A Summer in Paris

by Cynthia Baxter

  “This looks like a place that girl Monique would love,” Jennifer said to Louis. There were no rugs to absorb any of the sound, nothing but bare wooden floors, and so she was forced to talk loudly in order to be heard.

  Louis laughed. “As a matter of fact, this is where I first met her. She comes here at least twice a week.”

  “What exactly goes on here?”

  “It’s called the Café des Voix because it’s a place for people to come and discuss the various issues they care about. It started in the sixties, when students at the Sorbonne created a sort of rebellion here in the city. But its tradition has lived on. This café has become a hangout for people who are active politically, people who are involved in issues like ecology, improving human rights, solving the problem of world hunger, freeing political prisoners.”

  He looked at Jennifer questioningly. “Well, what do you think? There seems to be one table that’s free, over there in the corner. Shall we grab it?”

  But she made a face. “If you don’t mind, Louis, I’d rather go somewhere else. I’m afraid this just isn’t my kind of place.”

  As he walked her across the street, toward McDonald’s, Louis took her arm once again. This time, however, he was muttering, talking more to himself than to Jennifer. “Ah, Jennifer,” he was saying with a chuckle, “perhaps you are a hopeless case, after all.” Then, more seriously—and much more meaningfully—he added, “But perhaps not. That, I suspect, still remains to be seen.”

  Chapter 11

  “Where on earth are we going?” Jennifer demanded, not even trying to mask her exasperation.

  “We already told you,” Michèle replied calmly. “Louis and I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Great, just great,” Jennifer mumbled. She folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “Why is it I get the distinct feeling that this ‘surprise’ is probably not one I’m going to be thrilled about?”

  It was a few days after her date with Louis, the one that had begun at the Café des Voix and ended at one of Paris’s branches of McDonald’s, where she happily downed two cheeseburgers, a chocolate shake, and a large order of French fries. Louis had watched in amazement, sipping coffee from a paper cup.

  Jennifer had gotten the feeling that he was studying her, that the questions he kept asking her were more than simply a way of being friendly. She felt as if she were a specimen in biology class, placed under the microscope for the class to examine.

  And now this. Early on this Saturday morning, Michèle had come into her room to wake her up, saying in her usual cheerful voice that she and Louis had planned an outing, a way of marking her last weekend in Paris. Sure enough; as they emerged from the Cartiers’ apartment building, onto the street, Louis was waiting for them at the curb in a car he had borrowed for the day.

  Yet the two of them remained secretive. On the surface, it looked as if everything were fine. There was a large basket on the back seat, beside Jennifer, and when she peeked inside she saw a perfectly innocent-looking picnic lunch. Michèle and Louis, meanwhile, sitting in the front seat, were armed with maps and guide books steering them to the Loire Valley, south of Paris.

  What could be more fun than a day in the country, especially a sunny, warm summer day like this one? Jennifer asked herself. Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up.

  “The Loire Valley,” she commented once the car had left the crowded streets of the city, winding its way south on a highway with traffic that was much lighter than the usual congestion of Paris. “Isn’t that the area of France where all the castles are?”

  “That’s right.” Louis, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, looked pleased that, somewhere along the way, she had absorbed at least one tidbit of information about the country she was living in. “There are many magnificent chateaux along the Loire River. Touring some of them is a wonderful experience.”

  “I just hope that’s the ‘wonderful experience’ these two have cooked up for me,” Jennifer muttered.

  She lapsed into silence as Louis and Michèle chatted together in the front seat. Sometimes they spoke in English and sometimes in French; sometimes they attempted to include her in their conversation, and other times they acted as if she weren’t even there.

  What do I care? Jennifer thought, staring out the window, noting how the scenery changed as they drove farther from the city, deeper into the countryside. I’ll be leaving in a few days, anyway. I’ll never have to see Michèle or Louis or the Cartiers again. So why should I start worrying about what they think of me now?

  Despite her refusal to think of this little outing as anything that came even close to fun, Jennifer had to admit that it was pretty out here. The crowdedness of the city and the area surrounding it was replaced by large fields and quaint farmhouses. Every once in a while they drove through a small town, two or three dozen tiny buildings pushed together along a cobblestone street. In a way, it was like going back in time. Everything felt old ... and untouched, as if someone had decided to preserve something of value, a little piece of an age gone by.

  “This sure is a long ride,” Jennifer commented when the threesome had been riding in the car for almost an hour. She was getting bored with driving through the country, no matter how pretty it was. She was also getting a little tired of feeling as if she were being kidnapped. “I guess we’ll be getting close to some of those castles soon.”

  “Oh, we’re not going to look at any castles,” Louis replied, glancing at her over his shoulder. “But we will be at our destination soon.”

  Jennifer opened her mouth to ask, once again, where they were going. But she quickly snapped it shut, realizing that there was really no point in asking the question that her two captors were so determined not to answer.

  She found out soon enough. Louis pulled the car off the main road, onto a small dirt road that was actually little more than a path. She perked up, sitting up straighter and looking out the window. She expected to see something wonderful, a museum or a park or—despite what Louis had said— a castle. Instead, all that was out there was a ramshackle old farmhouse.

