A French Kiss in London

by De Ross, Melinda

  She rubbed her gritty eyes, then looked around, disoriented. They weren’t on the road now, but on a sort of country path. From both right and left they were surrounded by trees, as far as the eye could see. They appeared to be in the densest forest on Earth, because not even the evening sunlight was filtered clearly through the thick branches. It was almost dark.

  “Stop the car. How the hell did we get here?”

  “I followed the directions of that shit,” he replied annoyed, indicating the GPS. “But now it stopped. It doesn’t have a signal, nor does my phone either. Check yours,” he told her, as he parked on the side of the road.

  “Dead,” she confirmed after getting her own phone out of her jeans’ pocket. “Let’s see what this map tells us.”

  They both bent over the piece of paper and analyzed it from all angles.

  “If you say we drove almost four hundred kilometers and obviously we’re in a pretty big forest, I don’t think we can be anywhere else but here.” Linda put her index finger over a green patch, somewhere west of Cluj-Napoca. “Look, here the road splits in two. To reach Cluj-Napoca we had to turn right. We probably went straight ahead. If I’m right, this is the Hoia-Baciu Forest. That’s what the map says.”

  “Could be.” He rubbed his chin meditatively. “We could go back. Or we could drive on, which isn’t a smart thing to do, because this road might as well stop to a dead-end, somewhere deep into the forest.”

  She looked around curiously. In spite of the situation, she couldn’t help admiring the majestic trees looming over them.

  “Speaking of the forest,” she said, opening her door, “it is gorgeous here. It’s the most unusual place I’ve ever seen. Since we’re here, let’s take a quick look around.”

  “I don’t know if that’s prudent,” he replied reluctantly, but got out of the car. “I’ve no idea what kind of beasts are lurking around here. I’m really not in the mood for the company of a bear or wolf, or even something worse.”

  She laughed, then took his hand and dragged him into the shadows.

  “It’s broad daylight!” she pointed out, feeling just a tad reckless. “The sun is up in the sky, even though you can’t quite tell it from here. Besides, a car could drive by and we could ask for directions.”

  She stopped, crossed by a thought.

  “You know what? Park the car across the road, so no one can pass. That way, we make sure that any potential driver-by would have to stop.”

  His lips, twisted into a reflective grimace, stretched into a smile.

  “There’s a good idea,” he said, patting her butt.

  He turned around and did as she’d suggested, parking the car perpendicularly with the road. It blocked the track completely and efficiently. He locked the doors, then returned to Linda. Hand in hand, they made their way into the forest, on a small incursion of exploration.

  The place was indeed strange and didn’t resemble anything they’d seen before. In some areas, the trees were perfectly aligned, straighter than the soldiers of an army. As they moved deeper into the forest, the light began to fade even more, revealing tree trunks contorted in bizarre shapes, bent or twisted like some huge serpents. Among all these odd formations were filtered fascicles of light. A sort of fine mist gave the scenery a surreal appearance, enchanting and mysterious.

  However, the two intruders’ enthusiasm rapidly transformed into an inexplicable cautiousness. The fantastic beauty of that place had a hostile, unwelcoming element. They both felt they were profaning a sacred ground, where no human foot had stepped until then.

  Indeed, no trace—fresh or otherwise—seemed to have disturbed the ground, which had probably sat there untouched for centuries. The ambiguous uneasiness and the darkness, which apparently fell over them with every step they took, sent glacial shivers through their bones.

  “I think we should go back,” Gerard whispered.

  His tone chilled Linda. She didn’t know what or whom he didn’t want to disturb by talking in that hushed tone. Barely now she realized that the trees and all the vegetation surrounding them were, in fact, forms of life. They seemed much too alive in the weak rays of foggy light, sleeping their centenary sleep. That made her wonder if at night they came awake. What if they only appeared to be asleep, but they were, in fact, in a standby, alert state? She had the same weird, outlandish feeling when she was in a cemetery.

