Even though it was a small store, it was crammed from top to bottom
with mirrors of every shape and size one could imagine. It must have
had hundreds of mirrors as well as a large amount of plate glass, all ready
to be cut to whatever size one would want for whatever purpose one would
want. I chose an inexpensive full-length mirror encased in a plastic
frame. The shopkeeper’s assistant even went so far as to help me
carry it all the way backto my apartment building. Even though I
was somewhat short of cash after buying the mirror and paying the rent,
I gave him thirty francs for his trouble and then somehow got the mirror
up the stairs to the Fontaines by myself without breaking it. Fortunately,
Mme.Fontaine was waiting for me at the door and together, we got it into
my room. I placed it against the wall between the door and the armoire.
Both of us felt that would be the best
place for it and she then suggested that I ask her husband to mount
it on the inside of the long door of the armoire. I asked if that
would be a lot of trouble but she said that he was quite handy around the
house and that cabinet making was a hobby of his. I thanked her for
her offer and said I would ask him later that evening since I already had
plans for thatday and could not wait for him to come home from work.
Then I rearranged some of my things and tried to make my room a little neater. I had no bookshelves in my room nor did I have any room for shelves in that tiny room, so I put all of my books under my bed, stacking them with the largest oversized ones on the bottom and the smaller ones on top. I was hoping that by staying busy all day, I would kill some time before going to tea with Erik but no such luck that Saturday afternoon. Usually time just flies for me but not that day. I felt like a little kid that was waitiing for Santa to comeon Christmas Eve. I finally decided that since M. Fontaine would be at work all day, Iwould explore the neighborhood before meeting with Erik. I told Mme. Fontaine not to expect me until later on that evening and then left the apartment.
Even though the neighborhood was in one of the older sections
of Paris, it was not run down by any means. The streets were narrow
like most of the streets are in Paris but not so much so that one could
not drive through the neighborhood on them. The buildings were not
tall in that part of town. I do not believe that any were over five
stories tall but they were all old, most having been built at the turn
of the twentieth century. That part of town had escaped the ravages
of two world wars but not the ravages of time, and had been given a face-lift
about ten years previously with the oldest buildings in the area either
being renovated or, in some cases, being razed to make way for other buildings
which were designed to fit in with the rest of the older buildings.
The other buildings that had escaped the wrecking ball had had their facades
either sand-blasted or painted. All in all, the
neighborhood had managed to keep its good looks the last ten years
and there were only a
few buildings that were starting to look dingy.
One building that had kept its good looks was a small church that was located on one of the side streets. I had passed l’Eglise de la Sainte-Famille on my way to work every day but for one reason or another had never bothered to go in. Since I had that particular afternoon free, I took the opportunity and went in. It was a large sized church by American standards but a rather small one by European standards. Looking at the sign on the wall just inside the door, I saw that it had masses in four languages, French, Polish, and counting the bi-lingual evening Mass, Latin and Hrvatski. I took out my notebook from my purse and wrote down the times of the masses as well as the languages they were in.
The French and Polish masses were daily at 0730 and 12 noon respectively,
and the last mass, also daily, was at 1700 and was in Latin and Hrvatski.
I also wrote down the times confession was heard as well as the times of
the devotionals. I noticed that this particular parish had daily
recitation of the rosary as well as Perpetual Adoration twenty-four hours
a day. For the non-Catholic reader, the rosary is a series of prayers
said on a set of beads and Perpetual Adoration is a devotional in which
a consecrated host is placed in a large monstrance or case and is put on
display on the main altar for the faithful to venerate. That is venerate,
not worship. There is a difference between the two. At any
rate, I noticed that there was an additional devotion and that devotion
was the Divine Mercy devotion scheduled at 1500 on Friday afternoons.
As I wrote all this down, I thought to
myself, I wonder what that Divine Mercy is all about and what language
is Hrvatski? I’ll have to come here some Friday afternoon as well
as come here for evening Mass to find out what all of this stuff is.
After I wrote all of this down, I decided to go into the sanctuary of the church. I went throught the large glass double doors and after reaching into the font of holy water located on the wall just inside the doors, I made the sign of the cross. I looked for the tabernacle as I walked forward and found it on the main altar. For the non-Catholic reader, the tabernacle is where the consecrated hosts are kept. Being a devout Catholic, I genuflected in the aisle before seating myself near the back row of pews. There were other people in the church and I had no wish to disturb them in their prayers nor did I wish to be disturbed in mine as I knelt down on the bare wood kneeler to pray.
