That Wednesday afternoon was memorable not only for the hectic pace of work, which had not really let up from the week before but also because of Carlotta. I had no sooner started working on one of the last pair of paniers when Carlotta came barging into the workroom. "Where is he?" she demanded as she entered the room.
Michel looked up from the pair of breeches he was working on and asked, "Where is who?"
Looking at him with anger in her eyes, she cried, "You know very well who I'm talking about, Michel! Where is Jean? I have a bone to pick with that man!" She looked around the room and her eyes rested on me. "And what is she doing here?" Carlotta added, with more venom than ever in her voice.
I turned around from my work to look at her and counted to ten before I replied. As calmly as I could, I said, "I have a name, Carlotta. I would appreciate it if you would please use it."
She deliberately lowered her voice and said menacingly, "That's right, I forgot, toad!...The American toad!"
Before I could say anything in reply, Michel spoke up and said sharply, "That's enough, Carlotta! Buquet isn't here right now. He's with the managers. Now! Get out of here and let us do our work!"
"Gladly!" she replied, glowering at us both as she stormed out of the room.
After she left, Michel got up from his worktable and went over to the door and closed it behind her. He stood there for a moment facing the door and then, turning to face me, he said, "I don't know how you can be so...nice...to that woman. I've had enough! I'm going up to the managers' office right now and tell them about this. You may be a saint, Roberta, when it comes to Carlotta, but I'm not! It's time to bring her down a peg or two!" With that, he left the room.
I returned to my work and a few moments later, I heard Erik's voice, saying in English, "Michel's right, you know. You are a saint, Roberta!"
I looked up and, as usual, I was alone in the room. I shook my head and said, "I don't know where you are Erik, but I know by now not to ask. As for Carlotta, I'm not a saint. Saints don't have to count to ten everytime they see her. I'm just following your orders."
Erik chuckled and said, "And very well, too, I might add. I'll see you for my lesson later this evening. As for Carlotta, be patient a little longer. She won't be here forever." After he finished speaking, there was silence. I resumed my work again, shaking my head as I did so. I don't know how you do it, Erik! I don't know how you manage to speak through walls! I thought to myself as I started to thread some boning through the casings of the paniers I was working on.
I continued to work until Jean-Baptiste and Michel returned to the workroom. I looked up at them as they entered the room, but before I could say anything, Michel threw the pair of breeches he had been working on against the wall next to his worktable and said angrily, "I'm about ready to quit, Buquet! That woman is impossible!"
"Take it easy, mon vieux! She won't be around for the next week, I would imagine," Jean-Baptiste said, more calmly than I would have thought under the circumstances.
"What happened?" I finally managed to ask.
"For this latest tantrum of hers, she's been put on suspension the rest of this week and all of next, as well," Jean-Baptiste replied as he picked up the pair of breeches that Michel had thrown and put them on Michel's worktable.
"It's about time!" Michel said angrily. Then calming down, he added, "Merci, Buquet. I'll have these finished by tonight."
"What in the world was she so mad about that she managed to get suspended?" I asked, feeling a little guilty at the pleasure I received when I found out about her fate.
"It seems she doesn't like our idea of using polyester for the paniers. She insisted that we make a set of paniers out of silk for her," Jean-Baptiste said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
"Silk!" I exclaimed, and then added, "Why?"
"She wanted to be historically accurate and wouldn't listen to me or the managers when we told her there simply wasn't enough time or money to make up another set just for her," Jean-Baptiste replied.
"That doesn't sound like it would be enough to get suspended!" I exclaimed.
"It wasn't, but then she started on me and then you, saying that she didn't see why I didn't retire instead of Buquet and then she said something about foreign workers and that's what got her suspended by the managers!" Michel exclaimed softly with a note of disgust in his voice.
"What did she say about foreigners?" I asked, but knowing and dreading what would be said next.
"Oh, the usual about foreigners taking jobs from Frenchmen. Then I got into it with her and said that if I could find any Frenchman with your skills, willing to work your hours, I'd hire him in a second, but that no Frenchman will do the quality work that you've done here at the opera house, and that furthermore, I didn't appreciate the fact that she got your predecessor fired, whom I might add was French. Well, she didn't like what I said, and she didn't like being suspended either. She left the managers' office in quite a huff..." Jean-Baptiste explained.
