A ROMANCE IN PROVENCE

February - Part 1

This first month in Luberon passed like lightning. Between work and my settling in, the 24 hours in a day often seemed insufficient.

At the hotel, I’m busy. I was gradually able to make a place for myself on the team, even though most of them welcomed me with great reluctance.

First, I wanted to question their ways of working, which have sometimes been fixed for several decades.

Second, I had the fault of being a ‘foreigner’. And this point, for some, was unforgivable. Chef Bruno Lafarge was the leader of this clan. I no longer counted his sentences which began with “You burgers eaters”, “you kings of industrial food”. I had decided to remain indifferent to his bluster, which I think was the most suitable response to his borderline childish attitude.

Fortunately, some of my colleagues seemed to value me and saw my work as beneficial for the hotel, instead of thinking that I was responsible for the disruption of their little habits. I could of course count Danielle in their ranks.

Hugo Ricard appreciated my work and had let me hear it several times. I wasn’t insensitive to his charms, he too seemed to find me to his liking although he had not, for the moment, attempted any approach other than professionally. The problem was that I wasn’t the only one who noticed it. So there was a small category of people (who boiled down to Christelle the receptionist who had greeted me the first day) who didn’t welcome my arrival in Gordes.

After work, I happily go back to our apartment on the farm. Danielle was a bit of a messy roommate, yes, but always in a good mood. Her family had adopted me and during her absences, because we didn’t necessarily work on the same days or at the same hours, it wasn’t uncommon for one of them to invite me for coffee.

I had finally met her cousin Vincent. He had examined me from head to toe, with an impenetrable look, even before greeting me. Tall, dark and not very talkative. He seemed quite mysterious, bordering on a little dangerous. He was a handsome man, with a bad boy side who could have been cute if he had been more smiling. From what I understood, he ran a garage on the road to Apt and worked like a madman. I was almost relieved to know that I wouldn’t run into him often.

Speaking of cars, I really had to buy one. As I said, Danielle and I didn’t always have the same schedules and it made me crazy to have to depend on her or the few buses that crisscrossed the countryside in this low season. If I hadn’t yet made that purchase, it was because I was a little worried about having to drive a car that wasn’t automatic. Danielle had confirmed to me that most of those sold in France had a manual transmission. I didn’t want to buy a new car, since I was going to resell it in a few months, so I should be content with what I could find in the used market.

“You have to go see Vincent,” Danielle said to me as I told her about my desire to buy a car.

“Vincent? But I thought he repaired cars, not sold them?” I replied surprised.

“He repairs them, yes, but he also always has a few to sell. The advantage is that these are often cars that he has maintained, so they are in perfect condition. And then he won’t scam you, not as if you were going to a stranger’s place in Cavaillon or Avignon. You’re practically part of the family living here.”

“I’m not sure your cousin considers me his ‘practically family’. At best, he gives me a nod when he meets me and if I have the misfortune to speak to him, he stares at me with a look that is worth at least an 8 on the boredom scale.”

“The boredom scale? What’s that?” she laughed.

“You know when someone gives you a bored look. There are different levels. From ‘I like you, but now you’re bothering me’ to ‘I don’t like you, and you’re bothering me’.”

“Wow! And you have examples?”

“Well, do you see when you ask Chef Lafarge a question? You, he looks at with a 5. Me, usually at least a 7. With Hugo he’s cooler, he gives him 3.”

“Only you can invent such things! In any case, I think that despite his look of 8 on the boredom scale, Vincent has nothing against helping you find a car. I already told him about it, and he told me that you could come over this weekend, that he had something that might work.”

“Can you come with me?” I asked her anxious about the idea of going there alone.

“I can’t, I work on Saturday, there’s this group arriving early in the afternoon. We’re going to be on fire all day since the hotel’s already full the day before.”

“Well then, I’ll go to face cousin Vincent alone,” I sighed.

