Lasting Impressions

Just like always, Anton and Uncle Rupert were sitting in the living room sharing a tray of fine French cheeses. Madame Marchant had sliced the cheese paper-thin. She also toasted croissants and built tiny sandwiches for the boys. Uncle Rupert enjoyed his Brandy while Anton used ice water to wash down the cheese and croissant sandwiches.
They also played chess and watched football on the television while they ate.
“You know,” said Uncle Rupert, “France wasn’t just built on the backs of Kings and Generals. There’s another side, too.”
“Another side? What do you mean?”
“Some of the world’s greatest artists are French. There’s Monet. There’s Manet. There’s Pissaro. There’s Degas and Renoir, too. They painted expressive paintings, with deep, bold colors. In fact, I was thinking we could take a road trip today. What do you think?”
“I love road trips!”
“Then let’s make a day of it.”
After asking mother’s permission, Anton joined Uncle Ruprt in the little yellow hatchback. Uncle Rupert turned the ignition key. The car whirred and whined, but would not start. Uncle Rupert tried again and again, but it was no use.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ll have to see if I can borrow your mother’s car.”
Anton led the way as they returned to the house. Madame Marchant was busy in the kitchen, loading the dirty cheese plates and silverware into the dishwasher.
“That was quick. What’s wrong?”
“The car won’t start,” said Anton, “May we borrow your car for the day?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have many errands to run.”
“I guess it’ll have to wait,” said Uncle Rupert.
“Nonsense! I can take you to the train station.”
So it was settled. Madame Marchant took the boys to the train station and bid them ‘adieu’. Uncle Rupert and Anton went to the ticket counter.
“Two for Paris, please.”
They went around to the loading platform and waited. The Metro arrived in no time at all. When the doors opened, Uncle Rupert whisked Anton inside. The door closed as they found their way to their seats. Quickly, the train pulled away from the station, accelerating as it headed across the farmland towards Paris.
“It’s moving so fast!”
“Twice as fast as my car,” said Uncle Rupert.
“That’s very fast.”
The train sped along. As Anton looked to his left, he saw fields full of corn and wheat. He turned to his right and looked at the highway. He watched as the train passed both cars and cows.
Soon, the tracks elevated the train off the ground. Entering the city, the train crossed over streets and buildings. When they reached their destination, Anton and his Uncle debarked the train, stepping onto a loading platform. They went down the stairs, which led to the street-level sidewalks.
They walked a short way through the Parisian streets, coming across a bridge that overlooked the River Seine. A sidewalk led to the large palace at the other side.
“Here we are!” said Uncle.
“Where are we?”
“We’re at the Louvre!”
“The surprise trip was to the art museum?”
Uncle Rupert nodded, “I know you’ll like it.”
A crowd of people gathered in the courtyard outside the Louvre, which looked like it had two parts: The large palace and a glass pyramid.
The palace stood three stories high, was U-shaped, and encircled the pyramid.
Anton and his Uncle approached the pyramid. Anton stood beside the pyramid and looked through the glass. One floor below, people stood in line, waiting to enter the museum.
"Here we go," said Uncle Rupert.
They walked down the spiral staircase into the entryway. It was no coincidence that this was the people’s museum. Until the time of the French Revolution, the Palace only housed Kings. After the people’s uprising at Bastille, the palace was changed to a museum.
Anton and his Uncle entered the museum from below – Uncle Rupert would let Anton decide where their travels took them.
“Let’s see the Grand Gallery first.”
“First?”
“I want to see every piece of art the museum holds.”
“You have high aspirations.”
The Grand Gallery stretched a kilometer long and held 100,000 pieces of art. No art lover would imagine conquering the museum in one day. Nevertheless, where Anton went, Uncle Rupert would follow.
The long marble hall was flanked on both sides with paintings from all ages of history. People meandered as they looked at classics, neo-classics, and romantic paintings. There were also statues of famous kings and emporers.
“Look! It’s Napoleon the First!”
“It won’t be hard to find him here. He made sure many famous painters captured his image on canvas and in concrete, too.”
Anton and his Uncle continued through the Grand Gallery, through secluded rooms that were covered with paintings. Uncle Rupert stopped at his favorite. He stood there for several moments.
“Uncle?”
“Yes?”
“What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m enjoying the painting.”
“But there are too many paintings to look at just one.”
“If you run by each painting, you cannot paint that picture in your mind. You will forget it by tomorrow.”
Anton breathed a sigh.
“Do you know this painting?”
“I’ve seen pictures.”
“She’s the most famous wife of a silk merchant.”
“I know who she is. She’s Mona Lisa.”
“One of the few paintings people worldwide can name instantly, yet you are ready to dart away, like a cat searching for a fish bone.”
Anton impatiently stood next to his Uncle. After a few moments, Uncle Rupert finally moved onward. He stopped again, only a few moments later. They were in the lobby of another room. Anton knew these paintings, too. They were the impressionists.
“Stop here,” ordered Uncle Rupert.
“Why?” sighed Anton.
“Don’t ask why, just stop for a moment and look at this painting with me.”
So Anton looked at the painting.
Two haystacks sat, side-by-side, in an empty field. A clump of trees and rolling hills sat in the background.
“I don’t think its anything impressive. It’s just haystacks.”
