Carbon & Pinocchio

Singapore to France 1983

It was early fall. I had flown back to the South of France with our six boys where we would be staying in a rented villa until we knew our fate. Jean-Jacques was left behind to close down his trading business, and make the move. It was a tall order & one of the saddest, as it concluded the most exciting period of our young married life. He would be alone. Children’s voices, servants calling and clanging, rippling of piano and song, the quiet flow of friends and colleagues were but deafening sounds of silence. In his solitude he had only one companion: Carbon, the Singapore terrier. 

As an artist friend described her, “She is so beautiful in motion with her glistening black coat, and her bright pink tongue, the perfect dash of color.” Her tail resembled a lady’s open fan, with a long, fine,  bouncing fringe. Our delicate, medium-sized, very feminine dog always came running to make a low bow in welcome to honored guests. She bowed to her masters & frolicked with her “brothers.”    Our Malay amahs, who could not touch her for religious reasons, conversed lovingly with her. We believed that Carbon was multi-lingual, understanding not only French and English, but Malay, Chinese, and Tamil. She had a strong mezzo bark which we rarely heard. Sometimes she would bark “yes.” But, she would bark steadily at the gate when she believed the house was being approached by a dangerous intruder. She rarely barked at friends; she sensed that they were acceptable and made a a deep kowtow. As the non-human star of our household, beautiful, well-mannered, intelligent, & intuitive, she was, nonetheless, a mutt.  Probably the greatest compliment ever paid to Carbon was, “The only thing wrong with Carbon is that she’s a dog.”* 

It’s sure that Man and his Dog became inseparable after the family left Singapore. She went with him everywhere, on foot, in the car, & always unleashed, for she had no idea what a leash was. J.J. always spoke to his Carbone** in French & she obeyed perfectly. With Murty gone, she could resume attending mass. Fortunately, a French Jesuit priest & a family acquaintance from Indo-China, had lifted the dog ban...but only if she stayed quietly at the door. She was affectionately called “Carbone la Catholique.” Her saintly behavior had surely earned her a trip to the Occident where she would rejoin her pack in a brave new world. 

The day came when the house was closed down and the two travelers took a taxi to Changi International Airport. Like usual, she was unleashed and trotted close by her master’s side. Carbon was placed in a pet-carrier in the underbelly of the plane with other pets. Would they keep the pet cabin warm & comfortable as for humans? Could she endure for over 18 hours in transit?  On schedule, J.J. & Carbon were picked up at Orly by his cousin Josette who was grumpy about fetching un chien (dog) at a separate hangar. In response to her grouse, a nice surprise: pet retrieval at Orly was remarkably streamlined, plus there was no quarantine for Singapore dogs. Carbon survived the trip & seemed none the worse for her ordeal.  She jumped with joy to be back with her master; their were little yips and pained croons of "how could you?"  J.J. & Carbon stayed 3 days at his aunt's and uncle’s home in Houilles* for some much needed rest & re-adaptation to time zone and clime. Carbon managed once again to endear herself. No longer un chien, she became Mademoiselle Carbone to the members of this sprawling French family.

But, J.J. and Carbon still had a long journey before them.They needed to join the rest of the family in the Midi. For this they took trains. Beginning at la station d’ Houilles, Carbon-unleashed took the commuter train like a pro. There were some glares, but no comments. At Gare St. Lazare, they had to take le métro. This was probably the most daunting, up and down stairs, escalators, and tunnels among the hoards. Yet, she did it in style and earned many smiles, and only a few glares. Then, they took the night train at Gare de Lyon. This was the biggest test of all. Would she pass? Into the compartment passengers bags were tucked away, the couchettes were down & prepared with sheets, pillows, and blankets. Could Carbon stay with J.J.? Or, must she go to a separate car for animals?

If Carbon were allowed to stay in the compartment with the other sleepers this would defy all the norms and rules for animals on board the night train. At home she merely selected one of her boys to sleep with on the foot of the bed. When the boys were away she simply moved to the foot of J.J.’s big bed. It was natural for her to settle in at the foot of his couchette. She was very quiet. Only her bright brown eyes shined in the dim light, as she studied the other passengers. Likewise when the comptroller came by to check the tickets, she stayed still, watching. He spied her soon enough & announced, “You know, dogs are not supposed to stay in passenger cars. Your dog must leave.” But then, unexpectedly, he said, “But, if the other passengers have no problem with this dog remaining in the compartment, then I guess we can make an exception.” There was an older lady who said, “Mais oui!*** This doggie is perfectly behaved.” And the only other passenger, a soldier, agreed, “It should stay! It's très gentille.”**** J.J. still believes it was at that moment that Carbone,  like Pinocchio, became a real person.

*This grudging compliment was uttered by my mother who is not a “dog” person.

**Carbone:  feminine version in French of Carbon.

*** Mais, oui!: But, yes!

****gentil: very gentle/nice


Note: This historiette is dedicated to J.J., and our 7 sons who loved Carbon like a daughter & a sister.

Superman & the Neanderthals

We never thought twice about making a road trip. Our trusty second-hand Peugeot 204 was called “Baby-Blue” after a popular song, but also because it was truly that color. By European standards it was a roomy, highly functional family car. Because it was break*, or square-back, the boys romped freely in the whole back seat & were free to crawl over to the small palleted play-space adjacent to the luggage. #3 was either asleep in an English carry-cot** on the floor of the back seat, or in my arms in the front when he needed a feeding. 

