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I was tempted
to go in, but there were too few customers, and what I wanted was a
small pastry shop and a big, fat éclair, which I might devour
on my way through the Luxemburg. Eating pastry was a Paris habit, and
I was certain that Gertrude had been in that particular shop more than
once. Children played with hoops or small boats. Little boys wrestled. Little girls chased each other shrieking, as little girls always would. They ran around the pools and fountains, chasing their dreams. Nannies pushed prams. Sullen men sat on the benches, smoking or dozing contentedly. A Peaceful 1920's Evening People in clusters argued about the politics of the day. Frenchmen loved talking about politicians they hated. Vendors hawked balloons and chestnuts. Men and boys played tennis while the ladies watched approvingly. It was a peaceful 1920's evening with life and spring was unfolding on schedule. Things were getting better in a city that was the best. And out on the boul. St Michel, I smiled as men disappeared behind circular screens advertising cigarettes or chocolates. All that remained visible were their legs spread out below and their heads covered with black berets above the protecting screens. It was a common sight in Paris, but it always made me smile. These vespasienns were the pride of Paris, and extremely utilitarian. There were even vespasiennes for women, but these were mostly at the train stations or on main boulevards. Picasso referred to them as "pissoires" in his usually crude Iberian manner. It was certainly not what I was used to back home, where people seemed preoccupied with hygiene. But, as they say, "Vive la difference." It was just a symbol that was typical of Paris. The Streets Swarmed with People It was as though there was
a celebration going on with countless flags creating a gala sight. The
streets swarmed with people. Others hawked fried potatoes served with hot little pink sausages cooked on portable stoves. Heavy, over-burdened horses pulling furniture or bulging sacks of coal or wood caused traffic jams and, being on foot, I risked an accident or being crushed by an omnibus drawn by nervous horses or the new electric trams that were appearing daily amidst the omnipresent traffic. I watched lovers clutching each other as they sat oblivious to passers by. Parisian lovers hardly hesitated from kissing each other on park benches or at the river's bank as the omnipresent bateau Mouche glided quietly by. I smiled at a lovesick couple sprawled on a park lawn, intertwined and utterly motionless. Others held hands, dazzled by love, under scented arches of flowering chestnut trees. And the Tourists Were Everywhere And the tourists were everywhere, calling out loudly, spending like spoiled children, carrying their bargain purchases paid for by the three-cent franc, snapping pictures for aunt Mae back home or writing postcards to American friends over a Pernod, cognac or glass of dry red Puyfromage. Their cameras clicked frenetically, trying to capture the bizarre, the unusual and unique. It was as though they could take Paris home with them if they took enough photographs. Each pleasure-mad visitor was turned, as if by magic, into Columbus discovering something. And Paris was more than willing to welcome the fun-loving foreigners with their crisp dollar bills. I enjoyed my walk home, dressed like an artist with the perception of a North American. Paris was now my home, and the sights, sounds, smells and promises made my head spin. I was happy that spring day, and I would become happier. That was a day when something special took place. I had no idea, at that time, how significant that meeting with Gertrude would be. But it was a Thursday I would
never forget... To read the next chapter, click here.
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