“Just stand there and look at the painting. It’s a moment of time. The sunlight shines gently on the hills and hay. Don’t you almost feel like the time is moving, ever so slowly?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, that’s the impression that Monet and the other artists in this room were giving you. They used soft pastel colors to bring you into a moment.”
Still, Anton did not quite understand what his Uncle was saying. He just saw haystacks.
They continued on, passing from one room to another, looking at one piece of art and then another. Before they knew it, it was closing time at the Louvre.
They made their way back to the exit and climbed the stairs. It was dark outside, but the Museum’s outside lights were lit, casting the building in a pale gold light. Anton and his Uncle returned the way they came, crossing the bridge and river below. The Eiffel Tower stood on the other side of the River Seine, just as it had during Bastille.
They crossed the bridge and found the Metro. Anton watched his feet as he climbed the stairs to the loading platform. He slid his boarding ticket through the card reader before pushing through the turnstile.
The platform rumbled as the train pulled into the station. Uncle Rupert ushered Anton into the train and to their seat, just as he had done before.
Anton looked at Paris through his window. It sped by in a blur of shadows and light. It wasn’t until they reached the train station in Meaux that Anton could recognize anything. Madame Marchant was at the terminal.
She brought a thermos full of hot tea for Rupert and Anton. Anton sat in the backseat, looking at cows who gathered at the fences by the side of the road. Black pyramids lit up as the headlights threw their beams upon the haystacks, waiting to be harvested.
“How was your day?” asked his mother.
“It was perfectly fine,” he replied.
“Fine?” interrupted Uncle Rupert.
“But I think I’ll have to return, because it’s like cheese.”
“Like cheese?” laughed mother.
“Of course,” said Anton, “you cannot discover enough about cheese by one bite. You have to revisit it again and again.”
“Oh, I see,” said mother, “Luckily we have cheese waiting at home.”
So Anton and his Uncle revisited their regular place in front of the television. Meanwhile, the cat and pig slept outside and Monseuir Marchant was tucked into his bed. Uncle Rupert sliced the Camembert and offered it to Anton.
“Yes, I think we shall have to return. There are more paintings to see.”
“And a lifetime to see them,” said Uncle Rupert.
It had been, after all, a picture perfect day. The only thing that would make it perfect would be a bedtime story.
“Can I tell it this time?” asked Anton as Uncle Rupert tucked him in.
Uncle Rupert nodded.
“Once upon a time, there was a silk merchant’s wife. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. All she did was look at you like this.”
Uncle Rupert chuckled as he watched Anton flash a closed-lipped smile. Anton continued sharing the story with his Uncle until there was nothing left to tell. Uncle Rupert tucked him in and closed the door, leaving it open just enough to give Anton his nightlight.
Uncle Rupert drank one last snifter of Brandy and went to bed and slept. It was a very good sleep. His dreams were filled with haystacks and half-smiles.

Storming the Bastille

It was only a hop, skip, and a jump from May to June to July. July, of course, meant everything France to everyone French. It was the month of French pride. It was the month of the Bastille.
The spring lilies had lost their bloom, but the fields were verdant and green. Cyclists sped through the towns and rode up and down French Alps and the Pyrenees as they raced in the Tour de France. When they passed through Meaux on their way to Paris, the end of the race was near.
“Mother, can we go to see the cyclists?”
“I am busy, but maybe your Uncle can take you.”
“Uncle Rupert?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Uncle Rupert and Anton hopped into the little yellow hatchback and found a place along the tour route. Rupert parked the car alongside the country road and they waited.
And they waited.
And they waited.
Finally, motorcycles and tour cars sped along, leading the way for the cyclists. Crowds gathered along the roadside, waving their French flags. There were, of course, Swiss and German and Italian flags, too, but mostly it was the familiar French tricolor: red, white, and blue.
Even Anton and his Uncle held tiny flags in their hands, waving them rapidly back and forth. The cyclists were just as colorful, in their bright jerseys and helmets. Sprockets whooshed and wheels whirred as the cyclists rode by Anton and his Uncle. Another group of tour cars and motorcycles followed the cyclists.
Soon after that, the road was empty again.
“That’s it?” sighed Anton.
“That’s it.”
They got back into the little yellow hatchback and returned home.
“How was it?” asked mother.
“They were there and then they were gone.”
“All good things happen too quickly and are finished too soon,” said mother, “but at least we have Bastille Day.”
“What are we doing for the Bastille?”
“What would you like to do?”
“Can we go to Paris?”
“I think we could do that,” said mother, “What do you think, Rupert?”
“It’s been a very long time since I’ve been to Paris to celebrate Bastille Day.”
The next day was Bastille Day, also known as ‘La Fete Nacional’. Early in the morning, Madame Marchant went through her ‘things-to-do’ list.
The first thing she did was make small tricolor ribbons of red, white, and blue. She tied the first ribbon in her hair, fastening it into a ponytail.
Afterwards, she woke the boys and began cooking breakfast.
Anton started his day with a festive shirt while his mother pinned tricolor ribbons on everyone’s shirts during breakfast. Anton’s plate was heaped with strawberry-topped crepes and whipped cream. The crepes, which were like light pancakes, filled the empty spots in everyone’s tummy. After that, the next thing to do was to go to Paris.
The trip to Paris was quick, but not short. The streets of Paris were crowded. Uncle Rupert put the car into a parking garage downtown. He and Monsieur Marchant carried an ice cooler. Madame Marchant had a handful of blankets.
