Ma Folie Française (My French Folly)

by Marisa Raoul

  In course of conversation, I promise my father, that one day we’ll return to Australian shores, but for now, we feel at home in our little village and have no intention, of leaving in a hurry.

  Our indulgent intake of food and wine these past days, has left us all feeling a trifle sluggish and Mum suggests a good, long power-walk would do the trick. Something to burn off those excess calories and make way for those yet to come.

  Jean and I know the perfect place. The Nordic ski tracks that pass through the high, mountain forests are the perfect destination for a relaxing, summer’s walk. The tracks are well maintained and easy to travel on. They are not too steep and pass through shaded pine forests, whose sugary scent is delightfully potent on warmer days.

  My mother, Anne, has only one hesitation … snakes. She is petrified of them and has read stories of the French countryside being riddled with venomous vipers, who as legend tells, will pursue unsuspecting hikers, if disturbed.

  ‘Mum, that’s a load of old cod’s wallop. There’s no such thing as a snake that chases people.’

  ‘Marisa … that’s not entirely true. Vipers have been known to chase and strike at people, when disturbed during mating season.’

  ‘Thanks Jean … you’re a great help,’ I muttered.

  ‘See I told you Marisa, I hope you’re not taking us to a place full of snakes and creepy crawlies.’

  ‘Mum … please … of course we’re not. I promise, we’ve never seen a snake since we’ve been here … cross my heart.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘C’mon Anna. If Marisa says she promises, then she means it. Don’t be such a chicken,’ Saverio insisted.

  ‘All right. As long as you can guarantee me that we won’t see any snakes, I’m happy to go.’

  ‘Great. Then you and Dad should put on some good walking shoes and comfortable clothes. Oh, and you’ll need a hat and sunglasses too. I’ll make a thermos of tea … Jean will take his backpack with water, tea and biscuits.’

  ‘OK darly … we won’t be long.’

  ‘Great … we’ll wait for you by the car, let’s say, in fifteen minutes … whenever you’re ready.’

  We headed off into the bright afternoon sun. It was a leisurely twenty-minute drive to the ski-fields over winding, vertiginous roads. The mountain air was fresh with the scent of pines and the dark forest green was cool and welcoming.

  ‘It’s so lovely,’ said Mum, forgetting her earlier hesitation of snakes and forest walks.

  ‘How I love the mountains and the greenness … and I can hear birds singing. You don’t hear birds singing in Italy anymore … the hunters have shot every last one.’

  ‘That’s terrible Dad. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed here … they’re everywhere.’

  ‘Look Anne, Saverio … this is the little village of Bonnefond. It’s the last village before we reach the ski fields and it has a wonderful little café where we often go for hot chocolates in winter … see … just over there,’ he pointed, from the open car window.

  ‘How sweet. What a quaint little building,’ replied Mum.

  We sat quietly contemplative for the short remainder of the drive, taking in the beauty of the wooded slopes. Jean finally pulled the Citroën onto a mossy verge in the shade and announced our arrival.

  ‘We’re here … Everybody out.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to this … I really need the exercise after all that glorious, French food you’ve been stuffing us to the gills with,’ Mum chided.

  ‘HA! HA! Don’t worry Mum, we’ll have you loosing so many calories, that you’ll go home thinner than when you arrived.’

  ‘That’s a little unlikely with what we’ve been consuming.’

  ‘Well, you can always diet,’ I smirked.

  ‘Diet? In France? You have to be joking. If I get fat … I get fat. I’ll diet when I get home.’

  ‘Don’t worry Anna. You’re just fine,’ my father added chivalrously, patting her affectionately on the bottom.

  ‘Okay … if you’re ready, it’s this way,’ pointed Jean, leading us to the track’s gravelled edge.

  We pottered along the stony track at a pleasant, steady pace. Our humours were high and the conversation spirited. We had so much to say between the four of us, that there wasn’t a moment’s peace on this otherwise, tranquil pathway. We were all so distracted by each other and the beautiful scenery, that none of us saw the shimmer of the fine, young viper as it slithered across our path. My mother’s foot must have been within centimetres of stepping on it, when Jean suddenly yelled.

