PINE NUTS: Barefoot & Broke in Paris

I met Eglantine in 1964 aboard an ocean liner on my way to the Old World, we were both 21. Coincidentally we were also reading books of philosophy by Sarte, hers in French, mine in English, and her manner was so enchanting, well, I fell in love with her…

At one point she suggested, “I know you are heading to South Hampton, but disembark in Cherbourg with me…we can walk through Paris barefoot.”

I had some money waiting for me at American Express in South Hampton, but what was a twenty-one-year-old boy going to say to an invitation like that?

So we disembarked in Cherbourg and hopped a train for Paris, reading aloud as we went, and the more she read, the harder I fell… 

At last we arrived in Paris and off came our shoes. This was heaven on the half shell. About then, as I was intending to kiss her for her mother, her mother appeared, and gave me a straight-arm-shiver with one hand, while dragging Eglantine off with the other, and shoving her into a cab. My last glimpse of Eglantine was out the back window of a taxicab, and there I was, barefoot and broke in Paris. 

I hardly ever cry, but I think I did, as I did not know a soul, and did not speak the language. I did learn to hitchhike fairly well, and I must have given Eglantine my mother’s address, because when I arrived back home to America my mother handed me a letter from Eglantine. She had an artisan’s hand, and I tucked it away for safe keeping. But with life in a college fraternity, and then the Marine Corps, and domiciles in Cape Cod, Carmel, Kauai and finally Tahoe, Eglantine’s letter went missing, until last month, when it surfaced just as my son came to visit with his charming French partner, Oriane. Of course I retrieved Eglantine’s letter and handed it to Oriane…

“Will you be so kind as to read this letter to me sixty-two years later?”

Oriane read to me in her lilting French accent while I pictured Eglantine in my mind’s eye. The last line went something like this, “Please, Macky Boy, come visit me before you are too old.”

I looked to my son and asked, “Do you think I’m too old?”

“No, Dad, I think you have a chance.”

So I’m saving all small change, and placing careful bets on a few fast ponies with a trip to visit Eglantine on my mind. Her return address is on the envelope, and her mother must have been promoted to glory by now, so Eglantine and I could finish our books by Sarte, and have time, brief as it may be, to get to know each other. So it is, that I’m looking forward to being in the arms of Eglantine, a happier place than where she left me, barefoot and broke in Paris…  

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO