a Sunday visit

I just came back from visiting an elderly friend of mine in the 16è. Born in Bacau and childhood in Bucharest, she and her husband came to Paris in 1947.

Her memory is failing her but she is surprisingly 'au courant' when it comes to her friends and entourage. We talked about all the people we both knew in Bucharest and Paris, and at one point, the conversation went something like this:

Me: So, how is N?

R: Bad, very bad

Me: Oh dear. I'm so sorry to hear that.

R: Yes, it was a bad few years for her

Me: Yes, I remember. She never really got better after that fall, did she?

R: No, poor N.

Me: her daughter must be terribly upset

R: Yes, she is. Very.

Me: How sad.

R: In fact, she couldn't be worse

Me: Oh dear...why? What's happened now?

R: Bad, very bad

Me: Why? What?

R: She's dead

She kept a completely straight face. Oh my goodness...I laughed so much I thought I was going to have apoplexy. It's true that R is really the last of the Mohicans...her address book has more names of people gone than people still of this world and she is now pretty much alone. Bad. Very bad.

That reminded me of another conversation we'd had at dinner one evening years ago along with Milla and possibly Veronique though I don't remember whether or not she was with us. we were talking about exercise and how necessary it is to get out, have fresh air and take a daily constitutional.

R: I have a neighbour, a doctor, who had a problem with his legs...he decided that the best cure was to go out every day and walk around the quartier

Milla: Very good idea. Exercise is vital when you get to our age.

R: Absolutely. I try to get out as much as possible but I'm afraid of falling so don't go alone anymore.

Milla: I would get out far more if there weren't all those stairs to climb

R: Yes, I'm lucky to have a lift.

Milla: You are indeed. So, how is this neighbour then? Is he any better?

R: No, not really.

Milla: It takes time, I suppose.

R: He doesn't have any time.

Milla: Why? Is he so busy? Does he still work?

R: No. He's dead.

We just curled up. Milla couldn't eat, neither could I, the tears just streamed down our cheeks. Every time we tried to talk about somehting else, we just started howling again...le fou rire had us gripped for the rest of the evening. Even now when I think about it, I giggle.

PS. I am very sorry about N. She was a nice lady. As R said...she couldn't be worse. There's a glimmer of wisdom there.