{"id":167450,"date":"2024-05-02T10:15:45","date_gmt":"2024-05-02T14:15:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=167450"},"modified":"2024-05-01T17:42:17","modified_gmt":"2024-05-01T21:42:17","slug":"emmas-last-night","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2024\/05\/02\/emmas-last-night\/","title":{"rendered":"Emma’s Last Night"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Photograph by Jacqueline Feldman.<\/p><\/div>\n

There had been concern when Jean and Emma got together that he was too serious, macho. I perhaps had it wrong that he had in art school driven to Chernobyl, uprooted a tree, and brought it back to France\u2014a foreigner, I was capable of wild misunderstandings\u2014but this was the story that had come to seem defining. Now he made a dance out of crumpling a wrapper, hopping up to throw it in the trash. He snapped his fingers to the music. It was cheerful music, music from my country though not from my era. In a city famous for ways of living developed, cultivated to exquisiteness, over centuries, we were engaged, that night, in a rare shabby tradition, that of the ap\u00e9ro d\u00eenatoire<\/em>. Emma was throwing one ahead of moving in with Jean.<\/p>\n

Possibly the tradition was not exclusively Parisian. \u201cThey do it systematically in Greece,\u201d Jean said.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

On a cutting board were resting chocolate bread from Chambelland, a slab of Comt\u00e9, a \u201cbeautiful\u201d radish Jean had brought, and chips: \u201cI have chips because you said there must be chips for the feuilleton<\/em>,\u201d Emma said to me, referring to my plan to write about the evening. Having touched down that morning I was making such demands on top of being welcomed back. Stefania, who came late, brought sticks of crabmeat, olives, and a two-liter bottle of Coke.<\/p>\n

Stefania was \u201ca musician and artiste d\u2019art vivant<\/em>,\u201d Emma said.<\/p>\n

\u201cEasier,\u201d said Stefania, \u201cI\u2019d say artiste sonore, performeuse<\/em>.\u201d Romanian, she had been living in Paris for four years and liked it, though her own apartment was, like Emma\u2019s, too small. \u201cThat\u2019s the toilet?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not very far from us,\u201d Jean commented.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d Stefania said, \u201cbut I have need. Put the music back on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Emma\u2019s boxes were piled two high on a bed she called \u201cthe sofa\u201d and Jean called \u201cthe divan.\u201d Plants remained unpacked and cast exaggerated shadows. She had done such a good job, remarked Hayd\u00e9e. \u201cC\u2019est vraiment tr\u00e8s bien rang\u00e9<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

A mover, Patrice, would be there tomorrow. \u201cHe is an artist,\u201d said Emma, \u201cand his art is to sleep in his car.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has to find a place to shower every day,\u201d Jean said, reframing.<\/p>\n

There would be furniture already, the apartment would be new to both of them, the furniture too heavy to get rid of. There was a table that Emma thought they might use a tablecloth on. Hayd\u00e9e accepted Emma\u2019s phone to see a photo. \u201cOh but it\u2019s fine,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s very good, Emma. But the chairs, you took them away?\u201d<\/p>\n

There would be, the next day, a great duty of transferring boxes, which I, arriving in the group\u2019s life always just in time to catch the end of something, had been excused from (the mover, Patrice, who had a bad back, would drive).<\/p>\n

Emma, as I raced to get down what she said\u00a0, wished that she could have a note taker for all of her soir\u00e9es<\/em>. Hayd\u00e9e thought the company could stand to get a little bit more novelesque. \u201cWe should invent characters,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Rapha\u00ebl called, as if freshly invented\u2014but he was a high school friend of Emma\u2019s, and someone who had been helpful lately, with the lease. His voice came through the stereo in the place of music.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d said Hayd\u00e9e, \u201cyour guarantor!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy guarantor is coming!\u201d Emma said.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmma is supposed to be his mistress,\u201d Jean said to me, disgusted with the system that had left him off this document.<\/p>\n

Rapha\u00ebl, when he arrived, asked Emma if she didn\u2019t feel nostalgic. She did, and this meant she had been wanting, for some minutes, to fill every corner of the space awaiting disuse with our movement. She wanted us to sing. \u201cIl faut passer \u00e0 l\u2019action<\/em>,\u201d said Stefania. Rapha\u00ebl made suggestions Jean found ridiculous. \u201cDylan<\/em>,\u201d scoffed Jean, \u201cBrassens, \u00e7a fait rire<\/em>.\u201d They \u201cmade\u201d him \u201claugh\u201d in a bad way. But Rapha\u00ebl was taking lessons, singing lessons. Here he offered up a song in Spanish. I taped some of all of this later to play it loud, its overlay the well- or ill-timed interruptive rustle, flaws by then like a mutation taken in my absence, not exactly like this.<\/p>\n

My first day back even the weather was suggestive of a possibility, not only the necessity, of remaining present while in transit, while the flow goes on around you. Stasis, not activity, was the delusion. As signs read\u2014outside, around the city\u2014\u201cTERRACE OPEN.<\/small>\u201d Trees that smelled bad were in flower, the canal was brackish, I lingered mesmerized by tulips out front of a Franprix. A woman called back to her son. I heard the question clearly. \u201cDo you want hot chocolate,\u201d she asked, \u201cor lemonade?\u201d<\/p>\n

Reaching Emma\u2019s building just as she was getting home I\u2019d praised her for throwing a party at all. Packing took me up until the very last moment, always. \u201cI remember,\u201d Emma said, referring to a summer night when I\u2019d stuck her with old clothes; we\u2019d taken boxes of my notes to store at Hugo\u2019s, her high school friend who\u2019d introduced us. \u201cIt\u2019s boxes,\u201d she cautioned now, a nicety, as we climbed the curving stairs. \u201cJ\u2019ai l\u2019habitude<\/em>,\u201d I of course said in reply.<\/p>\n

Jean, third to arrive, had not long after emerged rather suddenly, flushed and unkempt, from Emma\u2019s bedroom, where he had been apparently only pretending to nap. He was \u201cinterested\u201d in stories I was telling, he said to Emma and me, in a tone of apology, \u201cas we only hear them episodically. It\u2019s interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jacqueline\u00a0Feldman\u2019s <\/em>On Your Feet, a bilingual experiment, was published in March by dispersed holdings.<\/em>\u00a0Precarious Lease, an account of a Parisian squat, is forthcoming from Rescue Press this fall.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cMy guarantor is coming!\u201d Emma said.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1338,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68771],"tags":[13540,67827],"class_list":["post-167450","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-dinner-parties","tag-dinner-parties","tag-featured"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nEmma's Last Night by Jacqueline Feldman<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"May 2, 2024 \u2013 \u201cMy guarantor is coming!\u201d Emma said.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2024\/05\/02\/emmas-last-night\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" 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