  ‘Anne! Look out!’

  ‘AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!’ she screamed, as she leapt several feet into the air, her arms flaying in all directions.

  ‘Are you all right Mum?’ I asked, dragging her back by the sleeve.

  ‘SSSSnake…,’ she stammered. ‘You promised me, there were no snakes.’

  ‘My God Anna, you nearly trod on the damn thing,’ Saverio yelled.

  ‘Well that’s hardly my fault is it? The bloody thing came out of nowhere.’

  ‘Do something. Get rid of it Jean!’ I screamed, knowing he was fearless of most reptiles, including snakes.

  He broke a stick from a fallen branch and flicked the frightened reptile far into the bushes.

  ‘Did you kill it?’ cried my mother frantically looking about.

  ‘No, I … yes, yes Anne … its dead and gone,’ he lied, spying my desperate glances from the corner of his eye.

  ‘Good. I’m going home now,’ she declared.

  ‘Mum, you can’t go home yet we’ve only just arrived. Look … you saw a snake, but I promise that’s it. Jean has attended to it, and we won’t see anymore.’

  ‘Marisa, darling, if I remember correctly, that’s exactly what you promised me earlier.’

  ‘Anna, Darly, come now … everything is fine.’

  ‘All right … I’ll stay … but let me remind you, I almost stood on that bloody thing. It could have killed me.’

  We all laughed, unable to hold it in any longer. She had jumped so high and screamed so loud; it’s a wonder the snake hadn’t died of a cardiac arrest.

  ‘You’re all laughing at me …you nasty lot!’

  ‘C’mon Mum … it’s funny when you think about it.’

  ‘You have a nasty sense of humour Marisa … you must get that from your father.’

  She eventually calmed down and we headed off once more, chatting merrily as we went. Within minutes, the snake episode was old news and we had regained our comfortable rhythm.

  It was only then, that the virtually impossible occurred. A thick, adult viper of wide girth and substantial length, slipped quickly from beneath a fallen log and headed straight for us.

  My mother’s scream pierced the alpine silence and she grabbed for my father with such force, that she almost sent him tumbling backwards over the path’s edge and into the wavering grasses beyond.

  ‘My God! It’s bigger than the last one. Are you trying to kill me out here?’

  ‘Sorry Mum … I can hardly believe it myself … Jean … quick do something,’ I cried in desperation.

  ‘Keep still … all of you,’ Jean ordered.

  Jean scrambled for a large, heavy stick and this time, to ensure our safety, belted the large, aggressive snake over the head. Its bulky body quivered for several minutes, then remained perfectly still in the centre of the track. Once sure it was dead, Jean carried the heavy reptile into the field beyond the dry-stone walls of the pathway, throwing the beast to its grassy grave.

  My mother’s nerves were shot. She would probably never trust us again, let alone venture from the front door of our village home for the rest of her stay. I shook my head in utter disbelief, at the absolute absurdity of the situation. What are the odds, you would stumble over one viper on a short, country walk, let alone two. And within virtually metres of each other. They must have been a billion to one. And of all people for this to happen to … it would have to be my fiercely,
phobic Mother.

  ‘Are you all right Mum? Here have a cup of tea … that’ll make you feel better,’ I said, pressing a warm, metal mug into her hands as she perched on a large boulder.

  ‘Tea? I need a double scotch. Or perhaps you have a couple of Valium stashed away in that backpack of yours, Jean?’ she said; her hands shaking as she attempted to sip the hot, milky liquid.

  ‘Anna, don’t worry. We’ve seen enough snakes for one lifetime.’

  ‘Well, in all the time we’ve lived here I’ve never seen one. You must admit this is a bizarre situation,’ I added sincerely.

  ‘Anne, I very much doubt if there are any more snakes out here. They’re not that common in Corrèze. We must have come across the only two in the entire region,’ Jean explained.

  ‘Listen, you’re not going to convince me that easily, but we’re here now … and I’m not dead yet, so I suppose we better get on with it. Time is getting on and the sooner we get out of here the better.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure you’re okay Mum, we’ll carry on. It’s not that far now and this is the prettiest part of the walk.’

