The Blue Hour by Douglas Kennedy

get to the café by eleven to capture the souk at its most manic.
    â€œThat’s Soraya,” I said. “I’ll do the lesson downstairs.”
    â€œNo need. Do it in the front room and I’ll slip out in around twenty minutes.”
    So I quickly dressed and let Soraya in, apologizing for the slight delay. As she set up her books and pens and papers in the small living area, I ran downstairs and asked for coffee and bread and preserves to be brought up. When I returned to the room I could hear the shower going in the adjacent bathroom—and Soraya looking just a little uncomfortable with the notion of a naked man in the immediate proximity.
    â€œSorry, sorry,” I said. “I should have suggested we go elsewhere.”
    â€œNo problem,” she said, clearly relieved to have me back in the room. “Shall we start?”
    We began by discussing the verb vouloir — to want —and variations of its usage, especially in the conditional, would like . The great aspirational hope. As in: Je voudrais un café . . . voudrais-tu un café aussi?  . . . il voudrait réussir . . . nous voudrions un enfant . . .
    At which juncture the bedroom door swung open and Paul emerged, dressed, his hair still wet from the shower. He greeted me and Soraya with a big smile.
    â€œ Tout à fait nous voudrions un enfant, ” he said, coming over and kissing me on the lips. We would absolutely like a child.
    Then, after greeting Soraya, he asked her in rapid-fire French, “And how is my wife progressing?”
    â€œShe’s doing fantastically. Really gifted with the language. And she works so hard.”
    â€œThat she does,” he said.
    â€œYou think too highly of me,” I said.
    â€œShe doesn’t think well enough of herself,” Paul said. “Maybe you can help her in that department, Soraya.”
    â€œBreakfast should be here in a moment,” I told him.
    But I saw that he had his satchel over his shoulder, stuffed with his sketchbooks and pencils.
    â€œI’ll let Fouad provide that for me. Come find me after the lesson. Je t’adore. ”
    With another kiss on the lips he was gone.
    Once the door was closed behind him, Soraya looked away as she said, “ Je voudrais un homme comme votre mari .”
    â€œ Mais plus jeune ?” I added.
    â€œ L’âge importe moins que la qualité .”
    I would like a man like your husband  . . . But younger? . . . Age is less important than the quality.
    â€œI am sure you will find someone of quality,” I told her.
    â€œI’m not,” she said in a near whisper. “All right: essayer in the subjunctive. Give me an example in first person singular.”
    I considered this for a moment, then said, “ Il faut que je voudrais d être heureuse .”
    Soraya did not look professorially pleased by my answer.
    â€œI must would like happiness,” she said, translating my sentence into her excellent English. “You can do better than that.”
    â€œSorry, sorry. The problem is the use of the subjunctive with would like . As you noted you can’t must would like something.”
    â€œSo if you were talking about wanting happiness . . .”
    â€œ Je voudrais le bonheur .”
    â€œFine. And in the subjunctive?”
    â€œI would sidestep vouloir and use essayer . To try. As in: ‘ Il faut que j’essaie d’être heureuse.’ I must try to be happy .”
    Soraya then had another one of her thoughtful pauses.
    â€œIt is all about ‘trying,’ isn’t it?” she said.
    The breakfast arrived. She shared the coffee with me. We worked on for another ninety minutes. Then I paid her for the week and wished her well in Marrakesh.
    â€œ Entre nous , there is a man—French—whom my classmate wants me to meet. A banker working at Société Générale. My parents would half