By Muskan Srivastava (12G) & Mehar Kohli (12K)
2019
Rouen, France
My hair was all over the place by the time my shift was over. Realizing that the reruns of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ were starting in 30 minutes, I started dumping things in my bag, frustrated at the extra time this was taking. Phone-check. Wallet-check. Scarf-check. My chef ID for Renarde-Le Diner Gastronomique-check. Was I missing something? My thoughts and clothes were far too muddled to take in either the chiming bells of the Rouen Cathedral, their calm sonority easily surpassing the sounds of screaming children and quarrelling bakers alike, or how the city of Rouen astonishingly managed to look more beautiful each sunset. Sure, the scenic part of France enthralled me at first, when I first came from India as a culinary student. It still does, in fact. But now that I have lived here for almost a year, these aesthetic pleasures mingle with my distaste for the supposed elite customers at Renarde. How they would be sent into a frenzy of panic at a crease in their skirt or a hair out of place. How they wouldn’t accept a drop more or a drop less of their preferred variety of Sauternes. How they would expect everyone to know and speak French, and the slightly odious look they would give if you didn’t. How they would call the restaurant manager if their steak had an ounce of visible fat, or their charred onions weren’t as charred as they liked. They were true French people in that sense - they accepted perfection or nothing. The idea of adjusting was unfathomable to them.
A deep voice stopped me as I stumbled towards the kitchen exit. “Tu as oublié ta veste.” I turned around.
“He means you forgot your jacket,” Emily, my American roommate, said. That’s what I was forgetting.
“Thanks, Pierre. Uh, merci beaucoup?” Everyone who heard this turned around and smiled.
“You’re get-eeng eet!” said Diane, in her staunch Northern French accent. She then leaned forward from the pastry sheets corner to hug me twice on each side, another silly thing that the French do. I was going to meet her tomorrow.
“OK, uh, au revoir, everybody!” I quickly waved and without waiting for a response, ran out of the door, barely noticing three men entering the restaurant, each holding a gun in their hand.
While grabbing my jacket in a hurry I didn’t realize I dropped my keys on the way. So, I hurried back through the back door. I was confused at first when I saw no one in the kitchen, I heard screams and thought that maybe they were celebrating Out of my curiosity, I peeked into the restaurant, and I saw my friends all tied up and customers lying on the floor out of fear. I was terrified, and I ran back to the back door, thinking I could escape and summon the police, but it was too late, they had already noticed me, and I just ran and ran. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I swung my bag and it knocked down the person, at least that is what I thought till I turned and looked, I saw someone. I couldn’t recognize the person.
It was Pierre. “Pie-” “Shh!” he hissed, covering my mouth. “Don’t say anyth-eeng. J’essaye de nous sortir…” he stopped himself, aware of my limited knowledge of French. “I am trying to get them out of there. The assailants are just around ze corner. Now, keep calm, and shush!” He then proceeded to take out a revolver and move towards Renarde, beckoning me to follow. Before I could ask where he had gotten the gun from, I heard a loud gunshot out of nowhere which made both Pierre and I jump two feet into the air.
“Derrière le mur,” he whispered, pointing at the wall. I followed him behind, and I was frozen with fright. Pierre was breathing heavily and kept checking if they’re coming. He then looked at me and saw my pale face and said, "Ne t'inquiète pas, I’ll take u back safely.” And then we begin to run. I could barely keep up and was being dragged by Pierre. We went into small streets and alleys.
We came to a sudden halt. “What happened?” I asked, suddenly scared about the person who was following us. I could barely take in the soft smell of freshly baked pain au chocolat. My heart was pounding, loud against my chest. “Is he still following us?”
“I can’t be very sure,” he whispered. “Come on, let’s take this turn.”
