Author: elcheato1@aol.com

Christmas Memory —Billy & Stevie go to Ford Rotunda

Way back in the days of yore, or back in the 1950s anyway.  As a kid, Christmas time was about the greatest thing to come down the pike.  The only close rival to Christmas, might have been summer vacation.  As we counted down the days to Christmas we had a lot on our minds.  Number one, we had to try to behave and not destroy everything we had worked for during the year.  But it seemed like the closer it got to Christmas, the worse we got and the easier it was to slide into bad deeds.  It might be being mean to a sister or another kid in the neighborhood.  It could also mean, not doing any of the small chores that were required of us by our parents.  Maybe we didn’t do our homework or tried to stay up too late to watch television.   (Note —as a kid, once the calendar rolled onto December, time, at least for us dragged on forever.  25 days seemed like 25 weeks, the days were short, but the nights made it seem longer.   Now a days, when December 1 is logged, it seems like Christmas comes just a week or so later.  The relativity of time changes as we age I guess.  Not sure if Einstein covered this in his work.)

My main companion in crime was usually my cousin Stevie, who just lived down the block from us.  He was two years younger than me, but  we seemed to always decide to hang out together during our spare time.  I don’t remember the actual year of this memory, but it would likely have been around the time that I might have been around ten and Stevie would have been eight.  We were in the foggy mist of the whole Santa Claus thing.  There were rumors that he did not exist and it was just our parents that were the real Santa Claus.  We didn’t want to believe that, but more and more evidence seemed to roll in every day.  The whole coming down the chimney thing was a real conundrum.  Neither one of us had a chimney with a fireplace in our house.  We had a furnace that burned coal in the winter.  How in the heck could Santa come down that skinny chimney without getting burned up in the furnace?  Now maybe he might come in the back door, but that was unlikely.  Also, that winter we had snow, but not a lot as yet, and without a lot of snow, how could the reindeers move along to deliver the goods?  Some of the sophisticated kids in school would gather a crowd in the schoolyard and expound on the realities of that there was no Real Santa Claus, and made fun of those that still believed.  It was best to avoid these Philistines, but there was definitely a real nagging concern that they might be right.

Most days we would check the front page of the newspaper when we got home to see how many more shopping days that there were before Christmas.  Then we would be sure that that we had the record player cranked up so we could get all hopped up on some Gene Autry and Bing Crosby, singing about the upcoming Big Event.   When I heard Gene sing about Here Comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane, I assumed he was singing about our house.   Maybe after dinner we  might spend some time paging through the latest Western Auto toy catalog and dream of what we hoped might be under the tree.  I was dreaming about  a Mattel Fanner 50 cap gun, a gun that took a roll of caps and when you fanned the hammer, like a real TV sheriff, it would fire as fast as the caps rolled before they jammed up.  There were other possible gifts, a bike, a new baseball, or glove.  So much to see.  I usually gave a pass to any of the ads for model trains.  You needed to have a lot of room in your house  or at least a basement to set up the tracks and get the train going.  Our houses barely had enough room for the parents and the kids, with no basement or upstairs other than an attic, it was out of the question.  

It was just at this time that we had a big surprise waiting for us.  I am not clear in my memory how it all came about, but we were told that there would be a trip to see Santa at the Ford Rotunda in Dearborn.  We had vague ideas about the building and what went on there, but we knew that it was a big place and every year at Christmas it was decorated and full of new cars, Fords of course, Christmas trees, elves, presents and of course Santa Claus.  I don’t remember if it was at night or on a Saturday, but I believe my father took myself and my sister Margaret as well as Stevie and his younger brother Robert.  My much younger sister Barbara was too little to know what was going on and might have been lost in the crowd of kids. 

We lived in southwest Detroit, so Dearborn was not a long drive and it was in a short time that we arrived at the magical Ford Rotunda.  Here was a large round building, that had a big FORD sign in the front and at the top of the walls, there were a couple receding walls  that made it look like a big birthday cake with layers.  I think it was always lit up at night.  When we got inside it was packed with crowds of agitated kids all dreaming of Christmas, Santa Claus and presents and maybe some Christmas snacks as well.  There was a giant Christmas tree as you came in, then  there were displays of toys, very big on the dolls if I remember and much more.  Christmas music played in the background as we tried to take in this whole overwhelming scene.  We became absorbed by the great excitement inside, you could feel that tension immediately,  It might have been from the parents trying to keep their kids in check, or from the kids who just wanted to ransack the place if they didn’t get to see Santa.  It was incredible!   We all stuck together as we began to explore the interior and figure out things.  It was an amazing show of lights that drew your attention in every direction.   There were displays of animated dolls and elves, doing things like making toys and cookies.  There was also a big display like the front of a church, that had a nativity scene inside.  So much to see for all of us.  We noticed that there  were a number of brand new cars interspersed amongst the Christmas displays.  We didn’t spend a lot of time looking at them, as my father and Stevie’s father were both GM guys, so they might admire the cars, but financially or otherwise, they were not something of great interest, at least not to us.

After a little bit of walking around, we walked into Santa’s Wonderland and began to see if we could locate Santa and have a short chat with him and let him know what we wanted.  Eventually we came upon the Santa HQ.  There he was, way up high at the top of a long, long ramp packed with tons of kids, shoving their way up there.  There was a big North Pole sign in front of it.  When we saw that, we realized that seeing Santa would not be an easy task.  It was not just on that ramp, as there was also a long line of people streaming along  in front of the North Pole sign, all waiting to just get on that ramp to get to Valhalla.  I could see that my father was not excited with the idea of waiting forever in that long line, so he had the four of us installed at the back of the line and said that he would check back every so often to see where we were in line, and would eventually meet us on the other side after we saw Santa.  Margaret was wearing a large orange coat and topped off her look with a yellow tam.  My father would use her outfit as his marker to see how things were going.  This was going to be a very grim business for us.  My sister Margaret was put in charge of my cousin Robert and Stevie and I were acting as free agents.  We let Margaret and Robert go ahead of us and we began to figure out our strategy.  Now Robert was firmly in the – I believe in Santa- camp, and Margaret was likely already in the pragmatic camp and just doing her duty as a charitable kid.  Stevie and I were both still on the fence and had to figure out what to do if we made it up there.  We talked it over for quite awhile.  If there really was a Santa, we knew that this guy was only standing in for him, as the real guy was at the real North Pole, getting ready for the big day.  We assumed whatever we told this helper, would be relayed to Santa and be put on his list.  IF we were still on the good list and not the naughty list, which was a real possibility.  Also,, there would only be time for one thing to ask for Christmas, so it would have to be something realistic and forget about all our other wishes and hope for presents.  So as we talked, we didn’t notice that Margaret and Robert had become a little separated from us and there were eight kids or more that were now between us. Some of the adults in line were worse than the kids and elbowed their way up the ramp to get junior closer to Santa.   We should have been paying better attention.  So now we would be even more delayed from our goal.  The crowd behind was even getting a little more aggressive, everyone wanted to hurry up and get their chance.  The more that we talked, it began to seem to have an inevitable ending for us.  We were tired waiting in this big line, it was getting hot in this crowd of eager, Santa Claus starved kids.  Was there really a Santa?  If so, what guarantee would we have that this Santa would get the right message to the Real Santa?  Also, being greedy, we didn’t want to limit ourselves to just one Christmas present.  We looked at each other and then looked further up the ramp and spotted Margaret and Robert slowly moving closer to the top.  We then turned around and shoved our way through the milling masses of little kids who were happy to see the line move up a little more for them.  When we got totally out of the lines and got into an open spot, we felt a little guilty but then relieved when we looked up at the conga line snaking up to Santa.  It probably looked a little like the storming of the Bastille, but with little kids and just a tiny bit less violent.  We made our way over to the Exit sign, where the survivors  would be gathering after their visit with Santa.  We had already rehearsed our excuse for my father and for Margaret..  We told them that we had a little bit too much pop and really had to go to the bathroom.  So by the time we got back, the line was too long.  We were not real disappointed and we were just happy to have this little outing into the magic Santa Wonderland of the Ford Rotunda.  The place always had a special place in our memories and always planned to come back another time, whether for Christmas or even in the summer.

All in all it was a successful trip.  We had fun, we didn’t commit ourselves  for or against the proposition —Is there really a Santa Claus?  We kept our options open and would play it by ear until Christmas Day.  I don’t know if it was that year, or the year after, that I finally did get a Mattel Fanner 50 cap gun, but I knew that it came from the parents of my friend across the street.  It wasn’t as great as advertised and eventually got jammed up with caps too many times, so it was relegated to use as a prop, where you had to furnish the sound of the shooting gun.  The creativity of those sounds depended upon which kid was the shooter, everyone had something a little different, but that is a story for another time.

