Taxi Tales from Paris

by Nicky Gentil

  Then one morning, after many, many angst-ridden, seemingly endless days, the doctors gave us some really good news. Due to a battery of tests, they had managed to eliminate any suspicion of a congenital defect; the cause of the dramatic drop in our son’s growth rate towards the end of the pregnancy was insignificant with no long-term consequences. All that remained was for our baby boy to put on some weight and then he could go home.

  Sadly, our relief was to be extremely short-lived. That night I had to be re-hospitalised, this time in intensive care, victim of an extremely rare, highly dangerous post-partum syndrome. A large team of medics worked through the night to save me.

  Two days later, a doctor entered my room and announced:

  ‘I did everything I could to protect your future because you’re still quite young. But you need to know that, given your complications, it’s now going to be very difficult for you to have another baby.’

  This prognosis struck me as so utterly unfair that I could not help but burst out laughing as I put the following question to him:

  ‘Have you read my file?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Well, if you had, you might just have made the effort to put this bad news to me in a more diplomatic way. You see, the thing is, I had a terrible few years trying to have my first child. But everybody said ‘the main thing is to get the machinery going’, that once I’d had one child everything would be easier. And now you’ve just waltzed in to tell me that, in fact, it’s going to be quite the opposite.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

  I refrained from saying: ‘It’s your job to know.’ In any case, I couldn’t resent him too much. He had, after all, just saved my life. And, besides, there was now another life that mattered so much more than anything else.

  *

  A few days later, our little family was at long last united; we were, all three of us, at home. From that point on, my husband and I no longer contemplated the future, and what it may or may not hold in store for us, for we simply wanted to enjoy the present. Carpe diem.

  My overriding memory of this period is one of intense joy. So much so that sometimes I wonder whether, in order to gain access to true happiness, an experience of deep suffering is actually required. Who knows?

  Logically, everyone assumed that we would be overprotective parents. In reality, though, it was just the opposite; we turned out to be extremely laid-back! As far as I was concerned, the explanation for this was quite simple: often the arrival of the first child will transform a couple’s orderly life into chaos and some find this extremely difficult to deal with. In our case, however, with the arrival of our son came an immense feeling of relief: the tough times were now a thing of the past. So, from then on, everything was actually much easier for us.

  Because we were so relaxed, our baby was too. In fact he was quite possibly the most laid-back baby we’d ever come across. He also happened to be the cleanest! We both so wanted to look after him that we would fight over who was to give him his bath. In the end, rather than fighting, we decided that I would bath him every morning and my husband would do the same at night.

  Every single aspect of life with our beautiful baby boy seemed amazing to us. We were perfectly prepared for him to keep us up all night − we were even looking forward to it − because general wisdom informed us that that was what happened when you became a parent. But – oh, the irony! – very early on, when he was just three weeks old, our wonderful son began sleeping through the night.

  So, although we were supposed to be exhausted, in fact we were in fine fettle. In any event, with or without the sleepless nights, no fatigue could ever have been as bad as that which we had experienced during our struggle of the previous years.

  In short, these blissful times were proof that every instant of that struggle had been completely worth it. In terms of physical hardship, I had been through the equivalent of ten pregnancies to have just one child but, now, our intense joy was giving it all a meaning: our reward for all the trials and tribulations was a form of happiness that appeared to be increased tenfold in relation to that which we might have known had we had our baby in more normal circumstances.

  It was, therefore, not long before the following idea began to creep into our minds: what if we were to multiply this happiness by two…?

  *

  As time went by, it became apparent that the undiplomatic doctor had in fact been right: our desire to expand our family was turning out to be very difficult.

  When, after three years, I learned that yet more surgery would be required if I wanted to have another child, it just seemed so unfair; to have my first child, I’d already been through three operations and three pregnancies – not to mention the countless appointments, invasive examinations and all the various treatments. Furthermore, I was under the distinct impression that I had long since depleted the supply of energy I could possibly devote to this cause; I no longer had any left to give.