They found their place in the grand mall, near the Champs-Élysées. The avenue led through the center of Paris, connecting the Arc de Triomphe with the Place de la Concorde. Anton went to the curb and peered down the hectic avenue.
Flags and soldiers from many countries surrounded the Arc. French police rode up and down the avenue, clearing traffic. Anton stepped out onto the Champs-Élysées. A shrill horn buzzed, startling Anton. It was one of the motorcycling policemen, making sure Anton did not wander into the path of traffic.
He found his place on Madame Marchant’s blanket, which covered the curb. He pulled his legs to his chest, careful not to dangle his feet in the street.
Soon, the traffic and police subsided. Madame Marchant stretched her legs out onto the street. Anton copied her.
Marching bands began to play near the Arc. It was a familiar song – the French National Anthem. A rank and file of soldiers marched from the far end of the avenue.
First were the French cadets, teenagers who attended the area military schools. After that, visiting military troops marched. First came the British, then the Italian, and then several other armies followed. There were troops from many African countries, like Burkina Faso, Egypt, Morocco, and Ghana. There were also troops from overseas countries, like Cameroon and Brazil. There was even a troop from Japan, almost halfway around the world from France.
Each group of soldiers carried their own flag and wore their own uniforms. Some were green; some were red, and some were brown.
Soldiers from one nation wore robes.
“How do they fight in those outfits?”
“They don’t,” whispered mother, “those are marching uniforms, made especially for parades.”
They held their rifles just like any of their other soldiers, but their long flowing robes, clad in blue and white, like the colors of the sky, made them stand apart. Anton liked them the best.
“Look this way,” encouraged Uncle Rupert.
At the other end of the Avenue stood a large tricolor pavilion. People gathered in stands, including the French President. Soldiers marched in formation, turning one way and then the other. They presented arms and shouldered them again. Some turned left and some turned right.
At the end of the parade came the soldiers from the French regiment. People all along the Avenue waved their flags frantically at the soldiers and cheered.
The drum corps did maneuvers while they played. They cut to the left and to the right. One file turned and walked against the parading soldiers before returning behind them. They continued weaving their groups as they paraded toward the Presidential Pavilion.
It was quite a bit of pomp and circumstance. Uniforms pressed neat. Medals fixed into place. Colorful flags from many nations parading in front of their countrymen.
And it was just the beginning of the day’s festivities. Madame Marchant gathered the blanket at parade’s end.
Uncle Rupert led the way across the river where the Eiffel Tower stood. It was even more crowded on the other side of the River Seine. The Marchants made their way to another grand mall at the Champ de Mars. Unlike the Champs-Élysées, Champ de Mars was an open park, fashioned much like the French gardens throughout Paris.
They pushed through the crowd before finding a place to stop. Madame Marchant unfurled the blanket beneath a fruit tree. Anton and his family sat upon the blanket.
Vending carts strolled through the Champ de Mars, selling whatever people would buy. Monsieur Marchant walked to a cart parked on the sidewalk and bought some food for everyone. They ate while the sun set over the horizon.
Soon after the city turned dark, Christmas lights were lit. Park workers had strung them through the fruit trees and draped them over the sidewalks.
“Is that why Paris is called the city of lights?” asked Anton.
“No, not at all,” chuckled Uncle Rupert, “It’s because of the Age of Enlightenment, when great French men with great ideas illuminated the city with their minds.”
“How can men light up the city with their minds?”
“Before the Age of Enlightenment, Paris was a bleak city. King Louis the 14th had incurred many debts. First, he helped the young American colonies declare independence from Great Britain. France was also waging war with the British on their own part. This was just before Napoleon came to command the French. France needed money so King Louis raised taxes. There were three groups of French: the royals, the priests, and the common man. The king decided to tax the common man. His taxes were so heavy and burdensome that many commoners could barely live.
People began rioting. When the King wanted to ask his army to stop the riots, he knew that many soldiers’ families were among the poor. The king locked them away and hired foreign soldiers to stop the riots.
The rioters attacked many French forts. Without the help of the king’s men, the commoners overran many of these forts, taking the weaponry inside them.”
“What did the King do?”
“It wasn’t what the King did, but what the people did. They marched into Paris and circled a very famous prison called the Bastille. The commoners had guns but no ammunition. They knew this prison held much ammunition and gunpowder.
By nightfall, over 8000 commoners surrounded the Bastille, demanding for the prisoners to be let out. The foreign guard at the prison only numbered 100. Quickly, the foreign guard surrendered. The revolutionists took over the Bastille. Soon afterwards, taxes were lifted and a French constitution was written. It ensured fair treatment to all men, whether they were nobility or the poor. This is why we celebrate Bastille Day. It was the day the commoner could be treated like a king.”
At that point, the lights of the city faded and the park turned dark.
“Look at the old Iron Lady!” spouted Uncle Rupert.
Four columns of fireworks ran along the ridges of the Eiffel Tower, from bottom to top. While everyone else looked at the fireworks, Anton looked at the people. Their faces were bright orange, illuminated in what he considered ‘heavenly light from above’.
The fireworks exploded for thirty minutes or more. It really did not matter, because the crowds oohed and ahhed for the duration. When it was over, the lights came on again, lighting everyone’s faces in a soft white glow.
“Wasn’t that something?” asked Monsieur Marchant.
“It sure was,” said Uncle Rupert.