Unfortunately, we never did make it back to the magical Ford Rotunda.  Then in 1962 there was a great fire, which accidentally caught the roof on fire and in a short time the whole building was destroyed.  After that time, no little kids would ever again see that wonderful Santa Wonderland and everything that went with it.  Kids would have to settle for going to a mall and see the rental Santas with the picture takers.  We were lucky to have this once in a lifetime experience.  So some things were better in the old days.

Note—The above sequence of events are mostly true, no names were changed to protect the innocent or the guilty, but getting all the facts down exactly after so many years,  cannot be relied upon 100%

copyright@Bill Melnik 2024 A.D.

Some of the Greatest Christmas songs —in one man’s opinion

These songs would be acceptable and enjoyed by everyone, little kids and old timers and all those in between.

Not ranked as to which one is the BEST, but just all on the list are some of the best, maybe not all the greatest, but

Most of the greatest.  Some of these songs have been done by other artists, but on this list, due to unconscious bias, there is no Justin Bieber, or Mariah Carey, or Taylor Swift or even Brittney Spears — although I am sure they all have Christmas albums lurking.  These songs below might be found on the Internet, or on some records in your basement, or on some old CDs or cassettes, or maybe on an 8 track.  Most are old standards, but you might find a couple new ones.  Here they are, dedicated to everyone who likes the music of Christmas time.

1/ White Christmas – Bing Crosby

2/ White Christmas – The Drifters

3/ Here comes Santa Claus — Gene Autry

4/ Little Drummer Boy —Harry Simeone Chorale

5/ Little Drummer Boy— Bing Crosby/David Bowie

6/Christmas Dream — Perry Como

7/ I yust go nuts at Christmas — Yogi Yorgesson

8/ I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day— The Carpenters

9/  Gesù bambino —Luciano Pavarotti

10/ Adeste Fidelis – Bing Crosby

11/ O Tannenbaum — Nat King Cole

12/ Jingle Bells — Andrews Sisters

13/ Jingle Bells —Barbra Streisand

14/ 12 Days of Christmas — Perry Como

15/  Nuttin’ for Christmas — Barry Gordon or Stan Freberg

16/ All Through the Night — Kingston Trio

17/ The Christmas Song — Nat King Cole

18/ Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas — Judy Garland

19/  Christmas Waltz — Frank Sinatra

20/ Feliz Navidad — Jose Felicia no

21/ Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer — Gene Autry

22/ Christmas Vacation — Mavis Staples

23/  Mary’s Boy Child —Harry Belafonte

24/ O Holy Night— Pavarotti or Mario Lanza

25/ Chipmunk Song (Christmas don’t be late) – Alvin and the Chipmunks

26/ Carol of the Bells (Ukrainian folk tune) – Various artists

27/ Mele Kalikimaka —Andrews Sisters & Bing Crosby

28/  Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree — Brenda Lee

29/ All I want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth —Spike Jones

30/I’ll Be Home for Christmas — Michael Buble

31/Holly Jolly Christmas — Burl Ives

32/Donde esta Santa Claus—Augie Rios

33/No Place like Home for the Holidays –Carpenters

34/ Uncle Mistletoe — Three Suns

35/ Frosty the Snowman — Ronettes

36/ Dominic the Donkey — Lou Monte

37/ We need a little Christmas -Angela Lansbury & Cast of Mame

38/ The Night Before Christmas — Perry Como

39/ Do You Hear What I Hear — Bing Crosby

40/ The Most Wonderful Time of the Year — Andy Williams

And for those that would like some non-traditional Christmas songs

1/ Santa Claus & his old Lady —Cheech & Chong

2/ Christmas Dragnet — Stan Freberg

3/  Monster’s Holiday — Bobby ‘Boris’ Pickett

4/ Christmas in Jail— The Youngsters

5/  Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney — Ella Fitzgerald

When I heard this from the brother, I was filled with joy and sadness.  Patrice had survived, he wasn’t dead, but he had gone through much suffering and pain and unknown sorrows before he was rescued by these monks.  I was eager for more details, but as before, Brother Andre asked for patience on my part.  He was not finished with his story.  He told me that after this revelation, the monks encouraged Patrice in his recovery.  He began to write out things he remembered of his

past life and shared these with the members of the community.  As the weeks and months passed, he began to not only recover his memory, he began to have

a small ability to speak.  It was raspy and hard to hear, but at times he could communicate.  He told the monks that he felt that he began to feel an attachment to this community of monks and the simple life that they lived.  He was not originally a man of deep religious feelings, but after all that he had experienced in his life up to that point, he felt that there was a reason that he ended up at their doorstep.  He was being drawn into this life of prayer and the community.  After so many years, he realized that he. could not expect that he could return to France and start life over again. He would never forget Claudine and his deep feelings for her, but he could not expect her to be there waiting for him. He was much older now as she would be as well. Hopefully she had gone back to America and started a new life. It would be best for both of them.

Brother Andre related all this from eventual conversations with Patrice as he began to regain his voice.  One day Patrice was properly prepared by many months of study and prayer and he was formally accepted into the religious order of these monks. He took the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience and became Brother Patrice. Finally he had become part of something that he felt he could do for the rest of his life. After so much death, sadness and uncertainty, he was at peace and serene with his new vocation. He was still called Brother Muet by some of the older members, but Brother Patrice became a big part of the monastic community. It was eventually discovered that he did have a fine singing voice as well. He was able to join with the others in singing during the Mass and praying of various parts of the Divine Offices every day.

Pete, although I now knew that we would not be reunited, I was happy that Patrice had been able to recover from all that he had gone through and was able to rebuild his life in such a positive way. At first I was jealous and quite sad that I was no longer part of his life. I thought, what about me? But then. if this was the path that he chose, then I must accept it. As the brother said, so many years had now gone by, it was not realistic to think that we would be able to get together again and begin a new life from where we had left off. It was hard, but it was the only answer for both of us.

Brother Andre then completed his story. He said that he had come back to France because their monastery in Algeria had been closed by the government. There were still many residual animosities against the French and Christians by some of the more radical Muslims. So they all had to return not France. They settled in a small community near Marseilles. They joined with the priests and brothers there and resumed their life of prayer and work. Unfortunately, this was not be their final destination. There had been a few deaths in recent years among the monks and also their finances were not enough to keep the place running. Soon this monastery was also to close. Brother Andre was able to find a place here at this parish. Brother Patrice and a few others in the community had finally found a place in a larger monastery in Normandy. It was a little more cold and desolate, too much so for Brother Andre, so he did not join them there.

The rest of them were able to fit into the new community and helped with the small farming and taking care of the bees that they had.  With the help of Brother Patrice and another brother, they increased the honey output and started producing mead as well as honey. By selling these products they ensured that this community would be better off financially and might survive any hard times. They did not have their own chapel, but since they were neighbors to a community of cloistered nuns, they were able to say daily Mass at the chapel of the sisters. So this is where Patrice is now located.

So Pete, I expect that this is the end of my story.  It may not have ended the way that I hoped, but it did have a better ending than expected.  I don’t think we will meet again. But I wanted to finish this up and let you know what happened to me and Patrice. I will return home and I think that I will be selling my house. It is too big for me and too full of the past. I hope to begin again somewhere. I am not sure where or what it will be. Thank you for listening to my story and allowing me to share it with you.

My best to you in the future

sincerely, Claudine

So there it was.  The end of the story and my Walk with Claude.  It was all something to stay with me for the rest of my life.  I was sad that it had come to an end, but I was just a bystander in this whole chain of events.  Glad to be a part of it,  but now, thats it.  Time to move on.

The following year I was not sure that I wanted to return to the town and see if Claudine was still there.  She said that she was going to sell her house and move, so there was no point of checking on her any longer.  But, curiosity got the better of me, and when the

time came, there we were again, stopping for the garage sales and the busy activities taking place on a hot and humid summer day. I decided that if I walked once again past her house, I would only stop if Sandy was out selling again. If she wasn’t there, I would keep on walking and forget about it. I walked slowly as I didn’t want to take a chance and miss Sandy, just in case.  I guess I was leaving it up to fate.  As I drew closer, I saw that there was Sandy with a couple of big tables sitting under the trees, talking to potential buyers about the valuable wares on her tables.  After the crowd cleared a bit, I approached her to say hello.  She saw me right away.  “So, Pete.. back again this year.  I bet you are not too interested in

what I am selling, but rather in what I might be telling you.  Right?” I laughed at her “I guess that you might be right about that.  Although it does look like you do have some interesting things for sale.  But of course I would love to know what was new about Claudine.”

She looked at me and thought for a moment “Wellllll, I guess of all people, I should be able to share private information about Claudine with you.  I guess she would expect me to do it. “

“Did she sell her house and move from here?” I asked

““Yes she did, I guess.  Its kind of strange, at least to me.  She came back here from over there and went to work cleaning up the house and getting rid of everything.    One day she called me over to talk with her.  She seemed to be in a hurry to go away.  She told me that she had seen a lawyer and drew up legal papers for it all.  She told me that the house was now ready to be sold with the furniture in it as well.  She said that if I would agree to handle the house sale, that I would get half of the proceeds for doing the

work. Some of the rest would go to the local church in town and balance was to be sent to her at a forwarding address that she left for me. I agreed to do it of course, although I thought it was crazy for her to give up everything like this, especially at her age. Anyway, I couldn’t talk her out of it. So that was it. She asked if I still had your address. I told her that I did and gave it to her the next day. I thought that maybe she was going up to see you maybe. I guess she didn’t. So, that was how we left it. I didn’t see her again.

