Ульяна Солнечная – Its Never Too Late - As Long As Youre Alive (страница 5)

He carried a stack of books and a thermos.

“Bonjour!” he said brightly, smiling.

“I’m Thomas. But please, call me Tom. I’ll be teaching you to speak like real French people. Although fair warning — I’m from Iowa, and I learned most of my French from subtitled movies, so our accent is going to be a collaborative American-French masterpiece.”

Someone let out a nervous laugh.

Thomas handed out the books.

They smelled of fresh printer’s ink.

Kate ran her palm over the glossy cover.

On it was a photograph of the Eiffel Tower at sunset.

“Today, no rules,” Thomas said.

“No grammar. Just one thing. I say a phrase, and you repeat it. Like parrots. Sound good?”

Everyone nodded.

“Je m’appelle…” Thomas said slowly.

“That means my name is. Now you. One at a time. Say your name in French.”

Kate’s turn came quickly.

She opened her mouth and suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“Je m’appelle…” she exhaled, her voice cracking.

“Kate.”

“Parfait!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Perfect! Did you hear that? Kate has natural pronunciation! Barbara, did you hear her?”

Kate felt her cheeks flood with heat.

Blushing at sixty-seven, like a schoolgirl.

Lord.

But something inside her softened.

After that, it became easier.

They learned how to greet one another, how to ask how are you, how to say thank you.

By the end of the hour, Kate had learned five phrases.

Only five.

Less than any first grader knew.

But when she said, “Merci, monsieur,” and Thomas answered her with a broad smile, she felt as if she had passed some great and important exam.

“See you next week,” Barbara said, buttoning up her coat.

“Kate, how are you doing? If you’d like, we could practice together. I live on First Street, I have two cats and a refrigerator full of food nobody’s around to eat.”

Kate smiled.

“I’m on Third. And my refrigerator’s full too.

Tom… my husband… he’s been gone five years, and I still cook for two.”

“Then we’ll cook for each other,” Barbara said decisively.

“Wednesday I’m baking apple pie. Come over. We’ll practice merci and s’il vous plaît.”

Outside, a light rain had begun to fall.

Kate got into the car and sat there for a long time without starting the engine.

She watched the raindrops gather on the windshield.

The lights in the college windows.

Her own reflection in the rearview mirror.

She was smiling.

Nothing extraordinary had happened.

She had not suddenly become fluent in French.

She had not bought a ticket to Paris.

She had not become younger.

But today, not once had she felt unnecessary.

She had felt like a beginner.

And that was a completely different feeling.

At home, she opened the notebook.

Under the line I was afraid of looking ridiculous, she wrote:

Today I said “Je m’appelle Kate.” And nobody laughed. They even praised me.

Then she thought for a moment and added:

Barbara says she has two cats and apple pie. I think I may have made a friend.

Kate closed the notebook and suddenly noticed that the rain had stopped outside.

The March sun broke through the clouds and lit up the dusty cactus on the windowsill.

She stood up, took a cloth, and wiped the leaves clean.

Then she watered the plant.

Then she took out an old map of Paris she had once bought in a used bookstore for a dollar and pinned it to the refrigerator with a magnet.

The magnet showed sights from Oklahoma City.

The Paris map looked foreign beside it.

Far away.

“We’ll see,” Kate said to the map.

“Maybe we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

The map said nothing.