  “You’re right,” she finally consented in the same husky whisper. “But let’s take some pictures first. This forest is so strange and beautiful…Not that I could ever forget it, but I want us to have some photos. I’d like to carve something inspired by these phantasmagorical shapes.”

  She took out the camera from her handbag and started photographing from several angles, moving like a true professional.

  She’d taken at least ten pictures, when he exclaimed, “Look, I can see a light!”

  “Where?” she asked startled. “I can’t see anything.”

  He pulled her a little to the left, because a tree trunk blocked her visibility. Quite right. Straying into the dark denseness facing them, at a considerable distance glowed a faint light.

  “Let’s go over there,” she prompted, stuffing the camera back into her bag. “Maybe it’s a house and someone could give us directions on how to reach Cluj.”

  Gerard was gazing in the same direction, but he didn’t seem too pleased with her suggestion.

  “I don’t know, Linda…A house in the middle of a forest like this one is not a usual thing. Maybe it’s something else entirely.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a serial killer, for example,” he snapped, irritated. “I don’t suppose that crossed your mind, has it?”

  “It has,” she replied in the same tone. “I’m not a moron, you know. But no one knows we’re here. We can approach it quietly and if something seems suspicious, we don’t give ourselves away.”

  He still wasn’t convinced. An inexplicable caution seemed to burden his every step. But since she was already heading in that direction, he followed her closely.

  They made their way with difficulty among the deformed trees, while the already low light was rapidly fading even more.

  As they got closer, they discovered the glow Gerard had spotted came from a small cabin, situated in a sort of clearing. Here, the tree trunks were shaped even more strangely, bent and twisted, like some undefined bodies frozen in the middle of a pagan dance. Or contorted in the throes of a terrible agony.

  The access to the clearing was delineated by something none of them had ever encountered—a tree trunk grown horizontally, parallel with the ground and over thirty feet long. It seemed a levitating snake. Its surface was free of any leaf, branch, or any other form of life.

  The intruders stepped around this bizarre discovery, amazed by the shapes nature or unknown deities could create.

  The cabin in the clearing was built solely from almost unpolished wood. It had a dated, rustic appearance, as if from another era. Linda knew there were places in this country still far from the civilization known to her. She imagined they’d just encountered one.

  They cautiously approached the two rudimentary windows and peeked inside. There seemed to be a single room, simply furnished with a bed in one corner, a table, two chairs and some other basic things. On the wooden floor lay a kind of woven rug. Colorful woven canvases in wooden frames decorated the rough walls.

  Along the opposite side were scattered a few shelves and an object the sight of which left the couple with their mouths agape. It looked like an oven, definitely something used for cooking, but it seemed made out of raw dirt. On top of it steamed a clay pot.

  Fascinated by this oddity, Linda and Gerard forgot to be surprised by the woman who was fussing around said object. She opened the tiny door of that rudimentary oven, revealing something that burned inside. The woman stirred the embers using a poker, then stirred the pot’s contents with a wooden spoon.

  She appeared to be middle-aged. She was short and t
hin, her hair hidden under a brown kerchief. She wore a white, long shirt, embroidered on the sleeves and chest, tied at her waist with a colorful belt. From there, in both front and back, two narrow pieces of multi-colored fabric hung almost to her ankles.

  “Who lives like this in the twenty-first century?” Linda demanded in a whisper, watching fascinated at the preparations taking place inside the cabin.

  “Some people live even more primitively than this,” he replied. “Compared to those cannibal tribes in Africa, here is the center of civilization. But I doubt there’s a tiny possibility of her speaking English. She seems to be a simple peasant. I wonder why she lives here in the forest, isolated. And where is the man of the house? A woman can’t live here by herself.”

  Linda looked around uneasily. The twilight glow was barely visible now through the trees.

  “Let’s knock. Maybe we can make ourselves understood, somehow.”