Michel cut him off by saying, "More like a bat out of hell!"
Jean-Baptiste smiled at his remark and said, "You're right, mon vieux. It really was like that. At any rate, she won't be bothering you down here for awhile. Roberta, I know that you have this weekend off, but would you come in and help get these breeches done. I know you just finished the paniers and you really need some time off. Michel and Jacqueline will be in as well and I'd really like to see all these costumes done by Monday for the dress rehearsals."
"Bien sur, Jean-Baptiste, at the usual time, then? I hope Carlotta had her part memorized, since she'll miss rehearsals all of next week," I said softly, more to myself than the two men.
Jean-Baptiste nodded his head and said, "If you would, please. I know that makes a very long day for you, so please be sure to get enough to eat as well as enough rest. I've got enough problems with Carlotta and now with Joseph as well, I don't need to add you to them."
"What's wrong with Joseph? Is he getting bad again?" Michel asked as he sat down to his work.
"I'm afraid so. I heard him talking to one of his imaginary ghosts this morning as he was cleaning...the one in the ampitheater," Jean-Baptiste replied as he shook his head.
"Oh, la! Why in the hell didn't he take that medical retirement years ago when he had the chance? He had enough years in!" Michel exclaimed as he started to work on the pair of breeches he has thrown earlier.
"Now, can you imagine him ever retiring?" Jean-Baptiste replied with a question of his own.
"I suppose not but still, he'll work until he dies! I just hope he doesn't die here!" Michel exclaimed softly as he finished sewing the strap onto one of the legs of the breeches.
Jean-Baptiste smiled briefly as he stood next to Michel's worktable. Then he said, "Well, I shall leave you two to your work. I'll be in my office if any of you need anything." And, with that, he turned and left the room.
Michel and I worked in silence until six that evening, when he finally went home. "Alors, Roberta! C'est l'heure! A demain!" Michel said as he left the workroom.
I had been so engrossed in my work that I felt a little disorientated when I looked up at him as he was leaving. "Oh, bien sur," I said, shaking my head and then added, "A bien tot!"
"Roberta, la travailleuse!" Michel smiled at me as he waved his hand and left the room.
I smiled and shook my head as I returned to my work. Roberta, the worker, indeed! We're so far behind, it'll take a miracle just to get all this done by Monday! I thought to myself as I finished the last panier. Well, so much for my weekend!
I kept on working until Erik came in for his lesson. Even though I could never quite get used to his quiet entrances, I was now learning to look up at the clock more often, especially after seven-fifteen, in order to brace myself, for Erik still frightened me whenever he entered the room. I wonder how he ever learned to move so silently. Old Joseph's right, though. This place may be indeed haunted by ghosts, but at least one ghost is human! I thought to myself as I began to put my work into a pile on the corner of my small worktable.
"Bon soir, my dear," Erik said as he entered the room, and then added, "You look prepared tonight to give my lesson."
"Let's just say I'm learning to judge the time a little better. I have a small surprise for you," I replied.
"A surprise?" Erik asked as he sat down next to me.
"Yes, and here it is," I said, as I got the book of poems by Longfellow out of my purse and gave it to him.
"Long...fel...low," Erik read the name slowly, and then looked at me with a questioning look in his eyes.
"It's a book of poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a famous American poet. Pete sent that to me along with several other books. I just got the package this noon," I explained.
Erik looked up at me with tears in his eyes, and said in English, "Thank you very much...but how did Pete send this so quickly? Did he not leave only last Wednesday?"
"Yes, he did, but I gave him a list of books to take with him and he must have been able to go shopping once he got back as well as get together with our sister and between the two, they must have pooled their resources amd sent the boxes I got today by Overnight Mail," I replied, and then added, "You did say you liked poetry, didn't you?"
He nodded his head and said, "Very much...but...what about you? Do you have a copy for yourself?"
I shook my head and said, "Pete only sent me one copy of each book I wanted. He may not have been able to find more than one copy of each book, or maybe he was running short of time and money. At any rate, if you don't mind, we can share this copy and read from it for the next hour."
He smiled and said, "Yes, I'd like that very much." And so, for the next hour, Erik read aloud from the book. Afer finishing the last poem, he closed the book and put it down on the worktable, and said, "My dear, that was most enjoyable. It's a shame that you don't have any more poems by this Long...fellow." Erik again read the author's name slowly.