  ‘Fine. But I swear … if I see another bloody viper…’

  We looked at her concerned, then realised, she too, was stifling a grin. She smiled and broke into a giggle.

  ‘This could only happen to me,’ she laughed, as I took her hand and patted her affectionately on the back.

  ‘Never mind Mum … never mind.’

  After our disastrous attempt at hiking in the forest, we decided we’d stick to the relative safety of village strolls. With time, the odd country lane was eventually attempted and thankfully, we never laid eyes on another snake.

  I, however, was guilt-ridden over the entire snake episode and expressed my desire to do something extra special for Mum and Dad, sooner rather than later. So, as a pre-amble to the decadent weekend for two arranged for their Anniversary, Jean and I made dinner reservations at a wonderful little restaurant we’d previously tried and adored. L’Auberge du Pont de Vernéjoux was housed within the picturesque walls of an ancient ‘moulin’ or water mill, which sat nestled on the banks of the La Vezère. It sheltered under massive elms, in a little shaded hollow of the river and its verdant, mossy gardens were crowded with fatted geese, wild ducks and two overfed, hunting dogs. The gentle paddle of the worn millwheel plopped softly into the running waters, churning and bubbling as it rolled along. This was the picture perfect setting for my special announcement.

  I created a little parchment scroll with the details of their Anniversary gift etched within. I tied it with a silky red, white and blue ribbon, sealed it with red wax then hid it from view until the special night.

  ‘This will win you loads of brownie points,’ Jean grinned, from behind the bathroom door.

  ‘Lord … I hope so … after the other fiasco, I need this to work.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault Marisa. The bloody snakes were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stop beating yourself up about it.’

  ‘You know what I’m like, Jean. My guilt complex is kicking in … whenever my parents are around this always happens.’

  ‘Stop worrying Marisa. You’ll end up with an ulcer like your father, if you don’t calm down.’

  ‘I know… I know. That’s just me … my father’s daughter.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m really, really excited about making this announcement. It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever done for either of them. I hope they like the idea?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they? Who wouldn’t want to spend a weekend in a luxurious, French Chateau overlooking the Dordogne River, romance and champagne inclusive?’

  ‘Well … when you put it like that … they can’t refuse. Thanks darling, I said and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘Maybe you and I should go instead?’ I teased.

  ‘Can you stop talking for just two minutes?’ he laughed, pulling me to him.

  The evening of our ‘surprise dinner’ announced itself with a blood-red sunset, an omen of even finer days ahead. My parents descended the stone staircase, both dressed in their best vacation clothes and rearing to go. They definitely suspected something, though I wasn’t sure exactly why. I hadn’t given any clues. Not a word of ‘surprise’ or ‘gift’ had been mentioned. They were far too curious about the purpose of our dinner date and pestered me constantly with ‘whys?’ and ‘what for?’

  ‘We can pay for tonight Marisa … you and Jean have done enough.’

  ‘No, Dad. Not tonight … it’s our shout. You might as well leave your wallet at home.’

  ‘But, darly … I insist,’ he said, trying to grab hold of my handbag and purse.

  ‘Dad, you’re making me mad. Stop it!’

  ‘But, Marisa … sweetie … I want to pay … please let me …,’ he begged.

  You have to realise, it’s an acutely, embarrassing dilemma for an Italian father, having his daughter pay for him. He is obliged by bloodline and heritage to uphold his position of family patriarch and handle all money matters. I recall arguing with him so badly on one occasion, that I yelled in sheer frustration. ‘Dad, I can afford to buy my own underpants!’ He had blushed at my verbal outcry and left me to pay, while fifty or so curious, shoppers watched on in amusement.

  ‘Dad, you’re in our house now, and you obey our rules…capisce? (understand?)’

  ‘Si, capisco. But you’re a naughty girl Marisa!’

  ‘Yeh, yeh…I know.’

  My stomach churned in excited anticipation as we ambled along the river’s edge. We arrived at our destination, to the generous welcome of Sylvie, our sympathetic waitress, who quickly seated us with a knowing smile. Our table, by the double French doors, overlooked the cool, rapid waters that shimmered in the mottled, evening light. The bucolic scene at once enchanted my parents.