  They went around the cabin until they faced the massive wooden front door. Gerard knocked softly. After a few moments, the door opened a crack with a soft groan. The woman looked at them curiously, but without any trace of fear or caution, which they found extremely strange. She analyzed them in awe from head to toe, as though she was studying some unseen creatures.

  “Good evening,” Linda began in English. “Could you help us?”

  The woman raised her eyebrows and shrugged, dividing a gaze between them. She said something in a foreign language—probably Romanian, but neither Linda, nor Gerard understood a word.

  Linda looked at her lover, helpless.

  “Parlez-vous Français?” he asked, without much conviction in his voice, but his face immediately lighted and so did the woman’s, as she answered in the same language, nodding satisfied, “Oui, oui, Français! Mon mari étudiè à Paris!”

  Gerard flashed her a relieved smile. He translated for Linda, who was waiting impatiently.

  “She speaks French. She said her husband studied in Paris.”

  He explained their dilemma to the woman in as few words as was possible. She warmly urged them to come in.

  “Now we don’t know how to get to Cluj-Napoca,” Gerard concluded, as Linda and he stepped inside the small cabin. “Do you know where it is and how we can get there?”

  “Yes, of course. It is not far,” the woman replied.

  “Could you draw us a map?” he pleaded, gesticulating at the same time to make himself understood.

  The woman gazed at him surprised, as if she hadn’t understood the request.

  He turned to Linda and asked, “Do you have a pencil and paper? I want to ask her to draw us the route.”

  She rummaged through her bag, from where she got out a pen and a notepad.

  He took them and handed them to the woman. She looked at the objects with great curiosity, turning them on all sides. When Gerard showed her how the pen worked, it became obvious that she could write, but had never used a pen before. She pressed its tip a bit hard on the paper, but quickly got the knack of it.

  While she traced some lines and highlights, she began explaining to Gerard each one’s significance. Because the road—she said—was sinuous, they had to be very careful not to get lost again.

  Up until that point, Gerard had translated everything for Linda, but now he had stopped, listening carefully to the woman’s indications, asking questions now and again. Not comprehending a single word from their discussion, Linda walked around the room, discreetly studying each object. She would have liked very much to take some pictures, but considering the reaction the pen had caused, probably the woman would have thought the camera was a Devil’s tool.

  Her attention was caught by a small glow, which came from the dark corners of one of the shelves loaded with knick-knacks. She bent to peer at the source of that faint light. Involuntarily reaching out to the shelf, she grasped the object in question.

  It was perhaps a sort of rock. It slightly resembled a mineral rock she’d once seen in a museum. The object fit perfectly in her hand. It was white, with an ivory-like polish, and had an extremely irregular shape. It had a lot of edges, some elongated, some rounded, all of them reflecting light in a strangely spectacular way. Here and there, it had a lacy-looking hollow. The most bizarre thing was that, at a close look, in some places she could distinguish something that looked like fragments of metal. They created a contrast on the otherwise unblemished ivory surface. Could it be a rock from metal or salt mountains? Cupping it between her palms, she noticed the object had a strong phosphorescent glow.

  Fascinated by this discovery, she jumped when the woman touched her arm and asked her something in French.

  Linda looked helpless at Gerard, who smiled reassuringly.

  “She asked if you liked it.”

  “Oui, oui,” she replied, smiling at the older woman, who returned the gesture, displaying unusually white teeth. She said something else and Gerard translated.

  “She says she’ll give it to you, as a present, so you can have a souvenir from the Hoia-Baciu Forest. That’s what this place is called.”

  Linda’s first impulse was to decline. It felt that she was taking away the only treasure in this shabby but so welcoming little place. Seeing the woman’s kind expression, she squeezed her hand. She lifted the other hand, into which she held the rock, and said with all the gratitude she felt, “Merci beaucoup, Madame!”

  “De rien,” the woman replied, then turned to Gerard and gave him back the notepad on which she had drawn the route. With obvious reluctance, she also handed him the pen. Linda took it from his hand and gave it to the woman, smiling. What she told her didn’t need translation.

