An Iraqi In Paris by Samuel Shimon

Author:Samuel Shimon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation Publishing
Published: 2005-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Leaving Paris

Riadh was right somehow when he once told me, ‘When you have a wife and a home and a car you will see the real faces of those you call friends.’ When I was with Micheline some friends criticised me, ‘We didn’t expect you’d end up with that cook.’ Or they said, ‘All these years of adventures and you end up with a woman who considers you and her dog as the same kind of thing.’

When my relation with her ended it seemed they celebrated my going back to the streets. They invited me here and there every day for a few days until I found myself alone on the street once more. Other friends blamed me for not being clever enough. ‘Even if you don’t love her, you should stay with her until you have better luck, and then abandon her,’ they used to tell me, without realising that I was an impractical dreamer.

But I have to admit that after those quiet days with Micheline, I started seriously wanting a place of my own. I was no longer that adventurous child who gave his kite more and more line; the kite was now in front of me smashed up. I was feeling exactly the same as when I read Scott Fitzgerald’s story ‘Babylon Revisited’, and I realised now it was not by accident that I had been reading it again and again. I see now in front of me Scott Fitzgerald standing at the bar of the Ritz Hotel, drinking whisky, and psychologically completely destroyed.

‘The fairy tales are over, and it’s not possible to postpone the pain. You have to face the punishment,’ I said to myself, and decided to escape from Paris.

Jean-Claude Ming encouraged me to leave. ‘Don’t worry. Leave Saint Germain-des-Prés and go and live in Saint-Germain Lès Arpajon.’ He laughed and added, ‘Fabian’s house is a very quiet place in the countryside, and I will visit you from time to time. I’m like your brother, so listen to me.’ We were at the Café Saint-Claude. ‘I can borrow some money for you from Madame Beatrice,’ said Ming.

I had met Jean-Claude Ming for the first time a few years ago in this same bar. He had invited me for a beer without knowing me. ‘I’m happy. I want to treat you. And don’t think I’m gay.’

He was drinking and keeping an eye on his paintings that were hung on the railings of the Saint-Germain Church. He saw a lady stop to look at his work and ran out quickly. After a few minutes he returned. ‘She was an Australian tourist and bought two drawings of Place Furstenberg.’

He looked at me. ‘You see, I just made 600 francs. I can sleep a few days in a hotel with that.’

From that day we became friends, and from time to time I used to sell his paintings for him, but that’s another story.

‘Lucie! Lucie! Where are you? Come here, Lucie!’ The neighbour, in her seventies, was calling from her garden.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.