Trois coïncidences impliquant la langue français by Guy Yasko

I a — Eric, you need to get school. — I know, Mom. — Got your books? — Your French homework! Honestly, Eric — and after all that sturm and — drang. Books in hand, door slammed, feet down steps, angle of toast hanging from mouth. Out the door, around the corner. One two steps into the alley. a’ 8:48, late. Alley to Riverside. Garbage. Like mountains. Can’t see. Schoolkid. Dead? II — Ma tête me fait mal. — What? — Non, j’ai pas de faim. Impossible de manger avec ce mal de tête. — We don’t speak French, Eric. Why are you speaking French? — Laisse moi tranquil, maman. –Someone call Judy. — I don’t care if she is working. This is her nephew. III Seeking couscous, i become aware of being interpellated. It’s Eric. He speaks nonstop in either Italian or English; English to me, Italian to everyone else. He’s lost, but will not listen to directions. I take him to the Jewish Quarter in a taxi. I interpret. — Deux sandwiches falafel s’il vous plaît. He is a stream of Italian the next day at the Gare du Nord. — You’ll miss your train. I push him on. He is still talking as the train leaves.

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