A French Girl In New York Read online

  She had abruptly been stopped by Mr. Ruchet’s warning glare. She had said too much. Maude, who had never heard Mrs. Ruchet talk about her parents before, treasured this information and dived wholeheartedly into the English language, its literature, its grammar, and history.

  Usually, when she entered the basement, she was so tired from her day’s work, that she would fall directly asleep, not hearing the rats or the rain sliding through the only window.

  This present evening, while the wind howled and rain poured down heavily, sleep eluded the troubled girl.

  When Ms. Clement had announced the day trip to Paris, which was a tradition each year for the tenth graders, Maude’s desire to see the capital city had been irrevocably stirred, and she couldn’t rest until she thought of a way of breaking down the Ruchets’ resistance to the idea. The Ruchets, like many other inhabitants of Carvin, hated Paris and refused to ever go there. They thought Parisians were stuck-up and imagined they were the center of the universe. They always gave Mrs. Lavande and her husband as an example. The Parisian couple lived in one of the biggest houses of Carvin but never spoke to anyone—the main reason being they were deaf and mute, and no one in Carvin had ever made an effort to learn sign language.

  That wasn’t an excuse, Mrs. Ruchet would say. They were arrogant, proud, and held their heads higher than anyone else in town, something she couldn’t fathom.

  Maude didn’t know how she was ever going to get permission to go to Paris.

  She just knew she had to do everything in her power to see the most beautiful city in the world, climb the Eiffel Tower, visit the Louvre Museum, and ramble across the Champs-Elysées.

  Resolute as ever, Maude fell asleep smiling, not hearing the tiny, frantic squeaks of a rat caught in the trap next to her mattress.

  Chapter 2

  The morning after the storm, the air was chilly, and the town of Carvin was filled with an unearthly atmosphere. The sun, on this new autumn day was gradually creeping through the shadows, renewing the world with its ancient light.

  Maude woke up at seven, like every other Saturday, dressed and headed towards the center of the town, the Grand Place. In Carvin, the buildings were low, and a faded greyish color. The Grand Place, which, on the occasional bright day, could hold the entire population, had a few shops, a few cafés, a church, a former tribunal, a bus stop, a police station, a Chinese and an Italian restaurant ruthlessly competing against one another. Most importantly, it held the traditional bakery, in which children delighted in buying croissants, pains aux chocolat and various forms of candy and of course, baguettes.

  Each Saturday morning, Maude’s first errand was buying croissants for the Ruchet family. It wasn’t her least favorite task, as she enjoyed walking through the deserted town where the only other person up was Mrs. Bonnin, the baker.

  The streets were damp, and droplets of rain fell from the lampposts unto Maude’s head as she joyfully glided through the leaves that had started their seasonal journey, changing shades and covering the town in a new, light brown, autumn mantle.

  As Maude pushed the door to enter the bakery, delightful scents of croissants and bread greeted her nostrils, and she smiled as she heard the bell announce her arrival.

  Mrs. Bonnin hurried to the counter to greet her customer. Mrs. Bonnin was a pretty, plump woman who always greeted her customers with a smile, even when she had no reason to smile. She was also the town gossip, as each small French town has, although she was one of the best. Indeed, the location of the boulangerie in the center of town was perfect for the mission she felt she had been called to accomplish. From behind her counter, at what she called her “observation post,” Mrs. Bonnin eyed every new couple lovingly holding hands and would unabashedly observe a week later the same couple having screaming matches on the terrace of Paul’s café. Mrs. Bonnin had once been the object of every wild story in the small town but had now grown to feel immensely bored with her life. She couldn’t stand the humdrum of her calm, uneventful existence, and longed for amusement. That is why she dedicated her time to learning about other people’s mishaps, and commenting on them to her friends. She never did it to hurt anyone, she just couldn’t help herself, and nobody in Carvin really blamed her for it, seeing as she had a lot more interesting news than the local newspaper. She knew everyone’s life and history in Carvin.