Meanwhile, Anton was laying on the blanket beside his mother. Even among the booming fireworks, he had gotten worn out. Monsieur Marchant placed the boy over his shoulder and carried him to the car.
“It’s over already?” said Anton as he woke in the back seat.
“Already? It’s been a day full of celebration.”
“I know,” groaned Anton, “but I slept through the fireworks.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll be back again a year from now,” said his father.
“I know, but that’s so far away.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be here before you know it.”
Anton frowned as he looked out the car window. Crowds of people surrounded them. Anton felt very jealous of the people who got to watch fireworks. He really did not want to wait a whole year to see something spectacularly French.
And although he would not see fireworks for quite some time, his Uncle had a surprise that would be just as impressive – and it was only a few days away.
Until then, Anton watched the people. Hopefully, he’d return to Paris again sometime soon.

10.Divine Interventions

March and April came and went. It wasn’t until the First of May that Monseuir would keep his promise to Madame Marchant. On that day, also known as May Day, they would find their way to a true French garden.
It all began in the earliest part of morning when Madame Marchant was still asleep. Monseuir Marchant picked a bunch of lilies and stood beside the bed in which she slept.
“Bonjour, Mon Ami,” he said, waking her.
“Merci!” She poked her nose in the center of the blooms. They smelled like a spring day.
“Would you like to go on a road trip?”
“Where to?”
“I was thinking we could go to Reims.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Only a two-hour drive by car, it was strange that the family had not been to Reims in some while. This was, of course, the place where Rupert and Julia (Madame Marchant) had spent their childhood.
It was a only short trip along twisting country roads before arriving in Reims. Monseuir Marchant drove through the tree-lined streets as his wife told him where to turn. Anton listened to Uncle Rupert, who sat next to him in the back seat. Rupert pointed out the places he remembered from his past.
“There’s Saint Guilliame, where your mother and I went to Catholic school…and there’s the Laundromat where your mother worked …and if we turn down this street…”
It was a very familiar place to Anton, too. He had been here before.
“There’s the old ‘LaFontaine’ house…” said Uncle Rupert.
“It looks just the same,” said Madame Marchant.
Usually, Anton never thought about his mother’s maiden name, unless he was thinking about his Uncle Rupert. He had heard tales of her as a little girl.
“Can we stop by Notre Dame?” asked mother.
“Of course,” said father.
Notre Dame de Reims, was the oldest cathedral in the old city. As Monseuir Marchant navigated his way through the city streets, Anton looked out his window. The majestic spires of the old church overlooked the city. The car turned onto the main boulevard – Notre Dame de Reims stood at the far end.
“There she is!” exclaimed mother.
Built in 496, destroyed by fire in 1211, and rebuilt again, the cathedral was regal and majestic. Two tall towers stood on either side of the main cathedral. Intricate stonework decorated the entire façade, dressing it in gothic majesty. A row of portcullises lined the front. A giant round stained-glass window loomed over the entrance. A long platform of building-wide steps led from the street to the cathedral.
Monseuir Marchant parked on the boulevard and everyone walked to Notre Dame. The church bells rang out, signaling the top of the hour. It was 10 o’clock. The bells rang ten times, one for each hour of the day.
Heavy oak doors opened to reveal the inside of the cathedral. It was just as impressive as the outer façade. Carefully sculpted plaster lined the vaulted ceilings, which supported a massive lead and tin roof. Oaken pews formed two columns. A wide red carpet paved the way to the altar. Voices echoed in the spacious chamber.
Anton ran along, tugging his mother behind him.
“Hello!” called Anton.
Madame Marchant tugged at his hand.
“Hello!” repeated Uncle Ruprt.
“Shhh!” she scolded.
In fact, every word, every sound, and even every click of shoes echoed in the chamber. The Marchants, of course, walked quietly on the carpet leading to the altar.
Anton climbed the altar stairs and walked behind the chorus pews. He looked through the stained glass in the large window behind the altar. His view changed from blue to green to red to yellow as he moved from pane to pane.
“Mother, what is this outside?” he asked.
She stood beside him, peering out the windows.
“Of course!”
“Shhh!” said Uncle Rupert.
“Le jardin à la française!”
Madame Marchant took Anton by the hand and led him to the exit. They wandered outside into a topiary garden. It was long, angular, and green. Anton ran along the carefully manicured lawns. His mother traipsed alongside a set of pruned bushes, running her hand across the tops of the shrubbery. Every tiny leaf tickled her hand, just as it had done when she ran through these gardens as a child.
The sunshine glared as church bells tolled the half-hour. Anton investigated topiary animals in the far part of the garden. As he circled back towards his mother, he stopped under the wrought iron gate that separated two halves of the garden.
“Is this garden a memorial for the French Resistance?”
“Why do you say that?”
Anton pointed to the top of the gate. Two Crosses of Lorraine adorned each side of the arch looping overhead.
“Well, I cannot believe I’ve never noticed that!”
“Those don’t symbolize the Free French,” interruped Uncle Rupert, “They represent Joan of Arc.”
“Of course!” said Madame Marchant.
Uncle Rupert cleared his throat. “You see, during medieval times, Germanic tribes still divided France. Dukes ruled their regions from their castles. There were the Houses of Bourbon, Burgundy, Normandy, Capet, and even Lorraine.”
“So that’s where it gets it’s name,” said Anton.
