They rode the Metro to Montmartre, exiting at Metro Abbesses, and then taking a large elevator up to the street. The place hummed with pedestrians. Greenery scraped the blue sky. They traversed the busy sidewalk and then ascended a staircase that delivered them to a plaza near the church. The place was filled with artists selling their work, others doing chalk drawings of tourists. It seemed to Orchid that everyone, adult and child, had a camera and was snapping photos.
“Where have you traveled?” Orchid asked as they walked through the cluster of easels and tourists.
“Work has taken me all over the U.S., and Asia recently. I’ve seen a lot of Western Europe. Central America’s nice. Canada, too.”
“Moon landing next?”
“Mars.”
“Venus for me,” she joked, and then they were laughing together.
It wasn’t until he placed a hand under her elbow that she noticed a tree’s root and how it lifted the sidewalk into a tripping hazard. His hand was warm, stealing her voice. She nodded her appreciation.
“How about you?” he asked. “I know you want to visit China, and this is your first trip to France. Are there other places you want to see?” He phrased his question thoughtfully, as if to avoid assuming she’d seen the world as he had.
Orchid looked around at the awnings giving shade to a few little cafes. This place was quaint, historic, and yet filled with the art and energy of the present.
Phoenix steered them through the crowd and down the steps leading to the mural. Ahead of them, near the Metro station, they came to a wall covered with black tiles. Painted on them was “I love you” in hundreds of languages.
Tourists milled before the unassuming structure, pointing at phrases along the dark tiles, excited when they recognized their language.
Orchid and Phoenix strolled nearer to the installation. The cheerful markings infused the area with a sense of joy.
“So pretty,” she said, as they walked along the wall.
“There are more than two hundred and fifty languages here,” Phoenix told her. “Hundreds of ways to say…the same thing.” His hesitation underscored this as one the most awkward tourist destinations for a pair who’d agreed not to cross a romantic line.
Orchid pulled out the information sheet from her bag, seeking facts as the antidote to her quickened pulse. “It says here that there are 612 tiles. They’re made from volcanic rock, to protect the messages from the weather.” She continued reading to hide the heat she felt rise in her cheeks. “There’s a crew that cleans them every night.”
He looked over her shoulder and pointed at a caption under a photo. “You see those red shapes? Those are the pieces of a broken heart scattered over the wall.”
“They represent the broken pieces of humanity,” she read aloud. “How sad.” She looked up at the splashes of crimson dotted across the tiles. Crisp-white Arabic, Romanic and Asian phrases danced before her view. And so many languages she had never seen.
Two young women paused beside them. They were holding hands, and sporting matching yellow scarves, one shining luminescent against a pale neckline, the other beaming brightly against dark skin. The taller woman pointed, and the second one exclaimed with delight.
Orchid and Phoenix glanced towards the direction of their interest. They’d found a French phrase on the Parisian wall.
“Je t’aime,” Orchid recited aloud. Phoenix caught her eye just as the words fell from her lips.
“You promise?” he joked lightly.
Her cheeks tingled with embarrassment, and then the warmth of wishing.Je t’aime. “What happens in the city of love…” she began.
“Stays in the city of love,” he said, guessing the ending to her thought.
The tall woman gave Orchid a wave of her hand. “Would you please to take our photo?” she asked.
“A film camera!” Orchid exclaimed.
She handed the metal box to Orchid. “Press here,” she explained.
The duo put their arms around each other and faced Orchid. She looked through the viewfinder and saw their joy.
The women hammed it up for the pictures, posing with fingers giving the peace sign, then arms high in the air, and finally, with their cheeks pressed together, smiling broadly. For the last shot, they turned and puckered their mouths for a kiss.
“Aww,” Orchid said.
“Merci,” they said, retrieving the camera.
