I so look forward to seeing Joseph and Alberte and try so hard to be polite and please. I often dread talking with them, though. I adore them, I absolutely do, but I don’t think I speak French. Last night everyone told me I did, but I still don’t believe it. So I hate to call Joseph and Alberte because I know I have to stumble through an embarrassing conversation in broken French with people who I really respect. That’s the worst; I hate speaking French to French people whom I respect. I just feel like it’s a blatant way of advertising how ignorant an American I am. At least I’m learning…
I just wanted to kiss Joseph I was so happy when he fixed my scooter. I had Sara call him because I hadn’t the slightest idea of how to explain the situation in French – I think all I could say was “j’ai besoin d’aide parce que j’ai cassée ma scoot parce que je suis très stupide.” Alberte happily told Sara Joseph would be here at 1.
“I don’t think he can fix it,” I said, biting my lips. I just paid a lot of money for that bike and I loved it, and it was really my own fault for not thinking it through when I thought moving the wheel forward would help. Duh – the lock’s on the wheel so someone can’t steal the bike. Moving the bike forward makes the lock think it’s being stolen. Really – dduuuhhhh.
Sara wasn’t worried and her confidence comforted me. “I think Joseph has a solution for everything.” We laughed. She was right.
Naturally he arrived at 2:15 (he’s French, what do you expect?) and let himself into the house where I was dozing off, reading some Kurt Vonnegut. He demanded to where the scooter was and I grabbed my purse and my keys and told him, sheepishly, “Yea, I left it at the bar.” Really, I’m a good girl. I just do dumb things. A lot.
He took me to Le P’tit Club, talking the whole way of the beautiful view and the mistral winds from Africa. He was sweet, teaching me French and working through my errors. When he saw the bike he was obviously surprised at the damage I did. I couldn’t understand what he mumbled to himself but I imagine it was something like, “How the fuck did you manage this?”
But he wasn’t angry – never angry. Instead he was patient. He didn’t hesitate to get down on his bare knees and wrestle with the rope lock desperately entangled in the mechanics of the wheel. He asked me only to old the bike straight, and roll it forward once or twice. The disgusting oily grit of the scooter stained his hands black, the sharp pebbles of the parking lot left holes in his knees. But he didn’t seem to mind. It took him less than ten minutes to free the bike from the snake caught in it’s wheel. I had tried last night for an hour – and all I did was make the situation worse.
He removed the lock and smiled proudly. I was literally jumping with joy – I hadn’t destroyed my first major investment after only three days of owning it! Yea! I tried desperately to pay him, but he would have none of it. I pulled out my wallet and he screamed “Allez!” and moved a safe distance away from me, like I had pulled out a hand grenade or some vile of AIDS. Instead he chatted about where I can look for a job and of forest fires and the tourists that have invaded the area. And, because I forget to grab a helmet (I honestly didn’t think I’d be driving my scooter ever again), he followed me all the way home to make sure I was safe. He is too kind. So is Alberte. I will send them flowers or wine next time I’m in town.
I can’t get over how lucky I am. Fate loves me. I look at my life and am amazed by all my good graces. Though I am forever grateful for my seemingly endless well of luck, I cringe to admit it. For, as written in my favorite book The Alchemist, “don’t say that too loudly, for Life may be listening and give you less next time.”
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