“Um, are you sure?” I hesitantly asked. It was a dark alley with murky-looking shops. He didn’t answer, he just signalled me to follow him. We went on and on, from one alley to the next, and I was getting more and more scared on each turn we took. “Pierre!” I whispered as loud as I could. I had had enough. “You know, it would help if you told me where we’re going! This place looks suspicious at best, not to mention I can’t keep up with you at all. So, if…” I suddenly paused my rant, alarmed by the look on his face.
“Well, Shanaya, this is exactly something I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. You see, I have always been tied by the vows of honesty, and now I am bound to tell you that those men at Renarde had only one purpose to serve. It was to distract your friends from me killing you.” Saying this, he proceeded to take out a vintage AK-47 and pointed it at my head.
“How could I not see this coming, was I a fool to follow him, to trust him?” I thought to myself with tears in my eyes. I was terrified. He grasped my arm tightly and took me to an old abandoned house. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. My voice sounded shaky as I held back my tears in fright.
“If you… if you… hurt me,” my voice was trembling, but I tried to act bold.
“Then what? What?” he growled. “Will you show your karate moves on me? Are you trained in wushu? I think not. So, you will listen to me if you don’t want to get hurt, you understand?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled my hand, the gun being in his other hand. My repeated questions of our whereabouts were ignored.
My arm felt numb because of his tight grip. I put my hand in my pocket and I felt my keys. I held them tightly. I heard the sound of a bike coming towards the house. He turned around to see it and I took my chances. I stabbed the key hard into his wrist again and again till he left my arm out of pain. I heard him scream, “Aie!” I didn’t think twice, and I ran.
Well, if I probably thought I was brave for running away like that, that thought vanished the second I realized that I was utterly lost. I could hear loud footsteps following me, so I ran, for some reason, to the nearest café. So much for my culinary background.
As soon as I entered, the owner and her husband started speaking in rapid French. OK, not speaking, practically blurting. I don’t really understand French, but I had lived there long enough to know that I was not welcome. I quickly explained my situation in part French, part English. I told him everything, from the hostage situation at Renarde to how I was brought to this random street. They finally, though reluctantly, decided to give me shelter. The husband, a suave man, checked for my injuries while the owner got me a tarte tatin and a strong cup of coffee. My heartbeat was just coming back to normal when I heard loud footsteps.
I was so scared that I hid myself under the bed. The door opened slowly. I shut my eyes and could hear the creak of the door. For the next minute I heard nothing. I opened my eyes and saw the husband. I took a breath of relief. As I came out of the bedroom, I saw him holding some bandages for my swollen arm. It must have happened because of Pierre’s tight grip. I didn’t pay much attention to it because I was still catching my breath. He got me blankets and told me, “Je pourrais rester pour la nuit.” I supposed that to mean I could stay there for the night.
I laid down on the bed. I was unable to sleep. I was still scared and thought about what all happened. Around 2 in the morning, I suddenly saw the light in the cafe turn on. I heard men screaming. The voice seemed familiar. That is when it shook me, it was Pierre’s voice. I got off the bed and tried to escape from the room.
I took the first thing I could hold in my hand and stumbled through the stairs, trying to get away from Pierre’s iron grip, while also stupidly realizing that the object I had gotten was a rake. I finally did jerk away from him, running blindly down the stairs, yelling the owner’s name as I stumbled down. However, as I listened, I realized there were police officers downstairs, making their way to my room, ready to catch Pierre.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was just catching my breath when I remembered the hostage situation at Renarde.
“Wait!” I called after a female officer, really hoping she understood English. “Do you know what happened to the staff at Renarde?” She slightly flinched.
“Yes”, she replied. “We arrived Renarde a little late and your roommate, Emily, told us what had happened there. We went out looking for you. When this sweet gentleman here called us and tried explaining about you. We came as fast as we could and saw Pierre. We rushed in. Pierre escaped from prison three months back and we have been trying to catch him since.
“Why was he trying to catch me?” I asked.
The police officer replied, “No one really knows why.”
It always remained a mystery as to why Pierre tried to catch me, and kill me.