  Everyone’s but that of Maude’s, which she had said she knew nothing about when the young girl had once found the courage to ask her. All she knew was that, one day, sixteen years ago, Mr. Ruchet had come home with a delightful, beautiful, smiling brown baby. Mr. Ruchet, who had refused to give any sort of information about this newborn, became the object of the wildest speculations. It had been the talk of the town for three whole months, dying down only after a fresh new, explosive scandal surfaced: the mayor’s embezzlement scandal.

  Apart from Maude’s history, Mrs. Bonnin knew everything there was to know about Carvin, past and present, and shared her knowledge with every sympathetic ear she encountered. And Maude, who didn’t know how to refuse anything to the kind woman who always gave her a free, delicious croissant with a cup of hot chocolate “to warm up her tired soul” as Mrs. Bonnin colorfully put it, was the most sympathetic Carvin listener in the baker’s sight.

  Mrs. Bonnin knew nothing about Maude’s miserable existence, though. The young girl never breathed a word about it, and Mrs. Bonnin never attributed her skinniness and the circles under her eyes to mistreatment. She always urged Maude to eat more, scolding her for “imitating those anorexic models, you youngsters look up to.” Maude would just laugh, and then sigh wistfully, almost wishing that self-deprivation had been the real cause for her weight and not the Ruchet family’s greed.

  “You won’t believe what I heard!” Mrs. Bonnin started. “Your math teacher Mr. Martin asked your French literature teacher Ms. Clement out, and she answered no, of course! He was heartbroken.”

  And like every Saturday morning at eight, Maude left the bakery after a full hour of gossip, feeling like the world was a crazy place and that women most definitely came from Venus and men from Mars.

  However, Maude was still more preoccupied about her field trip and how to obtain permission to go. She planned on asking Mrs. Ruchet right after breakfast.

  When she walked in the living room that morning, Mrs. Ruchet, unwell, was lying on the sofa, moaning and groaning.

  Maude hesitated, but a fleeting image of the Eiffel Tower crossed her mind and galvanized her courage. She took a few steps closer.

  “Mrs. Ruchet,” she said firmly.

  “What now?” groaned the invalid.

  “I need to speak to you about something. I need your permission to—”

  “Go ask Mr. Ruchet,” bellowed Mrs. Ruchet, angrily.

  Maude was quite taken aback. Mrs. Ruchet never sent Maude towards her husband. In the girl’s mind, it had always been implied that Mrs. Ruchet was to be the only person to (reluctantly) deal with her. She hardly even knew Mr. Ruchet as he had spent a large part of her life ignoring her, as one ignores problems thinking they will magically disappear on their own. All she knew about him was that he never stood up for her against Mrs. Ruchet’s or her twins’ cruelty.

  Mr. Ruchet was upstairs in his study when Maude knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” he answered, raising his head.

  Maude entered, closed the door behind her.

  “Mrs. Ruchet redirected me to you. I have come to ask your permission to go on a field trip to Paris in November. It is an annual tradition that every French student has to go through, sort of like a rite of passage, discovering the big city to better appreciate the advantages of living in a small town.” Maude knew presenting the field trip in this light would please Mr. Ruchet. She took a deep breath and continued quickly. “I would very much like to go. And you should be certain that I will in no way use this trip as an excuse to shirk my household chores. Everything will be done before I leave for this one-day trip. I will be back before
you know it, and life will continue as it always has.”

  She waited for Mr. Ruchet to say something. He seemed hesitant to respond, scratching his balding head.

  Mr. Ruchet prided himself in a certain false sense of fairness. He was a lawyer, a “man of the Law” as he called himself, always using italics in his sentences to underline his passion for principles. He had started out as a human rights lawyer but had abandoned this path years ago to live comfortably with a private law practice in Carvin. He truly believed that the Law was always fair and just and that what was established must remain so. That is why he had never interfered with Maude’s education. That was his wife’s job. And the laws of nature weren’t to be meddled with. As he looked at Maude, he thought he would be fair. Nothing was fairer than laying down a condition to his consent. The Law is always fair and objective, he thought.