“That’s only part of it. Many of these Dukes were related. Some were even related to King Louis the Fifth.”
“Why was that important?”
“Being related to the King meant you had power. In fact, the crown was handed down from fathers to sons. King Louis had sons, but no grandsons. With no grandsons, there was no rightful King. The question became ‘Who would save France?’”
“A woman, of course,” replied Madame Marchant. “A 13-year old girl named Johanne.”
Uncle Rupert nodded. “Two houses fought for their rightful place upon the throne. One day, Joan heard the church bells and saw a shaft of light from heaven. She had a vision. She would help restore the kingdom of France.
She begged to see the King, but her duke and his court just laughed at her. She told him of her visions. When one of her visions came to pass, the people of Lorraine began listening. The duke decided he must do something, so he sent her to see the king. She rode on horseback with a group of knigts.
She cut her hair delivered her message to the King. He laughed, too. He was busy with the Hundred Years War. Still, Joan would not give up. Finally, the King decided she could help him. He gave her a suit of shining armor and a sword. She looked like a true knight.”
The King sent Joan to the city of Orleans, which was under siege by the English. When the English saw a woman leading the French soldiers, they laughed, too.
This did not stop Joan. With a small army, she attacked one of the nearby forts, which was occupied by English soldiers. This small band defeated the English and sent them running. When the King heard of this, he was pleased.
Still, the English occupied other forts near Orleans. Against the wishes of other French commanders, she led her soldiers straight into battle. They recaptured another English-held fort.
THe English soldiers laughed at Joan, but she and her soldiers fought on. As she charged the fort, an archer shot an arrow through her shoulder. She was quickly carted away.
‘The witch is dead! The witch is dead!’ said the English soldiers as they danced and cheered.
Joan could not stand to be away from the front lines. She grabbed the arrow and pulled it out of her shoulder. When she returned to the front, the English were appalled. ‘How could she still be alive?’ It must have been a miracle. Her troops attacked the fort, overwhelming the English.
After this, word spread about Joan, the ‘Maid of Orleans’, who saved France. Peasants and farmers volunteered for the French army. They took back what was rightfully theirs. The king was crowned and France was whole again.”
The church bells tolled again, this time at the top of the hour – one, two, three o’clock. Everyone returned to Uncle Ruperts little yellow hatchback and drove from one childhood home to the other. As he rode along in the back seat, Anton looked up to the heavens.
Shifting shafts of shining glowed upon his face, breaking through the gray0-black clouds that hung low in the spring sky. Anton heaved a sigh and dreamed of knights in shining armor – fighting on the same hills and fields that Anton called home.

Cross of Lorraine

It was sometime in the middle of night when Nappy Cat woke. The house was still gray as he stretched from one side of the rocking chair to the other. As he did, Monseuir Marchant woke.
“Bonjour, mon chat.”
“Prr-rrr-rrr.”
He grabbed Nappy Cat and went upstairs. Before he reached the attic door, Nappy leaped from his grasp, scurrying downstairs.
“I think it is time to find a permanent home for you.”
Finally, Napoleon Cat met his Waterloo – his battle with everyone inside and outside of the house was just about over. Monseuir Marchant began by loading the cat into the pet carrier in the back of his car. He followed that with a road trip to a hardware store in downtown Paris.
He purchased some wire fence to build a cage. He also bought a flowerpot and a topiary porter. The topiary was a twist of vines and branches and leaves, forming a boy with one outstretched hand.
“That ought to do it,” he said with a smile.
When he returned home, everyone else was awake. Anton came outside and helped unload the car. They stacked everything in the corner of the garden.
“What are you doing, papa?”
“I’m building a cage for the cat.”
“What about the topiary?”
“If you help me, I’ll show you.”
“What can I do?”
“Dig a hole in the corner of the garden.”
“Over here? What do you want me to do with this?”
“Ah! Your grand-papa’s Cross of Lorraine.”
The Cross of Lorraine looked much like a normal cross, except it had two crossbars. Monseuir Marchant replanted it in the opposite corner of the garden, next to the apple tree where Marcel slept.
“Why do we have that Cross of Lorraine?” asked Anton.
“It’s to remember your Grandpa Marchant. He was part of the French Resistance during World War II.”
“Who was the French Resistance?”
“In the early days of World War II, the Nazis invaded Italy and France. . Italy quickly joined the Nazis. However, the people of France were divided. Those who fought against the Nazis were called the Resistance. The Cross of Lorraine became a symbol to the French Freedom Fighters.”
“Why didn’t all French fight the Nazis?”
“For France, it was a complicated matter. There were two sides: the Axis and the Allies. The Allies included Britian and the United States. Both of those countries were overseas. Germany and Italy, however, were right next door. Most of the French leadership decided to surrender.”
“What did Grandpa do?”
“A French political leader named Charles De Gaulle gave radio broadcasts from Britain. He told the French to fight for their homeland. Grandpa joined the French Resistance and traveled to North Africa to fight the Nazis.”
“North Africa?”
Countries like Algeria, Morocco and Tunisia were French colonies during World War II. The French had business interests in these countries. When the Nazis invaded North Africa, they sort of invaded France. The French Resistance helped Allies. They battled Commander Rommel, the leader of Nazi forces in North Africa.”
“Grandpa helped drive Rommel out of Africa to win the war?”
