Between her house and her closest neighbor was a slight incline. The remnants of ancient farm walls were like lumps in the dark. I recognized the shape of a mound, not unlike the one I had found on the way back to Brumaire from swimming in the river.

Nazari came out of her house and locked the door. I asked her about the mound. She said, “They’re everywhere around here. It’s all about the limestone. People used to dig it out wherever they needed to build.” She indicated the mound. “Most of them are blocked. My neighbor cleared that one and made it into a wine-tasting room.”

She turned her Peugeot right at the departmental road, back towards town. A blue van was coming the other way, slowly, as if looking for an address. The driver and passenger were both scanning the landscape. They looked like lost delivery drivers, or utility workers. Lost and searching for a landmark. They were like twins with identical facial structures and narrow eyes. The van passed by.

I watched her drive. She was humming to herself. A little smile was playing out and then tapering off to a more reflective look. A lot of people hunch up when they drive. Nazari wasn’t hunched, she had good relaxed posture. She looked like someone who knew what she wanted. I figured that was to get into the research and intervention brigade, BRI. That’s what she’d said. I asked her, “When’s the exam?”

She had been thinking about something else. “What?”

“When’s the exam?”

“Oh. For the BRI.” She glanced at me. “September.”

“You’ll get in.”

“It’s a tough exam.”

“You’ll make it.”

She laughed. “How the hell do you know if I’ll get in?” I tried to think of something intelligent to say, but didn’t manage. She said, “As a matter of fact I’m pretty sure I will.”

Sunday night. Nothing going on, no one out. Couple of cars on the road. Everyone else home watching TV. I started to recognize the scenery. Half a mile away the three residential towers of Les Brosses rose above. Nazari slowed the car into a parallel parking lane out front of Le Foxy Kebab. The restaurant occupied the bottom floor of a three or four-story mixed-use building.

It was a cramped walk-in with booths lined up on either side and a counter in the back. The menu was posted on a board above the counter. The kitchen was visible from the front through steel service shelving. To the right side of the counter was a door with a toilet sign screwed into it.