  “You will be allowed to go to Paris under one condition,” he said slowly.

  Maude was already feeling relieved. She was willing to do anything to go on this trip.

  “I want you to bring me a good grade on your next math test,” finished Mr. Ruchet.

  Maude faltered. Maude, after a hard day’s work, barely had the strength to do her homework but managed to get excellent grades in English class and French literature. In math, let’s just say, there was so much one could learn late at night with just a flickering flashlight to make sense of pages of math formulas. With no one to help her, she was failing miserably in math, and she’d never succeeded in getting a grade over five points on her tests since middle school.

  “You will be able to do that, won’t you?” asked Mr. Ruchet.

  Maude swallowed and nodded in acquiescence before leaving the room.

  Mr. Ruchet felt very proud at that moment. He knew Maude was a dunce in math; she would have to work hard to get his permission to go to this trip. She would either improve tremendously in math, which would be a good thing, or what was more likely, she would fail and his wife would be very pleased. He had found the perfect condition that was just and impartial.

  All was right with the world.

  Maude worked very hard for the next two weeks. She barely slept and her circles grew deeper under her eyes. She encouraged herself every Saturday by reading books about Paris, its museums, parks, and architecture.

  When she arrived on Monday morning for her test, Maude felt quite confident although deprived of sleep and a bit jittery.

  After her test, Maude felt incredibly proud of herself. She knew she was going to get a good grade. This was the first time in a long time that she had actually written more than her name on the paper. She would definitely get more than 5 out of 20.

  Maude waited an entire week for her grade, wishing Mr. Martin would hurry to correct the stack of copies.

  Mr. Martin hated teaching reckless teenagers who were more interested in texting than reading their textbooks. No student seemed to understand his profound love and devotion to math and to him, Maude was a hopeless case. When he saw Maude’s name on the remaining test, he put a 5 out of 20 without even looking any further than her name.

  In the basement that evening, Maude stared at her test, wishing with all her heart that she could make it disappear. Unfortunately there was no erasing the big, red 5 out of 20 her teacher had lazily scrawled on the paper. Maude paced in her tiny room thinking. Perhaps she could beg Mr. Ruchet to let her go on that field trip. Never, she thought firmly, he would be too pleased and would still refuse. She could run away perhaps? She had too little money and no family to go to.

  Suddenly, she stopped, turned around, and looked back at the test, slowly smiling. She took her red pen and added a 1 in front of the 5, thus turning a 5 into an excellent 15.

  Nothing was going to keep her from that trip.

  Mr. Ruchet looked up as Maude entered his study. She advanced quickly looking a little uneasy, which Mr. Ruchet barely noticed as he was very busy making sure that the Law prevailed. She put her test in front of him.

  He took the paper and looked at it long and hard. Looked back at her, saw that she was trying hard not to fidget and mistook it for a sign of excitement and anticipation. Not for the nervousness of a guilty conscience.

  “I see you’ve received a good mark. Fifteen out of 20 isn’t too bad although I think you might’ve done better.”

  He stared back at the test, looked up, and said, “Give me your permission slip, you have my consent. You may go to Paris.”

  Chapter 3

  The sun shone brightly, its rays bouncing off the majestic Eiffel Tower. The Iron Lady clad in iron and steel stood firmly on her four-legged pedestal, towering over the entire city of Paris, carefully keeping watch over its millions of worshippers, following the city’s incessant murmur, its fast-paced heartbeat. The Iron Goddess beamed proudly over the Seine River, which flowed to the rhythm of the city, transporting gaping tourists in bateaux-mouches, eager to see the capital’s monuments, its captivating historical and modern beauty. Maude’s class, before sailing on a gigantic bateau-mouche, had visited the Eiffel Tower and visited the Louvre Museum to her delight.

  The teachers then announced three hours of free time before the departure at nine p.m. at Notre-Dame.

  “Nine o’clock sharp,” reminded Ms. Clement as her students wandered off in groups.

