Yves Béal knows everybody – he’ll tell you. Je connais tout le monde, et tout le monde me connait! I know everybody, and everybody knows me! was what I learned soon after meeting him.
Yves (“eve”) is a lovely gentleman despite the gold rings, bracelets and necklaces that somewhat lend him the look of a schmoozy salesman. He has a round belly, well-coiffed gray hair, a round nose, and permanently shiny shoes. Like any self-respecting 63-year old Frenchman, he is happily retired and spends his days talking about football (soccer) with all the people he knows and who know him. He used to be the top footballeur in Roanne – he’ll tell you.
Yves is married to Annie, the radiant secretary at Lycée Albert Thomas who I’ve made my French godmother. I met Annie my first day in Roanne, jet-lagged and without any luggage. She smiled sympathetically and cooed, “la pauvre!” (poor thing!), and I waited for her to pinch my cheeks, but instead she just kissed them à la français. She told me later that when we first met, she knew we’d get along well because I smiled despite being luggage-less.
Every afternoon I stop by Annie’s desk in the administrative offices. We chat about what we each cooked for dinner the night before, and she gives me a small chocolate from the bottomless ceramic bowl of bon bons on her desk. She knows I like the 70% and 75% dark chocolates so she saves them for me. Annie has no children or grandchildren. I think she’s been waiting for one to appear at her desk.
I’m sure Annie was a Jewish bubbe in a past life. She asks me if I’m eating enough and is my bed comfortable? She’s an excellent cook and sews many of her own clothes. Yves will tell you that she used to be much thinner – I can picture her as a waifish girl of the seventies, and her flair and class have not left her even if she's no longer waif-like. She has long dark hair that she dyes and pulls into a leopard print clip on the back of her head. Her mocha-colored skin is wrinkled from years of gardening in the sun. She wears all black or gray-black, black eye makeup, and silver hoop earrings and bracelets that clink when she gestures with her hands. She’s always clinking.
Annie took me winter coat shopping and tells me where to find the best deals on boots. I brought her my coat when the buttons needed re-attaching, and then she got angry when I brought her a box of jasmine tea. I’m never to bring her gifts, she said.
Annie drives a tiny white 4x4 (quatre-quatre), in French pronounced like “cat cat.” Yves prefers his Peugeot sedan with leather seats and a GPS system.
The day I ate lunch chez Béal, the sun was shining and Yves wanted to eat outside. Annie had already set the table inside, and insisted that we enjoy the sun from behind the glass. Sorry charlie, er, Yves, but the food will get cold outside, she said. Secretly on Team Yves-Outside, I stayed quiet. Yves continued to grumble but it was clear that we’d be eating indoors. Despite the small disappointment of sitting inside on a beautiful day, I was happy that Annie had the ultimate say, considering she had prepared the meal, had it ready when Yves returned at noon, and then cleared everything when he left an hour and a half later. It's clear who's the chef (le chef = the boss).
One morning I had coffee with Yves and Annie. We walked into Le Clemenceau and Yves personally greeted every person at the bar, including the barista. Their conversation began like this:
Ca va?
Ca va, et toi?
Ouaais, ça va, ça va.
Roughly, that’s:
You good?
I’m good, you good?
Yeeaah, I’m good, I’m good.
For all the striking and complaining that goes down in these parts, the French are surprisingly insistent on how good they are.
Annie and Yves are excited to meet the Emmons clan in January. I told them my family doesn’t speak much French, and Yves responds confidently, “Eetz ok! We speak-eeng eengleesh. Hah-lo, I love you, bye bye!”
Zees meet-eeng ees go-eeng to be zoh good.
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