  “What’s this, my big chance to see how the farmers of France live?” Jennifer asked dryly.

  She took in the overgrown fields surrounding the house, making it look as if no one had lived there or cared about the place for years. The house itself was in pretty tumbledown condition as well. It reminded her of a haunted house in some low-budget movie. One of the windows on the second floor was broken. The front door looked as if one good gust of wind could knock it off its hinges. Despite herself, Jennifer shuddered.

  “Okay, you guys. What’s this all about?” she asked. “Am I supposed to be scared or something?”

  Michèle glanced back at her in surprise as Louis pulled the car up right in front and turned off the motor.

  “This is the house where my grandparents used to live,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, is that all.” Jennifer was disappointed.

  It figures that these two would think it was a big deal to drive forever and a day just so they could go see some old shack that the Cartiers used to live in, she was thinking. As if anybody would ever give two hoots. Especially me.

  But Louis and Michèle were already climbing out of the car.

  “Come inside,” Louis said in a friendly way. “There is something interesting I would like to show you.”

  Reluctantly Jennifer followed them into the house. I just hope there aren’t any mice in there, she was thinking. Or anything worse than mice ....

  She was relieved to find that, inside, the house was clean and almost pleasant. The sun was shining through the windows, and a few pieces of furniture that had been left behind made it look almost homey.

  “Okay. So we’ve seen it,” she announced, after taking a quick tour of the first floor. “There’s a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom. Very nice. Can we go home now?”

  “You have not seen the entire house yet,” Michèle said in a st
range voice.

  “What else is there to see?” Jennifer returned. “Some dusty old attic full of spiders? A damp old basement?”

  Michèle smiled oddly. “Something like that.”

  She went over to the spot where a large, heavy, and not very nice-looking cabinet was sitting. Louis joined her in her efforts to make it budge, the two of them throwing all their weight against it. Finally they managed to move it across the room a few feet. Underneath there was a small square cut out of the floor.

  “A trap door?” Jennifer asked with interest. “What’s it for?”

  Instead of answering her, Louis and Michèle pulled the heavy door open. Then they gestured for her to look inside.

  Jennifer was a little nervous as she walked over, not sure of what she would see. And what she did see as she peered over the edge of the opening was so unexpected that she didn’t know how to react.

  “Why, there are rooms down there! It’s kind of like a little apartment!” she exclaimed. “It’s almost as if there’s another whole house underneath this one. A secret house. But, gosh, who on earth would ever want to live under the ground?”

  She looked at them, puzzled.

  “Louis, Michèle, what is all this about?” she asked. This time, however, there was none of the usual defiance in her voice. “What does this mean?”

  “This is the house in which my grandparents were living during World War II,” Michèle said in a quiet voice. “My grandfather built this hiding place all by himself.”

  “A hiding place? What for?”

  This time, it was Louis who answered her question. “During the war, the Cartiers hid members of the French Resistance here in their home. This house was a safe place for people who were secretly working against the Nazis, who, of course, had taken over France, occupying the country, claiming it as their own. For almost two years there was activity here aimed at ridding France of the Nazis. This was, in fact, one of the major outposts of the Resistance movement.”

  “The Cartiers hid people here?” Jennifer repeated, not quite understanding what she was hearing. “But ... but wasn’t that dangerous?”

  “It was extremely dangerous,” Michèle replied.

  “If they had ever been caught by the Nazis, they surely would have been put to death. My grandparents put themselves at incredible risk every minute, every second of the day, for almost two years.”

  “But why did they do it?” Jennifer asked in amazement.

  “Because they believed in something,” Louis said. “Because they knew they were right. And because they knew that they could make a difference.”

  Jennifer was quiet for a long time. Suddenly, she understood everything. Why Louis and Michèle had brought her here, why they had always been so respectful of the Cartiers, why they were so resentful of Jennifer’s inability to see them as anything more than a pair of old people, people she kept referring to as “boring.” And she also understood the commitment these two young people, people her own age, had made to becoming involved in some of the things that really mattered.

  Like the Cartiers, people like Louis and Michèle and Monique and the people at the Café des Voix knew they could make a difference.

  As the three of them took a brief tour of the grounds surrounding the house, with Michèle and Louis pointing out different places that had been a part of the Cartiers’ fight against the Nazis during World War II, Jennifer remained silent, thinking hard. She was embarrassed by the way she had been behaving all along, ever since she had come to France. Even more than that, she was awed by what she had learned.

  Finally, she turned to her friends and said, “I think I’ve seen enough now. Do you think we could go back to Paris?”

  Her voice sounded much less certain as she added, “Now that I’ve seen ... all this, now that I understand, I’m eager to talk to the Cartiers. I have a feeling there’s a lot I could learn from them.”

  Louis and Michèle just looked at each other and smiled.

  * * * *

  “I-I guess I owe the two of you an apology,” Jennifer stammered in her awkward French.

  “An apology?” Madame Cartier looked surprised. She and her husband were sitting at the kitchen table, sharing an apple that had been carefully cut into slices.