  And yet, I needed to find just a little bit more. I had no choice but to do so. We had to give it one last chance to avoid any subsequent regrets.

  *

  In the recovery room, I heard the doctor exclaim:

  ‘It went really well. In three months’ time, you’ll be pregnant!’

  We did better than that, though. Two months later, I had a sneaking suspicion it had already happened. Initially I said nothing, for fear of giving false hope.

  When, finally, I had confirmation of this good news, I called my husband who − blissfully unaware of my reason for phoning him − said to me:

  ‘I can’t talk now. I’m in a meeting… and it’s really important.’

  ‘Leave the meeting. What I have to say to you is very important too.’

  In the face of my insistence, he left the room fearing bad news. Upon his return, he could barely contain his smile.

  We were indeed over the first hurdle but the road was long and fraught, once again, with major complications.

  My pregnancy was immediately classified as ‘high risk’ meaning that I was to be monitored particularly closely. I was also under strict doctor’s orders to lie down, with my feet up, for several interminably long weeks. Once again, some people came out with comments that would leave me reeling with disbelief: ‘There’s no need to make such a meal of it. You’re not ill, you know. You’re just pregnant.’ But, as far as I was concerned, only one opinion was of any real consequence – that of the medical profession − whose view was this: ‘We are going to do all we can to get it right. But the fact remains that this pregnancy is extremely precarious and potentially very dangerous. We cannot, therefore, afford to make the slightest mistake.’ In any case, I no longer had the energy to explain my very real (and most certainly not imaginary) problems to such self-opinionated people. Thus it was that I coolly deleted, from my address book, the name of any person who took the liberty of saying such insensitive things and retreated into a cocoon of self-protection into which only those who were prepared to show compassion and understanding were invited.

  *

  Obviously, there was absolutely no way I could impart the details of my long road to motherhood to the lawyer who was currently standing before me at the cab rank. I would, however, so have loved to be able to explain to him exactly why the mere fact of being allowed, at long last, to stand up was actually making me feel ecstatically happy; contrary to what he thought, I was, in reality, savouring every last second because to be standing there − a few days before I was due to give birth to our second child − constituted, as far as I was concerned, the best possible proof of my personal triumph.

  *

  One week later, our daughter was born.

  In view of my case history – contained in a file the size of a large encyclopaedia (!) – an army of medical staff assembled in the delivery room, ‘just in case’, especially for the event. Among them, I counted a
n obstetrician, a paediatrician, a surgeon, an anaesthetist, a midwife and at least two nurses!

  Fortunately, it all went swimmingly with the result that just two hours after our arrival at the clinic, I was already holding our perfect little baby in my arms.

  She was the most beautiful girl in the world. Quite an incredible feat, when you think about it, given that four years earlier I had also managed to give birth to the most beautiful boy of the entire planet!

  Yes, you’ve guessed it. Just like the vast majority of parents, we were utterly besotted with our newborn baby and therefore not remotely objective.

  A few days later, upon my discharge from the maternity clinic, my husband took his annual holiday. In light of my previous post-partum complications, I was forbidden to travel for some time so we spent the next three weeks enjoying la dolce vita at home, in Paris. Every afternoon, we would all go to a local park so as not to disrupt our son’s routine. He would thus spend hours playing with his friends in the sandpit, while his little sister slept peacefully in the calm surroundings of her pram that we naturally parked in the shade. In the evenings, when the air became cooler, we would all go for a stroll in the neighbourhood before sitting down to dinner on an open-air restaurant terrace, our daughter by our side in her pram or in our arms when necessary.

  We were so proud of our little family, blissfully happy.

  Naturally, the books I’d bought for my stay in the maternity clinic were to remain unopened for many months to come. Just what had I been thinking?