  ‘What a lovely place, Marisa. Do you and Jean come here often?’

  ‘Occasionally … mostly on special occasions, you know … birthdays, anniversaries,’ I added smiling.

  ‘Special occasions, eh? Is this one?’ my mother questioned.

  ‘I think so … how often do I dine with my parents in an old Mill-house in rural France?’ I joked.

  ‘Yes, darling … that’s true. Nothing else?’ my mother asked, dissatisfied with my response.

  ‘What are you getting at Mum? Do you know something, I don’t know?’

  ‘No darling? Do you know something, I don’t know?’

  ‘What game are you playing Mum?’

  ‘Oh, for heavens sakes Anna, just ask her,’ Dad insisted impatiently.

  ‘All right then … Marisa … your father and I were wondering … are you pregnant?’

  ‘My God, Mum. Is that what you think? NO…definitely not!’ I blushed in shock.

  ‘Oh, sorry … what a shame … we just thought … fresh, country air … your health has improved so much … special occasion and all…’

  ‘No, it’s not about Jean and I … its about you and Dad.’

  ‘Us? I’m definitely not pregnant!’ she grinned.

  ‘I should hope not … It’s about your Anniversary, for God’s sake,’ I blurted exasperated.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry to disappoint you but our Anniversary isn’t until next week. Did you get your dates wrong?’

  ‘No Mum,’ I replied frustrated. ‘I know exactly when it is.’ We organised tonight in expectation of next week’s grand event.

  ‘You’ve lost us now, Marisa,’ she replied confused.

  ‘Well, considering you’ve forced my hand … here,’ I said ‘this is for you and Dad,’ passing the parchment scroll to my mother and holding my breath.

  She looked at the scroll then at me in bewilderment. My father observed quietly curious. She untied the satin, tri-colour ribbon and pressed open the rolled leaf.

  Dearest Mum and Dad,

  You are cordially invited to spend a romantic weekend of luxury and indulgence, at the famed ‘Chateau Chauvac’, situated in the hamlet of Bassignac-le-Bas, by
the banks of the glorious Dordogne River. She paused, Your accommodation consists of a ‘Tower Suite’, gourmet breakfasts and a romantic, candlelit dinner on the pool terrace. Your hosts await your arrival on the 28th August.

  With all our love on your 40th Wedding Anniversary, Marisa and Jean, Giulia and Michael xxxxx

  ‘Oh … darling … this is too much. You shouldn’t have.’

  ‘No, its not … you and Dad deserve it … and besides, as you can see, Giulia and Michael chipped in as well.’

  ‘Oh, darly, thank you. You too Jean. You’re both too generous,’ my father added, standing to kiss me and shaking Jean’s hands with grateful vigour.

  ‘We just hope you enjoy it … that’s all. Now, do you understand tonight’s significance? A preview of things to come.’

  ‘Sorry for pushing you sweetheart … oh … and about the pregnancy thing …’

  ‘Never mind, Mum. All’s forgiven.’

  Champagne was served in pre-celebration of the happy event and continued to flow throughout the four, copious courses that ensued. The conversation was relaxed and comfortable, with the tension of the ‘unknown’ now swept aside and my parents were as flushed as a pair of young newly-weds.

  ‘So how was it? We want all the saucy details … don’t leave anything out,’ I laughed, as we carried their bags up the front steps.

  ‘It was nice dear … different,’ my mother replied hesitantly.

  ‘You don’t sound that excited about it … what’s wrong?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong darly … it was lovely … really,’ Dad replied.

  ‘I know you two … there’s something not quite right … cough it up.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite a long story sweetie.’

  ‘I’ve got all afternoon, Mum. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the entire story,’ I said, dropping their bags to the floor and sitting myself to the dining table.

  ‘It’s funny really … Monsieur Frontinac tried his best … but with his wife running out on him and all … it couldn’t have been easy…’

  ‘His wife what? Monsieur who?’

  ‘Monsieur Frontinac, Marisa. He’s the proprietor of the Chateau. A sweet man, but very nervous and quite distressed about his wife leaving him.’