"Garcon! Garcon!, please," Jack yelled to the waiter as he was hurrying to another table. "Oui Monsieur, un instant", he replied as he scurried by.
"Well", Jack said, "I hope you're not too hungry. We can't get up and go to a McDonalds you know. It'll be another thirty years before they start dishing out the burgers."
"No, that's okay, I enjoy just sitting here staring at all the people, hoping to see someone we might recognize. I wouldn't mind a little cheese and wine if he does come back though." Ruth said, quite content to just sit in the courtyard of the restaurant and watch a painter sketching near the riverbank. "It's quite beautiful you know." she said.
"Yes, it really is." Jack agreed. "I have a question though Jack, are any of these people from our dimension and do they know what will happen to them in the future? Ruth asked, extremely serious.
"Well Jack began, as I understand it, while we're able to move about in time and place, a strange thing happens. Even though we know from our time on earth, the historical events that occurred, a memory block of future historical events will be screened from our memories for each region we visit. That's done to prevent us from attempting to shield others from those events we knew would happen and thus change fate."
"I'm glad for that, Ruth replied, "can you imagine always knowing what's going to happen before it does, we'd spend eternity running around trying to make some things happen, or trying to make other things not happen.
"I think it's not for us to presume anything," Jack added. "Events can't be controlled by anyone. God allowed events to happen in Jesus' time, and we know he could have intervened. So anyway let's just enjoy the times and places we'll no doubt visit."
Ruth smiled, "That really is a load off my mind Jack, I don't mind telling you," relief showing on her face.
Eventually, which is usual in France, they received the waiter's attention, and as they were walking out of the courtyard, Ruth stopped short and grabbed Jacks arm.
"Look over there," she said excitedly.
"Where, where do you want me to look?" Jack asked, trying to look without seeming to stare at all the diners.
"There at that corner table, at that man gesturing excitedly. I think that's Bromfield, Louis Bromfield from Ohio. I'd heard that he lives here now. Dare we go up and introduce ourselves do you think?"
"If you want, we shall. What can he say but get lost."
"Mr. Bromfield, I hate to bother you, but I heard you speaking of farming and I know you're from Ohio and we are too and I wanted to say hello." Ruth said, as she ran all her words together.
He glanced up at them, "You're exactly who I want to see, sit down," he said gruffly. Jack and Ruth looked at each other, gave a simultaneous gesture that said without words, I don't know what's going on, but what the heck. They sat down.
"Where are you from in Ohio?" Bromfield asked.
"Mansfield." Ruth replied.
"Mansfield! Why that's where I'm from." he said, a smile breaking out on his face.
"I know," Ruth said, that's how I knew who you were. I want to congratulate you on your books and your Pulitzer. We're all proud of you back home."
"Thanks a lot." he said showing all of his big teeth. "Now, will you tell this know nothing sitting here with me, where is the richest soil in America?"
Ruth and Jack, knowing exactly what answer he wanted, said in chorus, "why Ohio, of course."
"Exactly right," he said as he smiled. The conversation continued on for about an hour, all about farming, with Jack and Ruth occasionally nodding their heads in agreement to something he said and adding nothing. When he finished, he glanced over at his fellow Ohioans and said, "I'd like it very much if you'd come to my house on Sunday. We're having a brunch I'm sure you'll enjoy and perhaps some people you might want to meet. Maybe we can get a moment or two to talk about Ohio. With the world situation the way it is, I may want to return again someday. Who knows?"
Louie was absolutely right about the brunch; it was fantastic, and unique. With vegetables from his garden, fresh and abundant, the guests, Jack and Ruth included were herded into his country kitchen and put to work. A long butchers block table ran down the middle of the large kitchen. Large bowls of fresh eggs were supplied and the guests prepared omelets and salads. Mr. Bromfield's intimation that we might see someone we knew was gloriously right. Looking most outrageously against type, Hemingway wearing a blue checkered apron with flounce at the shoulders, was industriously chopping leeks and radishes and holding court about the food he helped prepare while in camp on one of his African safaris. After brunch, Bromfield and Hemingway, sitting on Adirondack chairs in Bromfields garden, while imbibing copious amounts of alcohol, regaled us with war stories of their days as ambulance drivers in World War One. As the afternoon shadows lengthened on his wonderful lawn, we excused ourselves, leaving these two larger than life men arguing about that man Hitler in Germany.
