Double Twenty

Chapter 25 - Roads (Portishead)

"Life is a journey to be walked." — Jules Renard

The road stretches ahead of them, a glistening ribbon of asphalt under the early afternoon sun, winding through the verdant hills of the Basque country.

"You've driven all this way without looking at the map," says Romy. Julien would be hard-pressed to explain to her that he's been coming to the Basque country at least twice a year since he turned thirty. "Yes, I studied it well before we left." Romy, in a delicate white floral dress, reclines the seat to stretch her legs, her hand occasionally reaching out of the window to caress the wind. The weather is beautiful. The sun reflects off her black sunglasses. Julien seems to be doing better. She had been scared after he woke up with a start, looking like a possessed character from a horror movie she despised. It didn't scare her; she simply didn't like it. She hums, "Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place (such a lovely place), such a lovely face," the radio crackling incessantly but the tune recognizable. She runs her other hand through Julien's hair. What more could she ask for? He drives fast and well, with confidence and ease. The imperceptible changes she detects in him don't bother her. They've seen their group of friends again without any trouble, Loïc being increasingly nice to her, and the others always cool. They're just a bit disappointed not to be invited on the Basque road trip, but Julien calmly retorted that he wanted to be with her, and her alone. She feels unique, privileged, and in love. Her knowledge of Spain is limited, as is her knowledge of other countries. Her parents earn a decent living but aren't adventurous travelers.

Romy is Catholic, baptized but not practicing; she has never felt the call of religion or God. And yet, traversing these new landscapes, she feels a sort of communion with nature. She just found the word that best defines Julien: serenity. She draws inspiration from it in her daily life. They learn a lot from each other, know each other by heart. Except for this story about a friend in Paris, which seems fictitious to her. A sort of shadowy area. She doesn't feel jealousy, it's more diffuse, but he always manages to distract her. A smile, a gentle gesture. She doesn't want to know everything but at least to understand. Alejandro takes things into his own hands, dealing with finding this famous Matthieu. That doesn't stop her from enjoying this surprise weekend.

Julien finds, for Romy, the most beautiful hotel possible. Not luxurious but very comfortable, the room is literally a love nest. They stay for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, savoring their mutual presence, without words, without rushing the moment. They understand each other instinctively, intuitively, through scent, gestures, breathing, the alchemical music of soul and heart. After giving themselves to each other and saying everything that can be said in such sublime circumstances,

they wander free and fulfilled to the small Monte Igueldo amusement park. Julien takes her to get ice cream. Romy, who likes vanilla and chocolate, chooses blackcurrant and strawberry, enjoying Julien's flavors with pleasure, knowing it would end this way.

Julien starts to have restless sleep. Romy does everything to calm him. It's said that you should never disturb a sleepwalker, yet she wants to shake him. He curls up, stiffens, talks, "not that, not now," and suddenly emerges from his dreams, "we have to go to Paris," "but why?" "we need to be with him." "But what are you talking about?" "I just need your trust," "But, Julien, I don't understand a word of what you're saying." "Is there tea or coffee, do you want something?" He gets up, groggy, in the middle of the night, Romy beside him, half-scared without knowing why. He tells part of the story, not all, not really, but sincerely, enough to help her understand a situation that doesn't make logical or rational sense. He bases it on his responsibility as a friend, an adult; he felt something. They need to get to the bottom of it.