Sashay had a different set of scarves for the outside world, but the look was still all hers. She wrapped me in one the colour of the inky clouds that had been passing overhead all day, and we started walking through the Marais. The narrow streets were filled with couples, families, and tourists, sitting in cafes, wandering in and out of the shops, all at a slow Sunday pace. After crossing three small bridges in succession and passing over the tip of Isle St. Louis, we walked past the rows of bouquinistes lining the river. Smiles of recognition were exchanged between Sashay and many of the vendors, but we didn’t pause to browse the books or pass the time of day. As we came to the last set of stalls near the Pont Neuf, I recognized Jerome, deep in conversation with a couple of customers over some dusty book of black-and-white photographs. He caught Sashay’s eye and wrapped up the book for its new owners.
“Madame D’Or. What a pleasant surprise.”
They exchanged a whirlwind series of little air kisses. When it was just the three of us, she leaned in close to Jerome’s bearded face and whispered a few things that I couldn’t hear. He nodded seriously and looked back and forth between her and me. “For you, Sashay, of course. We river rats know all the ins and outs around here, don’t we?” He turned to me. “So, life above ground not exciting enough for you, little one?”
I shrugged and smiled, not sure how much she had told him about my mission. “There is a way that I know, but it’s very difficult to get in.” He looked me over and added, “You might be just small enough to fit through a sewer grate, but it would be quite uncomfortable, you know.”
I didn’t bother saying that I had a pretty good idea of just how uncomfortable it was. I just continued smiling. “I’ll close up early and take you there myself. It’s best that way. Always good to see you, ma reine.”
Another flurry of cheek pecking took place, and Sashay leaned close to me. “I’ll cover for you with Rudee, but please be careful. I could never forgive myself if ... this scarf, by the way, could be helpful if you wish not to be seen.”
She hugged me and swished away as only Sashay can. I watched people watching her as she passed. Jerome finished bolting down his book stall and said, “Allons-y, let’s go, ma petite. It’s a bit of a walk.”
We took the steps down from the Quai so that we were walking right alongside the river. As they waved and shouted greetings, it occurred to me that Jerome knew a whole other type of Parisian than I had met so far. He spoke to sun-cracked men and women on boats, coiling ropes or washing down decks, crusty toothless card players at wobbly tables with a label-less bottle in the middle being passed around as play went on, and assorted other “river rats,” as he called them. He was the perfect tour guide, mixing in bits of history of the Seine with colourful stories of life by the river. He also told me about the supposed underground Paris.
“I’ve never seen it myself, but I’m certain that it exists. These people you call the Shadows are no doubt the ones who were born in the tunnels under Paris and have lived their whole lives there. It’s said their eyes are so sensitive that they can never be exposed to natural light without being temporarily blinded, and that their skin is unnaturally young for their whole lives. But I don’t know any of these things for certain.”
It sounded like a pretty good description of the characters I’d encountered at the club. We stopped under one of the bridges. I wasn’t sure which one, because we’d been walking and talking for a while. Jerome gestured toward a grate in the wall. No problem, I thought. Compared to my last sewer experience, this was like the doors of a department store.
“I don’t know why you’d want to be looking underground when you’ve got all of Paris to explore, but that’s up to you,” he said.
He put his hand on my shoulder and added seriously, “Watch yourself, now. I don’t think these Shadow types are your kind of people. And if you get in trouble, look for one of the river rats. They’ll always help someone out if they can. I guess you won’t be needing this tonight. Would you like me to take care of it for you?”
He smiled and indicated the duck’s head umbrella. I laughed and handed it to him. “Thanks, Jerome. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
As he made his way back along the riverside, I waved and hoped it was true.