"Actually, I do back at the Fontaines. Pete sent a whole box of books, and I know he sent a copy each of Evangeline and The Song of Hiawatha," I said as he tried to hand the book back to me. I added, "Why don't you keep that book? I'll bring in another tomorrow night for you to read.
"That is very kind of you. Thank you for this book, but...what will you bring tomorrow night?" Erik asked.
"I thought we'd stick with Longfellow for the moment. I'll bring in Evangeline tomorrow night, but I warn you, it may take us two or three days to read it. It's a long poem," I replied, trying hard not to make a face for I remembered reading the poem in junior high school.
Erik smiled again and said, "That's fine by me. I like long poems. You should hear some of our Croatian epics read sometime. Sometimes they take hours to complete!"
I shook my head and said softly, more to myself than to Erik, "Well, I'm glad one of us likes poetry, at least!"
"Why do you say that? Don't you like poetry?" Erik asked.
"I don't mind it if the poems are short, like the ones you read tonight, but if the poems are really long...well, let's just say we Americans don't read poetry like we used to," I replied.
"But poetry is one of the beauties of life!" Erik protested mildly, seeing the expression on my face.
"If you insist," I replied, and then added, "Well, it's getting late and I have to be in early tomorrow to work."
Erik took a small pocket watch out of his pocket, looked at it briefly and said, "My dear, I think I should take you home now, for it's nearly nine o'clock." He allowed me to gather my things, and taking my hand, he led me out of the room. We took the same route back to the Fontaines we had taken before, using the steam tunnels, but more quickly than usual. Erik may have thought I was tired that evening because of the lateness of the hour,and he was partly right. However, I may have also been more tired than usual from the excitement of Pete's visit and, indeed, all of the events of the past two weeks. As we got to the Fontaines' apartment building, Erik made me promise to go to bed immediately, and then, taking my hand, he kissed it as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. What gives? Is everything back to normal again? I thought to myself as he took my hand. "Until tomorrow," he said and then turned and left just as quietly as always and disappeared into the shadows. I did not stay and watch him go, but entered the furnace room and went up to the Fontaines and went to bed, tired but pleased that Erik enjoyed himself that evening.
The next three days at work were quite hectic and passed quickly and quietly with Carlotta's absence, and by Saturday afternoon, we were all able to surprise Jean-Baptiste with finished paniers and breeches. He was so impressed with our work, he let us go early that afternoon at three. As we left the opera house, Michel said, "I am so glad that job is done!"
Jacqueline nodded her head and said, "Papa, If I never see a pair of breeches again as long as I live, it will be too soon!"
"I feel the same way about those paniers. Making them wasn't so bad but threading that boning through those casings was so damned tedious!" I exclaimed softly, adding my two-cents worth.
"Roberta! Shame on you for swearing like that!" Jacqueline exclaimed and then began to giggle.
"She's right, though! This is one last minute job I'm glad is done!" Michel said as we walked through the Place de l"Opera toward the metro, and then he added, "It's good to have the rest of the afternoon off. I plan on enjoying the rest of the day at home. How about you, Roberta?"
"I thought I'd take a short walk before going back to the Fontaines. It's not raining and is a nice day for once, so I'd like to enjoy it while it lasts," I replied.
"Alors! A lundi!" Michel said as he and his daughter descended the stairs to the metro, leaving me at the front of the square.
After they had left, I decided to take a walk, and by turning right from the square and taking the Boulevard de la Madeleine, I soon found myself in front of one of the most famous buildings in Paris, the Madeleine itself. Formerly one of the biggest churches in the city, it had recently been converted to a museum that housed memorabilia and personal items of Haussemann, the great nineteenth century urban planner and of Charles Garnier, the designer of the old opera house. I had a little left over from my last paycheck, so I was able to go in and see the things on display. Some people are not bothered by seeing museum pieces inside of a building that had once been a place of worship. However, I found myself looking for a play to pray, or at least someplace to sit down, for the building was immense. I could find neither, but I was grateful that the French government had at least kept the interior of the one-time church intact, including all of the paintings and carved statues.