Lord Jesus, I
prayed, thank You for leading me to one of the few churches still open
here in Paris. It’s nice to know that, in spite of so many being
turned into museums and bars, that there is still at least one left open
in addition to Notre Dame and Sacred Heart cathedrals, both of which are
too far out of my way. Thank You, too, for making confession available.
I don’t know what France is like, but it seems American priests are either
too busy playing golf or being too politically correct to bother with administering
the sacraments. Now I don’t know what the word Hrvatski means, but
I think the word Polski means Polish so this must mean that this is a parish
with a mixture of French, Polish and whatever Hrvatski is. Thank
You, too, for having devotionals here. I’m glad to see that
the rosary is till being prayed and that Perpetual Adoration is here
but what is Divine Mercy? I’ve never heard of it.
Anyway, I thought
I’d drop by and ask You if You would please help me. I haven’t heard
a word from my ex or kids since I left the states. Please watch over
them and guide them and please have them contact me somehow. I sent
them all letters right after I moved in with the Fontaines and that’s been
almost two months ago. I know the mail’s slow but it’s not THAT slow!
I don’t expect to hear from Brad. He was pretty upset with me when
I chose to go into exile rather than renounce You and the Church but I
thought I’d at least hear from Jennifer and Jason by now. I know
they’re upset with me too but one would think they could at least sent
me a postcard and let me know they’re all right! Would You inspire
them to write to me ? As for Pete and Sharon, would You help them
as well? It doesn’t sound like they’re fighting over Mom’s stuff
but it does sound like they can’t decide who’s going to get what.
I wish Mom would have said something but she was in
such pain just before she died, perhaps she wasn’t able to think as
clearly as we thought.
Since I’m in the mood to pray for others, would You convert all hardened sinners like this Tomislav I’ve been hearing about? I have no idea who he is, but it sounds like he could use some help. And please help Brad to forgive me. I know we didn’t part on the friendliest of terms. He’s still mad because I wouldn’t give You up but how could I? You’ve been too good to me over the years. I wish Brad could understand how much You mean to me and that the more I love You, the more I love him.
I looked at my watch and it was nearly five. How can time go by so fast, Jesus? I just got here! Anyway, before I go, would You do one more thing for me? Would You please help Erik out? I have no idea what his needs might be and I don’t even know if he’s a believer, but would You please help him? I don’t know that much about him but he sure is strange sometimes, one minute commanding and the next minute romantic. And the way he comes and goes! I don’t know if I’m dealing with a person or a ghost at times! Anyway, would You keep him safe? I don’t know why but he gives me the impression that he is in need of my prayers. Well, Lord, I’d better get going. Now that I know about this church, I’ll be by more often. Next time, I’ll bring my rosary and spend more time with You! Later!
I rose from the pew somewhat slowly. I had forgotten to bring my gardening pad with me that I used whenever I had to kneel on hard surfaces. Normally my knees really hurt after kneeling for any length of time and this time was no different. They started to hurt immediately and continued to do so as I walked back to the doors of the church. I winced as I walked outside and pulled my jacket around me, as much from the cold wind as from my aching knees. It had gotten blustery that afternoon which was not at all unusual since it was early October and autumn was letting its presence be known.
I took the metro to the Place de la Madeleine and then walked south on the Rue Royale to the Rue St. Honore and turned left and kept walking until I got to the English Rose. I noticed that it was a pub as well as a tea shop. The pub was on the right side of the store as I walked in and the tea shop was on the left. The area between the two establishments was open, and this made it easier to go in and out of both. I turned left and went into the tea shop and sat down at a table that was towards the back wall, taking the chair that faced the rest of the tea shop;and the outside. Even though Erik might not see me, I could see him. I hoped that by taking a corner table, Erik would be more at ease, particularly if he were to be wearing a mask. I am unable to explain it but ever since I had met him, he gave me the impression that he always wore a mask wherever he went.
At exactly five-thirty, Erik walked into the tea shop. After looking around for a moment, he saw me, walked over to the table and sat down next to me on my left. “Bonjour, madame. Have you been waiting long?” he said softly.
“No, I just got here myself. Are you ready to practice your English?” “Yes,” he replied and then said, “Good evening!” It sounded like “God evenik”, which is the way many Slavic people pronounce those words.