And the mystery is still unsolved.
2019
Rouen, France
My hair was all over the place by the time my shift was over. Realizing that the reruns of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ were starting in 30 minutes, I started dumping things in my bag, frustrated at the extra time this was taking. Phone-check. Wallet-check. Scarf-check. My chef ID for Renarde-Le Diner Gastronomique-check. Was I missing something? My thoughts and clothes were far too muddled to take in either the chiming bells of the Rouen Cathedral, their calm sonority easily surpassing the sounds of screaming children and quarrelling bakers alike, or how the city of Rouen astonishingly managed to look more beautiful each sunset. Sure, the scenic part of France enthralled me at first, when I first came from India as a culinary student. It still does, in fact. But now that I have lived here for almost a year, these aesthetic pleasures mingle with my distaste for the supposed elite customers at Renarde. How they would be sent into a frenzy of panic at a crease in their skirt or a hair out of place. How they wouldn’t accept a drop more or a drop less of their preferred variety of Sauternes. How they would expect everyone to know and speak French, and the slightly odious look they would give if you didn’t. How they would call the restaurant manager if their steak had an ounce of visible fat, or their charred onions weren’t as charred as they liked. They were true French people in that sense - they accepted perfection or nothing. The idea of adjusting was unfathomable to them.
A deep voice stopped me as I stumbled towards the kitchen exit. “Tu as oublié ta veste.” I turned around.
“He means you forgot your jacket,” Emily, my American roommate, said. That’s what I was forgetting.
“Thanks, Pierre. Uh, merci beaucoup?” Everyone who heard this turned around and smiled.
“You’re get-eeng eet!” said Diane, in her staunch Northern French accent. She then leaned forward from the pastry sheets corner to hug me twice on each side, another silly thing that the French do. I was going to meet her tomorrow.
“OK, uh, au revoir, everybody!” I quickly waved and without waiting for a response, ran out of the door, barely noticing three men entering the restaurant, each holding a gun in their hand.
While grabbing my jacket in a hurry I didn’t realize I dropped my keys on the way. So, I hurried back through the back door. I was confused at first when I saw no one in the kitchen, I heard screams and thought that maybe they were celebrating Out of my curiosity, I peeked into the restaurant, and I saw my friends all tied up and customers lying on the floor out of fear. I was terrified, and I ran back to the back door, thinking I could escape and summon the police, but it was too late, they had already noticed me, and I just ran and ran. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I swung my bag and it knocked down the person, at least that is what I thought till I turned and looked, I saw someone. I couldn’t recognize the person.
It was Pierre. “Pie-” “Shh!” he hissed, covering my mouth. “Don’t say anyth-eeng. J’essaye de nous sortir…” he stopped himself, aware of my limited knowledge of French. “I am trying to get them out of there. The assailants are just around ze corner. Now, keep calm, and shush!” He then proceeded to take out a revolver and move towards Renarde, beckoning me to follow. Before I could ask where he had gotten the gun from, I heard a loud gunshot out of nowhere which made both Pierre and I jump two feet into the air.
“Derrière le mur,” he whispered, pointing at the wall. I followed him behind, and I was frozen with fright. Pierre was breathing heavily and kept checking if they’re coming. He then looked at me and saw my pale face and said, "Ne t'inquiète pas, I’ll take u back safely.” And then we begin to run. I could barely keep up and was being dragged by Pierre. We went into small streets and alleys.
We came to a sudden halt. “What happened?” I asked, suddenly scared about the person who was following us. I could barely take in the soft smell of freshly baked pain au chocolat. My heart was pounding, loud against my chest. “Is he still following us?”
“I can’t be very sure,” he whispered. “Come on, let’s take this turn.”
