Page 128 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

He says, “Let’s go, Pari. We’re already late.”

He has made reservations for seven o’clock at a new restaurant in the 16th
arrondissement that has been making some noise for its poulet braisé, its sole
cardinale, and its calf’s liver with sherry vinegar. They are meeting Christian
and Aurelie, old university friends of Julien’s—from his student days, not his
teaching. They are supposed to meet for aperitifs at six-thirty and it is already
sixfifteen. They still have to walk to the Métro station, ride to Muette, then walk
the six blocks to the restaurant.
The phone keeps on ringing.
The goat woman coughs.

Julien says, more firmly now, “Pari?”
“It’s probably Maman,” Pari says.
“Yes, I am aware of that.”

Irrationally, Pari thinks Maman—with her endless flair for drama—has
chosen this specific moment to call to trap her into making precisely this choice:
step into the elevator with Julien or take her call.
“It could be important,” she says.
Julien sighs.
As the elevator doors close behind him, he leans against the hallway wall. He
digs his hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat, looking for a moment like

a character from a Melville policier.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Pari says.
Julien casts a skeptical glance.
Julien’s apartment is small. Six quick steps and she has crossed the foyer,
passed the kitchen, and is seated on the edge of the bed, reaching for the phone

on the lone nightstand for which they have room. The view, however, is
spectacular. It is raining now, but on a clear day she can look out the east-facing
window and see most of the 19th and 20th arrondissements.
“Oui, allo?” she says into the receiver.
A man’s voice answers. “Bonsoir. Is this Mademoiselle Pari Wahdati?”
“Who is calling?”

“Are you the daughter of Madame Nila Wahdati?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dr. Delaunay. I am calling about your mother.”
Pari shuts her eyes. There is a brief flash of guilt before it is overtaken by a
customary dread. She has taken calls of this sort before, too many to count now,

from the time that she was an adolescent, really, and even before that—once, in