L’étranger

The Stranger

In the middle of the empty courtyard in La Defense I probably looked like a lost monkey estranged from its tribe. Or a frightened dolphin being circled by sharks. Ripe for the predator.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. Half past 10pm. My phone was on 10%. I had no data in the foreign country I’d occupied for the past 12 hours.

I heard someone yell from behind. The American in me assumed it was for me.

“Are you lost?” I saw a lovely put-together woman walking towards me. Her coat was the kind of rouge that young girls choose for their first manicure. We said our greetings. “Where are you going?”

“I am going to the Student Hotel,” I said.

“The same direction I am going. You are going to Rue Roque de Fillol.”

“Yes,” I said, eager. Flushed with relief to hear something familiar amid desperation.

“Never trust a stranger,” disapproved the woman.

My face blushed. My perception shattered. She had actually given me good advice.