Mon Vieux: n. m. (familiar) my old man, my old friend.
I met Bruce in New York in the late 80s when the city was literally
crawling with homeless people. Every street corner, subway car and park bench
was home to some pitiful soul begging for money. And Bruce, having “herded
drunks” for five years as a Phoenix cop, had an attitude of zero tolerance for
these folks. On more than one occasion I could be seen cowering behind him,
while he berated some fool who had the temerity to ask for change or a spare
cigarette. One altercation in the Times Square area ended with the words “You
ol’ nasty stinkin’ white man!” hurled at Bruce (which I have to admit I’ve done
myself on more than one occasion in the intervening years).
So you can imagine my reaction yesterday when we encountered
a young, burly, barefooted drunk, intent on blocking our path in the beautiful
Public Garden. As the man spoke his first words, I turned around, flung out a
quick “Je ne parle pas francais” and
hightailed it out of there, fully expecting Bruce to follow.
But no. France has worked some sort of magic on my often
impatient husband, and for the next few minutes I watched from a safe distance while
these two strangers struggled to converse, as each in his own way was having
trouble with words. Bruce first explained that he didn’t speak very good
French, and I was alarmed to hear the other loudly insist that “This is France.
One MUST speak French!“ But it was quickly apparent that the situation was safe
and when I got close I could hear that they were discussing politics! Now
anyone who knows Bruce will not find this surprising, but I think it was the
drunk who had introduced the subject.
About the time I caught up with them the guy was asking my husband what he
thought of the situation in Europe. But to top it off, he kept referring to
Bruce as “mon vieux” or my old
friend. To my mind this is a vast improvement over “you ol’ nasty stinkin’
white man” and I think it bodes well for our future here.
Editors Note: I don't know what it says about me, but this is the first French speaking guy I've understood.
I love Cynthia's take on things!!! It's like a Faulkner novel with multiple narrators! Woot!
ReplyDeleteConfrontation of another kind. Thank you for the story. Perhaps a local paper would consider it.
ReplyDelete