Evening, Bethas 39, 2720
Café Jardin de l’Esprit, Uptown
Café Jardin de l’Esprit, Uptown
Chrysanthe found herself on the verge of offering to show Georgie around the Dives, and then – at the last moment of it – she swallowed the words back and smiled at the other woman instead, and couldn’t quite have said why.
It would, naturally, have been irredeemable if Georgie had seemed shocked or scandalized that Chrysanthe spent time in the Dives. Or, perhaps, Chrysanthe supposed, not quite irredeemable, but somewhere edging closer to irreconcilable. She had had that particular conversation too many times. Her work took her to the Dives, and to rather unsavory parts of them. She thought it absurd that a woman should have to limit her career to avoid going to a place, particularly given the unsavoriness which too often occurred in Uptown itself. In fact, she thought it beyond absurd: she thought it the height of sexism, however unexamined, and could not abide it.
Not as difficult to manage, but still rather unfortunate, was the attitude of giggling curiosity about such places, wide eyes and offhand comments about strangeness. She was more sympathetic to such attitudes for – while she’d never, of course, been a giggler around such things herself, she had been quite ignorant of such places in her own life not so long ago, and she felt it difficult to articulate why it should be that attitudes not so dissimilar from her own just a few years earlier now seemed unbearably irritating.
In point of fact – Georgie had done rather well on the subject, such as it was: she was curious and not shocked or appalled, and had managed to suggest she should like to see the Dives without making it – the factory, the houses where people, even if they were humans, lived and worked, and all the rest – out to be some sort of carnival or fair for her amusement.
All the same, Chrysanthe was glad to veer away. She liked Georgie, and she was a bit startled to find how much she liked her. Perhaps she was afraid, Chrysanthe thought, rueful, of learning something she should not like so much. If it was there, then it would come in time, she supposed, but she didn’t want to face it just yet.
“Not yet,” Chrysanthe said, smiling back at the other woman, or perhaps grinning really. “I think you’ll like it, and we’re nearly there; I shouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
They turned the corner, and then once more; it was quite a quiet sort of area now, the houses a bit more set back off the street. The carriages that went past went more slowly, not racketing and racing along the cobblestones, but drawing past at a rather sedate pace.
Chrysanthe knew it from a distance for the paper lanterns, the glow of their light visible over the edge of the high brick fence studded with ivy. The gate was metal, simple rather than ornate, and she opened it and half-bowed Georgie in, with a little smile.
“This is Café Jardin de l’Esprit,” Chrysanthe said, glancing sideways at the other woman. The neatly paved brick walkway led towards what had clearly once been a house, with a neat little portico, and the name above it, hanging on a plaque in carved, curling script. The gardens on either side of the path were elegant and terraced, rising up with small, curling stone steps leading up on either side; just now there was no one sitting in them, although the light caught gleams of tables here and there.
“In the summer one can sit outdoors,” Chrysanthe offered with a little smile. They went along the walk, boots clicking softly on the bricks, and up the steps, onto the wooden deck and through the mahogany door.
Inside was rather an unusual sort of restaurant. Tables were spread out here and there in different rooms; for all that a house transformed into a café was unusual, it wasn’t so much so as to remark much upon. No – what was unusual, and the reason that Chrysanthe had chosen the café for their dinner, was that the walls were hung with spectrographs, each room with its own little cluster, all of them depicting life in Hox.
The hallway just inside the door, had rather a magnificent scene; extended shots of distant mountains lined either side of the entryway, and the wall opposite. Stepping into it – despite the carpet underfoot and the elegant wood paneling – one was confronted with the odd sense of being in the midst of mountains.
“It’s a sort of exhibition,” Chrysanthe explained, smiling sideways at Georgie, “a travelogue of Hox in specs. I thought you might enjoy it. As I understand, we’re free to wander about before or after our meals. I think we’re encouraged to order dsoh,” she grinned, “although I know there’s other food on offer as well.”
“What do you think?” Chrysanthe asked, after a moment, squeezing Georgie’s hand very lightly in hers.
It would, naturally, have been irredeemable if Georgie had seemed shocked or scandalized that Chrysanthe spent time in the Dives. Or, perhaps, Chrysanthe supposed, not quite irredeemable, but somewhere edging closer to irreconcilable. She had had that particular conversation too many times. Her work took her to the Dives, and to rather unsavory parts of them. She thought it absurd that a woman should have to limit her career to avoid going to a place, particularly given the unsavoriness which too often occurred in Uptown itself. In fact, she thought it beyond absurd: she thought it the height of sexism, however unexamined, and could not abide it.
Not as difficult to manage, but still rather unfortunate, was the attitude of giggling curiosity about such places, wide eyes and offhand comments about strangeness. She was more sympathetic to such attitudes for – while she’d never, of course, been a giggler around such things herself, she had been quite ignorant of such places in her own life not so long ago, and she felt it difficult to articulate why it should be that attitudes not so dissimilar from her own just a few years earlier now seemed unbearably irritating.
In point of fact – Georgie had done rather well on the subject, such as it was: she was curious and not shocked or appalled, and had managed to suggest she should like to see the Dives without making it – the factory, the houses where people, even if they were humans, lived and worked, and all the rest – out to be some sort of carnival or fair for her amusement.
All the same, Chrysanthe was glad to veer away. She liked Georgie, and she was a bit startled to find how much she liked her. Perhaps she was afraid, Chrysanthe thought, rueful, of learning something she should not like so much. If it was there, then it would come in time, she supposed, but she didn’t want to face it just yet.
“Not yet,” Chrysanthe said, smiling back at the other woman, or perhaps grinning really. “I think you’ll like it, and we’re nearly there; I shouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
They turned the corner, and then once more; it was quite a quiet sort of area now, the houses a bit more set back off the street. The carriages that went past went more slowly, not racketing and racing along the cobblestones, but drawing past at a rather sedate pace.
Chrysanthe knew it from a distance for the paper lanterns, the glow of their light visible over the edge of the high brick fence studded with ivy. The gate was metal, simple rather than ornate, and she opened it and half-bowed Georgie in, with a little smile.
“This is Café Jardin de l’Esprit,” Chrysanthe said, glancing sideways at the other woman. The neatly paved brick walkway led towards what had clearly once been a house, with a neat little portico, and the name above it, hanging on a plaque in carved, curling script. The gardens on either side of the path were elegant and terraced, rising up with small, curling stone steps leading up on either side; just now there was no one sitting in them, although the light caught gleams of tables here and there.
“In the summer one can sit outdoors,” Chrysanthe offered with a little smile. They went along the walk, boots clicking softly on the bricks, and up the steps, onto the wooden deck and through the mahogany door.
Inside was rather an unusual sort of restaurant. Tables were spread out here and there in different rooms; for all that a house transformed into a café was unusual, it wasn’t so much so as to remark much upon. No – what was unusual, and the reason that Chrysanthe had chosen the café for their dinner, was that the walls were hung with spectrographs, each room with its own little cluster, all of them depicting life in Hox.
The hallway just inside the door, had rather a magnificent scene; extended shots of distant mountains lined either side of the entryway, and the wall opposite. Stepping into it – despite the carpet underfoot and the elegant wood paneling – one was confronted with the odd sense of being in the midst of mountains.
“It’s a sort of exhibition,” Chrysanthe explained, smiling sideways at Georgie, “a travelogue of Hox in specs. I thought you might enjoy it. As I understand, we’re free to wander about before or after our meals. I think we’re encouraged to order dsoh,” she grinned, “although I know there’s other food on offer as well.”
“What do you think?” Chrysanthe asked, after a moment, squeezing Georgie’s hand very lightly in hers.
