare in San Francisco, if you could actually see Jupiter, and not just hear its waves on the radio.

  I broke the news to Chokichi straight off: “I’m moving to San Francisco with Saké.”

  “What?”

  “Not now, in a few months. I don’t know for how long. Until then, I’ll be working a few more shifts at the graveyard to save enough cash to pay the rent when we’re over there, while we look for a job, or something else to do.”

  “Wait, not so fast. Rewind.”

  “Rewind what?”

  “You, moving to San Fran… Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know. Saké mentioned it today, and er… I just want to try and do something with my life, you know? Something a bit wild. Don’t you ever wish you could get lost, just to be able to find yourself again? I don’t want a different life, just a little break, a new reason to wake up in the morning.”

  “You’re never up before noon, Holly.”

  “Very funny.”

  “OK, sure, I get it.”

  “Well, I’m dying to go with her now, so it’d be stupid not to jump at the chance.”

  We talked it over a while longer, until I felt like going home to lie on the balcony and listen to music, and clear my mind. But Chokichi pointed to his bag, which reminded me he had nowhere to go. I borrowed his phone.

  Saké answered.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Holly, hi!”

  “Are my parents in bed yet?”

  “No, they’re baking muffins.”

  “Really?”

  “What do you think? It’s one o’clock in the morning, Holly. Of course they’re in bed. Why?”

  “Chokichi got kicked out of his parents’ house. I wanted to ask them if he could stay with us until he finds something better.”

  “OK, he can take the couch.”

  “Still, I’ll have to ask Mom and Dad tomorrow…”

  “Hey, wait a second!”

  “What?”

 
“Rajani and Arnaud—there’s a guest room at their place. Call you back in ten.”

  She hung up without asking where I was calling from. Since there wasn’t much chance of her knowing Chokichi’s number, we walked over to the apartment. Saké waved at us from the balcony.

  “Wait up! I’m on my way!”

  She came to meet us on the sidewalk a good ten minutes later.

  “What the hell were you doing up there?”

  “I forgot to turn off the TV and got distracted by this movie. Seemed too good to miss.”

  “So did you talk to Rajani?”

  “Yeah, and they’re cool with it. We can go there right now. They had friends over, but they just left.”

  We walked to Rajani’s. Arnaud opened the door holding a tray full of olives and crackers.

  “Come on in and eat! There’s an insane amount of food left!”

  He shooed the three of us into the kitchen. Rajani was almost done washing the dishes. The table was covered with food: appetizers (tapenade, yet more olives, stuffed artichoke hearts, trays of mussels with mayo, salted preserves, rabbit terrine), mutton cassoulet, sea bream in tomato sauce, crab bisque, anchovy pie and of course a choice of desserts: rice pudding, strawberry meringue pie and almond tuiles with apricot sauce. There were plenty of bottles of wine, most of them empty, some barely touched. While Arnaud was describing the menu du jour, Rajani gave a round of hugs and we all sat down at the table.

  “How many people did you have over?” I asked.

  “There were four of us. Two friends, Rajani and me.”

  Rajani quickly explained the evening’s theme: Provence, where Arnaud was from. He’d gotten carried away and cooked for two days straight; now they had leftovers for a week. Saké grabbed a slice of strawberry pie and I served myself a generous portion of sea bream. Chokichi was coaxed into eating something, and he finally opted for a bowl of soup and a few mussels. Arnaud munched on olives as he watched us eat.

  “I didn’t even know you were French,” said Saké between bites. “You have no accent.”

  “I’ve been here a long time. I was five when my family left Toulon. My grandmother still lives there. I go and visit her every other year, more or less. She taught me how to cook.”