As I left the Madeleine, I looked at my watch and saw that it was four-thirty. Knowing that the Fontaines did not expect me until after six, I decided to go to the Saturday evening Mass at St. Famille before going to the place I was increasingly considering as home. I got onto the metro at the Madeleine station and rode it until I came to my stop. Then, I ascended the stairs leading up to the outside and, instead of turning left as I usually did to go to the Fontaines, I turned right and headed for the last small parish church still open in Paris. I had not been joking when I told Pete there were only four churches open in Paris, a city of over ten million inhabitants, if the population of the suburbs was included. Between the lack of interest in Mass attendance and now this new pope's guidelines, it's a wonder these four churches are even open! I thought to myself as I entered the church. As I entered the sanctuary however, I wondered about the lack of interest, for I found that there was standing room only in the sanctuary. Unlike my previous visit, I found the church was packed with worshippers and I guestimated the number to be around four to five hundred people seated in the pews and perhaps another one to two hundred standing on the sides and in the back of the sanctuary.
I had no more time to reflect on the matter, as Mass began just as I found an open space to stand, right behind the last pew. As the Mass began, I managed to look around a little and I immediately felt out of place, for even though I was wearing a nice pair of slacks, all the other women that I could see were wearing nice skirts or dresses and even the men had dressed up as well and were in suits or sports jackets. In additon to feeling underdressed, I felt a little disorientated as well, for there was no opening procession for the Mass. The priest merely walked from the sacristy to the altar accompanied by the altar boys, one of whom rang the set of bells signaling the start of Mass. Even the music that the full choir sang for the worship service seemed strange, and then I remembered the sign just inside the church door that posted the Mass schedule. Is this Hrvatski? I thought to myself as the Mass went on. As if she sensed my discomfort, the woman standing next to me reached into her purse and pulled out a pocket-sized missal and, gently nudged me, she opened the book to one of the first pages and showed me where we were at. Fortunately, at that point, I recognised the Kyrie (the Lord Have Mercy) being recited, and from then on, I was able to follow the Mass more easily.
While many Catholics find that assisting at Mass to be a chore, I have never felt that way. I have always felt that Mass is a special time to spend in worship, and never was this feeling more apparent than this evening's Mass. At first, the music seemed strange--almost Middle Eastern in sound, but by the Offertory, I was becoming accustomed to the harmonies and chord progressions, and even found I could sing the alto line along with the rest of the choir. Of course, having Latin responses to the prayers of the Preface, in the Liturgy of the Eucharist and the Sanctus (Holy, Holy, Holy) as well as the Pater Noster (the Our Father, or Lord's Prayer) helped immensely in following the Mass.
When it came time for Communion, I found that since I had not been to Confession since before Christmas, I was not worthy to receive Jesus in Holy Communion, so I merely watched as the rest of the communicants lined up to receive Him just in front of the altar. Since there was a full choir at the evening's Mass, the choir members received first, and I was surprised to see one of the choir members in line, for it was none other than one of the gypsies with whom the concierge was having trouble. I tried very hard not to acknowledge him but the woman next to me did not feel that way and smiled at him as he passed us. As he smiled back at her, I saw that he looked straight at me as he walked up the aisle to receive Our Lord. Oh, boy, am I in trouble! I thought to myself and wished I could hide, or at least kneel as he walked by but then I remembered that I had forgotten to bring my gardening pad to kneel on instead of the bare stone floor. Using my jacket to serve as a pad instead was also out of the question, for it had grown cold outside, and standing just in front of the door as I was, I was beginning to feel chilled in spite of my heavy jacket.
After Communion, the choir returned to the choir loft and sang the Recessional hymn. The woman next to me either knew the hymn by heart or it was not in her missal, for she motioned to me that she was going to close the small book and return it to her purse. As she closed the missal, I noticed the words Latin, francais, Hrvatsko and croate on its front cover. Does Hrvatsko mean Croatian? I wondered as ushers began to usher people out of the pews, row by row. Are my neighbors actually Croats instead of being gypsies like Marie and the Fontaines have said?
As I pondered these questions, the man I had recognized earlier joined the woman next to me. They spoke briefly in what I assumed was their native language and then he turned to me and said softly, in French, "Aren't you one of our neighbors--the one staying with the Fontaines?" I nodded my head, and he continued, "Let me introduce ourselves. I am Pavel Petarovic and this is my wife Marija, and what is your name?"
"Roberta Martin," I replied.
"Is that a French name?" Pavel asked.
"My last name is but actually, I'm American," I replied.
