The Charm of French Class

i become a stone, still a leader, but translation transforms me, as i learn “le crayon est rouge.” “Je m’appelle Chantal.” enchanted by my “nom français.” a shy child, changed by her name. my friend and i on different sides. she’s critical of Madame Gold. i rather enjoy the running jump into “Lac d’Aiguebelette.”* we whisper fun, of one boy, with the crooked nose. i lose my charm an anchor clinging to the radiator. french class particularly enchanting as if we travel across the vast sea — explore the Louvre and Eiffel Tower, the catacombs and Notre Dame. crèpes in class tastier than home ec. Madame Gold calls on Kat-a-leen. She’s not happy, a bit. but i smile, and wait a long long while before i visit, for real, the city of lights. now in my sixties, i learn much more of the sordid history of Paris and its close-by venture to Versaille. but all our hometown places have their secrets, their horrors, their orgies, and battles. God keeps beauty in the steeple and the turquoise sky and the lake reminding me of “paradis.”** french class, history — a loft for an awkward child. perhaps that’s why Madame Gold was so enchanting, not a bit of a witch like Kathleen thought. 2/25/2021 Lac d’Aiguebelette pronounced “lack-day-boo-lette” Paradis pronounced “pear-a-dee”