The French Girl (11 page)

“Nice job, Lisa.”

“Thanks, Dr. Becker.  Not bad yourself… for an old lady,” she added.  Everyone laughed as Jean swam towards me.

“Jean!” I said leaning over the edge, my hands on my hips.  “Can you teach me to swim like that?”

Everyone laughed and a few patted me on the back before heading to the showers. Jean’s flat chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed as she reached her arms out towards me.

“Sure, come on in.”

I could feel the strength of Jean’s muscles as she held onto the edge with one arm and gently lowered me into the cold water. I suddenly realized I could not touch the bottom and grabbed for the edge, kicking my feet.

“That’s good, Etoile,” Jean said, her arm snug around my waist.  “You’re already doing the right thing by kicking your feet.  The first thing I want you to do is to hold onto the edge with both hands and kick your feet up and down.

“But Jean,” I said.  “I will not go anywhere.”

“You will when you’re ready. Try it.  I’m right here.”

I did as she said and began kicking against the edge of the pool.  I could feel my body moving forward, but held back by the extension of my arms.  A wave of water came up to my nose and without realizing it, I inhaled.

“Just blow it back out,” Jean said as I coughed.  “It’s only water.”

“It stings.”

“You’re not a real swimmer until you’ve swallowed water,” she said.

I still had much to learn about being real things.

Jean showed me how to tread water by waving my arms around and kicking my feet.  She held onto my waist as I tried. A few times I felt like I would slip below the water, but each time I could feel her hand on the back of my swimsuit dragging me back up and I did not go under.  The water began to warm up.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, let’s move on to step two,” she said. “Using the same motion, you’re going to tilt forward and reach out towards the other end of the pool.”

“But I will go under,” I said.

“Maybe, but if you do, it will be for just a second and I’ll be right beside you. Come on, Etoile, reach out.”

I stretched my body out and tried to swim like Jean had, but I immediately began to slip under the water.  For a brief second, my eyes were open and I could see clear to the bottom of the pool.  I felt Jean’s hand under me as she lifted my chin up out of the water.  I choked for several minutes.

“Let’s leave some water in the pool for the other swimmers, okay?”

I nodded and tried to wipe my eyes because they stung.

“Just blink.  We’ll find you goggles next time.”

I was not so sure about next time. She placed a hand under the flat of my belly and I kicked and waved my arms wildly.

“Keep your hands and feet below the water otherwise you’re just wasting energy.”

I lowered them and realized that we were beginning to move.  I kept kicking and paddling like a dog and was about to ask Jean to let me try for a little while on my own when I realized that Jean was swimming beside me, grinning. “Congratulations, Etoile,” she said.  “You are now a real swimmer.” We went up the end of the pool together, Jean swimming right beside me.  My body began to feel lighter and lighter, as if the water was taking more and more of my weight.  We stopped and treaded as Jean showed me the breaststroke.  For a while, I tried it just by treading water until I leaned forward and reached out.  Right away, my head began to sink under the water.

“Take wider strokes,” Jean said.  I tried again, but still, I could not keep my upper body from sliding down.

“I’ve got you,” Jean said as she placed a firm hand beneath my belly.  “Try it now, but push the water out of your way.  That’s it, Etoile, really push it.”

With the confidence of Jean beside me, I cupped my hands outward and pushed the water away as hard as I could.  It worked.  I could feel forward movement and my upper body was no longer sliding down as I matched the rhythm of my strokes against my kicks.  I swam the whole length of the pool with Jean beside me.

“Good job, Etoile,” she said as we stopped at the end.  “Very good.”

“Jean, will you let me swim down to the end on my own?” I begged.

“Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right here watching you.”

I pushed against the side of the pool and began to swim away from her. As my body glided through the water, I began to feel a sensation of freedom like I had never felt before as I settled into the rhythm of stroking and kicking and the feeling of the water sliding across my body and propelling me along.  I was about ten feet from the end of the pool when out of nowhere; a sharp cramp came into my left calf muscle, squeezing it in a ball of pain. I grabbed for it. The water slipped over my head. I was suddenly aware of the strangeness of all the sounds around me and how muffled some of it was, yet how clear the sound of bubbles and the water’s movement was.  I had never experienced such strangeness before, as if one-half of everything was completely distorted, and the other half was completely clear.  I opened my eyes but saw only slices of blue and light and thousands of bubbles as I flailed my arms around trying to get my bearings. I thought I heard the muffled sound of my name being called but could not tell which direction it was coming from.

For a brief moment, I thought of my father.  What must it have been like for him to have been tossed into the frigid cold December water?  Would he have seen any light in the depths of the darkened sea? Would he have heard the muffled sound of anyone calling his name or would each man have grown silent, realizing there was nothing to be done other than to accept their fate?  Was he able to reach any of the other men and cling to them for comfort, or did he die alone?  Did he flail his arms wildly, trying to find where the sea began and where it ended or did he surrender to the water?

***

I suddenly felt an arm around my neck as I my head broke through the surface of the water. I gasped a huge gulp of air and began choking violently as Jean grabbed onto the edge of the pool and with her powerful arms and shoved me over the edge onto the cold, wet cement. I collapsed like a limp dog for several minutes as I gagged and choked.  She easily hoisted herself up and over and knelt down beside me.

“Is she okay?” I heard someone ask.

“She’ll be fine, thanks,” Jean replied as the group moved off. The coughing subsided and I sat up, clutching at the pain in my cramped leg. “Here, give me your leg,” she said. Jean positioned herself on the wet cement in front of me, took my leg and draped it over hers as she began to rub the muscle.  At first, it made it hurt even worse and I tried to pull back.

