Today, we visited the ever popular cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Grubb was aiming to find the final resting places of several notable historical figures such as Marcel Proust, Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison.
The cemetery is huge, divided into…well…divisions. Numbered. One to somewhere in the 90’s. No, it’s not a grid. It’s like a kids drawing with arbitrary oblong shapes.
We managed Morrison without too much fuss.
Then the quest for Proust.
On occasion, Grubb and I disagree about things.
Now, normally, I like to wander aimlessly, honoring the dead but also marveling at the various shapes and sizes of mausoleums and loving but sometimes quirky inscriptions. But when Grubb gets a goal in his head, whelp, on go the blinders and we trudge this way and that in search of his singularly focused destination. I’m not having fun.
Eventually I break my stony silence and say “we’re going the wrong direction”
“You told me we needed to go in the middle”, replies Grubb.
“I didn’t! I said we need to go up there, because that’s where 96 is”, I harrumphed right back.
We continued “discussing” for a few more moments, our voices getting agitated, when suddenly an elderly man appeared at my shoulder and asked in a gentle way “can I be of some help?”
Immediately embarrassed I smiled and Grubb jumped in “we’re looking for Proust”.
“I can show you” the old man said with a twinkle in his eye.
I wondered if this sweet guy could be my fairy godfather. I mean, he just appeared out of nowhere.
He led us, in a different direction, and eventually we got to Proust.
Grubb declared, “the best prose writer of the 20th century” whereupon a young woman who had been sitting next to the grave with a can of beer jumped up and exclaimed “Oui” and then explained how she’d grown up with Proust because her mother had been a big fan and had quotes from Proust all over the house.
Grubb took at least a hundred photos of the grave (okay maybe just a dozen) while trading Proust stories with the young woman.
Finally, my fairy godfather asked if Grubb wanted to see someone else. Yes, of course. We still needed to get to Oscar Wilde.
This message has been approved by Mr. Grubb Graebner although he will probably retell it in a totally different way. But just remember, I’m right.