"Oh, yes, now I remember. I've heard of you," Pavel said, and then added, "And I'll bet you've heard of us, no doubt--those damned gypsies, as the conciege refers to us..." I hung my head for a moment, feeling very embarassed. Pavel continued, "Don't feel bad. Many who don't know us Croatians make that same mistake."
"I didn't know," I replied softly, still feeling embarassed for listening to idle talk.
"Don't worry about it. At any rate, I'll bet it feels good knowing you're not the only one away from home," Pavel said and then he turned to his wife and said something in Croatian to her. After her reply in Croatian, he turned back to me and said, "Now that we know each other, don't be a stranger to us! Any time that French family gets on your nerves, just come up and visit us."
"Thank you. I'll drop by sometime," I replied.
"Well, it's getting late and we should be heading for home. Why don't you walk with us? It's really not safe for foreigners to walk alone at night anymore...but I guess you found that out already," Pavel said.
Feeling even more embarassed than before, I could only shake my head and say, "Indeed, it's not safe...yes, I think I'd like to walk back with you." Word gets around fast! I thought as Pavel moved out into the aisle now that most of the worshippers had left the church. He genuflected and made the sign of the cross before rising and then stepped back to allow Marija and myself to do the same.
We left the sanctuary and, after diping our fingers into the font filled with holy water just inside the front door of the church and making the sign of the cross again in blessing ourselves we left the church and walked out into the cold air of the evening. "Brr...it's cold out! Colder than usual, don't you think?" Pavel asked as we walked back to the apartment building.
"Yes, I do," I replied as we walked along, trying not to seem short with my new friends.
"You don't seem to be that unhappy. You must like the cold!" Pavel exclaimed softly through his chattering teeth.
"Actually, I don't. I never did like cold mixed with humidity. It goes right through you...but we...France...has it coming, doesn't she?" I replied with a retorical question.
"How so?" Pavel asked as we all walked along at a brisk pace.
"France refused to give assylum to the Holy Father when he asked for it last year," I replied, trying hard to keep my voice even. Losing the pope was like losing my father all over again, only worse because the whole Church suffers the loss, not just me! I grimly thought to myself as we went along.
"France really didn't have much choice. It would have meant civil war if she had granted the Holy Father his request. Besides, she's tried to make up for it by letting other refugees in since then, don't you think?" Pavel asked softly.
Since I did not reply, Marija probably felt she should say something in defense of France because she said, "In Scripture, it says the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike."
"That's true, but Scripture also says, 'as ye sow, so shall ye reap'! And France is reaping a whirlwind of trouble that she might not have otherwise!" I replied. Just then, we came to the apartment building, so I added, "Well, here we are! The Fontaines are waiting for me. It's been nice talking with you both."
As Pavel opened the door to the apartment building, he said, "It's always good to make a new friend. We'll talk again sometime. A bien tot!" The Petarovics went upstairs while I checked Marie's for any mail.
I knocked on the concierge's door, which was open, and Marie came to the door and said, "Alors, madame! You were with the gypsies tonight?"
"I saw them at Mass this evening and we walked home together," I answered, and then added , "Is there any mail for me today?"
Marie searched through the mail slots to see if I had received any mail, shook her head and said, "There are no letters, and for once, no packages, grace a dieu!" She poked her head out of the door, looked around for a moment, and then said softly, "I wouldn't get too friendly with those gypsies. You never know what they'll do next!"
"They're nor gypsies, they're Croats," I corrected the concierge, for the first time feeling uneasy in her presence.
"Croats...gypsies...they're all the same, those damned foreigners!" she replied, as she stood in her doorway.
"I guess that makes me a damned foreigner too, now doesn't it!" I said curtly, as I started to leave.
"That's different! You're French, they aren't !" she replied and then added as I left, "Mark my words! Those people are just plain trouble!"
I decided to let Marie's remark drop as I went
upstairs to the Fontaines, feeling that I just did not want to argue with
her. Part of me was glad that she considered me to be French but
the patriotic part of me was outraged, for I still considered myself to
be American even if I was in exile. I suppose I should count myself
fortunate that she didn't start in on Americans like Carlotta did the other
day! I'd like to tell her a thing or two but I'm afraid if I did,
she throw me out on the street! I thought to myself as I entered the Fontaines
apartment.
Go to Chapter 15 of Erik by Rita Richards.