TheBanyanTree: The Americans are here

[Karen Cooper]

A few days ago, Patrick and Dominique told us that some Americans 
were coming to stay for a week.  I was elated by this news, because I 
would like someone new to talk to who speaks English.  They were 
supposed to arrive on Saturday.

Various people are always coming and going around here, and we never 
have any idea who they are.  At one point late Saturday, a car pulled 
in and the people got out speaking excellent French.  I immediately 
decided that the Americans had arrived and were far more 
sophisticated French speakers than we, and that they were surely here 
for cultural immersion and would avoid us and our  English.  They 
only had a week, after all, I reasoned.  I'd feel the same way in 
their place.

That wasn't them.  They never showed up at all until Sunday, kind of 
late.  B. had asked.  Apparently there was some sort of traffic 
problem, Dominique told him.  We sort of mooched around our place, 
hoping to have a chance to say hi, and welcome.  Had they been 
friendly, or even visible, we probably would have invited them over 
to share our roast duck dinner.  But I never saw them, and finally 
quit attending to them at all and went to have a late-afternoon bath. 
We finished cooking dinner, we ate, we cleaned up, and I at least 
never laid eyes on them.  B. thought there were more than two, 
perhaps 4, perhaps a family.  Maybe they'd gone into town for dinner.

This morning, I saw through the open door a Converse Hi-Top sneaker, 
which felt like maybe there were teenaged kids or something.  I still 
haven't seen any of these people.  We went off to Tours to look for a 
wildflower guide (and <b>scored!</b>  I am quite pleased) and came 
home midafternoon in the rain.

There's clothes on the clothes line, and they're hung up stupid. 
Doubled over so that the wind can't hit 'em.  Long-sleeve t-shirts 
hung with the line down the middle of the body, neck-to-hem.  And 
also, it's pouring rain.  The clothes are getting wetter by the 
second.  Just a couple of minutes ago, a couple of slacker looking 
kids walked up the drive.  Kids clothes are of an international 
fashion (they all look like slackers to me) and don't give 'em away, 
but I bet they are from the American family next door.  So... if 
they're home, why are their clothes still out there dripping?

I've gone from awe at the unassailable world-weariness of these 
people to disdain for their lack of laundry skills in less than a 
day.  And I'm still not sure I've laid eyes on them.

Late update:  the clothes stayed out in the rain for a couple of more 
hours, until the mom of this family finally brought them in.  She 
went out to collect them wearing an apron.  Not an ironic charming 
hostessy apron, but you know, a working apron.  Like she brought it 
with her, and wears it a lot.  Her clothes weren't anything 
extraordinary, so it wasn't about that.  I do not have the sense that 
these people are members of my tribe.

B. leaves for a long weekend in America tomorrow.  I'll be here 
alone.  I kind of wish the Americans weren't here.  Or that they 
seemed more .... likely.

K.