CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – PARIS
Both women looked at each other and nodded politely. Both were desperately trying to recognise one another. Both smiled, then turned and looked straight ahead at the flight attendant trying to push that cumbersome food and drink trolley down the aisle of the aeroplane. Edna was a little frustrated in not remembering who that person was – she knew her from somewhere but the recall was failing. The other woman again looked at Edna and then looked past her to see a young girl in the next seat – then she remembered.
“Sorry, for staring, but we’ve met before, in Frederick. I was the bookstore clerk who sold you a lot of books about Vincent van Gogh. It’s only when I saw the young lady next to you that I remembered.”
“Of course” replied Edna, “my brain was really buzzing trying to remember you – how are you? Are you off to Paris as well?”
“Yes I am. Sorry, my name is Megan.”
“And I’m Edna and this is Aggie. Aggie you remember Megan from the bookstore?”
Aggie stretched her hand across Edna and shook Megan’s hand. “Yes I do, pleased to meet you again - may I call you Megan?” Dwarg instantly began his chromosomic fluxing.
“Please do Aggie, are you still into Vincent and his life? I vividly remember you asking me all sorts of question about him.”
Both Aggie and Edna giggled, “That’s why we’re sitting here in this beast heading off to Paris – we’re on an adventure of discovery – we’re going to see everything there is to see about the man and then some. How about you Megan? Off to see the latest fashions?”
“That’s amazing Edna, I’ve been saving for this vacation for years, and I’m going to spend it by learning more about Vincent. The Musee d’Orsay is presenting a special display and an exhibition of his works which I would love to see. From there I’m going to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, then back to Paris to see his grave. It’s a trip I’ve promised myself since college - it’s wonderful that you’re doing something similar – and what a co-incidence.”
Dwarg told Aggie of another co-incidence. Her mother was an astronaut who died tragically many years ago, ten years, in fact.
Finally all this came out as the friendly banter continued. Megan mentioned that her mother died in an accident working for NASA and when Edna enquired of her name, she recognized the name of Eva Redcliffe. Similarly Megan knew the name of Robert Kellor the astronaut who had recently died – she was again amazed to find out that Aggie was his daughter.
“This is unreal Edna and a little scary. And here’s some more...my brother Darren is a good friend of Daniel Kellor, who must be your brother. He lives in Richmond; in fact Daniel is teaching him to play the guitar, probably at this very moment. I just can’t believe it.”
They exchanged addresses, telephone numbers and Megan gave them a copy of her itinerary. “Pop insisted that I call him every day – he didn’t like the idea of me travelling alone. Gees Edna, I’m so looking forward to this trip – I’ve never been further away from home. I hope you both have a marvellous time – I really intend to.”
“Have a great vacation Megan, I’m sure we’ll bump into each other somewhere in Paris – maybe we can compare notes on the great man.”
Megan hugged Aggie before they left the customs hall at Charles de Gaul airport. “I knew there was something special about you when I first saw you. I think we all should be sisters – may I call you when we get back to the States?”
“I would love that Megan, please do.”
“That would be great – take care you guys, I’ve read that Paris can be dangerous if you don’t watch out – au revoir Edna, au revoir mon soeur.” Megan donned her backpack, gave them a friendly wave and followed the bus signs out.
“The plot thickens - what does our guru have to say about that coincidence Aggie?”
“He reckons about eight hundred and sixty four thousand to one.”
“Did he factor in, that there just happens to be an exhibition of Vincent’s paintings...never mind - tell him – tell him pull his head in again, smart ass little foreigner.”
The taxi from hell finally pulled up at the Best Western de Rivoli. The driver was somewhat sombre as he helped the hotel porter with unloading the luggage. For the last few minutes of the ride, Aggie had, in fluent and local French, given him a torrent of unwelcomed information about his attempted extortion of innocent tourists, his inability to follow the shortest or most economical route to the hotel, his character and in particular his aggressive and devil-may-care driving skills. She told him she suspected that he was an unauthorised taxi driver because the ID card stuck on his dashboard, was not original. Perhaps the Bureau des Transports should talk to him. The driver knew to say nothing - he thought that this woman and that little girl were almost certainly spies, plants, or most likely, inspecteurs from Conseil Taxis.
Aggie told Edna to only pay a half of what he asked – even that would have been too much money for that hair rising ride. Edna would have rather driven along the Beltway in Washington on a motor scooter than suffer the terrifying ordeal of this aggressive and stupid driver. Her knuckles were still white from hanging on to the grab bar as the taxi barrelled its way through red lights, drove on footpaths, and all the while, honking the horn.
He was quick to leave and never thought of asking for his tip. “Exactly what did you say to that idiot?”
“Do you really want to know Aunt?”
“No, not really honey and I don’t need to know how come you speak French. Hey - this looks like a fancy place – hope it’s got a nice big bath.”
