A cappella

Chapter 14: Family Names

The French classes Danielle gave to Max, without any of their friends knowing, were always going the same way.

He would come pick her up at the end of her dance class, or she would wait for him at the university entrance, and they would walk around for a while, talking.

She loved words, and she conveyed with pleasure all that she knew. She could stop all of a sudden to explain the origin of an expression, or a complicated orthographic exception, by tracing the words in the sand if they were on the beach or writing on the paper tablecloth of a Café, sometimes a bus or movie ticket would do just fine.

That day they stopped at the Café des Remparts, because it was raining.

"These words are all from the same family," she said, tearing a page from her notebook to write: "meditating, premeditating, meditation, premeditation are from the same family as medical and medicine."

Meditation, she says, is primarily the reflection of the physician when making a diagnosis or treatment.

For Max, it was happiness: he learned all the small nuances of French effortlessly, in the course of their conversation, and it was always interesting.

Learning from the presented opportunity, learning in all directions and with broken rods at the beach ... He would have liked to apply this method to the English courses that he gave at the university he was working at.

But there was a program, a structured outline, with prefabricated dialogues and repetitive grammar exercises ... A setting that gave little room for spontaneity.

"For next time, she said, you've got to finish reading the news of Maupassant, we'll then discuss it, and then you'll write me a text on one of your students.

"Oh ... You know, I do not know much about them, apart from their names... and their faces..."

"How ... You should try to find out more! At least the ones you see almost every day!"

"I'm the teacher and they, the students. And between two irregular verbs, not enough time is left to discuss much else.

"Max! You disappoint me! I expected better from you!" She laughed, smoothing her blond hair, which she had left loose, and which were still wet after walking in the rain, from her dance class to the cafe.

"To be honest, is it not always a bit like that with the people we meet every day, the neighbors, the shopkeepers, and the colleagues? ... said Max philosophically. At best, you know their names! It is only with family or the people who are dear to us that we go further, perhaps. It's life: we meet, we greet each other, we smile and then each goes their own way..."

"Well ... I don't have a family... The couple who adopted me were elderly people; he passed away, and she's in a nursing home. The name I have is the one they gave me, it's not what my real parents named me, of course, since they did not recognize me as a daughter in the first place! So if I did things like you, if I passed by others without seeing them, I'ld be really alone in this world!"

Max looked at her without saying anything. Not to know one's parents, not even one's own name ... It was something very bizarre, very painful surely.

"Here," she said, as she wrote a few words on the sheet of paper. "Here is a poetry verse by Victor Hugo, which I like. It would have been written for me."

"I do not know myself. I am veiled even to myself. God alone knows who I am and how I am called ... "Max read aloud.

They remained silent, meditating these strange words.

" Yes, he said after a moment's reflection. But Victor Hugo had a name, that everyone knew! What does that mean then? ... That means that everyone in this life is like you and me, Danielle, even the most famous of writers! Everyone advances in the fog ... As if their names were all aliases, because it's basically very difficult to really know someone. One's self, often is not comprehensible."

Danielle stared at him, as if expecting something from him. She had kept her smile, even if the subject was particularly sensitive to her.

"Besides, continued Max, you even have an advantage over the rest of us, since you don't know your real name. You already know from the start that your walking in the fog, that's what makes you strong! The rest of us spend years before understanding what you know from the very beginning, and that's why you have an attentive attitude toward everyone, careful is the word..."

She laughed, but her mouth trembled as she spoke:

"My real mother had nine months to meditate, and she chose to abandon me. I call it a crime, premeditated."

She pulled out the sheet of paper with the words, meditation, premeditation, to remove a little weight from her words, to pretend like she just wanted to reuse the words they had studied.

" But it gave you strength, Danielle. That's why you always try to be there for others, to have a real presence, a real contact, especially with the children. I see how much the little ones love you, during your dance class!"

At that moment, dripping with rain, Babakar entered the cafe, and passing among the numerous students, he approached their table with a smile.

"Hi, Max! Hello, Danielle! How are you doing? What're you guys up to? What's that?

"A poem. Read."

"Hmm," said Babakar, placing the paper back on the coffee table. You were talking about Danielle, and the fact that she was abandoned.

" You see, said Max, Babakar knows our names, and he certainly doesn't seem like he's walking in any fog! He sees what we are talking about right away!"

" Yes, said Babakar, the first name, is no big deal... Danielle is a very pretty name. The most annoying thing is the surname; the fact you don't know to which family you belong to. You could marry your brother without realizing it!"

"You're obsessed with marriage, old man, said Max, as Danielle burst out laughing. Ever since we met, you keep mentioning wanting to get married... Besides, you know the only guy in this cafe with whom Danielle could get married to, knowing with certainty that it's not her brother ... is YOU, Babakar! Blonde as she is, she's certainly not of your family!"