  Her husband was just as confused. “Why, Jennifer? What have you done?”

  Jennifer glanced over at Michèle and Louis, standing right behind her. Michèle gave her an encouraging nod. “What I’ve done,” she said slowly, “is forget that there are other people in the world. Besides me, I mean.”

  Henri Cartier frowned. “Pardon?” he said. “Please explain.”

  “Ever since I got here, all I’ve thought about has been myself.” Jennifer was quiet for a few seconds. “Come to think of it, that’s pretty much what I’ve always done.

  “Madame Cartier, Monsieur Cartier, I want you both to know that I appreciate all the effort you’ve gone to. Inviting Michèle, someone my own age, to Paris ... trying to make me feel at home.... You’ve been so thoughtful. And I’ve been acting like a ... like a spoiled little girl.”

  “Jennifer,” Madame Cartier said, coming over and grasping both her hands, “you have not done anything to offend us. We understand that it is difficult for someone to travel so far away from home, so far away from everything that is familiar.”

  “Yes, I know you understand. As a matter of fact, I know a lot of things now.” Jennifer took a deep breath. “Madame, Monsieur, today Michèle and Louis took me out to the Loire Valley. To the farmhouse where you used to live.”

  The muscles of the older woman’s hands tightened.

  “They told me everything. All about what happened during World War II, the risks you took, the brave things you did.”

  Madame Cartier glanced at her husband. The two of them exchanged a look of sadness.

  “More than anything,” Jennifer went on, “I owe both of you an apology because up until now I never even tried to look far enough beyond myself to see you for who you really are.”

  “And now?” Madame Cartier said in a soft voice.

  “And now,” Jennifer said, giving the older woman’s hands a squeeze, “I am ready to listen.”

  * * * *

  “Tonight’s the night,” Kristy muttered, gulping loudly as she closed the front door of her host family’s house behind her. “This dinner at Alain’s parents’ house could be a beautiful beginning for us. Or else ... or else it could be the end.”

  For days she had been dreading this evening. In fact, it had been pretty much all she could think about ever since Alain had first told her about his family’s plan to hold a celebratory dinner. His mother and father were quite eager to meet his new American friend, he reported happily, especially now that he was going to be off to the States himself in just a few short weeks.

  She could imagine how excited Alain’s parents were for their son, even despite their initial reservations. And she could imagine how much this family dinner meant to them, too. Such sweet, simple folk, about to see their son take off on his own and follow a new path ... Why, they had probably even closed up their little shop, just for the occasion.

  Kristy had dressed carefully, choosing a simple, attractive dress. And she hadn’t wanted to show up empty handed. She had given a lot of thought to what to bring. She didn’t want to bring anything so expensive it would embarrass them, yet she was still playing the part of the wealthy film star, and she didn’t want to give away her true status before she had a chance to tell Alain the truth herself. In the end, she had gone into a department store called Le Grand Magasin, Paris’s third largest and easily the fanciest, and bought a very expensive box of their most exclusive chocolates.

  In fact, it was that box of Le Grand Magasin candy that Alain first noticed when she met him near the métro station so that he could accompany her to his parents’ house on the outskirts of the city.

  “What is this?” he asked, amused.

  “What do you think it is?” Kristy re
turned. “It’s a box of chocolates for your parents. You know, a little thank-you gift.” Her expression darkened. “Why, don’t you think they’ll like it? I mean, do you think it’s too ... too showy?”

  “Showy?” Alain repeated, his face reflecting his bewilderment.

  “You know, showy. Um, too expensive, trying too hard to impress somebody....”

  Alain laughed. “No, Kristy, I think they will like this present very much. It was a charming idea.”

  Feeling relieved, she tucked the box of candy under her arm and started down the steps into the métro station with Alain at her side.

  “You know, Alain, I’m kind of nervous about tonight,” she admitted.

  “Oh, do not worry. My parents will like you very much.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like them, too. But that’s not what I’m worried about.”

  Just then, Alain turned to face her. He was wearing a distracted expression, as if he hadn’t really been paying very close attention to what she had been saying.

  “Tell me, Kristy. How do you feel about surprises?”

  Kristy, caught completely off guard, glanced over at Alain.

  “That’s funny, Alain. I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “I ... uh, oh, never mind.” There would be plenty of time for that later. More than enough, she thought woefully.

  Kristy was grateful that a subway train was just pulling into the métro station, and the two of them rushed to get on it. She was, meanwhile, so wrapped up in her own nervousness about the evening ahead—and the reaction that her confession was bound to cause—that she forgot all about Alain’s question about how she felt about surprises almost as soon as he mentioned it.

  But his words came back to her a few minutes later as the two of them got off the métro in the neighborhood called Neuilly. This was a section of Paris she hadn’t visited before. It was residential, but it contained within its tree-lined streets some of the finest homes she had seen so far in Paris. The high-priced boutiques the two of them passed as they made their way deeper and deeper into this neighborhood supported Kristy’s realization that Alain’s house—and his family—were not going to be quite what she had been expecting.