She just disappeared.  After a couple days, I went over to check on her and she was gone,   Just left a note on the kitchen table, saying that she would not be back, and thanks for everything.  I never saw her leave, but one of our neighbors, Nellie Finch, said that she saw someone that looked like Claudine came out the back door of the house one night, carrying a couple suitcases and getting into a car in the alley.  But she said she looked more like a younger girl than Claudine.  I just figured that it was her eyes not working so good at night.  Anyway, I sold the house earlier this year and sent her part of the money to that address, which was over in FRANCE ! of all places.  Thats the end of it.  I haven’t heard from her again. So now you know everything.  At least all that I know.  Now are you going to buy something from me?”  she laughed . I thanked her for sharing the news and giving me all the details of what happened.  I looked over at her tables and noticed that she had a number of old record albums.

““Say, these look like some new items this year.””

“Yes, they are, they came from some of the stuff Claudine left behind in the house.” I

saw that there were some albums of French music, some of the stuff that Claudine had mentioned to me.  I picked up a couple of them, including the Michel Legrand record.   “ I think I can take these.  How much?”  

She stared at me for a moment.  I thought she was computing in her mind how much she could charge. 

Then she just said “You know, I think that

she would want you to have those.  I could never sell them anyway.  She would want you to have those.  I could never sell them anyway.  You take them as a memory of her, okay?” I hadn’t expected that.  It gave me a shiver, I don’t know why.  I grabbed her hand and thanked her and told her that I hoped to see her again next year.

I walked up the street once again, looking for Annie to hear about the treasures that she might have discovered. I really wanted to walk once again down the alley behind Claudine’s house, and maybe find that park again.  I then figured that there was no point to it. So I decided not to and kept on walking.  I met Annie at the usual yard and we and we spent some time shopping.  She found a couple rare gems and was quite excited about her finds. I was happy for her, but was mostly muted in my reactions.  I was still thinking about everything that I learned from Sandy.  So Claudine was gone for good now.  I figured that I knew most of her story now.  I just would not know where she ended up or what she would do in France.  I guess she just thought that she didn’t have anything keep her here in the States and going over there would somehow bring her closer to Patrice.  Although that certainly looked like a dead end to me.  I guess I should consider that I now had closure on this.  The story began a few years ago, quite by accident, and now there was nothing more to say.  It had consumed a good part of my thoughts during this time.  I was rooting for a happy ending and I guess it was in some ways.

Annie and I pulled out of town and headed to the next group of sales and flea markets along the road.  As I drove, I was determined that I would not be back here again next year, at least.  I didn’t have anything to look forward to here and maybe I didn’t want any more reminders of of the whole thing. I would do my best to forget about it, and just keep a few pleasant memories in the back, way back, of my mind. As we traveled down the roads I told Annie that I didn’t think we would do this again next year.  I wanted to plant that into her mind now.  I told her that maybe we might take a trip out west or out to New England for a change.  That is what we did.  The next few summers were spent in trips out west and into the east. I soon had few thoughts about Claudine or her town.  I occasionally wondered what had happened, but as time went out I began to let it all go.

So it was in the fall of the year, the leaves were just starting to change colors and the evening air was beginning to have a little reminder that summer was over and winter would be here one day.  The next day I was sitting in the living room reading a book when Annie came into the house with that day’s mail.  “Say Pete, who in the heck do you know in France?  It looks like it might be from a religious group or something.  It is addressed to you, so maybe they got your name from some other charity.  Should I just pitch it?”

I just said : “ France, dont know what that could be.  But let me take a look at it. “  It then hit me.  France.  It couldn’t be Claudine, its been a couple years now, why would she be writing to me?  Could it be?  I took the letter and my other mail and just put it all together in the back of my book.  I glanced at the letter, and saw right away that it was Claudine’s handwriting on that envelope.  I had no idea what to think, but I would need a little time to take a look at it. Annie came into the living room to tell me that she was going to the mall to do a little shopping and would be back in a couple hours.  Well that would give me time to read the letter and see what this was all about.  I went out into the backyard and settled in a chair looking out over the trees behind the house.  It was a sunny day with mostly blue skies but it was a little chilly, happily, the sun kept me warm enough.  I noticed that the envelope showed that it was from The Abbey of St Therese.  I opened the envelope, now very curious about why it came from a religious destination.   

I began to read it :

Hello Pete, You must be shocked to hear from me once again.  Well, I will try to get to the point right away.  When I left the States, I arrived in France and made my way in this direction.  I think I knew what I was going to do, but I had some doubts.  I came to this religious house in Normandy of course because it was close to where Patrice was now living.  I couldn’t contact him or see him, but I wanted to do something.  The next thing, I went to the door of this convent of religious sisters and asked to speak to whomever was in charge.  Before I knew it, I was making plans to spend some time here deciding if I would be a good candidate to become a NUN!  Of all things.  Don’t laugh.  My initial motives were a little devious, but after a few weeks here my mind started to change.  The longer that I lived with these holy sisters, the more I noticed a change coming over me.  My goal of seeing Patrice was overcome by this new feeling I had that this is a place where I should have come to long ago.  I loved the solitude and the daily activities and prayer life.  I was finally accepted as a candidate, a novice.  It is a testing period for the novice.  My time as a novice lasted for more that a year as there were many things to do, studies and consultations with the Sister Superior and a little background checks on me as well.  This is a time of prayer and devotion to decide if this was going to be how I spend the rest of my life.  They were not getting a spring chicken, but they were going to get a hard worker and a devoted sister, if I made it.  During this time, everyday we all went to Mass in the early morning and assembled in our pews.  Since we are a cloistered order, we do not communicate with the rest of the world.  Our pews are behind an enclosure with a screen, so we can view the Mass as the priest celebrates it, and we can hear the prayers and we can sing as well.  The first time I attended Mass in the chapel I was excited to see that the monks of the monastery were in attendance in the pews in the front rows.  There were about nine or ten of them and they would sing some of the hymns during Mass.  I searched the faces of the monks and I suddenly recognized Patrice.  He was older of course and he had a full beard, that was mostly gray now, but it truly was him.  My first thoughts were selfish, like why were we apart all those years, and why can we only be together again now, but separated by a screen and so much more over time.  But after  awhile I soon was just happy that I could hear his voice amongst the singing of the other monks and see his face as he sang.  He would not be able to see me and I was already wearing a religious habit.  But we were reunited again.  I confessed all this to the priest and even to Mother Superior to be sure that I was not becoming a nun here just to be with my old lover.  We talked it over a few times and I prayed about it, and finally my mind was at peace.  This was my life now, whether Patrice was there or not.  So this will be the last you will ever hear form me, Pete.  I had to bring closure to our relationship.  You know of my life, and you deserve to know how it will conclude.  By the time you read this letter, I will have taken my final vows.  I will be a full member of my order and have taken the name Sister Claude Marie.  I will be here the rest of my life, living with my fellow sisters.  Praying and working for God each day of my life. God has allowed me to be able to see Patrice every day and hear his voice.  He doesn’t know that he also hears my voice along with the singing with all of my fellow sisters.  God has reunited us.  I would have never believed that this is how it would be resolved.  God works his deeds in wondrous ways.  I am at peace and I am sure that Patrice is as well.

sincerely

Sister Claude Marie

I folded the letter up and put it back into the envelope.  I went into the house and pulled out the record that I bought from Sandy.  I put it on my old turntable and thought that this would be a perfect ending for the story for me.  As the “Theme from the Moulin Rouge” started to play I sat down and closed my eyes.  I could see the two young lovers walking down a street, hand in hand planning their future.  It might not have been as they planned, but it certainly did turn out all right.  

end

copyright@2023

 

I grabbed the envelope and slit it open.  I pulled out the many pages that were inside.  Opening them up, I could see why this envelope was so much thicker and bigger.  The previous letter had been typewritten.  These pages were are all hand written.  It was filled with stark black handwriting on the bright white paper.  Her writing was a little large, but not too large and it was really beautiful, almost artistic writing.  I started to read.

Peter

I wish I could speak directly to tell you about what has gone on since I have arrived in France.  It is a very long story and I will try to tell it all to you in the best way that I am able. In any case, I have to write it all down for you and explain all that I have done so far and of the results of my adventures here.   I wanted to finish this up and be sure that I would have it in Sandy’s hands before you arrived again in town.  I first went to see my former student Mireille and learn what she knew.  She told me of what she found out from her cousin Beatrice and of the monk, Brother Andre.  The story that she had was a little uncertain and very incomplete.  She suggested that it would be best if we could journey down to the south of France and to the village where the monk resided.  We obtained all the details of the whereabouts of the village and of the church.  So, after resting for a few days, we set out on the train to our destination.  