“Don’t say it like that, he’s a little withdrawn it’s true, but he hasn’t always been like that. He’s been through some pretty nasty stuff, and it’s led him to be suspicious of people, and it’s made him distant. But when you know him, he’s funny and really nice.”

“If you say so…”

The following Saturday, I went to cousin Vincent’s garage. The place located on the side of the highway consisted of a workshop, where cars were set up on lifts, and a small adjoining shop which also housed an office. In the parking lot were cars awaiting repairs, but also a few on which were marked ‘for sale’ with generally the number of kilometres and a price on the windshield.

It was this detail that had convinced me to go to Danielle’s cousin. Although I know how to convert between kilometres and miles, and between euros and dollars, I had no idea of the acceptable price for a car based on its mileage.

I took a look at the different models on sale, knowing that I had only a small idea of what I was looking for. I was lost amid these cars whose names I didn’t know. A young man approached me. He probably worked in the garage since he wore blue overalls, stained with grease. He looked younger than me, he must have been 22 at most, and he gave me a bright smile.

“Can I help you, Madame?”

I cringed inwardly when I heard the Madame. Had I become too old to have Mademoiselle? At 32, however, it seemed that it was still acceptable.

“I’m looking to buy a car.”

“Wow, your accent is so cute!” he exclaimed like a teenager. ”You’re English?”

“No, American,” I replied a little coldly.

His eyes examined me from head to toe without even trying to hide it.

“And are you looking for something in particular?” he asked without even bothering to look me in the eyes.

“Luc return to your work!” cut in a dry voice.

Vincent, Danielle’s cousin had just arrived. He also wore overalls, but much cleaner than his employee. And unlike him, his facial muscles seemed stuck in a scowl. He gave me a look worth 7 on the boredom scale and motioned for me to follow him. I immediately complied. It had to be said that if his eyes were intimidating, the rest of his person was no less. He must have been six feet tall, was broad in the shoulders, and there was no doubt that the muscles hidden under his clothes had been acquired the hard way, not on the benches of a fashionable gym.

He presented me with a small compact black car which, according to him, had all the qualities necessary for my use. The price seemed right and Vincent guaranteed me that its previous owner had perfectly maintained it. So I decided to buy it.

He then asked me to follow him to his office, he seemed relieved that I hadn’t taken too long to decide.

Vincent settled behind the small metal desk and I sat on one of the two faded blue chairs facing him. He took out several papers from a drawer and put them in front of him, and began to fill out some sort of form. During this time, I looked at the walls where photos of rallies yellowed by time were spread, and shelves filled with dusty trophy cups.

“You do rally?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Father,” he growled.

I knew from Mireille that his father had died of cancer three years earlier. I fell silent, having understood that he didn’t want to chat.

“Your name?”

“Sorry?” I jumped.

“Your full name, for the papers.”

He pushed back a brown lock that fell on his forehead, his look now shuddered at 9 on the boredom scale.

“Cali Rose Caddell.”

“Do you have your papers?”

I took my driver’s license out of my bag and put it in front of him. He shook his head negatively, so I presented him with my passport. He examined it then looked at me as if expecting something else. Finally, he sighed a bit exhausted.

“What about the other papers?”

“Others?”

“Proof of address.”

“Uh, I don’t have any. But you know where I live,” I said in a tone that wanted to be light.

I had almost tried to wink but had held back at the last moment. A wise decision apparently, because his emerald green stare reached 9 this time.

“It’s not for me, it’s for the registration, the deed of ownership of the vehicle. No proof of residence, no registration.”

“I don’t have one yet, I just arrived, and since I live with Danielle everything is in her name.”

“Well! You’ll have to find something because there’s nothing I can do for you.”

His tone made it clear that there was no question of arguing, and that he could do nothing for me until I brought the precious papers back to him. He got up, showing me that our exchange was closed. I stood up and headed for the exit, crossing the small shop in the process. The entrance chime rang when I opened the door, and I turned briefly to him.

