On Monday morning, Yuki arrived at class with a magazine.
It was a Japanese magazine. The cover was glossy and white. In the top corner, in black Japanese characters that the others could not read, was the title of a feature article. In the centre of the cover, in colour, was a photograph: four people, sitting on the steps of a boulangerie, laughing at something. The photograph had been taken by Wei. Yuki had, weeks ago, asked permission. Wei had said yes, vaguely, not understanding what it was for.
Yuki put the magazine on the desk.
— Mon article est publié.
— Quel article ?
— L'article. Celui pour lequel je suis venue à Paris.
— Et c'est… c'est sur quoi ?
— C'est sur nous.
There was a silence.
Mateo, who could not read Japanese, picked up the magazine with great seriousness, examined it for a moment, and announced:
— C'est mieux qu'un César.
Amara hugged Yuki. Wei, who did not normally hug anyone, hugged Yuki. The instructor came in, saw the magazine, and asked what it was. Yuki explained, in careful French, that the article was about four students learning French in Paris, and how a language is learned not from textbooks but from neighbours.
The instructor read the abstract — Yuki had translated the first paragraph for her. She put the magazine down. She said, very quietly:
— C'est très beau, Yuki. Vraiment.
Then they spent the rest of the morning revising Unités 0 through 2.
It was, of all the mornings of the term, perhaps the easiest.
In the afternoon, the full mock examination.
It was a serious thing. Listening, reading, writing, speaking, all in a row, in the format of the real DELF A1 examination. The four of them did it together with the rest of the class, in the same room, sitting at separate desks. The instructor walked around with a clipboard.
Wei, when it was her turn for the speaking section, drew a topic from a small basket.
— Présentez une personne importante pour vous depuis votre arrivée à Paris.
She had two minutes to think. She used thirty seconds. The rest of the time she spent simply looking at the prompt.
When her turn came, she sat down opposite the instructor.
— Je voudrais vous parler de Madame Benali. C'est la boulangère de la rue des Cinq-Diamants. Elle a cinquante-huit ans. Elle est née à Alger. Elle habite à Paris depuis trente-cinq ans. Elle me donne un croissant tous les matins. Et elle parle lentement quand je ne comprends pas.
She paused. The instructor was smiling. Wei went on.
— Mais ce n'est pas pour le croissant. C'est parce qu'elle nous a accueillis. Elle a accueilli quatre étrangers, le premier jour. Et maintenant on est… on est sa famille. C'est ce qu'elle dit.
She finished. The instructor wrote something on her paper. The instructor did not say anything for a moment. Then she looked up.
— Très bien, Wei. Très, très bien.
Wei walked out of the small room. The other three were waiting in the corridor.
— Ça s'est passé comment ?
— Bien.
— Tu as parlé de quoi ?
— De Madame Benali.
Amara nodded. Mateo, predictably, said it was the best possible choice. Yuki said nothing, but she wrote it down in her notebook, in case it was useful later.