We were able to stay at the house of Beatrice’s relations and they were helped to arrange for us to be able to speak with the priest.  We walked over to the church the next day and after the morning Mass we met the priest, Father Martin.  He took us to his small parlor and we sat down and had coffee and some rolls and began our discussions.  I explained to him, that it was important to me that I would be able to speak with Brother Andre and to find out what he knew about Patrice or about his father and what had become of them.  He was very kind and understanding and said that he would arrange a meeting for us with Brother Andre the next day.  Father Martin would explain everything to Brother Andre and prepare him to meet with us in the morning.  We thanked him and I left full of excitement and worry about what I might discover from the brother.

As you might imagine, I spent a very restless night thinking about what tomorrow would bring.  We got up early that morning and were soon again back at the church and meeting Father Martin.  We walked back to his parlor and there at the table sat an elderly man, in brown robes, similar to what Father Martin wore.  He sat quietly at the table and glancing up at us as we entered.  Father Martin introduced us to him.  Then he excused himself, saying that he would leave us to discuss in private with Brother Andre about what he knew of our family.  After we sat down, Brother Andre looked at us and smiled and said that he would try to give us as much information as he could and help us on our search.  Our conversation started out a little awkwardly as we were uncertain as where we would begin or if he even had information about Patrice.  After a few questions we were still stumbling a bit, not knowing what to expect from the monk.  Finally, he stopped us and began again to speak.

“From what you have told me so far, I think I already know about whom you seek.  If you will relax for a bit, I will tell you the tale of the one we called Brother Muet. Now I cannot tell you the exact day or even year that this happened, but this is how it began.  This was a number of years ago back in our monastery in Algeria. We were a small community and we had some chickens, small animals and raised some crops all to feed us and also to trade with the local villagers.  One of brothers, Brother Francois, was out for his morning trek one day into the countryside, he would pray and meditate as he walked.  That morning while on his usual route, he thought that he saw an animal or something hiding under some trees in the valley.  It was not moving, so he walked down to investigate.  When he made it to the trees he took his walking stick and nudged the animal to see if there was life.  It stirred slowly and as it did, he saw that it was a man.  He was moaning and in some distress.  He tried to raise him up, but the man was not able to get up.  Brother Francois hastened back to the monastery and got our mule cart and another brother to help him and went back to rescue this man.  They were able to put him into the cart and take him back to the monastery.  Once there,  Father Pierre, who was also our doctor, took him into our small infirmary to see if he could help this man.  He was quite dehydrated and unable to speak.  Father Pierre was able to start giving him fluids and to bring down his high fever.  After a few days of nursing and giving him broth and cool liquids, he seemed to be recovering a little.  He still was almost in a coma and not able to respond.  It was also discovered that he had a wound in his right leg, it looked like a bullet wound that had been inflicted quite some time ago.  Father Pierre said that when the patient regained his strength, he would have to remove the bullet as it already was a source of infection on his leg and maybe his bones as well.

Eventually we were able to take care of that and after some months this man was awake and able to walk and take meals with us.  Unfortunately he still could not speak and after many attempts, he could not remember his name or how he came to be in this condition.  It was at this time that we decided to call him Brother Muet, Brother Speechless.  We had to call him something.  He smiled and responded to that name and so he began his life with us.”

I interrupted Brother Andre, I asked him who this man was.  Was it Patrice?  The monk asked for patience and he said he would reveal everything, but all in good time. Patience was needed. He would finish his tale as it happened.   He continued again “So Father Pierre was finally able to extract that bullet from his leg.  He asked him if he knew how he came by that wound, but Brother Muet did not have a clue.  It was here that it was confirmed that he was suffering from amnesia as well as losing the ability to speak.  He had been wandering through the dessert and the hills for an unknown time and unknown sufferings.  When he was strong enough he started to work along with the rest of us, and became a part of our community as well as he could.  A few years passed and one day we were visited by some of the local military.  They told us that there were a number of militant rebels in our area and were very anti-French.  They were particularly were looking for any men who had been part of the French uprising at the time of the Algerian liberation from France.  They were suspicious of any French men, including the monks here in our community.  We told them that we were men of peace and would cause no problems.  When the soldiers left, we found brother Muet hiding in the food cellar.  He was alarmed and afraid.  There was something about the armed men that frightened him.  Maybe this was a clue t his past? After this he began to act a little differently, as if he had regained part of his memory it seemed.

Sometime after this there was another significant event.  At the time that Brother Muet had arrived at our place, we had to replace all his clothing and sandals.  Everything was tattered and dirty.  We clothed him in our monastic garb as that is all we had.  So he always wore our brown robes.  His clothing and belongings were put into a box and left in our store room.  We could use some of the clothes eventually as cleaning rags.  It was when I remembered about those rags that I went into the box to retrieve them to use for cleaning the walls in our chapel.  As I was cutting up the clothes and to then wash them it was that I came across an old, weathered, cracked small wallet.  There did not seem to be anything in the wallet. I hesitated to throw it away, but then something fell out from it. It was an old photo that had been hiding inside.  It was a picture of a young man and that of a beautiful red haired woman.”  When brother Andre said this, he looked right at me.  “Yes, of a beautiful woman.  On the back it was written, – Claude and underneath it, La Mer. So we now had a clue to the identity of our Brother Muet.  I assumed his name might be Claude LaMer?”  

Pete, I have to tell you when he said that, my heart began to race.  I never said anything about this to anyone.  It was only a private thing between young lovers. When Patrice and I spent our time together, on old song by Charles Trenet,  La Mer, had been quite popular in France and was our song as well.  I had been familiar with the tune from an old Bobby Darin song – Beyond the Sea—which was the same melody but with a few different lyrics.  It was very romantic and Claude would sing the French and sometimes the English lyrics as well to me. He had a beautiful voice.   La Mer!!!! It had to be Patrice!  To continue the narrative from Brother Andre

—“I showed the photo to Father Pierre and asked if it would be helpful to present this to Brother Muet.  He assented. We waited till after our evening meal, we sat at the table and I spoke to Brother Muet.  I asked if he recognized this wallet.  I held it in my hands and then gave it to him. He gave a small nod of his head.  He seemed a little confused, but he took it in his hand and stated to look through it.  I asked him if he might be looking for this picture.  I passed it across the table to him.  His eyes glazed over and tears began to fall as his body began to shake.  He again nodded his head excitedly.  Yes.

Then I said to him, so you are Claude LaMer?  He looked at me and tried to laugh and began to smile, he shook his head.  It was here that the fog seemed to lift from our Brother Muet.  While he still could not speak, he gave a sign that he wanted pencil and paper, he wanted to write!  When he had the paper in front of him, he hesitated.  He began to write furiously, as his memory came back to him in spasms and fits.  Finally he wrote something on the back of the paper.  It said —Before I can reveal my true name, I hesitate because once you know it, I may be putting you in danger, as I am someone wanted for things in my past, by the new government and by any of the Moslem rebels as well.—I looked at him and then at Father Pierre.  I told him that anything he said to us, would be kept in confidence and never revealed to the authorities, come what may happen to us.  You are one of our brothers now.  We all knew the history of what had happened in Algeria at the time of independence and the wars with the French pied noirs and those that could not leave again for France.  We would not judge what he might have done.  He looked at me,  He seemed relieved as he wanted to continue to sort out his past and might need our help to do it.  He began to write again on the paper.

—-I cannot remember everything.  I do not know how I arrived here or what happened at that time, but I am starting to remember what came before.  This photo is from a long time ago.  It is of me and the woman I loved.  We were separated because of my departure from her to come back to Algeria to bring my parents back to France at the time of all the terrible fighting and troubles.  As you can see, I never returned.  Why?  I have to sort that out.  I need to discover my past and what brought me here to you.  I hope that I may by this remembering, one day to bring back my speech again.  In any case, my brothers, the beautiful  woman in the picture is Claude….Claudine, my love.  And La Mer? That was our song La Mer.  I am Patrice Laperriere.  

copyright@2023

The road home allowed me time to think about what was in the letter from Claudine.  My mind wandered over the possibilities and whether or not what she had to say would clear up anything for me.  After another day of stopping and starting and doing our flea market shopping, we finally arrived safely home late one evening.  We took the time to unpack all of our luggage and the various treasures that were picked up along the trail.  I had the envelopes safely stowed in a plastic bag with my purchases from Sandy.  I was quite tired from all the driving and the hot, steamy weather that we traveled through that day.  As I got into bed, I made my plans for what I would do to have the privacy to read and discover what I might from Claudine.

The next day, I had my plans all set.  There was a small lake near our house, where I would often go to spend time trying to land a few fish.  The fish were secondary to me, it was more about the time alone to just sit and think and forget about life for a little while.   I always planned to catch a couple big bass, but usually ended up with a couple small blue gills. 