  That said it was of little consequence now. The books could wait, as could the passage explaining the meaning of ‘le choix du roi’, for I was currently experiencing the king’s choice first-hand and it was truly wonderful. And, besides, I was content merely to contemplate this bag of books because it would remind me of my moving exchange, just a few days prior to giving birth, with the business lawyer in the cab rank.

  *

  As I write these lines it occurs to me that, to this day, I would be hard-pressed to explain precisely what it was about this business lawyer’s considerate attitude that left such a mark on me, and an apparently indelible mark at that. Was it because his behaviour was a shining example of the delicate way in which people generally treat pregnant women? Indeed, perfect strangers will go out of their way to show kindness and respect towards us when we are expecting a baby. And, I freely admit, each time I received such treatment it would leave me feeling deeply moved because here was yet more proof that I was experiencing the most amazing act we can ever hope to accomplish on this planet: that of giving life.

  On a more general note, one thing that particularly strikes me about my exchange with this business lawyer is the idea that we can never really gauge the true extent to which our words will affect others. To take my case, for example, never could I possibly have imagined that simply by saying a taxi smelled of smoke, I would actually galvanise a cabdriver into ditching his habit, literally overnight. In turn, that same cabdriver could not possibly have known that this book – for many years a mere idea in my head – would see the light of day as a result of his comments.

  As for my encounter with the business lawyer, I believe (if ever I were to bump into him again) that he would be genuinely surprised to learn just how touched I was by his kindness towards me. So very touched in fact that many years later I find myself writing about it here. I’m sure he would tell me that his behaviour had been perfectly normal in the circumstances. But then normal is such a relative concept, isn’t it? And in the case in point, that which was normal for him, ended up transforming for me, the relatively banal act of queuing in a cab rank into a truly memorable mini-slice of life.

  *

  Traditionally, the best is for last. And this story is no exception because there is a charming conclusion to this encounter that I have yet to narrate…

  After a good fifteen minutes’ waiting − during which the business lawyer’s level of frustration scaled dizzy heights − a solitary taxi arrived.

  Turning to me, the poor man revealed the deep anxiety this situation was causing him − etched as it was all over his face.

  Once again, I endeavoured to reassure him as to my wellbeing.

  ‘Do take the taxi. I feel fine, really I do. There’s absolutely no problem.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Madame. You’re most kind. I’m extremely ill-at-ease with this but, like I said, my meeting is important and I’m already horribly late.’

  ‘Go ahead and take it. And I wish you all the best for your meeting!’

  ‘I hope it all goes well for you too. I’m quite sure you’ll have a very beautiful baby. Be sure to cherish every moment. They grow up so fast!’

  Once in the taxi, he shot me one last extremely anxious look.

  Naturally, he could not know that the problem was just about to be resolved.

  He was on the point of closing the door when quite suddenly I noticed another taxi approaching.

  ‘Monsieur, turn around. Take a look behind you!’

  Visibly relieved, he flashed me a wide smile before, at long last, setting off for his meeting.

  As for me, with a spring in my step, I got into the next cab − thrilled to have crossed the path of this veritable gentleman.

  And it was in this happy frame of mind that I sat down to enjoy my journey home, across the most beautiful city in the world, delighting in the idea that this cab ride might just become the subject of yet another taxi tale from Paris…

  Acknowledgements

  My heartfelt thanks go to my husband Etienne for his patience during the laborious but, nevertheless, essential process of checking my manuscript.

  A big thank you also goes to the classical pianist Claire-Marie Le Guay for allowing me to use her enchanting taxi tale in the music section of this book.

  As for our two children – to this day still the two most beautiful in the world as far as we are concerned (!) − in light of the subject matter of the concluding tale, I thank them simply for being.

  Notes

  * * *

  1Should you be unfamiliar with this French word, ‘major expletive’ will do.

  2Major expletive, emphasised!

  3 Gentil : French for kind or nice

  4 Môme: French slang for “child”.

  5 Mission Vigipirate is the French anti-terrorist operation.