Elle

After a long walk through Promenade d’Anglais I turn into a park hoping to get a shortcut, but voila – the narrow path leads to a deadlock. When I turn around, I see her. Well, I hear her first, her heels clicking on the ground with quick steps. Then I see her -  une petite madam around 50, with blond hair, dark lipstick, an elegant small black dress and extremely delicate bijoux. She briefly waves at me and asks in French, if there is a way. 

– Desolee, Madam, - I say, mais there is no way out here. - Let’s try around the fountain, she switches to English with the typical French accent and quickly taking the responsibility for me starts leading the way. I notice the blue mascara on her eyelashes and that somehow does not go well with everything else she is. She looks at me and getting back to French asks where I am from. Je suis Armenienne, et mon Francais n’est pas bien. Oh, she continues in French, there are plenty Armenians here, go to any jewelry shop and you can meet them. Her condescending tone makes me feel somewhat awkward not because of being Armenian, but literally because of being. I try to change the topic – Et vous? I ask, you are from Nice?

- Mais non, I am from Paris, mais j’habite ici. Well, I always said we have to live and die somewhere, so I think for me it is Cote d’Azure. It is not the best place, but it is Cote d’Azure, you know? 

Frankly, I don’t. But, of course, I keep that to myself. 

- What is it you dislike about here, Madam? - Oh la la – she says, of course, the mentality, especially for a single woman. It is very hard to live here as a femme célibataire, because if you go around alone, they think you are looking for something. There are always men coming up to me and I say politely – non, partez vous! Mais not everybody understands, so I have to be rude! That is tres-tres tiring. 

I still cannot unsee her blue eyelashes. Somehow that makes her look a little light-minded and girlish.

- ...I lived and worked in Munich for many years, she goes on, life is so different and orderly there. She says something seemingly in German to prove her life in Bavaria to me, but I totally miss it. – Here (characteristic pronunciation of “r”), everything is ad hoc here.  But it is Cote d’Azure – she repeats and gets silent. For a millisecond, I catch a glimpse of her eyes below the blue eyelashes reminiscing about something, she left there in Munich. Or probably, someone?...

We talk a bit more about everything. - Voila, I am going this way now, she says. Make sure you enjoy your stay in Nice: drink wine, go to the beach and don’t pay attention to these men who come by and start talking to you. Say go away, okay?...

I can’t do anything but smile at this little encounters. The ones where in 5 minutes of conversation you get to know a whole life story with exactly as much blanks as it is required for your imagination to build up the character and fill in the missing gaps of their “sujet”. 

The clicking sound of her heels eventually fades in the evening noise of the white city. Enjoy your evening Madam, a bientot...