 “Annie, I think I am going to take it easy today, I  am going to head over to Veronica Lake and do a little quiet fishing.”  

Annie looked at me in surprise.  “I would think that you would just want to relax around the house, after all that driving that you did.  But, if that is something that will be relaxing for you, go ahead.  Just let me know what time to expect you back.”

I told her that I would only be gone for a few hours.  I got my rod and tackle box, my cooler too, then loaded it all into the car, not forgetting my bag with the letters.  Soon I was on my way to the lake and maybe final resolution or at least some answers to my many questions.  I arrived at my usual spot.  There were a few boats out on the lake, but it was not very crowded, so I was able to find a secluded spot down the shore where I could put my chair out and toss my line into the water.  Then I could relax and start reading whatever it was that Claudine had to tell me.

I pulled out the smaller envelope first.  As I was instructed, I would read this letter first.  I wondered what was the reason for that, but I guess I would find that out now.  I pulled out my pocket knife and slit open the envelope.  I was surprised to see that the letter was typewritten.  I guess she must have written this letter before she left.  It looked like it was typed on a typewriter, not printed out from a computer page.  Maybe it was her old school girl typewriter.  Interesting.  I started to read:

Hello Pete,

Since you are reading this, I am glad that I am able to tell you now a little about what has happened in the recent months after we last met.  Excuse this old typewriter and paper, but I have had this machine since my days in Paris, it is a bit of a connection to those days.   I know that it must seem strange that I am sharing all these private details of my life with a veritable stranger.  As I said before, when you stopped and bought my Paris book and showed interest in what I said about  about my life there, I felt that you were someone I could share my story with.  Also, as time went by, you had a few small mannerisms that made me think of Patrice.  Funny I guess.

So why did I not share all this with my friends at home or my family?  Well, I went off to college for a little more than four years.  When I came home, many of my old school friends had already started a new life.  We had little in common.  Also, I didn’t allow the grass to grow under my feet, I was in a hurry to go to France for my next adventure.  So I said goodbye to my parents and I was off again.  I wrote home often, but I never mentioned anything about Patrice to them, as I didn’t want to speak of it, until I was sure that we might have a future together, and I didn’t want my parents to worry that I might not come home again if I married a Frenchman.  As you know, Patrice left me for Algeria and while I was waiting for him, I had to come home when my mother was sick.  Arriving home only after she had died, and then trying to help my father with his grief and his now neglected hardware stare, there was no time for talking of my problems.  So time went on and the months became years with no one to share my thoughts and dreams, sadness and wished for happiness.  I felt I needed to help my father and keep everything together for him.  That was my duty.  Then my father died and that was it.  I was older and much of life had passed me by.  It is  hard to believe that you were the first opportunity that I had to share  all of this with with someone.  If you showed no interest, it was not a risk for me, as you were a stranger.  I would not see you again and I was no worse off than I was before we met.  Now that we have gotten that out of the way.  I assume that you do want to know what happened and where I have gone.  This past spring I received a letter from France. 

 I had little to no communication with anyone from Paris in quite awhile.  The letter was from one of my old students, Mireille.  If you remember, she was a cousin of Patrice.  She still had my address after all these years, or she might have gotten it from someone in Patrice’s family?  I don’t know, but I was pleased to hear from her.  I just wondered why she was writing me again after all this time. I never even thought that it might have anything to do with Patrice.  But it did!  What a shock!

Mireille told me that she had been at a family dinner with some of her cousins.  After dinner they were enjoying some wine and dealing in mostly small talk, catching up on stories of her aunts and other cousins.  She then found herself sitting with her cousin Beatrice who then whispered to her, that she might have news of her uncle Patrice and his father!  Beatrice was the daughter of Patrice’s youngest sister.

She knew that Mireille was a former student of mine, and that I had been romantically involved with Patrice.  So she thought that this news must be shared.  She said that a few months previously, it must have been during the summer holidays, that her family had gone to the country to spend a few weeks.  While they were in this small village, they always attended Mass on Sunday. After one Mass, they stopped and spoke with the priest.  He was an older man, and was dressed as a monk.  Even with the hot weather, he still wore a long, heavy robe with a hood.  They assumed he must belong to a religious order.  As they talked, he asked their name and where they were from.  When they told him that their family name was Laperriere, the priest hesitated and looked at them.  He asked if they ever had family that lived in Algeria at any time.  They were unsure if they could trust the priest, as the last days of French Algeria did not end well.  Those that stayed to end were not spoken about these days.  Some had been considered outlaws or worse.  But, so much time had passed, they  decided it would be no harm, so they confirmed that it was so, they had family that lived there for some time.  The priest then told them, that he might have news of some relatives of theirs. There was an old man, who was a brother in his same religious order that had recently joined their community.  He had lived many years in a monastery in Algeria. Then he had to leave Algeria, and for the past number of years he was back in France living at a religious house.  This house closed down recently, so he had come to live with them here to spend his remaining days.  This man had already shared a number of stories with the priest, including one that may be of some interest to Beatrice and her family.  The name Laperriere was prominent in his conversations.

So Pete, it was with this limited information here that I decided I needed to go back to Paris and see and hear for myself what this news would be.  Was it about Patrice, or maybe  about his father?  Or just someone else with that name, but it was the first tiny bit of news that I have had in so many years.   Good or bad, I could not rely on letters or third hand accounts, I needed to go back and go to this church and speak to this monk in person.  If I delayed, who knows?  The old fellow may die or go somewhere else.  I was able to call on the telephone and spoke with Mireille and let her know that I was going to be arriving in short order.  I would like to speak with Beatrice and see what she knew from speaking with this monk.  After that I would have to travel down to this village and this church and speak with this religious brother.  So, I am on my way.  When I have more information and am able to write back, I plan to send another letter with more news. Hopefully it will be before you come back into town.   I will send it in care of Sandy, and then she will give it to you.  I will ask her to be sure that you read this letter first before you read anything else from me.  At least this explains my departure and whereabouts.  

Until that time, all my best regards to you

Claudine

This was certainly big news for Claudine.  Maybe it would finally provide her with answers about Patrice and what may have happened.  I hope that it will not be just a dead end or a wasted trip over some fragments of gossip or mistaken identity.  Her whole life up to this moment was filled with this uncertainty of her past.  It was now some months since she left. Maybe this second envelope would have the answers that she was looking for.  Thinking back on this, I wondered how this one, simple stop to buy a book, something that I was not even sure that would be of much interest to me.  That book would lead me to get involved in this woman’s life, her sharing an afternoon with me in a hazy, beautiful trip into her younger days and learning of the story of her lost love, waiting for someone who would only be alive in her memories.  It was a tragic story with just a brief interlude of happiness so many years ago.

I doubted if it would have a happily ever after ending, but at least for her it might provide some kind of final closure?  The other envelope was sitting in the bag under my feet.  I wanted to know what it contained, but I needed to stop and take a few minutes before I could read it.  I decided to take a cold beer out of my cooler and eat part of my sandwich.  This second envelope may be a wonderful ending to this magical tale, or it might be something of great sorrow and sadness, or would it be possible of something in between that?  Here I was sitting on banks of a lovely river, on a bright and sunny day, and maybe getting ready to read something that I might not want to know.  I was hoping for something positive or even more. I just didn’t want this unexpected journey in my life to end an on a note of broken dreams and bitter ending.  I could just put it aside and hope that maybe I would hear of some more news about this.  I had left my name and address with Sandy and asked her to write me if she had more news of Claudine or if Claudine returned home, she could even write directly to me.  I knew that this was not what I needed to do.  I had to stop the procrastination and pick up the envelope and find out what Claudine had to tell me about what she found. In the bright sunlight, the envelope seemed to be glowing up at me.

copyright @2023

After a long winter, Spring arrived and also with thoughts of warmer weather and another trip down south later that summer.  I had tried to put most of my thoughts about Claudine out of my mind.  At least for most of the time.  But many times, I wondered what would I would say to her, when I saw her again this year.  The closer it got to the time the more that I tried to decide upon how the conversation might go, what she might say, or would she even remember that day last summer?  There was such uncertainty in my mind, but I knew that no matter what, we would go back there and I would speak to Claudine and resolve it all with her then.  I wasn’t going to write anything down, but just go over it all and be sure to express my thoughts to her and then see how it went.  The date of our departure was coming soon and I could hardly wait to get the answers to all of my questions.

The day finally came and we packed up the car and got our plans all set to drive down again, thorough the cities and towns along the way, waiting for our eventual stop in the little town where Claudine resided.  It would be on a Friday this year instead of Saturday, as I had moved up our departure date by a day, so I could at least see her one day earlier.  The days were hot and steamy just as they had been last year.  The traffic was pretty hectic, full of bargain hunters, treasure seekers, motor homes, pickups pulling trailers, all interspersed with semi trucks trying to maneuver around all the cars stopping at starting at all the flea markets and garage sales.  After a night in a motel on Thursday, we set out again south on Friday.  I expected that we would arrive at our destination in the early afternoon.  I didn’t want to make it too late in the day and miss out if she quit selling early.  