“Um, are you sure?” I hesitantly asked. It was a dark alley with murky-looking shops. He didn’t answer, he just signalled me to follow him. We went on and on, from one alley to the next, and I was getting more and more scared on each turn we took. “Pierre!” I whispered as loud as I could. I had had enough. “You know, it would help if you told me where we’re going! This place looks suspicious at best, not to mention I can’t keep up with you at all. So, if…” I suddenly paused my rant, alarmed by the look on his face.
“Well, Shanaya, this is exactly something I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. You see, I have always been tied by the vows of honesty, and now I am bound to tell you that those men at Renarde had only one purpose to serve. It was to distract your friends from me killing you.” Saying this, he proceeded to take out a vintage AK-47 and pointed it at my head.
“How could I not see this coming, was I a fool to follow him, to trust him?” I thought to myself with tears in my eyes. I was terrified. He grasped my arm tightly and took me to an old abandoned house. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. My voice sounded shaky as I held back my tears in fright.
“If you… if you… hurt me,” my voice was trembling, but I tried to act bold.
“Then what? What?” he growled. “Will you show your karate moves on me? Are you trained in wushu? I think not. So, you will listen to me if you don’t want to get hurt, you understand?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled my hand, the gun being in his other hand. My repeated questions of our whereabouts were ignored.
My arm felt numb because of his tight grip. I put my hand in my pocket and I felt my keys. I held them tightly. I heard the sound of a bike coming towards the house. He turned around to see it and I took my chances. I stabbed the key hard into his wrist again and again till he left my arm out of pain. I heard him scream, “Aie!” I didn’t think twice, and I ran.
Well, if I probably thought I was brave for running away like that, that thought vanished the second I realized that I was utterly lost. I could hear loud footsteps following me, so I ran, for some reason, to the nearest café. So much for my culinary background.
As soon as I entered, the owner and her husband started speaking in rapid French. OK, not speaking, practically blurting. I don’t really understand French, but I had lived there long enough to know that I was not welcome. I quickly explained my situation in part French, part English. I told him everything, from the hostage situation at Renarde to how I was brought to this random street. They finally, though reluctantly, decided to give me shelter. The husband, a suave man, checked for my injuries while the owner got me a tarte tatin and a strong cup of coffee. My heartbeat was just coming back to normal when I heard loud footsteps.
I was so scared that I hid myself under the bed. The door opened slowly. I shut my eyes and could hear the creak of the door. For the next minute I heard nothing. I opened my eyes and saw the husband. I took a breath of relief. As I came out of the bedroom, I saw him holding some bandages for my swollen arm. It must have happened because of Pierre’s tight grip. I didn’t pay much attention to it because I was still catching my breath. He got me blankets and told me, “Je pourrais rester pour la nuit.” I supposed that to mean I could stay there for the night.
I laid down on the bed. I was unable to sleep. I was still scared and thought about what all happened. Around 2 in the morning, I suddenly saw the light in the cafe turn on. I heard men screaming. The voice seemed familiar. That is when it shook me, it was Pierre’s voice. I got off the bed and tried to escape from the room.
I took the first thing I could hold in my hand and stumbled through the stairs, trying to get away from Pierre’s iron grip, while also stupidly realizing that the object I had gotten was a rake. I finally did jerk away from him, running blindly down the stairs, yelling the owner’s name as I stumbled down. However, as I listened, I realized there were police officers downstairs, making their way to my room, ready to catch Pierre.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was just catching my breath when I remembered the hostage situation at Renarde.
“Wait!” I called after a female officer, really hoping she understood English. “Do you know what happened to the staff at Renarde?” She slightly flinched.
“Yes”, she replied. “We arrived Renarde a little late and your roommate, Emily, told us what had happened there. We went out looking for you. When this sweet gentleman here called us and tried explaining about you. We came as fast as we could and saw Pierre. We rushed in. Pierre escaped from prison three months back and we have been trying to catch him since.
“Why was he trying to catch me?” I asked.
The police officer replied, “No one really knows why.”
It always remained a mystery as to why Pierre tried to catch me, and kill me.
And the mystery is still unsolved.
THE END
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