They had three more hours before the agreed time to move in, perhaps two hours if they asked nicely. La Croix-Rousse was a hill (“Nothing surprising there”, mentioned Judas), specifically it’s business centre, consisted of a park surrounded by bus stops with their see-through shelters and typical cafés as seen before by the two.
They decided the best option was to pass the rest of the time in a café, the present scenery from any of the shops was above average. If they ever want to have a change of position, they could always spare a short walk to the east side of the hill, where a line of barrier marked a place to view Villeurbanne. The pricing of coffee from each eatery was similar, the only real choice was to choose one with the most view of the park with its’ metal bust at its’ centre.
A table outside and away from any dim interior was the ideal location for them to stay the longest with only minimum discomfort, the warmth radiated from the sun could be countered by the gentle breeze--- The perfect weather of the day for relaxation and stomach for coffee. The two eased themselves over one of the low metal chairs and begun fixating on their respective menus.
“Get me two lattes, please.”, Cay handed the laminated papers to the waitress.
Feeling the conversation had ended, the woman stood straight and walked back into the café, carrying the menus with her. She was professional enough to acknowledge the start and end of each order taken from individuals: her superior and especially the customers. Cay was confident with the server, he entrusted that their order of coffees had been taken, processed, and would soon be served fresh and hot.
Cay took his novel out and continued where he had left since on board the bus to the city, he made a well-proportioned split between half and half of the book. Situation such as that always seemed to please Cay, maybe Judas would be impressed as well, but remembering that he had only met his companion not long ago made him blush with embarrassment. There were still things meant for oneself, especially simple personal satisfactions over changes almost nil to the entirety of the real-life picture. It was a gift bestowed on everyone but only kept precious to each one of them.
After the temporary moment of self-satisfaction, he went back reading. He never could fully understand how a good author such as Faulks entrapped readers in such a way that felt almost illegal. His favorite authors never ceased to dazzle him with their clever writing and in-depth description of either a character or object. They were unlike common people who never managed to write a book and the ones who do so failed at it; Writers worthy of their works read were awespiring enough to accumulate considerable number of readers and fans.
“Shall we rest for a bit before leaving the accommodation later?”, asked Cay about an hour later.
“Yes, that would be appreciated.”, Judas responded immediately, almost eagerly.
Albeit the earlier embarrassment, Cay knew that many words were not required to converse with Judas. He felt a natural calmness draping over him, it made the air surrounding him cooler than it really had been. Gratitude, another thing to hold onto while being with him. Cay was overcoming with a sense of feeling that he could not describe, the last time he felt like that was when they were on the airplane in mid-flight.
He blushed again and went back into his world of words, created for people like Cay.
*
“Judas, please listen.”, Haze repeated his name and Judas felt a hit of anguish confusion.
Judas would not listen, he was so accustomed to keeping thoughts to himself and himself alone. It was only natural for their semi-estranged son not to follow his father’s request, he was assured that nothing in his father’s power would make him blurt out honestly. However, the tone of the sentence sounded more like pleading rather than a simple request. He could hardly comprehend the situation already, the worried presence of both parents only added to the intensity.
“Yes, Judas, listen to your father.”, Alexandre in support of his father.
Judas hesitated but still sat down, the weekly routine still stronger than his will to defy the former. Down and shoved forward, he was locked in the dinner-ready position, it felt unwise to disrupt the over current of the roast meal even though underneath it was a different situation. He wished that it did not have to be today, all the while being continuously gazed by his two strange parents. What do they want, he thought.
“I’ll just excuse myself.”, he said, followed by a mere screech on the wooden floor made by his backward shove.
“How are you feeling, son?”, Haze cut him by surprise with the question, his son did not anticipate the question.
“I’m fine, really.”, Judas answered, but his tone gave away an uncertainty, which they caught.
“No, you’re not.”, his father insisted that his son was not alright, which struck Judas as surprisingly correct.
There was a short pause before Alexandre laid her hand on her husband’s, signalling him to stop rushing and to let her speak.
“Judas, we’re just worried about you, especially lately when you’re acting even…quieter.”
It was true, they had always seen their son as a silent person, not that they were not aware of their contribution toward it years ago. Now that their son acted in a way that was suspiciously, almost awfully, familiar to pre-suicidal ways. The thought of losing their son was the only way that caused them to muster courage and enough love to confront Judas. They would not think it as an awkward situation but rather a chance to mend their relationship with their only child, who was the most precious thing they set their eyes on.
Judas did not respond. He was lost in his thought when his mother finished, he could not make out the words that he wanted, or had, to say. A sparkle of unusual feeling suddenly appeared inside of him, it tore him from staying silent. He was then stuck in a tug-of-war between responding his parents the truth about what happened in Myanmar and responding with retaliation in silence. Both abruptly seemed unlikely choices for him to proceed, he was conflicted.
“We just want to hear what happened when you were there.”, she insinuated his last country visited.
“It was nothing, I…I…just saw a lot of things…”, he stuttered. The images of the dead mother and child suddenly showing up.
“What things? Please tell dad and I.”
He could not take it anymore. He felt like he was at the brink of exploding, a fit of whatever emotions that would spiral him up the roof and slamming onto the ground. He felt defenseless against the constant digging for truth made effective by his mother, but at the same time a surrealistic power was growing in him.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