Soon, we were back in the familiar town.  The sidewalks were packed with people, just as before.  There were crowds of women, surrounded by little children running around, zooming between the many sales tables and yards full of knick knacks, furniture and even some old farming implements.  I tried to slow my pace, so I wouldn’t look like I was too eager to get there.  Annie was just excited to see all the many yards and street sides packed with sellers and shoppers.  She was taking her time trying not to miss anything.  At last, we were on the right block and approaching Claudine’s house.  I tried to look interested at the tables that were along the sidewalk on the way.  Annie seemed to know exactly where she was going.  Finally she said :”Pete, I know that the big house just up the block is the one with all the stuff in tents and in the yards of a couple houses.  I am going up there right now.  Meet me up there when you are done here.”  With that she scampered down the street, heading to the big sale.  I was relieved that she would not be present when I was going to talk to Claudine about last year.  I hadn’t spoken to Annie about any of it yet and I couldn’t now, at least not until I might have some answers. I walked over to the yard in front of her house.  I looked for her tables under the tree.  At first I thought I had the wrong house, as there were not any tables or any sign of selling either in her yard or by the street.  I glanced up at the house and I recognized the big stone steps and the porch.  I hadn’t expected this.  Was she not selling this year, or was it something worse?  What now?  All this waiting and  now nothing?  I looked around at some of the other nearby sellers and I recognized Claudine’s friend Sandy.  Maybe she might be able to let me know where Claudine was.  Right now that was my only shot.

“I think you are Claudine’s neighbor Sandy, is that right?”

“Well yes, I am her friend and neighbor.  And who are you? “  She seemed a little defensive and maybe not very forthcoming.

“I was here last year, and bought a book from Claudine.  I was hoping to speak with her about that book and some other things.”

She looked at me, with a little suspicion “Do you want your money back or something?”

I wasn’t getting anywhere with Sandy.  I figured I would put all my cards on the table, at least those that I could show her anyway.  “We spoke about a few things last year, and she said if I came back again, that we might speak a little more, my name is Pete.”

Sandy smiled at me, “Why didn’t you say so in the first place.  Claudine did say that someone by the name of Peter or Pete, might be coming back this year.  If you might wait a moment, I think I have something for you.”

I interrupted her “Where is Claudine?  I was hoping to see her again.  Is she ok?  Is she sick or out of the town right now?”

“Don’t be so impatient.  I was going to get to all that.  Are you a boyfriend or some kinfolk of hers?

I thought for a moment, I laughed “ I guess it would be somewhere in between that.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy Sandy, but she continued.

“Early this past spring, Claudine got a big envelope from somewhere overseas.  Sam the mailman, said that it had some fancy foreign writing on it.  He thought it could have been from Europe.  Anyway, she was pretty excited about that whole thing.  The next thing you know, she is packing up things and kind of closing up her house a little.  She told me that she had some news from some old friends in France and she had to go back to find out about some old stuff from the past. I asked her why the heck she would be going all the way over there at her age, and a spinster at that.  She told me that she wasn’t a spinster, nor was she a widow, she was just a single woman who still had a bit of life left in her.  I couldn’t argue with her after that.  She was determined to go.  Before she left, she gave me the keys to her house and money to pay any bills that needed to be paid while she was gone.  And as far as you go, Pete, she left me with a couple sealed envelopes.”

She reached into a bag that she had under her table.  She handed me a regular sized envelope first.  “She said to give you this one first.  You had to read whatever was in there before you might read what was in this one.”  This was a much larger envelope and a little bulky, it too was well sealed and taped.

“I guess she didn’t trust me to read whatever was in these envelopes.  I don’t know why, she shouldn’t have anything to hide from her boring life.  But she asked me to do this, so I wasn’t going to nose around in there and see what this was all about.  So here is the other one, but she said don’t open that one until you read the first letter.”

She handed over the larger envelope to me.  I smiled at her.  “Thanks for taking care of this for her and keeping it safe all this time.  You are a true friend of hers.”

I wanted to open the envelope right then, but I knew I couldn’t.  Especially not in front of Sandy, without sharing the contents of the letter.  I  put the smaller one in my pocket, and the larger envelope under my arm.  I thought I should look over some of the items that Sandy had for sale and maybe buy something from her.  Just to change the subject, as I could see that she was quite disappointed that I didn’t open the first envelope.  I guess it was really killing her, but I just couldn’t read it right now.  So I looked over her items that she had for sale and bought a couple of old record albums and a paperback book.  I paid her and waited while she packed it all up for me. 

She gave me a little crooked smile while her eyes bored into me “Well here you go…… Pete, I hope that you will enjoy these records.  Maybe we will see you around again?”

I nodded at her and thanked her once again for everything.  I mumbled something about you might never know when I would be back here, but I sure hoped it would be one day soon.  I said goodbye and started back up the street to where Annie would be doing her shopping.  I met up with her at the usual spot.  We did a little more browsing and people watching and then moved on to find some new spots for treasure hunting.  I was itching to read the letter and whatever was in the larger envelope, but I knew that I would have to wait, probably waiting till I was back home to read it all.  Being on the road would not provide much of an opportunity.  The only thing I knew for sure was that Claudine was back in Europe and more than likely in France.  I could wait a few days before I discovered what had caused her to leave home and travel back to her past. I didn’t know if all this mystery would answer all my questions or at least make some sense of things. I hope that when I got home, I would be able to finally settle the matter in my mind. I had put the envelopes in the bag with my purchases from Sandy, and they seemed to be shining like a box of treasure back there in the trunk. Open me. The ride home couldn’t go quickly enough.

copyright@2023

My wife was just a block down she was inside a front yard filled with tables of every kind of knick knack, glassware, toys, pictures, table ware, books, lamps, and more.  The tables extended into the back yard and there were even people shopping on the front porch.  It was with some difficulty before I could get my wife’s attention, she was so enamored with the array of hidden treasures, she was mostly oblivious to the outside world.  I finally got to her side while she was mesmerized by some old crockery,  

“Sorry I was gone so long, I guess we can go down the street to see what else is for sale.”  She looked at me “I haven’t had enough time here, you only gave be maybe fifteen minutes, I need at least that much time or more to check everything out.” 

Fifteen minutes?  I was sure that I had been gone for at least an hour or more.  But she said it was only fifteen minutes.  If that was true, I had a lot more to think about regarding  the events of today so far.  I decided to not question the timing of things with her, it was best to just go along for now.  I started to walk along the tables and look at some of the things for sale and try to organize my thoughts.  Even if my wife was so caught up in her shopping that she didn’t realize how long I was gone, but even with that, that would not explain her thinking fifteen minutes versus being gone for more than an hour longer than that.  I tried to focus on some old bookends on a desk, they looked like they were busts of Charles Dickens or maybe it was Mark Twain?  My wife thankfully interrupted me : “Okay, I think I have looked at everything here and I will pay for this stuff.  Are you getting anything?”

  I told her that I didn’t find anything that I could live without.  Within a few minutes we were on our way up the street.  Searching for more bargains and items that were only available today and at such bargain prices.  They day was getting a bit more humid and with all the crowds of people, it was time that we got in the car and availed ourselves of some air conditioned comfort and whatever water was available in the car.  Reluctantly my wife agreed to depart from the scene and the town.  After we had gotten cooled off a little, I asked her :

“Annie, don’t you think that we should just drive for a little bit and take a break from the shopping.  We can stop at the next big flea market or town that looks interesting, as long as it at least twenty or thirty minutes from now.  Maybe we can find a place to pick up something cold and refreshing to drink as well.”  Surprisingly, she agreed : “I think you’re right, we need to cool off a bit and wait till we see something pretty good.  I know that I got some great stuff in that last town.  What about you?  Did you find anything there?”

“Not really, oh I guess one thing, I did get a book.  That’s about it.”  I could not even begin to tell her about what might have transpired back there, or maybe didn’t.   My thoughts were too confused to be able to speak about it at that point.  She would think that I was crazy and I don’t know myself exactly other than it had been an amazing experience and would be hard to completely put out of my mind.

I turned on the car radio to listen to some music and maybe start thinking about something else.  The music seemed to calm my mind and the rhythm of the road helped me to concentrate on where we might be stopping next.  After about forty five minutes we found a large flea market with just about anything you could ever dream about, if you were a seasoned flea market shopper.  We parked the car and began our exploration of all the treasures, buried and otherwise.  Looking at all the tables and booths and tents filled with family heirlooms and items that might have fallen off the back of some delivery trucks.  There were also many trailers dispensing every type of foodstuff, from elephant ears to corndogs and even some deep fried candy bars.  We picked up a couple cold drinks to satisfy our parched throats.  While I was drinking, I was able to take in  some of our fellow shoppers.  There were women who were wearing tank tops and short shorts, all to allow them the ability to display some very colorful tattoos which were arranged over various parts of their bodies.  Some had larger areas to allow the viewing of all the tattoos in great detail.   The men were not as plentiful in the crowds but were of all ages from little toddlers running around looking for something fun to do, to old men pulling carts or some just walking around looking for their wives or a cooler spot to wait.  Finally, after what seemed like hours, we were able to depart from this carnival of buying, selling and eating.  We were back on the road and heading for our destination for the night.