That night, Edna sat at the hotel window looking down at life on the streets of Paris.
She watched a dark and tall man dressed in a long orange brocade shirt with a matching brimless hat; push a metal shopping trolley onto a little grassed area under an ornate light pole. He placed a little portable gas stove under the trolley and arranged a number of corn cobs on the bottom of the cart and began to grill them. In a matter of minutes, people would gather around him to buy the hot cobs. He would squeeze something from a plastic bottle onto the corn cob, and then wrap a paper napkin around it. All at once he had sold his entire stock. As quickly as he had set up, he left.
After watching the way people drive their cars in this place, it appeared to Edna that perhaps the taxi driver was not that different after all. Still, this was the big city, no open natural spaces and even though it was a concentration of concrete buildings, at least they were built in styles and architecture that was pleasing to the eye. She could see the Pont Neuf across the River Seine – she thought it was a beautiful thing. Aggie told her it was the oldest bridge in Paris and was actually the centre of the city. “Well, after we do some shopping, we should take a walk across it Aggie – but first I need good walking shoes, and this brochure says that we can hop on a bus which will take us straight to this place called Galeries Lafayette – maybe we can find a Dollar Shop there.”
Two days of sightseeing followed. They loved hopping on and off the Red Double Decker Buses, went on some river cruises, did some gasping at the beauty of the Notre Dame Cathedral, waited in the long queues to get onto a lift to ascend the Eiffel Tower and they wondered through the galleries of the Louvre. “Aggie, we are actually looking at the original Mona Lisa - can you believe it?” Edna became more and more excited at all the things this city had to display - with one exception. All of the food, in restaurants, cafes and the hotel, all was wonderful but Edna did not care for the anaemic looking crepe bathed in nutella which was served to her and Aggie from that stall at the Trocadero.
Try as she may, Edna could not find the man with the stove and shopping trolley – she yearned for a hot cob of corn, dripping with butter. Dwarg tried as much as possible to stay away from Aggie’s emotions, she was obviously in high spirits. Apart from helping her with the language, directions and snippets of information for which she asked, he continued with his fluxing of Humans’ memories – he was still seeking more clues. Tomo
rrow would see them walk to the Musee d’Orsay – a pleasant stroll across the Pont Neuf then along the Seine. The Van Gogh exhibition had been heavily advertised on posters, billboards and leaflets and at last, Dwarg would finally be able to take his first look at the original Starry Night on the Rhone.
The queue to get into the Musee d’Orsay was long and people were impatient. “Just look at those people queue jumping Aggie, bold as you like, they just walked past us to the head of the line, nodded to some other people there, as if they know them, and stepped behind them – you’d think the museum would have a better system – I don’t mind waiting in a queue, but it gets my heckles up when these assholes just do as they please – look, here’s another group trying to jump the queue.” Edna grabbed the thick red cord which corralled the long line of waiting people and held it to her side, so that no one could walk past her.
She waved her finger at the approaching interlopers and pointed to the queue. There was no misunderstanding the message she was giving them. The people in the line behind Edna and Aggie did the same thing and a buzz of satisfaction swept the long corridor. Step by step, the line approached the anteroom and further, the large open and high vaulted galleries revealed the masterpieces hung sporadically on the walls. The rooms were huge and the security guards only allowed a limited number of visitors per room.
Finally, finally, they both stood together directly facing Starry Night on the Rhone. Edna tried very hard to “get it” – she was no artist or appraiser of fine art, especially impressionist interpretations. In all fairness, as she looked upon one of the world’s most expensive masterpieces, she kept an open mind and allowed her feelings to draw some sort of exhilaration. Nice colours, a little clumsy with the colours of the land, the sky is drawn in silly little rectangles of blue, the reflections on the water are far too long in perspective, the stars are too bright – can’t really see what all the fuss is about. Was she so naive? Everyone around her was gasping in delight and awe. Was it really so beautiful? Just can’t relate to it – I wonder if this is one of those situations where I am the only honest one and all others are just pretentious or snobs, is this a case of “the emperor’s new clothes”? Edna decided it must be her tasteless understanding of art – she had never been schooled or trained to “see” the artist’s rendition. She wondered how Dwarg would rate this masterpiece of human endeavour – after all, he could only see in black and white.
Dwarf was disappointed. Through Aggies’s eyes he studied the painting - no clues, hints or discovery. Something was wrong, where was the secret message? They stood there for some time and Edna was getting a little uneasy as one of the guards began to look at them as if they were becoming of some interest. “Aggie, I think we should move along, those bruisers are starting to stare at us.”
-oOo-
“Inspecteur, these are the women.” Edna shrugged indignantly as the two burley security guards let go of her. Looking up at them from behind a huge ornately carved desk was a man, obviously important, well groomed with a thin pencil moustache. He had a smile on his face – but it was not a smile of humor.