“The battle for North Africa wasn’t the end of the war. That was Normandy.”
“What happened in Normandy?”
“It was the most important battle of World War II. The Nazis occupied most of Europe, except Great Britain and Iceland. The Allied Forces crossed the English Channel, storming the northwestern shore of France. The French Freedom Fighters battled the Nazis in the mainland of France. The Nazis were surrounded. After the Allies won at Normandy, the Nazis were bushed all the way back to Germany.”
Anton finished planning the topiary, carefully patting the dirt with the bottom of his shovel. He grabbed the garden hose and watered the mound of earth surrounding the topiary.
Meanwhile, his father finished building Nappy’s house.
“Anton, put away the hose and come help me build a cage around Nappy’s house.”
Anton held the wire in place while his father pounded metal stakes into the ground. They attached the wire to the stakes, forming a three-sided cage, facing away from Marcel the Pig’s part of the garden.
“Aren’t we going to put up the last part of the cage?”
“We don’t have to finish the cage because we’re not trapping Nappy inside. We’re just creating some space between cat and pig.”
Anton’s father picked up the flowerpot and fed a piece of wire through the hole in the bottom. He wrapped the wire around the hand of the topiary porter, securing it into place. He dumped the contents of Marcel’s feeding trough into the flowerpot.
Marcel came over to investigate. The porter’s arm bobbed up and down as the pig gobbled the slop. Still, the contraption held up perfectly to the pig’s snout.
“Now for the second part of the test.”
Monseuir Marchant went to the kitchen and grabbed a small salad bowl. He went to the car and opened the trunk. Nappy scampered into the garden and towards Marcel. Nappy clawed at the flowerpot, but it was too high to reach.
Monseuir Marchant placed the salad bowl next to Nappy’s house. He grabbed a fish bone from Marcel’s flowerpot in one hand and the cat in the other. He dropped the bone in Nappy’s bowl and dropped Nappy beside it.
Nappy immediately began eating his own food from his own bowl.
“Perfect,” said Monseuir Marchant.
“I think mother should see this.”
“I think so, too.”
Anton ran inside and fetched his mother.
“Look at this! We have a solution for Nappy!”
Madame Marchant followed her son out to the garden. Uncle Rupert was close behind. She walked from the topiary to Nappy’s cage then back to the topiary again. She flicked the flowerpot with her finger. It bounced gently, but did not fall or break.
“Aren’t my boys very clever?”
“I should say so,” replied Uncle Rupert.
Madame Marchant investigated the topiary closest.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve always wanted to have a topiary garden.”
Monseuir Marchant nodded.
“It’s so provincial. It’s so royal.”
Madame Marchant grabbed a wooden folding chair and sat it next to the garden. She sat there and watched as cat and pig got along, each one enjoying their own meal in their own areas.
“It is quite a relief to have two happy pets in the same garden.”
Monseuir Marchant grabbed three more chairs. He set them up in a row beside her. Everyone sat down and watched the animals eat.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“It reminds me of the Victory Gardens back home,” she said.
“Let’s go for a visit sometime soon.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea.”
“May I go, too?” asked Anton.
“I think that’s even more splendid,” said mother.
“And me?” added Uncle Rupert.
“It wouldn’t be complete without you, my dear brother.”
“Sometime soon,” said father, “sometime soon.”

Swashers and Bucklers

Uncle Rupert and Anton rode in the little yellow hatchback from one side of Paris to the other. Uncle Rupert carefully pulled his Le Car next to the house. Afterwards, he opened Anton’s door and carried him inside, trying not to wake the sleeping child.
“Where are we?” muttered Anton.
“We’re home.”
Anton sighed and yawned as Uncle Rupert carried him upstairs. He tucked Anton in bed and turned off the light. Just as he was about to close the bedroom door, he was interrupted.
“Where are you going?”
“Downstairs to my chair.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me a bedtime story?”
“If you’re not too tired.”
“I’m not.”
So Uncle Rupert sat on the edge of Anton’s bed and cleared his throat.
“Once Upon a Time, there was a Cat…”
“Not this one…” groaned Anton.
“It’s full of intrigue. You know, this is no ordinary cat. This is Puss in Boots.”
“I know, but our teacher has already read this story to us.”
“She hasn’t told the story like I will…”
“How will it be different?” asked Anton.
“I’ll concentrate on the good parts and leave the mushy romance stuff out.”
“I don’t know…”
“Have I ever told you a bad bedtime story?”
Anton shook his head. Uncle Rupert cleared his throat again, ready to tell the story of “Le Maistre Chat”, the Master Cat.
“Once Upon a time, there was a miller. He only had three things to give to his sons: his mill. his donkey, and his cat. He gave the mill to his oldest son, the donkey to his middle son, and to the youngest son, he gave his cat.”
“A cat,” groaned the youngest son, “my brothers have all that is good and I get this cat.”
“The cat overhead this, but was not sad. He told his master to get him a bag and some boots so he could trample through the bramble without getting hurt. ‘Soon’, said the cat, ‘you will see. I will give you great riches.’”
Anton interrupted his Uncle’s story with a clearing of his own throat.
“What is it, dear nephew?”
“This is just like my teacher’s story.”
“It is a classic story, written by a great French writer. The cat gets his boots and becomes a swashbuckler, doing heroic deeds for his master, even getting him a bride.”
“You said it would be different.”
