The Volunteer

Synopsis: My wife volunteers me to keep a 90 year old man, who is suffering from terminal diarrhea, company while his wife recovers in a mental hospital...from the pressure of keeping her husband company!

We have a friend, you see; she is the daughter of an old man from whom I rented a "penti" (that is what they call a small bungalow or cottage in Brittany) when I spent nearly three months there some years ago. In point of fact, it was just before I met my present wife, the "French Woman" who gives title to this blog.

Anyway, while I was renting said penti I happened to mention to Mr. Kapic (obviously not his last name but changed to protect his innocence and to keep me out of legal troubles) that I would be going to Biarritz after my sojourn in Brittany.

"Ah!," he exclaimed, "I have a daughter who lives there." (I am transcribing the conversation in English as I imagine it happened because it was conducted in Mr. Kapic's excellent French and my gibberish that pretended to be that language.)

"Ah!" I replied and nodded my head as if I had understood a word he said.

"You must meet her. She speaks Spanish," he remarked and I understood that she was Spanish and wondered if Monsieur Kapic had had some sort of amorous adventure in Spain when he was young.

"Oui, oui," I replied enthusiastically while totally unaware of what it was I had agreed to.

The next two days were uneventful so I felt safe that I had not agreed to chop wood for a year or something of that nature, until one night, there was a knock on the door.

Thinking it might be Monsieur Kapic who was brining extra blankets since the night was "not fittin' for neither man nor beast", to quote W. C. Fields, I cheerfully opened the door to find a thin, blond woman, wrapped in an imitation leopard skin coat standing there.

"Buenas noches," she said in heavily accented Spanish.

"Buenas noches," I replied in equally heavily accented Spanish although I am a native Spanish speaker but this accented language thing can be very contagious.

She explained in a mixture of Spanish and French that she was Mr. Kapic's daughter and that he had explained that I was Mexican and that, as a means of alleviating my homesickness, she had brought me the music soundtrack from the movie "Frieda", which was being shown in France at the time. At least, I think that is what she said.

I thanked her for her kind gesture but did not invite her in. She said a few words which were probably something such as "I hope you enjoy it, you ungrateful jerk", and bidding me good night, she left.

I have sometimes wondered why I did not invite her into the house. I think I was tired of having to improvise conversations and guess what the other person was saying. Anyway, that was that, but when I left Brittany for Biarritz, Mr. Kapic gave me his daughter's phone number and begged me to call her when I got to Biarritz.

A few days after I had arrived in Biarritz, I told my hostess (and future wife (more on that in another blog)) the story of Mr. Kapic's daughter and of the fact that I still had her CD with me.

Claudette (probably thinking that there might be someone who might take me off her hands for a day or two) encouraged me to call her. I did and Francine, Monsieur Kapic's daughter, agreed to meet me for lunch. When she came to pick me up, I asked Claudette to come along, not because I thought it would be fun but rather because I was afraid of being stuck with speaking pidgin French-Español all afternoon.

As it turned out, I didn't have to speak at all! They found they had so much in common that they jabbered away during the entire lunch and I just sat there staring out into the near-by beach and enjoyed the waves...of bikini-clad women and girls.

To make a long story short, Francine and Claudette became such pals that Francine became a constant visitor to Claudette's house.

Fast forward to many years later: Claudette and I are married and Francine is one of our closest friends. She is a fixture in our dinner parties, she brings flowers every time she visits, she was a witness at our wedding.

Once in a while we ask her about her father and the health of her mother. She complains that they are getting old and have the usual health problems of very old people: he is 92 and her mother is 90. (I should start a blog on the longevity of the French who can't seem to manage to eat themselves to death as Americans of Mexicans manage to do.)

One day she calls and tells Claudette that Madame Kapic is in hospital with severe Alzheimer's and Monsieur Kapic is home but suffering from acute diarrhea, having had eaten some spoiled food.

"He has to wear diapers," Claudette sobs after she hangs up. "And Francine says he has no one to look after him."

"No one to look after him? He has two daughters and two sons-in-law, not to mention the estranged ex-husbands of the daughters who, according to Francine, got on famously with the old man1"

"Yes, but they are all busy and in Paris." There was an ominous pause, then she said, "I told her that you would be willing to go to Brittany and take charge of him."

"You did what?" I yelled jumping so high out of my chair that I nearly hit the roof.

"I told her that you were willing to go up there and take care of him."

"But, but," I blurted, "are you insane? What in the world made you think I am qualified to take care of an old man with terminal diarrhea? And, more to the point, what in the world made you think that, even in my most delusional moments, I would WANT to take care of him?"

"Augh! You are so ungrateful. After all he did for you!"

"Did for me? He was my landlord! He rented me a ramshackle little house at an exorbitant price! 400 Euros a week! That is like some apartments in Paris, for God's sake."

"You said you were very happy there!"

"I was happy, happy and cold because he charged me extra for the heating!"

"Well, at any rate, it is settled--even if you are so heartless!"

"No, no, no, no, not settled. There is no settled! You have to get me on a plane, train, or car to get me to Brittany, and I refuse to board any of the above! You will have to hog-tie me and ship me off via Federal Express if you want to get me there."

"I am sure that Francine will not take this kindly. It is the last time I tell anyone that you are a caring person."

"Heck, don't worry about that. I am willing to put a banner in front of the house, "Unkind person living here. Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT come asking for ridiculous favors."

Claudette didn't speak to me for a week. Ah, it was bliss.