 Jean-Jacques’ parents had returned to live in the Midi*** after a short residence in Paris. While we lived in Andrésy, we went south to spend a week en famille twice a year, once in winter & once in summer. J.J. never wanted to take the autoroute following the Rhone valley,  a straight shoot to the south, with no mountains, encumbered only by toll booths. He said that it was expensive and boring! His pleasure was to plan an elaborate itinerary on routes nationales and départementales. The purpose was to see different provincial towns, & to the extent possible, enjoy eating regional specialties. We usually planned to stay 1 night in a 2-star hotel at about half-way, petit déjeuner compris.**** #1 & #2 were eating like grown-ups. #3’s menu never changed. 

Any plan of J.J.’s would necessarily involve mountain driving. Usually I was a good sport about it & we always relayed each other. On this particular trip I was so involved with breast-feeding, taking care of baby #3, & to a lesser degree numbers 1 & 2, that I didn’t pay much attention to J.J.’s great plan. Wouldn’t it go as well as usual? Wouldn’t we enjoy some nice stops along the way? It was refreshing to get away, feast our eyes on storybook scenery, breath deeply of country air, & meet provincial folks. 

We set out on a Monday. We had made pretty good time as we traveled southeast through Nevers, Moulins, & Vichy. We stopped in Thiers to buy a few items of kitchen cutlery. The weather was fine, typically cloudy but no rain. We stayed overnight at Olliergue just past Thiers, a small town next to the Dore river, in a valley & not quite in the mountains. The hotel of medium standing was family-owned with no frills. Les patrons (owners) were dour, but I paid them no mind. Our dîner was a cassoulet, rich and well-seasoned. With spacious quarters, clean sheets, plenty of towels, attached bathroom & toilet, I had all I needed. 

As we drove into Olliergue, J.J. had already mentioned that the Dore river was swollen and torrential, an indication of heavy precipitation. I never gave it a second thought. My concerns were elsewhere. We packed up and set off toward Le Puy en Velay. We were climbing toward La Chaise Dieu (God’s Chair) at an altitude of 1082 meters where we planned to visit its famous abbey. It began to snow, but J.J. didn’t worry too much because we weren’t very far from Le Puy en Velay at 630 meters & he surmised there wouldn’t be much snow once we left the heights. In this he was correct, but the abbey would have to wait until another more clement trip. To be on the safe side, instead of climbing another thousand meters to Pradelles & follow the scenic route southeast to Alès, he decided to go due east toward the Rhone valley where we would take the autoroute: no snow, safer, & we could make up lost time. 

20 kilometers out of Le Puy we reached the village of St. Julien Chapteuil at an altitude of 800 meters when the snow started falling. About 15 km further & halfway to the next burg, St. Agrève, we found ourselves inside a full-blown blizzard. There was no visibility & the road had all but disappeared. I was scared to death. J.J. plowed on believing we could reach St. Agrève which he believed was at a lower altitude. Suddenly, the Peugeot slid ever so gently to the right, into a low-lying snowdrift. We were stuck. I was already imagining ominous headlines: JEUNE FAMILLE MORTE GELÉE DANS UNE TEMPÊTE DE NEIGE.*****  

I got past my mindless panic and noticed what seemed to be a small, primitive farmhouse, easily accessible from the road. So convenient! It was as if we’d parked just in front for a social visit. The windows were dark, but I distinctly saw grey smoke coming from the chimney. Were we going to be saved? J.J. trudged through the snow and knocked on the door. After an interminable wait, he returned accompanied by a couple of very scary looking characters. They wore shabby winter garb, and faded passe-montagnes.****** I was sure J.J. had found direct descendants of the neanderthals, snaggletoothed and hirsute to the extreme. They each carried a shovel & smiled at me politely, so I was reassured. About that time a large Volvo with a Belgian plate coming from St. Agrève stopped at the site. Out jumped a clean-shaven, athletic looking gentleman. Maybe he was coming from a ski resort. Standing easily a head-and-a-half taller than J.J. and the Neanderthals, he was a Superman taking charge of “operation rescue.” With his motley helpers, he hoisted Baby Blue back onto the road while the boys, myself, and baggage were still inside. This no-nonsense he-man advised us to turn back & in a trice he jumped back into his powerful car, & zoomed into the white nebula. 

This misadventure cost us an extra 250 km & 6 hours. No doubt we had a wonderful time with J.J.’s relieved & forgiving parents, but the trip down was memorable to the extreme. After all, besides la bonne cuisine régionale française, hadn’t we feasted our eyes on storybook scenery, breathed deeply of country air, and met some provincial folks? 

*Break - pronounced “brek”: a borrowed English word used to described all square-back cars 
**A carry-cot was about 18"x 28", a long, flat, padded box with handles & foam matress about 2" thick
***Midi - The French always call their South, le Midi (pronounced mee-dee).

****petit déjeuner compris - breakfast included

***** “Young Family Dead Frozen in a Snow Storm”

****** passe-montagne: special hooded head-gear for cold, harsh weather

Note: It’s  almost impossible to shorten stories which contain a sequence of events. The starred expressions are merely so that you won’t be left wondering about anything. I italicize almost everything in French, but I think you will understand most of the proper names & expressions, as they have crossed over into common English usage, or the French words are very close to the English.