We got to the town where our motel was.  We found a small diner with an expansive menu.  The food was actually quite good and we were able to even have enough room left to split a piece of home made apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream.  This was a perfect ending to the day.  After checking in to our motel, we knew that we were done for the day.  It was time to get ready for bed,  maybe we might watch some television, but after all the experiences of the day, it would soon be time for some sleep.  Before going to bed I went into the small bathroom to change my clothes.  I emptied out the pockets of my shorts, taking out my wallet, keys and change.   I noticed that I still had something in my back packet.  It felt like I had my comb in there, but I never carried it in that pocket.  I fished around in the pocket and pulled out two popsicle sticks!  For a moment, I couldn’t think of where those could have come from.  I didn’t remember eating a popsicle….or did I?  It all came back to me in an instant.  The park, ice-cream Jimmy, sitting on the bench with Claude… Claudine, the kids running around the park.  The youthful Claudine, talking of Patrice and France.  I had put these popsicle sticks in my back pocket to give to her later.   So it all really happened?  This was a bit of tangible evidence that I could not disregard.  Now I really did not know what I should do.  I decided I could not tell Annie anything about this, as I don’t know what I could say without sounding a bit crazy.  I went to bed and turned my light off. ! was quite tired, but I wondered how much sleep I was going to get that night.  I started running through my options of what I might do going forward.  I could go back there tomorrow morning.  I don’t know how I would explain that to Annie.  :”Let’s drive back almost 100 miles tomorrow because I wanted to buy something else in that town?”  That was not going work.  Maybe sometime in the fall I could figure out a way to come back down here and go to Claudine’s house.  Sure.  Just knock on her front door : “hello, remember me?  Pete, .. here are your two popsicle sticks.”  That just did not seem to be a realistic way to resolve this.  It was all so tenuous right now.  Did we spend part of an afternoon in her past life, or was it just fifteen minutes?   I was impatient and wanted to go back and speak with Claudine again, about the whole day together and about her life and everything we discussed.  But, whatever I did, it would have to be in a way, that would continue what had happened or what I imagined had happened today. It had to be where we had left it this afternoon. Finally, after a mostly sleepless night, I settled on the only plan that made the most sense.  I would have to wait until the big sale next year.  We would come through the town again, and hopefully Claudine would be selling her books and treasures in front of her house and I could maybe connect once again with her.  Or was this all a one time thing and she would not even remember me.  I had no other choice.  It would be difficult, but I could only put it all on hold for now.   I would wait and come back again next year.

copyright@2023

“I struggled with my emotions.  I didn’t know what I could do to resolve this uncertainty in my life.  I would try to put it all out of my mind and just concentrate on work, or maybe on some projects.  But then I might find myself sitting in the living room listening to some of my music.  I especially favored the album by Michel Legrand, “ I Love Paris.”  I would stare at that album cover with the fat man in the beret carrying something to the market.  I imagined that I had seen him once when I lived there.  The songs like La Vie en Rose or the theme from the Moulin Rouge, just resonated with me, a lot of sadness, nostalgia and, of course, some happy memories.  When I started playing my Edit Piaf records, it was more than I could take and I would have too much heartache and tears for one day or night.  Music can be of comfort at times, and sometimes it brings back old dreams and wishes that maybe never were or at least never would be.  I knew that I had to resolve these things in my mind or I might as well just stay sitting in the house every day like my father.  Not accepting the truth of the circumstances of my life.  Paris, Patrice, France, it all must be kept in the past if I was going to be able to live in the present.  That was why I never was able to share any of this with anyone till now.  I had no close family or good friends to talk about this.  Most of my acquaintances were from work or some of the neighbors that I knew.  They knew little of my past other than that I lived in France for a few years and came home to help my father.  Some considered me, as a bit strange or stand offish.  I couldn’t help it.  I was so engaged in helping my father and running the store, that when that part of my life came to an end, I really was a stranger to most everyone.”

She smiled and laughed : ” You probably think I really am a kook or something, but when you stopped today to look at my books and showed  your interest in my book about Paris, it was an impulse that I just had.  Maybe this was the person, this man who doesn’t even know me, and I might share this strange story with him.  Your face was kind and I felt something in my heart that told me, that you were someone that I could reveal this whole thing, my thoughts and even the special events from my past and there would be no danger.  You would listen and understand.  If not, at least I have finally unburdened myself finally.   I hope I have not embarrassed you with all this.”

I told her that this time that we had spent together and this beautiful story of her life, touched me, and made me think that I was now a small part of her life. These were things that I would remember always.   I said : “I wish there was something that I could do or say that would make this all resolved and with a happy ending.  But please be sure that you know that I thank you more than you can imagine for sharing this with me.”

We turned down a grassy alleyway and I could see that now in the heat of the day, Claudine had slowed her pace of walking as had I.  We stopped at a wrought iron gate, and she said “Here we are, back home again.”  As she struggled to open the gate, I helped her pry it open.  She now was the Claudine that I had first met earlier today.  Was it a dream or something else, I didn’t know. I had just gone along with the events of the day, not really stopping to think what was real and what was something else.  We walked up the path behind her house and slowly climbed  up her back steps.  “Why don’t you come in for a minute and you can have a drink of something and then take your book with you.”  She opened the back door and we stepped into her kitchen.  It was a well lit and clean room with brightly colored pictures of flowers on each of the walls.  There was also a framed poster above the sink, there were words in French and had a picture of a large, old building, which might have been a museum possibly.  She noticed that I was staring at the poster “that’s a museum near the cafe where Patrice and I would meet for our coffee and pastries.  We spent many hours there, just talking, sometimes making plans for the future and sometimes just laughing  about life, our past lives, the people we knew.  If our talks got too serious, Patrice would always be sure to turn things to lighter topics and make me laugh with his imitations of the stuffy clerks at the museum or even of his old uncles.  We never seemed to have enough time together.” She turned around to look at me again, : ” Oh, enough about all that old stuff, you must have more important things to do today. Why don’t you sit down in the living room and I will get you a drink and then you can be on your way.”

In many ways, I didn’t want our time together to end.  It had been a magical experience.  I sat in the chair again and began to look at the book about Paris and France.  My mind began to wander and I tried to collect my thoughts. Once again, I seemed to nod off for just a minute. When I looked up from the book, there was Claudine bringing me a cup of tea and it was like I had just come in the front door.  She smiled at me and watched me drink the tea.  It was very refreshing and had a fragrant taste, something that I knew I had never had before. I told her that I really enjoyed her tea. She said: “Glad that you liked it, I only drink it on special occasions and today was one of those days.  Now, you will be going and I must get back to my table outside.  Sandy will be wondering where I am.  We walked out the front door and down the large, stone steps of her house.  The streets were crowded with people of all types, old ladies being trailed by older men, young kids running up the street looking for maybe something to eat and younger women looking for bargains.  Nothing much had changed since we had gone into the house.  I had a little trouble figuring out what had happened and what was real and what was a fantasy or maybe a dream?  It seemed like only ten or fifteen minutes had passed since we went into the house, but somewhere in the back of my mind, it seemed like we had been gone for hours and maybe even back into time.  Or something.  Claudine was smiling and laughing with her friend Sandy.  It seems that she had sold a couple of trinkets for her while she was gone.  Claudine looked over in my direction, “You had better get moving and try to catch up with your wife.”  She laughed and then smiled and her eyes met mine, her red hair seemed to glisten in the afternoon sun, and I realized that we had experienced, shared a moment in time, that was hard to explain. Maybe it would help her to be able to now live with her past, and better live the rest of her life. Her story was real to me, but the other parts I could not explain. What it was, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to leave, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.  She seemed to understand and just said “maybe I’ll see you again next year at the sale.  We can speak again of things.”  I just gave her a half wave and a little nod, smiled at her and started on my way.  After almost a block, I looked back and I saw that she was busy laughing again with the other ladies  at her table.  The spell had been broken and I hurried to look for my wife.  