Just then, the owner of the shop came over to our table and greeted us. She was short and plump and seemed quite cheerful as she looked at me and greeted me. However, when she turned to greet Erik, her cheerfulness left her momentarily as she looked at him. She breathed in sharply but quickly composed herself as she gave us our menus and asked, “Would you like to take a few minutes to look over the menu?” He nodded and she continued, “We have steak and kidney pie tonight as our specialty. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” She then turned and left us to wait on another table.
I looked at Erik. He was wearing a burn mask instead of his usual mask. I guess I should have expected to see such reactions from other people but by that time I had become quite accustomed to seeing him wearing a mask and so I thought nothing of it but I had quite forgotten that not everyone might feel that same way. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked softly as he looked at his menu.
I was not quite sure what to say. I had forgottten that others might not be as accepting of Erik as I . Prejudice against the handicapped is perhaps the last major prejudice left in the world, and it was just as obvious here in Paris as it was in the United States. “Well, you have to try your English sometime and there aren’t that many places here in Paris to do so.” Changing the subject, I asked, “What would you like to eat?”
“What is that pie she referred to?” Erik asked
softly. “I thought pies were always made of fruit?”
“American pies are nearly always made of fruit
but the English make their pies out of just about anything. Steak
and kidney pie isn’t really as bad as it sounds.”
“What are kidneys?” Erik asked.
I told him what they were and then seeing him frown, I added, “The menu lists other things as well. Cornish pasties are good. That’s a mixture of beef, potatoes, turnips and onions baked in a turnover. It’s like a perogi.” He shook his head so I went down the menu explaining what each dish was. Unfortunately, he did not seem to like anything.
Finally, I said, “Well, you could always try a couple of appetizers instead. There seem to be quite a few to choose from.” “What is potted shrimp?”he finally asked. Seeing that he finally found something that appealed to him, I explained, “That’s cooked shrimp, mixed with spices and then put into molds and chilled. It’s like a shrimp meatloaf. It makes a really nice appetizer or a light meal.”
“Well, what are you having?” he asked, emphasizing the word “you” a little. “I’m not really sure what I want to eat. Both the steak and kidney pie and the Cornish pasty seem a little heavy as does the shepherd’s pie, but then again, I told Mme. Fontaine I wouldn’t be having dinner with them tonight because I had made other plans for dinner.
What did you want to eat?” He shook his head and said, “English food
is so strange. I can’t imagine eating a mixture of beef and kidneys.
The Cornish pasty sounds a little more...appetizing, but I
must confess that I don’t like eating beef. Perhaps you’ve heard
of our problems here in
Europe with mad-cow disease?”
I nodded my head and said, “I thought there was a law passed by the European Parliment banning all imports of beef from England after the last outbreak four years ago.” He nodded his head and said, “Yes, that’s true but one can never be too careful. I wonder if this place serves herb tea. I don’t see it on the menu.” “I don’t know either,” I replied, “I suppose we could ask but I was really hoping you would relent a little and let me have some tea this evening ...as a special treat.”
He shook his head this time and said, “No. No exceptions. Not even for a place like this. Besides, I understand the English like their tea almost as strong as the French like their coffee and that the English drink as much tea with their meals as you Americans drink coffee with yours. That would be way too much caffine for you. Not only is that bad for your vocal chords but you would never be able to get to sleep tonight. No, I’m afraid I must turn down your request.”
“I could always ask for some extra hot water
to water down my tea a bit,” I replied. “No exceptions to my rules,”
he said somewhat sternly. “May I at least have a scone for dessert?”
I asked, somewhat meekly. “No. You’ve been eating far too much as
it is. Besides,” he added, with a kinder note in his voice, “aren’t
pasties somewhat large anyway? Where would you have room for
dessert?”
“I suppose,” I replied, somewhat disappointed that I would not be able to have the two greatest English dishes of all time--their famous tea and their equally famous scones. “Perhaps another time,” Erik said, perhaps sensing my disappointment. Just then, the owner returned. “Have you decided yet?” she asked, looking at me. I motioned towards Erik and she turned to him and asked, “What would you like to order,sir?”
Erik stirred a little in his chair and then
said, “I would like to have an order of potted shrimp and toast, please.”
“Very good, sir,” she said as she wrote his order on a small tablet, and
then turning to
me, she asked, “And you, madam. What would you like to order?”
