As we turned the corner at the next block, she began telling me a few more details of her younger days. It was at that point that I took another good look at her, and I was shocked to see that she was no longer this older, prim lady in her 70s, but a young and vibrant woman likely in her 20’s. She seemed a little taller as well. Her hair was longer, and it did not show any gray streaks. She was wearing a simple, blue short sleeved blouse and tan shorts. Also, as we walked, I seemed to feel quite different. I had a lot more vigor in my steps it seemed, I was feeling like I could jog down the streets if I was inclined. She was holding my right hand, so with my other hand I reached up to feel my hair, as it seemed to be a bit shaggy and I just had a recent haircut. My hair was much longer and was hanging over the collar of my shirt. I started to panic for a moment. Was I dreaming or hallucinating? But then a calm came over me and the feeling of being young again, just overcame whatever worries I had about it. I decided to just go along with this, whether it was a dream or really happening, I felt that I would eventually figure it out and for now just see where it all was going. I glanced over to Claudine and she just grinned when she looked at me and held my hand a little tighter. “ I wanted to show you our beautiful park that we have hidden here in the backstreets of the town. When you are driving down Main Street, you would never even know it was here. As we walked past the quiet houses, and soon came to the park, she continued to tell me her story. She graduated from college and that summer she went to Paris to pursue her dream of living in France and teaching children about books and maybe some good things about life in the States. After a month or two, she was able to land a job teaching English to young French girls in Paris. She found a nice upstairs flat in a busy, commercial street in Paris. The teaching job was everything that she hoped it would be. She made enough money to support herself, as long as she was frugal. She didn’t have to write home for money. She was becoming an independent women. It would surprise some of her old friends back home, as many had said that they expected her to come back to Ohio after a few weeks in France.
One day, the school girls had a small social event, and she was invited to attend as their teacher. It was held at the home of the parents of one of the girls, Mireille. She was hoping that her French would be okay with the older adults. When speaking to the young girls, they would just laugh and accept her sometime mistakes with the language. She laughed when she told that story. Her laugh was pleasant and it showed in her eyes and then seemed to sound like something between a giggle and a chuckle, especially when she was laughing at herself. She continued telling me of her first social event. It was just an informal gathering of friends and her fears were unfounded and if the others were offended by her speech, they never showed it. It was here that she met Patrice, a cousin of Mireille . Patrice was a couple years older than Claudine and was a handsome, confident and well spoken man. He had dark hair and grayish eyes that seemed to follow your every word and movement. He quickly engaged her in conversation and tested her French language skills to the utmost. He then invited her to come out for coffee at a local cafe. She was surprised as their conversation eventually flowed from French into English. She found that his English was better than her French. At this point in the story, Claudine stopped and squeezed my hand and said :” I knew that this was the reason why I came to Paris. To meet Patrice. There was something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke. After that first meeting, we began to see each other every day. Every spare moment that I had was spent with him. I could see myself staying in France and maybe spending the rest of my life with Patrice. It was a time of few cares or worries as I began to learn more about Paris, and about Patrice.
We would take little day trips on the weekend, usually riding in his banged up old Citroen. Driving into the country, we would stop off at small cafes or restaurants, drinking the local wines and meeting some of the local people. We also spent time in the churches and museums of Paris. Patrice had such a vast knowledge of all of it. The days passed in happiness as I counted the hours when we might be together again and would be so disappointed if my work or his work kept us apart even if for just one day.”
She continued on, talking happily of her time together with Patrice. She paused again, and said : “Then one day, he came to my apartment and was not his usual self. He was quiet and I could tell that he had something important to tell me. He said that his parents were still living in Algiers and he was worried about their safety. I knew about the fighting and violence that was going on in Algeria at this time. They had been a colony of France, and the Algerians wanted their freedom from France. The French government was negotiating with the rebels, but the many French that lived there, did not want to change anything. Patrice told me that he had been born in Algeria and came back to France for his education and to find work. His parents stayed on, and did not want to leave. He said that he was leaving the next day to bring his parents back to France, if he could. He told her that they were what were called ‘pied noirs’. These were the Europeans that lived in Algeria and considered it their native land.