“Ah ladies, I am Raymon Odrow of the Museum Police – please sit down. I see by your passports you are from the USA. May I ask your purpose here?”
“Just sightseeing. Mister Odrow, there has been a terrible mistake; we aren’t terrorists or criminals or anything. We just wanted to see the Van Gogh exhibition. Aggie here just lost control when she saw the painting and all she wanted to do was just touch it with her fingers. That’s all. We didn’t mean any harm.”
“Mrs Edna Kellor - and you Aggie Kellor, do you realize just what you’ve done by breaching our security?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry sir; Aggie is only ten and doesn’t fully understand the gravity of what she did.”
“Do you know that the Museum now has to bring in a conservateur to ensure that she has not caused any damage to the painting? Can you give me a reason why I should not charge you with wilful damage and why you should not have to pay all these expenses for your lack of control with this young one?”
“Sir, I will happily pay for anything.”
“Madam, please go and wait outside. I wish to say something to this child – perhaps a little warning from the Police may be of learning. Bonjour.”
“Aggie, you have been a naughty little girl. You and your aunt may have been put into jail for what you have done. What possessed you to run past two of my guards, climb under the Perspex shield and touch that picture?”
Tears ran from Aggie’s eyes and she started to sob – “I’m sorry Mister Policeman – I was just looking at it and I heard a little voice telling me to go and touch it and before I knew it, I ran up to touch it. Please don’t put me in jail, I have to go back to school and I’ll be in trouble with Miss Michelle and Mister Garner – they will think I’m a bad criminal and not let me come back. If I go to jail, I’ll have to eat bread with spiders on top – I won’t do it again sir – really, I promise.”
“OK, OK, easy now” said the security chief who had come to the front of his desk placed his hand on her shoulder and offered his handkerchief. “I hope you realize the trouble you caused, now go away and remember to always be a good girl – if you forget, you may well end up in a prison for naughty people and you don’t want that, do you?” Aggie shook her head. “Here, give these passports back to your tante – I don’t want to see either of you again.”
Edna swiped the key card of their hotel room. Not many words were spoken since they left the Musee d’Orsay. “Just have a look at these bruises on my arm Aggie, those gorillas back there literally lifted me up by my arms to drag me to face that little make-believe Napoleon. You, young lady, have a lot of explaining to do – and you ET – use your magic to get these bruises offa me – right now.”
Surprisingly, Aggie’s touch did soothe Edna’s bruises instantly, but the adrenalin was still pumping. “I’ve no idea of how much that little episode will cost. Probably have to mortgage the house and the pick-up . Aggie, just what were you thinking?”
“Aunt Edna , you’ve every right to be angry with me. I know you would have physically stopped me if I told you I needed to touch the painting – but I just had to.”
“We’ll there goes the vacation I guess, we will need every cent to pay for this little act......argghhh...I could just scream. I’ve never been frog-marched out of a place before, how humiliating, everyone was watching, just hope it doesn’t get in the news.”
“No that won’t happen aunt, and the museum won’t follow through with their threats of making us pay. That painting is not an original – it’s a fake – only that inspector and the Museum director know and they can’t take the risk of having it scrutinized. Apparently the original was taken by the Nazi’s during World War Two and never recovered. The museum has been fooling itself and the world all this time.”
“I see...so we waited in line like cattle, to look at a bogus painting. Damn that little prick – I’m half tempted to go back there and give him the bird...not that you’re out of the woods, girl – you’re grounded till I figure out what to do next.”
“That’s fair aunt, maybe as a punishment, we should leave Paris and go into the countryside – somewhere there must be a place where I can’t get you into any more trouble. I’m sure the concierge can organize a rental car for us – I think you’re the best driver in the world – certainly better than any one of these French daredevils.”
“Flattery and smooth talking helps, Aggie, but I’m a little disappointed that you found you could not trust me back there. You know I would do anything for you, even spend time in prison and eat bread with spiders on top – did you really say that to the little pecker-head?”
“And then some, aunt. Inspector Odrow isn’t a bad person – he has kids of his own and they are always in trouble; the eldest is in jail for selling stolen property. He is stuck with his secret about the fake painting and knows the consequences if it was ever revealed –
he has a genuine loyalty to the Museum. Anyway I felt that if you knew what I was going to do, you would not be able to honestly say to the Police that I did it spontaneously. You were just an innocent party to your niece’s outrageous behaviour. Are your bruises all gone now?”
“Hmm, yes, and no pain. He did a good job; I had a couple of small scars on my arm and hands, now I can’t find them. So why did you need, or should I say why did Dwarg need, to touch the painting anyway?”
“He was looking for clues and hoped that a physical contact with that particular painting would help. I know you’ve been reading the Van Gogh letters to and from his brother and you may have seen where he wrote, What lives in art and is eternally living is, first of all the painter, and then the painting. Dwarg was looking for some sort of link to Vincent. Anyway that lead has dried up.”