  “A present for you, Madame…”

  “Maria,” the woman said. “Je m’appelle Maria.”

  “Madame Maria,” Gerard addressed her in French, “Thank you so much for your help, but we must leave. It’s nearly full dark.”

  “Oui, bien sûr. Aller avec Dieu!” she blessed them.

  They left her standing in the doorway, watching them with a strange nostalgia, while they were lost beyond the trees.

  Linda was still holding the phosphorescent rock. Both she and Gerard were marveling at the strange light coming from it, walking in the inky darkness. Afraid not to lose it, she put it in an inside pocket of her handbag and zipped it shut. Then she grabbed Gerard’s arm.

  Above them, at a dizzying height, an almost full moon made its shy appearance through the irregularly spread treetops.

  “Do you know what the oddest thing in this whole business is?” he ruminated thoughtfully. “She asked me where we left our carriage.”

  “Our carriage?” she repeated, stunned.

  “Yeah. She told me to beware of wolves and boars.”

  “Jesus!” she whispered, nestling closer to him, looking around fearfully as though seeing a threat in every silhouette, branch or tree-hollow.

  He understood her wariness. If, before, the contorted trees seemed bizarre in a fascinating way, now he perceived them as being grotesque and scary. The most striking thing was the dead stillness, the silence, which was not at all natural in a forest. At the very least, the insects should have made some noise, but not even a single mosquito made its presence felt.

  A flutter of wings suddenly broke the silence, very close to their heads. He sensed that Linda was ready to scream—that tensed she was, clinging hard to him.

  “It’s just a bat, baby,” he whispered, hugging her even tighter. “We’re almost there. Look, you can see our carriage,” he joked, in an attempt to relax the atmosphere.

  The car was in the middle of the road, right as they’d left it—a sign that no man or car had passed on this deserted path.

  After they got inside, Gerard started the engine and turned the car around. Driving with the Jeep’s strong headlights on, they both began feeling safer. He turned on the radio and the pop music blaring from the speakers helped restore their state of comfort.

  He drove carefully, following closely the directions scribbled
on the notepad. Shortly, they were on a highway flanked by houses. On the horizon, they could see mountains contoured against the dark-blue sky. Or maybe they were just some high hills. On their surface glowed tiny lights here and there, indicating the presence of a few isolated huts.

  Night had fallen by now and the road was illuminated by streetlights. Traffic was quite heavy, convincing them they were truly back into the civilized world.

  Even the GPS gave signs of life, because suddenly it started to function again, thus easing the deciphering of their route.

  The buildings of Cluj-Napoca were beautiful. Most of them were old, with a personality of their own. The town’s history seemed imprinted on every brick.

  They drove by houses, churches, blocks and shops, until they finally reached their final destination: CLINICA BATTISTE.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The two-story building was simple, white, with a small yard delineated by a thin fence. Lights glowed through most of the windows.

  Jean-Paul had told Gerard he lived in a tiny house, right next to the clinic. The two got out of the car. Stretching, they studied the surroundings.

  “Let’s go inside,” Gerard urged, taking Linda’s arm.

  They climbed the few steps leading to a massive wooden door, which opened easily when Gerard pushed it.

  Inside, a well-illuminated corridor ended in a spiral stairway. On each side of the corridor were a few doors. On the second door along the right wall, a small sign announced in black letters: Dr. Jean-Paul Battiste. From inside came the sound of masculine voices talking something in Romanian.

  Gerard knocked before opening the door. He stepped back to let Linda enter first. Two men sat on each side of a desk, in the room stuffy with rings of cigarette-smoke.

  Although he hadn’t seen him in many years, Gerard recognized Jean-Paul immediately. He was tall and extremely thin, dressed in the white robe of their profession. As he rose to greet them in their native tongue, which he missed so much, Gerard noticed that Jean’s hair was now completely gray.