“Well, thank you for your help and goodbye,” I announced dryly.

“Goodbye, Cali.”

His tone was much softer and more pleasant than in the last twenty minutes, which surprised me.

A week later, I was finally the happy owner of a car. I returned to the garage with the appropriate paperwork this time and also with Danielle who had given an earful to her cousin. Even though I had defended Vincent (although he didn’t deserve it from me) by arguing that after all, it was the French administration that needed all these papers, and not him, she was still fuming. He seemed unaffected by his cousin’s words, letting her say her piece for ten good minutes, displaying an impassive face classified level 4 until she was silent.

It was Saturday night, I was alone at the apartment, Danielle having a Tinder date. I found out that my roommate was addicted to social networks, and also dating sites. She argued that it was difficult to find someone when you were working all the time and that the internet was the new way to meet people. The equivalent for her of the village dance at the time of our grandparents. So she was always at cafes, bars, and restaurants with strangers in search of a rare pearl, even if she defended herself, preferring to loudly proclaim that she was just having fun. I wasn’t entirely sure that the purpose of the village dances of the time was to allow finding someone just for a night out, but I kept this remark for myself.

She had tried to convince me to register, but I didn’t want to. Also, I didn’t see the point in trying to meet someone while I was passing through.

I was well aware that I had to find some friends other than Danielle, I couldn’t hope to spend all my free time with her. And on evenings when she was away, I was bored sometimes.

I decided that evening, I was going to go out and meet people.

I started my new car and headed to the village. I parked in the main square, tightened my scarf around my neck, ready to face the cold of the Gordian night. I had no idea where I wanted to go exactly, so I ventured into a street at the end of which a facade was lit. Given the time, it could only be a bar or restaurant. The streets of the village were deserted and I hurried on because of the biting cold. The smoked windows didn’t allow me to see the interior, but the sign confirmed to me that it was a bar. I pushed open the heavy patio door and entered the establishment.

A small chime tinkled announcing my entry, which caused an immediate halt to the conversations. I took a step inside and discovered about twenty pairs of eyes watching me. Correction, twenty pairs of male eyes watching me. If Danielle was looking for where the male population of Gordes was hiding, I had found it. And the first time! A real pool of men, not a single stiletto heel in sight! Only it was the male population… over 70 years old.

“Cali!” exclaimed a hoarse voice at the back. ”there’s our beautiful American!”

Papet was seated at the back balancing on his barstool, a pastis in front of him.

I joined him with a hesitant step feeling the looks, which varied from suspicious to lustful through to amused, land on me. I greeted him and he introduced his friends to me. The gentle grandfathers rushed to kiss me and hurried to move to make room for me.

“What can I get you, darling?” asked the bartender.

This sentence would have annoyed me in normal times, but it had been spoken with kindness and without ulterior motive, so I didn’t notice.

Not having thought at all about what I wanted to drink, and not feeling in my element, I replied quickly:

“Coke zero, please.”

“These Americans always with their bloody Coke,” laughed Papet’s friend sitting to my left.

“We don’t always drink Coke!” I was indignant.

“Ah, yes, and then what? Your Californian wine?” he said disdainfully.

“Maurice stop annoying the girl or you’ll have to deal with me,” threatened Papet.

I gave him a little thank-you smile.

“Yes Maurice, for once we have a pretty girl among us, don’t scare her away!” said a grandpa with a beret screwed on his head.

And that’s how I spent my evening surrounded by Papet and his acolytes, in a small sports bar, a bit shabby, to cheerfully chat and listen to their beautiful stories about the country. After a few hours, I had a glass of red wine (a Côtes de Provence) in front of me and a dozen new friends. I knew everything about the butcher’s son who cheated on his wife, about the weather that was no longer what it was before, and about OM which delighted its supporters with a chain of victories. In the end, it wasn’t a bad way to spend my Saturday night.

