Ceaucescau’s Legacy

We have two young Roumanian adults staying with us this week.  The girl, Monica (23 years) is happy to sit in the garden when I work in the mornings (I’ve resurrected my book for one final push) and then to accompany me on my errands.  Life here in Switzerland is all one big magic box of wonderful tricks to her.  The highlight of her week is when I take her to the dentist for a check-up and clean for the first time in her life.

Christian (24) is different.  His eyes dart everywhere.  He is whippet thin and restless.  He needs to be doing things with his hands and is uncomfortable to be alone with me.  (I know the feeling).  He smiles but he doesn’t laugh.  He has become our odd job man for the week, happily painting and varnishing, earning some extra money to take back home.  Neither of them can swim or drive a car, but are kind, warm, very grateful and incredibly hardworking kids with a talent for languages. They call me Madame Julie. 

Monica left yesterday and tonight Christian, Mr. Jules and I eat dinner together.  Mr. Jules is practicing his grilling technique this week which coincides well as Christian is so thin.  (As an aside and nothing to do with this posting I would just like to say that since we invested in a gas bbq a few years back – don’t give me any rot about the taste it’s THE SAME! – our marriage has been saved from the charcoal rocks of burnt, petrol-infused sausages.)  So every meal this week consists of grilled meat, veggies and starch.  Mr. Jules and I are slowly gaining calories while Christian incinerates them.  I sense he is not used to or very comfortable eating with us en famille so I talk, a lot.

I tell him stories.  I tell him about the bells that have now been repaired (yea!) and how annoying it was.  How at some unconcious level we always listened to those bells which took us a while to get used to when we moved here.  I also tell him about the neighbour’s mad cock whose timing was off, welcoming dawn every day at 3am.

“Mais,” I say  “Grace à la vache folle le coq était renfermé.” 

 (“But,” I say, “Thanks to mad cow disease the cock was shut away.”)

“No Jules,” says Mr. Jules

“Qu’est-ce qu’on était content!” I say, ignoring Mr. Jules and waving my arms about trying to make a good story for Christian.

 (“How happy we were!¨)

“No Jules.”

“Tu sais Christian, ” I continue still ignoring Mr. Jules, “On ne pourrait jamais se plaindre.  Ils nous auront dit va habiter la ville, ici c’est la campagne.”

(“We could never have complained these country folk would have told us to go and live in the city”)

“NO JULES!!”

I look at him exasperated.  “QUOOOOOIIIIIIIIIII?????????!!!!!!!!!” (“WHAAAAAATTTTTTTT????!!!!”)

“C’était la grippe aviaire, pas la vache folle.”

(“It was bird flu not mad cow disease.”)

There is silence then Christian finally laughs, loudly.

Copyright Jules Ritter July 2008