Uncle Rupert rubbed his chin and thought for a moment.
“Would it be better if I told the story of other swashbucklers?”
“The Three Musketeers?”
“Of course,” replied his Uncle.
“Once Upon a Time, there was no cat, but there was a man who lived in the provinces. His name was D’Artagnon. One day, he decided to make his fortunes in the big city of Paris. He wanted to become a swashbuckler. His father gave him an old yellow horse. His mother made a special healing ointment to help heal wounds he might get on this perilous adventure.”
“Uncle Rupert, why are they called swashbucklers?” asked Anton.
“Let me tell you,” replied Rupert, “The young D’Artagnan also received a ‘letter of introduction’ from his father. This letter was written to the leader of the King’s Musketeers. D’Artagnan carried his healing ointment and his letter with him as he rode his old yellow horse along the country road to Paris.”
Before Uncle Rupert could carry on with his story, Anton had fallen asleep.
“Good night, my nephew,” said Uncle Rupert as he kissed Anton’s cheek and tucked him safely into bed. Anton slept. His dreams, of course, were filled with swashbuckling musketeers and even some sword-carrying cats.
Before breakfast the next morning, Anton quickly got dressed and went out to the garden. He reached up and snapped a dead branch of Madame Marchant’s old apple tree.
“What have you done to my apple tree?” asked his mother.
“I am going to be a swashbuckler.”
“You cannot be a swashbuckler yet,” said Uncle Rupert, “All you have is swash.”
Uncle Ruprt led Anton to his workshop in the basement. He cut a rectangle from a scrap of plywood and fixed two leather straps to one side.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a small shield called a buckler. The musketeers put this on one arm so they would be protected. That’s how swashbucklers got their name.”
“What about the swash?”
“You don’t know what the swash is?”
“Not really.”
Uncle Ruprt snatched Anton’s apple-tree-branch-sword and quickly waved it through the air. The stick fwooped and fwapped, swished and swashed as it sliced through the air.
“Of course!” exclaimed Anton. He took the branch into his hand and waved it just as his Uncle did.
Monseuir Marchant arrived home after a long shift at the semiconductor plant.
“Papa!” Anton happily greeted his father, “Will you play swashbuckles with me?”
“I’m sorry son. I’m very tired.”
He was not only too tired to play with Anton. He was too tired for dinner. He was too tired for watching television with Uncle Rupert.
He went to his bedroom. Meanwhile, Anton continued to swashbuckle, roaming from room to room, waving his apple-tree-branch-sword as he did.
“Anton,” said mother, “I wish you wouldn’t wave that branch around inside the house. You’re going to knock something over.”
“It’s a sword for swashbuckling.”
“Why don’t you swashbuckle in the garden?”
“It’s raining outside.”
“Then go to the attic and swashbuckle with Nappy Cat.”
“That’s a good idea!”
Anton went up to the attic. At first, Nappy Cat was glad to see him. After Anton began swashing and buckling, Nappy Cat changed his mind. Anton chased Nappy around old cardboard boxes. After being chased from the safety of cardboard boxes, Nappy hid behind and under old furniture.
“Avast ye, my little kitty! I’ve come to rescue you from the attic!”
Nappy, however, was having no part of Anton’s musketeering. Anton climbed through the things piled in the attic. He swashed through dust and cobwebs. When he found Nappy, he moved the furniture out of the way, turning it upside down, too.
The clutter and noise Anton made was keeping Monseuir Marchant awake.
“Anton! Quit making so much noise!”
“I’m playing with Nappy!”
“Not now! I’m trying to sleep.”
Anton closed the door, leaving his cat locked in the attic. Even though Anton managed to find some quiet activities for himself, the cat was wound up, with nothing to do.
He purred.
And he meowed.
And he screeched for Anton.
“Anton! Get your cat!”
Anton went upstairs to fetch his cat. Nappy roamed through the living room and through the kitchen, too. Madame Marchant yelled.
“Anton! Get you cat!”
“What am I to do with him? Father does not want him in the attic and you do not want him downstairs.”
“Put him outside.”
Anton took Nappy out to the garden. Nappy and Marcel began fighting over fishbones and table scraps left in the composting pile. All of the meowing and oinking kept Monseuir Marchant awake.
“I will not be getting any sleep today,” groaned Anton’s father.
He got up and went outside. He picked up the cat and brought him indoors.
“This is your last day of disturbing the peace, Nappy Cat. Tomorrow, we will build you a cage and a house in the garden. How does that sound?”
Nappy Cat purred gently as Monseuir Marchant rubbed under his chin. He laid his tiny head on his owner’s lap and fell asleep.
“At least one of us is getting sleep,” yawned Monseuir Marchant.
He laid his head back in his rocking chair in the living room. As soon as he fell asleep, Madame Marchant covered both owner and cat with a thick wool blanket so they could both get a cat’s nap.

Walls Come Tumbling Down

Over the next few weeks, Anton and his Uncle Rupert played dominoes every day after school. Anton researched new games to play with dominoes, followed by games of checkers and chess. The only things that ever interrupted them were dinner and homework. Today, however, dominoes would be interrupted by a field trip.
Uncle Rupert had taken ‘Le Car’, his little yellow hatchback, to the long house and to the market. Meanwhile, Anton was at home, stacking his dominoes.
