The Honeymoon [antikvár]

One On a nice day, we used to go out as if we were going out for a night on the town. I sat on the bed and watched her dress the way she thought a French woman would dress: a thin blue sweater yellow linen trousers with a zip on the side, a hat for the sun. Light from the window feil at her feet. Her hair was folded up beneath her hat, a few loose strands dabbing at the nape of her neck as she leaned down to put on her shoes without bending her knees. We spent our afternoons in the museums; our mornings in the park across the street. The leaves on the branches were swollen with sunlight. All across the park, the trees staggered with the weight. We walked around the empty pond, along the gravel path and through the flower beds until we found a bench in the shade of a tree. It was a wealthy part of the city. Most people had gone away to the beach or to the mountains and only tourists or those unfortunate enough to have to work all summer spent their mornings in the park. The tourists sat in outdoor cafés while the workers ate sandwiches and bathed their feet in the fountains. Maureen did not consider us tourists. The only other children in the park were the children of wealthy Arabs, dressed in perfect miniature suits and dresses. They came with nannies and minders, and spoke English like