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Her light brown hair covered the pillow and strands fell onto her face, flushed with a touch of perspiration. Ruth laid back in the old brass bed feeling well and vigorously loved. They had taken a room in a pension that had been suggested to them for its good food and a hospitable and competent landlady. They were not disappointed, as pensionnaires, they had eaten at her table for a week now.
Each night, but sometimes not being able to wait for the moon to rise, they enjoyed each other with an abandon reserved only for the young, and practiced lovemaking that even the most liberal thinker could not imagine taking place in a dimension other than on earth. This was one of those moments; enjoyed while a soft breeze blew in through the open window, causing the white curtains to undulate lazily before it reached their overheated bodies, causing a slight chill. The sun streaming through the windows illuminated the dust particles in the air and magnified the feeling of absolute relaxation and well being.
Jack roused himself from delicious drowsiness, "Ruthie my beauty, I hate to succumb to another earthly desire, but I am getting so hungry I could eat a cow." he said smiling like the cat who had just eaten the canary. "I'm so glad we have appetites in this dimension, besides the one we have so delightfully satisfied again this afternoon."
Madam Renaut, unsurpassed in her cooking skills ran her kitchen like a French general. The Madam, rotund of figure and magnificent in dress and manner patrolled her chosen domain like an aristocrat of an earlier century, which indeed she was in her own mind. Yet she moved her body of immense proportions around her kitchen like a ballerina from the French opera house. Her voice bellowed like a sergeant in the field. But her large hands worked like a skilled surgeon as she sliced and diced vegetables into edible masterpieces. Her kitchen costume, pristine white dress with long skirt, blue apron and white cloche hat decorated with knitted gardenias presented a presence demanding to be seen and obeyed.
And indeed she was obeyed by her second in command, the pastry chef Henri, who was the direct opposite of the Madam in stature and disposition. Tall, slim and quiet in demeanor, he went about his business in a calm and deliberate manner. Although completely different in appearance and manner from the Madam, he was comfortable in their relationship, and indeed they had been lovers for twenty-five years. As a pair they had been wooed by restaurants from the whole of France, but preferred to be in charge of their own destinies. They had bought the hotel many years ago and had created a kitchen second to none and were happy, although if you did not know the Madam you might suspect otherwise. Today the aroma of coq au riesling filled the kitchen as the Madam was giving her blessing to the chicken and white wine with a final tasting. She decreed it excellent and dinner was served.
The dining room was small yet beautifully furnished with furniture from the region. Separate tables draped with white linen tablecloths, sparkling clean stemmed water glasses, and individually polished flatware, awaited the guests.
"Oh my," Jack said, as he took his first bite of the chicken, "I think I've died and gone to heaven."
"I think you did Jack." Ruth said smiling.
"You're right," he said slightly embarrassed, "I sometimes forget but how could I, everything is so perfect. Have you sampled the wine yet?"
"It is lovely Jack, and I am completely happy, but I have this nagging feeling that something is wrong with one of our children." Ruth said looking to Jack as she always did when something wasn't right.
They could sometimes sense if the other had something on their minds. Many times during their time on earth they were able to talk a problem through until it was condensed into small chunks and correctable or at least understandable.
After dinner Jack suggested they sit by a large stone fireplace; he took her hands in his.
"I often had the same feelings during your last days on earth. I felt your sadness and I was able to come to you. I know you didn't see me, but after my visit you achieved a measure of serenity and acceptance that made your last days more comfortable and gave our children some peace in the understanding that you were prepared to go. Do you have any recollection of that time?"
Ruth listened to all he had to say, and as he talked, she remembered quite well the feeling that had come over her. The peace came with the knowledge that this was not the end of anything, but the beginning of a new phase of being with the one person she loved more than anyone on the earth. As he sat smiling, she started to smile until she was finally beaming when he looked at her knowing she now had the answer to her feeling of dread for a child left behind.
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