“I’d like a Cornish pasty, please,” I replied.“Very good. And which
tea would you like with your meal? We have Darjeeling and Earl Grey.”
“Do you have herb tea?” Erik asked softly.
“Herb tea, sir?” “Yes,” he replied with a firm voice, “Would you have any mint tea, perhaps?” “I’ll see what I can do, sir,” she replied as she took our menus. After she left, I leaned over toward Erik and said softly, “I don’t know if that was the wisest thing to say. After all, this IS an English restaurant.
“I don’t care. Real tea is bad for you.
I, myself, have not had any in years. And you
should not drink any either,” he said with a firm voice as before.
“I suppose not,” I said after a moment. There was silence between
us for a few minutes. Breaking it, I finally said, “However, you
did well on your first test.” “Test?”he asked softly.
“Yes. You ordered in English without any help, not even when you insisted on having mint tea. It’s too bad we can’t go to London and go shopping. That would be fun and also a challenge since the English use the same measurements we Americans use. They’re not the same as the French use, however.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” he replied, “If you like to shop as much as you like to eat, I’m not sure I could afford you!” I started to get angry at his remark and then I noticed that he winked at me. Just then, the owner returned with a steaming pot of tea, which smelled strongly of mint. She placed it on our table in front of me and then turned and left.
“Oh, be quiet and hand me your cup so I can pour you your blasted mint tea!” I said with mock anger. “And besides,” I added, “Just what makes you think you’re paying for my supper?” “Well, aren’t I?” he asked as he gave me his cup. “Why, no! I thought we were going dutch tonight,” I answered as I poured his tea. “Going dutch?” he asked as I handed him his cup.
“Yes. You know, having separate checks.” “Separate checks?” he asked and then sipped his tea. “Yes! You know. I pay for my meal and you pay for yours,” I answered as I poured some tea into my cup.
“Oh, I don’t think I could do that. A gentleman always pays for the lady,” he replied. “Erik, I couldn’t ask you to do that! I don’t know what you do for a living but I’ll bet you’re just as broke as I am and while I don’t cost that much, I can still cost...” I put the teapot down at once because I could just feel Erik looking at me. I looked at his eyes and there was something about them that made me stop talking immediately.
“You will allow me to pay for your dinner,” he said finally. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice made it clear that the subject was closed as far as he was concerned. Just then, the owner returned again, and this tiime, she brought our orders. “Would you like anything else?” she asked, looking at me as she placed our meals on the table in front of each of us. “No, nothing else,” Erik said. There was a firm note in his voice, left over no doubt from our discussion. “Very well,” she said, turning toward him, “Just let me know if you need anything.” Seeing another group of people coming into the establishment, she turned and walked toward them and started to seat them.
I was finally beginning to understand why Erik had been reluctant
to eat out. It must be difficult to be handicapped and stand out
from the crowd, I thought as we ate in silence. People tend to pity you
or treat you as if you’re invisible. This thought and others like
it put a damper on the evening. The evening had not turned out as
I had planned. In addition to our discussion, the food at this restaurant
was not up to my expectations. Erik must not have liked his potted
shrimp because he left most of it on his plate, although he ate all of
his toast. I was a bit disappointed with my pasty as well.
The cook may have put too much salt in the filling and the crust of the
pasty was not as light and flaky as I thought it should have been.
To make matters worse, at least one of the patrons that was there that
evening kept staring at Erik thoughout our meal, which made both of us
feel very
uncomfortable.
Erik finally broke the silence by saying softly, “Perhaps you can pick the restaurant the next time we dine out.” “I’m sorry about this one,” I replied, “I also thought it would be a good place to eat and I was hoping that it would be less...”
“Upsetting?” Erik asked, finishing my sentence.
I nodded. He continued, “So did I. Have you finished your meal?”
I nodded my head again. He motioned to the owner and she came to
our table. “Did you enjoy your meal? Let me take your
plates. Would you like to try a dessert
tonight?” she asked as she took our plates. “No, thank you,” he replied
in a kind tone of voice. Then he added, “May I have the check, please.”
“Of course, sir,” She said. She took the check out of the front pocket of the apron she was wearing and handed it to him. He put his hand into his pocket, took out his wallet, and paid the bill. “Thank you, sir,” she said. She turned away from us and upon seeing yet another group of people walking in, she walked toward them and seated them at a table at the opposite side of the tea shop. In the meantime, Erik had put his wallet back into his pocket and I gathered my things. He stood up and pulled my chair out from the table a little and I stood up. He helped me put my jacket on, and after he put his on as well, we started to leave.
