Page 1 Page 2
The streets were empty. Even the moon and stars were tucked away on a frigid Maine night in January of 1969. The darkness was broken by light from a single window of a lone house at the end of a short, dirt road. The wind howled and tossed handfuls of snow into the air as a solitary person trudged slowly along, buried in his coat. The scene was one that John had experienced many times before. He was back in his home town now, and despite the weather, he was enjoying himself. He softly sang the familiar radio ad he heard again today; “chez McDonald’s, on fait tout ca pour vous.” Yes indeed, it was good to be home.
Suddenly the McDonald’s jingle evaporated into the night air. John’s thoughts bounced between his childhood in Maine and his freshman year at a liberal college in Boston: two wonderful, yet completely different worlds. He knew instinctively that one day he would have to make a choice between the two. Not today but certainly, someday. He thought to himself, “My world is turning upside-down, especially with girls. I gotta meet with the Colonel. For crying out loud, he has been saying, ‘You know how women are’ for years. He must really know.”
John had returned from college specifically to talk to his friend and mentor, the “Colonel,” whose real name was Marcel Xavier Desjardens. John could discuss anything with the Colonel, openly without fear of criticism or embarrassment, unlike his parents or classmates.
John wasn’t sure how the Colonel got his name; after all he wasn’t really a Colonel. He was a sergeant in the Marines during World War II. But everyone in town called him “Colonel”, maybe because he was a foreman in the local textile mill. He was a typical French Canadian, or Canuck as they were called, who had immigrated from Quebec to Maine. He had dark skin, brown eyes, and black curly hair always trimmed in a military buzz cut. Like his peers, the Colonel spoke English with a Canuck accent and Canuck French with a Maine accent. Despite this, John never had a problem understanding the Colonel.
The Colonel was the smartest person John had ever known. He was not book smart, just plain old smart. The Colonel once responded to John’s suggestion that he read a certain book by stating, “I’m 56 years old and have never read a book in my life; and I don’t plan to start now.” The Colonel made it clear he only read Le Messenger in Canuck French, the local newspaper in English, and, of course, Reader’s Digest.
John plowed through the snow-covered front walk and rang the doorbell. In a minute the door opened and there stood the Colonel, all 5’ 4” and 140 pounds of him, beaming as he extended his hand. As usual he was wearing his olive green work pants and white T-shirt, complete with food stains. In the background, hanging on a wall, was a 5×8″ picture of Jesus. A small crucifix was centered over each doorway leading from the kitchen. The air was heavy with the smell of beans.
The Colonel exclaimed, “Tabarnac, look what da wind blew in. Bienvenue, come in. It’s great to see you again. Excusez moi, I’ve got to go to the bat-room and put my teet in. Can’t be tootless with guests in the house. Hungry? I have some supper left over, les bins and chien chaude. And, Naragansett beer.”
“No thanks on the food,” John responded. “I still can’t believe you eat supper at 5:30 even on a weekend. But I will take a Gansett.“
The Colonel responded, “You know da drill. Mass at four cause it’s in French, not Latin. It makes no sense to have a mass in a language no one understands, eh?” As the Colonel retreated to the bathroom, John took off his overcoat and snow boots and placed them on the mat near the door. The Colonel’s home, inside and out, was always immaculate — always. He then looked over at Mrs. Delice Desjardens, as she tirelessly worked in the kitchen, despite having worked a full week in the shoe shop. She was the same height as the Colonel but thirty pounds heavier. She, too, was French Canadian with very dark skin, curly hair, and a slight shadow mustache. She wore her church outfit, a dark, mid-calf dress, covered by a flowered apron. Nylons were rolled up down to her ankles exposing black lace up shoes with two-inch heels, a style popular with the nuns. John said, “Bonjour Madame Desjardens.”
As usual she stopped for a brief second, responded with a curt ”Bonjour” and immediately returned to her chores.
The Colonel returned from the bathroom and smiled a half grin/half grimace, showing off his new perfectly shaped, snow-white teeth. He then interjected, “new teet,” as the uppers dropped slightly onto the lowers, making a slight clicking sound. “Did you ‘ear Mr. Smith died last month? Good guy. Da church will not let him be buried next to his wife because ‘e’s Protestant. ‘E’s a more better Cat-lic than most Cat-lics, n’est pas? Because ‘e is not Cat-lic, da priests say ‘e won’t get into heaven. Dat’s not right… no?” Knowing he’d just committed a mortal sin, the Colonel quickly bowed his head and did the Catholic sign of the cross (up, down, left, right) with his right hand. He continued, “Tings are all mixed up. Da priests talk love da neighbor, but only if ‘e is Cat-lic, eh? Religions have caused so much hatred and killing in this world. It makes no sense, n’est pas?“ The Colonel did another sign of the cross.
The Colonel then declared, “So wat’s on your mind, mon ami? I only have an hour before Lawrence Welk show starts on TV. I need to shave and change back into my good clothes before the show. Delice and me dance to his music every week. Kinda gets ‘er in da mood,” he said as he winked, “You know ‘ow women are… eh.”
“No. No, I don’t,” responded John firmly. “That’s why I am here.”
Grinning, the Colonel countered, “You got all A’s in high school; got scholarship to a fancy college, and you still don’t know ‘ow women are. Come on. Ce feux twee, eh?”
“Are you kidding? I am an engineer, all logic, raised in a guy world. I get the guy stuff OK. But I am lost when it comes to females.”
“OK, mon ami, ok. We need to talk. Allon z to da living room.”
The living room was a small room off the kitchen containing a couch, two armchairs, and a large TV with an undersized viewing screen. The three pieces of furniture were covered with custom-fit plastic protective covers, which were removed only when the Desjardens had special guests. The wallpaper depicted a festive scene of brown horse carriages on a yellowed background. Twenty-seven framed pictures of members of the Desjarden clan adorned the walls. On top of the TV was the framed wedding picture of the Colonel and Mrs. Desjarden, acting as the centerpiece for the room. The Colonel carefully removed the plastic cover from the couch and chair and invited John to sit by tapping on the chair. He cleared his throat and said, “Go ahead, back-up… to the beginning.”
Page 1 Page 2
Pages: 1 2
About William Parent