Seeing that Papet had lined up his little yellow drinks one after the other and that he was wobbling a little on his stool, I proposed to bring him back. Despite his protests, and arguing that he was fully capable of driving, he ended up following me very quietly to my car, and I left him safely on his doorstep.

The next day, after a well-deserved sleep, and while waiting for Danielle to wake up, who must have had a good evening considering the time when she had returned, I decided to go and check on Papet. The sky through the window was bright blue. I was dressed in leggings and a big mesh sweater which would be more than enough to cover the few metres outside which separated the two apartments. I opened the door and was suddenly seized by the freezing air. In a few seconds, a polar wind rushed into our house and snuck through my clothes to freeze me to the bone.

I rushed to Papet and Mamée shivering, and knocked on their door, praying that they would hurry to open it. Fortunately, the wait wasn’t too long.

“Come in quickly my pretty, otherwise this wind will freeze us all!” exclaimed Mamée, welcoming me.

“I thought there was nothing worse than a winter in Chicago!” I explained.

Back home, we used to have harsh winters and every year a thick white coat covered the whole city for several weeks. It was common for part of Lake Michigan to freeze. But the wind blowing here was measurably worse.

Papet sat by the fireplace, and I thought it was the first time I saw it lit. He seemed all shrivelled up with his big wool blanket on his knees, and in much worse shape than the previous evening.

“He caught a cold going out last night,” Mamée grumbled. “He thinks he’s a 20-year-old going out on a Saturday night, and he doesn’t cover himself properly, and then he complains about being sick!”

Papet gave her a dark look.

“This old owl decided that I was sick when I’m fine. She didn’t even want me to go out and buy my newspaper!”

“And make yourself worse? Did you see the wind blowing outside? It’s blowing merrily along the whole valley! I don’t want to play nurses all week! Not for whatever is interesting in your newspaper…”

“Precisely, there’s the weather! At least, we can know how many days the wind will blow!”

“As if you care about the weather! Instead, say that you want to have the sports results and the latest gossip!”

“The gossip I leave to the women,” he mumbled.

I found it hard to suppress my laughter when I saw them arguing in this way. To defuse the conversation, I proposed:

“Maybe I can get Papet’s newspaper?”

“At least someone is nice to me!” he exclaimed, gesturing to me.

I gave him a warning look telling him not to make his case worse.

“And you Mamée, need anything in the village? I asked.

“You’re adorable my little one,” said Mamée in a very soft voice that contrasted completely with the tone she had used a few moments before with Papet. “If you could get a baguette from the baker that would be nice of you.”

“Consider it done!”

I turned around and went back home to get my bag and something to cover myself with.

Fortunately, I had brought my Chicago down jacket, which I paired with a White Sox hat and took my car and left.

The roads were deserted. The few leaves that had not yet fallen from the trees fluttered in a disorderly fashion. Everyone seemed to be holed up at home. You didn’t even hear a dog barking in the distance, just the sound of this north wind that had descended along the entire Rhône valley carrying everything that wasn’t securely anchored in its path, and cracking the branches in a dismal sound.

I was one of the few to brave the elements this Sunday morning to go buy La Provence, the local newspaper. I hardly met anyone either at the newsagents or the bakery.

Once my mission was accomplished, I returned to the house as quickly as possible. I briefly met Vincent in the courtyard, who gave me a vague nod with a level 5 look. I didn’t pay attention to him and brought my precious load to Papet and Mamée. I didn’t linger this time, having also bought croissants and pains au chocolat, which I intended to enjoy with Danielle. It was a little late for breakfast, but I figured my roommate was just about to emerge. And then it wasn’t as if we were expected at noon somewhere, we might well delay lunch as well.

“Oh, you’re wonderful you brought back croissants!” Danielle exclaimed when she saw me coming.

Her usually well-groomed hair was in a mess, and she was wearing slightly worn Hello Kitty pyjamas. Her eyes were still glued by sleep, she even had traces of the sheets on her cheek. I wasn’t mistaken in thinking that she would barely be up.