As we were walking out, we passed by the table that the first party of people who had come in were seated. One of the members of that party, the same one who had been staring at Erik all evening, looked up as we passed by and said loudly, in a cockney accent, “I’d shoot meself if I ‘ad to live loike that, ‘avin’ to wear a burn mask!” Erik stopped and stood very still for a moment. I whispered, “Don’t listen to him, Erik! Let’s just go!”
“I don’t need a translation to know what he said,” Erik whispered back with an angry tone in his voice and a smoldering look in his eyes. “Don’t, Erik! He’s not worth it! Let’s go!” I whispered back as I took his arm.
“‘At’s roight! Jes’ le’ th’ laidy take yer awaiy!” the man persisted. I shot him a look of anger and disgust. “Leave ‘im alone, ‘arry! ‘e ain’t done nothin’! Le’ ‘im go!” one of the man’s companions spoke up. The man tried to get up from the table but another one of his companions, a woman, grabbed his arm and made him sit down again. She looked at his scathingly and then said, “‘aven’t yer go’ us into ‘nough trouble already t’night? Do as Bob said an’ leave ‘im alone!”
Erik and I quickly left the restaurant before that man could get up again but as if to get the last word in, the man said loudly for all to hear, just as we walked out, “Blo’y frakes loike that shou’n’t be ou’ on the stroits!”
Erik kept clenching and unclenching his right fist as we walked down the Rue St..Honore towards the Rue de l’Opera. We turned left and started walking toward the opera house in silence. Finally he spoke, “In a way, I suppose I should be thankful you got me out of there.” “Thankful?” I asked as I stopped and looked at him.
He nodded his head and said,”Yes, thankful. I could have hurt him.” I must have had a doubtful look on my face because he added, “Just because I look like I’m weak doesn’t mean that I am. In my younger days, I was known for getting into fights. Sometimes I got hurt but I always managed to inflict more damage on my opponents than they did on me.”
I shook my head and said, “I kind of doubt
that. I’m not trying to say that you’re not telling me the truth
but I just can’t imagine you fighting with other men or even getting involved
in schoolyard brawls.” “Why do you doubt me? Because
I’m thin? There was a time in my life that I wasn’t
so thin. I wasn’t fat either, but I WAS...shall we say...bigger
than I am now, and I can assure you that I could take on guys like that
sorry specimen back there at that tea shop without any problem whatsoever.”
A faraway look came into his eyes for a moment and then quickly passed.
“At any rate,” he said finally, “it’s getting late. Will you be at
the opera house tomorrow?”
I shook my head as we started walking again. “No. For once since I started working there, I got the whole weekend off. I’ll be in Monday morning to make sure the costumes fit everybody. We have four dress rehearsals before our first performance of the season Friday night. I guess Jean-Baptiste wanted to make sure everyone got a weekend off before the season starts. I won’t have another full weekend off until Christmas. Then the whole cycle starts up again in January.”
“It sounds like you’ll be kept busy for a while, then. Will you still have time to teach me more English?” he asked with a worried look in his eyes. “I’ll MAKE time for you,” I replied as I placed my hand on his arm, “And I don’t care if anyone likes it or not! You’re coming along just fine with our lessons and I would hate to see you give them up, especially after what happened tonight.” He said nothing, so I added, “My only regret is that there aren’t that many places to practice English here in Paris.”
“Perhaps that’s just as well,” he replied, “I’m not sure I want to go out if they’re all like that.” We walked in silence for a moment and then he added, “We’ll be reaching the opera house shortly. Will you be going home right away or did you plan to stop there?”
“I hadn’t really planned on going back there,” I replied, somewhat surprised that we seemed to be headed that way. “Would it be too much to ask if I could escort you home, then? It’s getting late and after what we encountered at the tea shop, I would feel more comfortable if I could make sure you got home safely.”
“How sweet of you to feel that way! I
never thought that I was in need of a guardian angel though,” I replied,
genuinely touched that he should ask something like that. “Guardian angel,”
he repeated softly, and then speaking a little louder, he said, “I like
the sound of that. Well, from now on, consider me to be your guardian
angel.” And with that, he escorted me home, and even though the route
he took was a little longer than I expected, we had no more problems that
night on the way back to the Fontaines. I was glad for I had had
more excitement that evening than I had bargained for.