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bit.”
    â€œLet’s go for a walk and I can give you a crash course in swear words, teach you how to count, that sort of thing. We can do at least that much in one night. Are you staying there for a while?
    â€œWell, I don’t really know how long,” Ruby said, rising from the bench. “Maybe a year.”
    â€œThen you must learn some German,” he said firmly, and took her hand.
    Ruby laughed out loud. Somehow she felt comfortable around this man. He spoke simply and was straightforward and seemed genuinely interested in her. And he was nice to look at. Ah, what the hell, what harm can a little hand-holding do , she thought, wrapping her fingers around his as they headed off towards Notre-Dame.
    â€œWhy is your English so impeccable?” she asked.
    â€œImpeccable?”
    Ruby smiled and said, “It’s excellent.”
    â€œI always had a thing for English and English literature, more so than French. We start early in school, and also I travelled to London a few times. What about you? How do you speak French so well?”
    â€œMy mother is from Montreal. I love the romance languages. French, Spanish, Italian—love them all.”
    â€œWhat about your father, where is he from?”
    â€œHe’s from Canada. He’s Black.”
    Werner nodded as if he had thought something like this all along. “ Mischling . . . ,” he said.
    â€œI don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.”
    â€œYou’re mulatto.”
    Ruby stopped and dropped his hand. “That word is offensive. It should never be used anymore. Call me Black, call me mixed, but not that!”
    Werner apologized. An awkward silence fell over them.
    â€œIt’s okay. You couldn’t be expected to know how awful that word is.” Ruby took his hand again and they stood looking out over the Seine. The incandescence of the city stretched out before them, and she felt like each and every twinkle that lit the sky was something to be discovered. Werner began chatting about Berlin, and he too seemed full of light, matching the Parisian night.
    They sat outside Notre-Dame de Paris for a while, taking in its grandeur and murmuring about hunchbacks, and then they walked back through the streets to La Pleine Lune. Aftereating, they ordered drinks and sat chatting some more, the cool night air blowing gently around them. Ruby felt intoxicated in more than one way. Werner’s intelligence and sunny humour had cast a spell on her. After an hour or two of earnest talking, staring and hand-holding, Ruby felt she was ready to begin her journey into independence and liberation. She asked Werner, “Okay, your place or mine?”
    â€œOh, I like your style. Straight to the point.”
    â€œWell, why bother waiting?” Ruby said. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone and we’ll have never known.”
    â€œNever known what?”
    â€œWhy, how we taste . . . the best dessert of all.”
    â€œHmmm . . . I think I’m going home on the train with you tomorrow,” said Werner.
    The two of them wandered down the road and quietly climbed the stairs to Ruby’s room. Amidst awkward fumbling and giggling, they doffed their clothes and drank in the essence of their dissimilar bodies. His was long and gangly, skin rough and mottled next to her rounded café au lait limbs. Werner struggled with her bra straps, yanking at them impatiently until they snapped against her skin. “Do you need help?” Ruby teased.
    â€œGerman women don’t wear bras,” Werner said. “You’ll be rid of this contraption in no time.” They laughed as their bodies melded.
    â€œPlease, make me one promise,” Werner whispered as he licked her earlobe later on.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Ruby asked.
    â€œDon’t say ‘I love you’ to me tonight.”
    Ruby giggled. “You must take me for a fool,” she said.
    â€œBut why is it