  Maude wandered off alone, but so incredibly happy, mesmerized by the beauty surrounding her. She was just happy walking around aimlessly in Paris. She visited the small shops in l’île Saint-Louis, although she had little money to spend, walked along the Seine looking at the elegant houseboats, and smiled at the artists painting portraits of tourists. After two hours rambling in the city, Maude, leaving Place Georges Pompidou and heading towards Notre-Dame, was thinking about how hungry she was. Being surrounded by a large variety of food only makes choosing harder, and Maude was having a pretty difficult time deciding whether she wanted to eat sweet crêpes full of strawberry or peach jam or French hot dogs in which the sausage is wrapped in a baguette or croque-monsieurs.

  That’s when she heard it.

  Coming from the café right in front of her, Le Cavalier Bleu, a musician surrounded by a crowd of entertained customers, was at the piano singing, full of enthusiasm, “Milord,” one of Edith Piaf’s most famous songs.

  Maude, who knew this song, instantly felt drawn to the place, its lively atmosphere, its crowd, and especially its music.

  She entered the café and sat at a table by the bar. Without even knowing it, she was singing softly and playing the notes, which she knew by heart, on an imaginary piano.

  At the table next to her was sitting a tall, black man drinking an espresso. He had a kind face though the several gray hairs that curled up against his temples indicated a certain maturity. The crease on his left cheek showed he was a man who smiled easily at life, and the absence of wrinkles on his forehead revealed him to be a man who never let a worry hassle him too long. His eyes gleamed with a gleeful twinkle as if always laughing at a private joke. He was wearing a dark business suit and sitting lazily in his chair. He’d had a long day. He’d come to Paris for business but had been quite disappointed with his meeting and felt a wave of fatigue and the bitter aftertaste of unfinished business. Besides, usually when he came to Paris, he was with his wife, Victoria. They always came to this café in which the music always lifted his spirits. Victoria would sometimes even play, to the delight of the owner who was a good friend of theirs. As he looked around the room, he saw Maude at the table next to his, singing softly and playing notes on an imaginary piano. She reminded him of his own daughter who was about her age.

  When the owner, who was also waitressing that day, came to his table, his friend whispered something in his ear. The owner nodded, smiling.

  Maude was completely oblivious of everyone around her and could only hear the music. So when it came to a stop, she came back to the real world with a start.

  The owner, M. Beauregard went to the piano and told the pianist to get up.

>   “As you all know, this café is opened to any new musician who wants to give this piano a try. Now, I couldn’t help but notice a very talented young girl among us.” He paused looking at Maude who had been listening, her eyes wide with anticipation, wondering who would be next to claim the dark, grand instrument.

  The waiter pointed to Maude.

  “Young woman, would you care to take your rightful place?” he asked, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—,” Maude started to protest.

  “What’s your name, Miss?” he asked.

  “Maude. My name is Maude Laurent,” she answered a little hesitantly.

  “Well, everyone, I think that all Maude needs is a little encouragement, don’t you think?” he asked, turning towards the small crowd around the piano.

  Without hesitating, the crowd started chanting, “Maude, Maude, Maude!” softly at first, then louder and louder.

  Maude had never played for an audience before. She had always been locked in a tiny room in the library, with the walls as sole witnesses. Besides, she had to start heading back towards the meeting place at Notre Dame.

  Could she actually do this? After the wonderful day she’d had, she was feeling like she could take on the world.

  She was still in a midst of hesitation when the man sitting at the table next to her leaned over to her table.

  “Go ahead, child,” he said reassuringly in English. “It’ll be okay.”

  She looked at him, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement bored into her soul, and she felt something she hadn’t ever felt before: trust. She felt as if he knew her and that everything would be okay. The crowd was still chanting her name. How could she resist?

  “Go on,” he repeated.

  Maude smiled at the stranger as she got up, almost knocking over the table. She walked to the dark upright Pleyel piano, her legs feeling a bit heavier with every step she took. She kneeled down at the bench, adjusting it to her height, and then took her rightful place. The crowd grew silent.