“Try to relax,” she said as she worked her hand up and down the taut muscle. I winced at the pain, but Jean seemed to know exactly where to touch it to get it to stop.  The pain began to ease up.  Jean placed her hand against the flat of my foot and put pressure on it to bend it back.  “This will help stretch the muscle that cramped,” she explained.  “But before we go back in, I’ll show you some stretching exercises just for swimmers to prevent these cramps.”

“I am not so sure I want to go back in.”

Jean stood up.  “You must, Etoile,” she said holding out her hand to me. “Never let the water defeat you.”

I watched as Jean bent over and stretched her arms out to me, the muscles of her flat back flexing as she leaned over. She placed me at an angle against the side of the wall with my arms outstretched. I could still feel the cramped muscle in my leg.

“That’s it,” she said. “Stretch it out for a few minutes.”

After a while, it did feel much better but I was still not so sure about going back in.  This was not like the warm tub at all.

“Come on, Etoile.  I’ll swim in the next lane right beside you, but let’s do one more lap.”

“Jean, I am not so sure…”

“You’ll be fine, Etoile.  You’re a natural.”

“I am?” I asked as she took my hand and led me to the edge of the pool.

“Yes, but you forgot the one rule.  Relax your body if you slip under.  Here, watch,” she said as she jumped straight off the edge and shot like a bullet feet first, into the water.  A brief moment of panic struck me as I watched her body go deep into the water.  She did not kick. She did not wave her arms.  Sure enough, her body began to rise back up to the surface.  She did not even cough or choke as her head bobbed back up.

“See?  It really does work. Do you want to try it?”

“I do not know.”

“Take a good, deep breath before you go down and blow it out as you rise up.”

I hesitated.

“Etoile,” she said touching my feet.  “There isn’t a swimmer on this school’s team that hasn’t cramped up and gone under at least once. The important thing is to control the water and not let it control you.  Now come on. I’m right here.  I didn’t let anything happen to you before, did I?”

I was not so sure how to answer that, so I took a very deep breath and aimed for as close to Jean as I could as I plunged feet first into the water.  Do not panic, I kept telling myself.  Do not panic. With all my strength, I fought the temptation to wave my arms as my body descended through the water. Instead, I tried to pretend I was asleep.  I opened my eyes briefly and saw Jean under the water right beside me, waving.  She gave me a thumbs up as my body slowly rose back up to the top.

“There you go,” she said as my head broke the surface. “Now the only other thing you need to learn is how to catch me,” she said as she took off in the lane ahead of me.  I pointed my body towards her and swam as hard as I could.  She flipped herself over on her back and easily stayed just ahead of me, grinning the whole way.

***

“And then Jean and I jumped in from the side and just floated back up.” I told Giselle that night at supper.  Giselle squeezed Jean’s arm.

“And Etoile left just enough water in the pool for the other swimmers.”

“And a young student told Jean she did not swim badly for an old lady.”

Giselle threw her head back and laughed.

“How old are you, Jean?” I asked.

“Thirty-nine.”

“How old are you, Giselle?”

“Thirty-two and you should not ask a woman her age.”

Maman was only thirty-five when she died and yet Giselle seemed so much younger.

“I am sorry.  Can we go again tomorrow, Jean?  Can we?  Please?”

“It looks like you have found your common ground
, non
?” Giselle said as she kissed Jean on the top of her head and began to clear the dishes.

“Not tomorrow, Etoile, I have a meeting after my classes.  But soon.”

I frowned.  Giselle saw me and frowned back. “Perhaps it will cheer you up when I tell you that there is a letter from Anais on your bed.”

“Anais!” I yelled as I ran up the stairs. I snatched the plain white envelope from my pillow and ripped it open.

***

“Dear Etoile,

I am glad to hear from your cousin that you are doing so well. I understand that you are in a new school and like your teacher very much.

I am at a special school for a while. It is run by the Sisters of Mercy.  The nuns are very strict.  I do not want to say anymore because I do not know if they will read this or not. I hope they do not because that would be grossier, rude. (That is for Sister Frances who does not like me anyway if she is reading this which would not surprise me.)

There are many girls here around my age.  One girl is from Cote Nouveau, Aimee Marceau.  Do you remember the Marceau’s from when we lived in our house?  Monsieur Marceau went down with La Christiane.  Aimee’s family still lives on the coast but she has had some trouble with a boy from Scituate and must stay here a while. Her Maman does not speak to her. We have become good friends.

Every day we are woken up very early to go to Mass.  Sometimes Aimee and I do not go to Mass, but remain hidden in a storage shed by the gardens. (Now I really hope Sister Frances does not read this or our goose is cooked.) I cannot see the point of wasting my time at Mass praying if we have nothing to pray about.  Some of the girls here do pray a lot, but Aimee and I are just biding our time until we are able to leave.

We spend most of our days in classes.  The nuns are all teachers.  Sister Frances teaches algebra. I do not do well in that class. She does not speak French, thank God, so Aimee and I can at least have some private conversations.  When Sister Frances calls upon Aimee in class, Aimee smiles very sweetly at her and answers, “Oui, mon petit pingouin.”  “Yes, my little penguin,” and Sister Frances smiles back. We both think she is une gouine, a lesbian.  I suppose if she is reading this, we are both doomed to go straight to hell, non?

The rest of the day we spend doing chores and homework. I do not mind the chores as much as I mind wasting my time in classes trying to learn things like exponents and variables that mean nothing to me.  At night, we are all très fatigué.  The food is okay and at least the bread is baked fresh every day.

Etoile, I hope you are happy and safe where you are now.  There are many things I want to tell you, but I cannot put them in a letter. I am not sure when I will see you again.  It may be some time, but we can stay in touch by letter in the meantime and I will try and be good and write back.  Aimee has a plan to glue Sister Frances’ chair down to the floor now, so I must go.