“Yes, and I had to brave a terrible wind for them. I doubt they’re still warm, unfortunately.”

Danielle looked out the window.

“It seems there’ll be wind for at least three days,” she said.

“It’s no joke around here! I thought it was cold in Chicago, but we have nothing to envy you, the wind is terrible!”

“It’ll eventually pass. In the meantime, you have to stay warm.”

“I get the impression that’s what the locals are saying. There wasn’t a single person around. That said, they will eventually get out, they’ll get bored otherwise.”

“Not that much, we keep occupied inside if that’s the case,” she said, winking at me. “Do you know that there’s a little spike in births in September and October in the region?”

“I didn’t know. Well, you and I, unfortunately, will have to find other activities,” I sighed.

“Speak for yourself,” she said. “I lost track of time last night with my date.”

She began to smile blissfully, her croissant half-eaten between her fingers.

“It was good?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the details.

“Let’s say that the first part of the evening was deadly boring. He told me about his mother for at least three-quarters of an hour, then about his ex for at least as long. But the second part of the evening was much better. He can do things with his tongue...”

“Don’t! I don’t want to hear!” I shouted, pretending to cover my ears.

“Oh! Don’t get all worked up! If you had seen his hands, you wouldn’t have been able to resist! Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get laid. After all, you know you’re only here for a few months. Use it to do yourself good without bothering with a serious relationship.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

I’ve never had a relationship based solely on s*x. I was far from being innocent, but I had always gone out a minimum with the men I had crossed the path with. My love life had been a bit chaotic in recent years, I hadn’t stopped moving from city to city which was not easy to build a lasting relationship. Also, none of the men I had dated had made me want to make an effort to overcome this problem.

Perhaps Danielle was right, however. There was nothing wrong with treating oneself.

The weather forecast hadn’t lied, we had three days of wind. When the wind had died down, the temperatures had dropped sharply. Long gone were the days when I imagined myself having a drink on the terrace.

Time still played a trick on us and unlike the wind, it took even the oldest in the valley by surprise. One morning we woke up to snow.

White gold, I used to see it every winter. Whether it was during my childhood in Chicago, or later in Switzerland, Canada or other cities in the United States. It was only the 6 months I spent in Miami that had kept me away from it.

Papet’s favourite regional daily newspaper usually featured on the front page the results of OM, the latest political scandal or more sadly, the accidents on the region’s small roads, caused by young people who took themselves for Formula 1 drivers. That day, all news was relegated to the background to leave room for only one huge title: PROVENCE UNDER SNOW. Accompanied of course by a photo of a village close to Marseilles covered, not of this fake spray-on snow that you could buy at the supermarket to decorate your nursery at Christmas, but of real powdery snow straight from the sky.

Reports on local and even national TV showed cars skidding and finding themselves in the ditch, pedestrians sliding on the sidewalks and even stranded by the side of the road saved from hypothermia thanks to friendly neighbours. The snow had also touched the French Riviera, the palm trees of the famous Promenade des Anglais proudly showed their new white dress to the camera. We saw a few infrequent images, mostly amateurs, of the countryside where I was, no journalist daring to get behind the wheel to face the snow-covered asphalt. It must be said that the nearest snowplough was 300 kilometres away.

I hadn’t yet been out in the snow. There was complete silence in the valley, barely troubled by the cracking of the tree branches which were bending under the weight of the snow.

When I told Danielle I was on my way to work, she looked at me with round eyes like saucers, probably wondering if I had gone crazy. She pointed out to me that even the schools were closed, and that by a happy coincidence the hotel was empty. I found out that week, the Southerner fears nothing more than driving in the snow. With no emergency expected, most employees would choose to stay at home.

I did what I wanted, and decided to go anyway. My work wasn’t directly related to the occupancy rate of the hotel so that I had a lot of things waiting for me, and I wasn’t going to be stopped by a few flakes.