She took my hand again and we got up from the park bench.  We started to walk again.  There was a man selling ice cream from a truck.  She suggested that we get something from him.  “A perfect day to get something from Ice Cream Jimmy.  He has been selling ice cream here in the park since I was a little kid.  His ice cream is always the best and most refreshing stuff in town.  Let’s go over and see what we can get.”  Ice Cream Jimmy was a stocky guy, not fat, but solid at about five foot seven or so.  He looked like he had eaten his fair share of ice cream over his time in the park.  He was wearing a blue short sleeved knit shirt, and on his head there was a black hat that said ‘U. S. Army Vet’.   He was also probably the only person in the whole park on this exceedingly, warm day, that was wearing long pants.  I guess his ice cream kept him cool.   His truck just said ‘Jim Daley – Ice Cream’ on the side, with a few pictures of the large variety of ice cream treats within.  It seemed that Claudine wasn’t sure what to get. There was just too many choice for her to find just the right one.   She finally said “Let’s have a couple of popsicles Jimmy, that would be very refreshing on a hot day like today.”  She told him that we wanted two cherry popsicles.  She gave him the money and then handed one to me.   Ice Cream Jimmy looked at her and asked her if that was all she wanted, as he had some really fine ice cream bars, cones and sandwiches, and was sad that she settled on the pedestrian popsicles.  She said: “That’s it for today Jimmy, maybe next time we will splurge a little.”   We went back to our bench and sat there in silence as we ate the popsicles and watched the young kids play in the park.  Claudine was concentrating on her popsicle and seemed lost in thought.  When she was finished she handed me her popsicle stick and asked me to take them as she wanted to save them for some of her plants back in her house.  I put both of the sticks in my back pocket, and we started slowly walking away from the park.  She seemed reluctant to leave, but knew that she had more to tell me, and she didn’t have a lot of time to finish her story.

Claudine seemed to be walking a bit slower now as she continued again.  “As time went on, my father rarely came back to the store, he seemed to have lost any further interest in working, but at the same time he would not think of ever selling the store.  That had been my parent’s life, his and my mother’s life together.  If he sold it, he would be acknowledging that my mother was truly gone from his life.   So I began to spend all my time keeping the store going and learning how to stay up to date with modern trends in hardware and insuring that we had everything that a local handy man or contractor might need.  We started to lose some business to the encroaching big box stores, but we managed to make enough to support myself, my father and those that worked for us.  My father barely listened to me when I gave him the updates of how the store was going, he just wanted to be sure that we were still taking care of our loyal customers.  He usually just sat in his recliner chair in the living room and watched the world go by out our front window.  He gradually withdrew from what was going on around him.  I think he never could reconcile the fact that my mother was gone and why she had to die so young.  I tried to keep him interested in life, but he no longer cared for much of anything, including food and drink.   He just gave up on living and so he died. “  She stopped again and squeezed my hand, I stopped as well and when she looked at me, I noticed that she was no longer the young girl that had started out with me on this walk.  She too was looking a bit older, more in middle age maybe.  She was no longer the young girl of Parisian dreams and love.  She was a mature woman now.  He hair was mostly the same, not any gray showing, but there were now a few worry lines in her face.  Her eyes were still bright, but a few tears were there as well and her face was lightly flushed.  I noted that I seemed to have aged, right along with her.  I could feel some of my old back pain again.

We began to walk.  She guided me through the back streets of town.  “After dad died, I did my best to keep the store going in his memory.  I was now at the point in my life, that I was no longer being courted or asked out.  My whole life had been my father and the business and my memories of Patrice.   Now it was looking like it was too late to start a new career or even think of a new man in my life.  After another five or six years, I decided to sell the store to one of our long time employees.  I gave him a generous deal and after awhile I just stopped working there altogether.  I started teaching French classes a few nights a week at the high school, just for those who were  beginners.  It was not much money, so I also started working part time on the weekend at the library.  I also volunteered at the church and helped with the rummage sales and cooking for the pot luck dinners.  During this time, I finally stopped receiving any letters from Eliane.  I contacted one of the women that I knew from my teaching days in Paris, and she was able to let me know that Eliane had died last year.  Since we never met again, I just never stopped to realize how old that she was, I just expected her to keep living, while waiting for word from Patrice and his eventual return.  I guess she was 95 when she died.  She, like me, always hoped.  It must have been what kept her going.  So now my last contact with my early life in Paris was gone.  I often thought that I might go back and try to find some kind of link or news of Patrice or his father.  But then I thought that if Eliane had not learned of anything by the time she died, it was most likely that I would find little news myself.”

copyright@2023 bill melnik

Claudine paused again in her narration of her story.  Her eyes were a little red and I knew that this was something that she found difficult to speak about.  Patrice said : “Claude, there is nothing to worry about, I shall be gone no more than a few weeks.  Maybe a few days more, but this matter will not take long.”   She said to me: “He had taken to call me Claude, since I started calling him Pat, instead of Patrice.  I said that he had a girls name and I would call him Pat.  He then told me, he would call me Claude instead of Claudine, that would be his pet name for me.  It was our private joke.”  

She gathered herself up and took my hand into hers and looked me in the eye.  “I am sure that Patrice was planning on coming right back, but events in Algeria soon became more violent and out of control.  I would receive a post card a couple times a week in the beginning.  Then it dwindled to maybe once every week.  One day, I received a letter from him.  He told me that his mother was coming to Paris and gave me instructions on meeting her when she arrived and taking her to his apartment.  He included a picture of her as well and said her name was Eliane.   He said that he would be delayed a little longer and he hoped it would have a good ending for all.  When his mother arrived, I was able to meet her and take her and her belongings to his apartment in Paris.  She was a striking woman with dark hair, with silver streaks and a very stern, tough demeanor.  I was afraid that she would just dismiss me as a frivolous American girl.  Our first week or so, did not go very well.  She was tight lipped with me and shared very little of what was going with Patrice or the events in Algeria.  I know that she was experiencing painful emotions and thoughts. How could she open up to a woman that she barely new and might never understand what she had gone through and what she was going through right then. It took me some time before I could finally get her to speak with me.  Happily, after a few weeks, she decided to trust me and we began to speak more frankly about the situation.  She spoke very little English, but we were able to communicate easily in French.  She eventually knew, that I truly loved Patrice and was most concerned about his safety.  Eliane told me that Patrice’s father was involved in some secret organization that was resisting the idea of independence for Algeria.  Patrice and his father were somewhere around Oran and were involved in military action against the FLN, which was the Algerian independence movement.  She feared that this fight was not going to end well.  She tried to convince her husband and Patrice to give it up and come back to France.  They believed that would be a betrayal to their cause and their friends. It all seemed incredible to me, and I could not understand any of it..  The conflict in Algeria was very complex.  There was the FLN fighting for independence from France, the SAS group that Patrice’s father was with, fighting to keep Algeria French, and the French Army and French government that was fighting to restore order and grant independence to the Algerians.  Patrice and his father were fated to be on the losing side in this fight.”

Claudine stopped speaking for awhile and had to collect herself before she could continue.  “I’ve never told anyone this whole story as it was too painful to remember it all, also to accept the reality of it.  I met  Eliane every day.  She had some contacts with Algeria, but each day there was nothing to report.  After a month, she told me one day that we should both be prepared for the worst.   The FLN was negotiating with DeGaulle and the fighting was coming to an end.  Those that continued to fight against this agreement were hunted down by Algerians and even the French Army.  The leaders of the officers revolt had left the country or were in hiding.  She thought that since we had no communications with either Patrice or his father, they were either in prison or dead.  I told her that I would never give up until I knew for sure.  Unfortunately for me, events back home would change my plans drastically.  In the next few weeks I had other news that would affect me from home.”

Here she paused again and looked over to me.  “Sorry to ramble on with all this, but I never said much to my father or anything to any friends.  You  are a stranger, but something in my heart moves me to tell you this and hope that you will understand.”  I told her that I was happy to listen and that I wanted to hear it all from her.  She smiled a small crooked smile and continued “It was then that I received a cable from my father, asking me to come home as my mother was quite ill and he didn’t know if she would survive.  I was shocked and distraught to hear about this and I knew that I had to go to her side right away.  I also felt in my heart that if I left Paris, I might be leaving Patrice forever as well.  I wanted to stay to keep my tenuous contact with Patrice via his mother, but I know that my father needed my help.  I caught a plane for the States. When I arrived home, I learned that my mother had died three days before.  My father was devastated and seemed so weakened and aged after her death.  He was only around 50 years old, but seemed much older.  I decided that I would stay home for a few months to help him get his life back together.  He owned a small hardware store in town and my mother kept the books and helped him run the place.  He couldn’t run the store by himself right now.  Maybe we could find a new assistant and until then I would be there for him.  I wanted to go back to Paris, but I couldn’t leave my father yet.  I received an occasional letter from Eliane, but there was not any news about Patrice or his father.  Before I realized it, a year had gone by. It was then that I received a small package from France.  It was from Eliane and it contained a gold ring and a note from her.  She said that she received it from a friend who came back to France from Algeria.  The ring was given to her by a man who came to her house one night.  He told her that this was given to him by Patrice and asked that I send it to his mother in France, he said his time was short and would not be back.  Eliane recognized the ring and decided to send it to me.  That is the ring that you see on this chain here.”  It was hanging from her neck on a plain gold chain. “ I promised that one day I would give it back to Patrice when we met again.  I could never accept the idea that he was gone.”