He constructed a tiny black castle in the middle of Uncle Rupert’s table. He also played with his set of plastic farm animals. The Pigs were trying to break into the Cows’ castle. Anton made various war sounds, which included oinks and moos.
Uncle Rupert opened the front door.
“What do we have here?”
“It’s the War of the Pigs and Cows.”
“Are you sure your mother would approve?”
Just then, Madame Marchant joined them in the living room.
“Approve of what?” she asked.
“Nothing,” said Anton.
“Are you having a war with your farm animals?”
Anton remained silent.
“I don’t want you playing war, whether it’s with your toy soldiers, your cows and pigs, or the forks and the spoons.”
“But we’re talking about it in History Class.”
“Talking about what?” she asked.
“The Gallic Wars,”
“I certainly do not think playing war would help you in History class.”
“I think I have a better idea,” offered Uncle Rupert, “Instead of playing war, why don’t I take Anton to visit .”
“Where would that be?” asked Madame Marchant.
“How about Chateauneuf?”
Madame Marchant nodded, “That would be pleasant. I’ll pack a dinner basket for the two of you,”
In no time at all, Madame Marchant filled a basket with cold-cut sandwiches, potato salad, and fruit.
“Arreve derci!”
“Ciao, mama!” repled Anton.
Anton and his Uncle loaded themselves into the little yellow Le Car. Away they went.
The streets of Paris were crowded as they entered the city. Uncle Rupert sped by the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, and many tall buildings. To Anton, they looked like they had been built 2000 years ago. They were built of wrought iron and careful stonework. The tops of buildings were pointed, like ancient castles he had read about in school books.
Across town, the city gave way to the open fields of southwest Paris. About ten kilometers beyond city limits, a street sign read “Alesia”. Just like Meaux, Alesia was a farming town. The roads curled through the hills and valleys until they finally reached the inner city at the top of the hill.
Uncle Rupert, however, continued driving.
The town was not as big as Anton had imagined. There was, however, a giant statue of a single soldier. Well-worn by the weather, the once-bronzed monument was now pale green.
“Who is that?”
“It’s Vercingetorix. He led the Gauls against Julius Caesar’s Roman Army. This is where the last battle of the Gallic Wars occurred.”
“What happened?”
“Julius Caesar and his troops had successfully battled many of the Gallic tribes, including the Helveti in the southeast and the Belgae in the northwest. The only thing left to conquer was middle Gaul.”
“Why didn’t they attack Alesia first?”
“It was just becoming powerful. Vercingetorix had gone to many of the remaining Gallic tribes. He had formed alliances, trying to drive Julius Caesar back to Rome. Unfortunately, the Romans were a stronger, more organized army. They chased the Gauls here.”
Just then, the little yellow hatchback pulled into a drive. An old fort, made of wood stood at the bottom of the hill.
“So this is where the final battle began?”
“In a way, yes and in a way, no. Vercingetorix led his troops to the hill-fort of Alesia. It was located at the top of this hill.”
Uncle Rupert pointed out the city behind them.
“Then what is this?”
“Julius Caesar realized he couldn’t march his soldiers uphill into battle, because it would put the soldiers at a great disadvantage, so he built a wall around the city and laid siege to all of Alesia.”
“So they attacked them?”
“A siege isn’t an attack. It’s a strategy. The Romans were great siege engineers. They built walls to trap the Gauls on the hill.”
Anton carefully worked his way into a long trench built in front of the wall.
“Is this a moat?”
“It’s a rampart, which is like a moat without water. Imagine trying to climb down into the rampart while arrows are coming down at you.”
Uncle Rupert pointed to the guard towers stationed all along the walls.
“While they were trapped inside, the Gauls were running out of food. After awhile, Vercingetorix sent his cavalry to attack the siege walls. His calvary, which included soldiers on horseback, attacked the Romans several times, until a large group finally broke through. When they returned, they found a second wall outside of the first one.”
“The Romans built two walls? Weren’t they trapped, just like the people in Alesia?”
“There were two sieges – the Romans on the Alesians and the Gauls who surrounded the Romans.”
“So the Romans lost?”
“The Romans won.”
“How?”
“Although there were more Gauls than Romans, there were also more mouths to feed. The Alesians could not get food. The siege on the Alesians had already lasted a long time. The siege on the Romans, however, only lasted a few days. Julius Caesar knew it was the most important battle for all of Gaul. In fact, the Battle for Alesia was the last of the Gallic Wars.”
“With all this preparation, I still don’t understand how the Romans defeated the Gauls.”
“That’s why sieges take such a long time. Going through the ramparts, walls, and heavy defenses is too dangerous. Julius Caesar and his army were more disciplined. This was how they won many of their battles..”
Uncle Rupert led Anton back to Le Car. They drove into the city again, this time ready to enjoy dinner together. As Uncle Rupert drove through the city, the car tires rumbled over the brick-paved streets. It was something Anton had seen before, but in Alesia, everything looked like it had been around for generations. Indeed it had.
“Are you hungry?”
“Of course.”
After Uncle Rupert parked the car, he opened the hatchback and retrieved Madame Marchant’s picnic basket. They walked along the city streets, towards Chateauneuf. It looked like an old castle, with round guard towers, wrought iron gates, and brick-lined archways between buildings.
Uncle Rupert led Anton into a small alcove. Anton looked around the room. It was dimly lit by candlelight. Tables were made of old wood. There were ceilings held high with sturdy rafters.
“What is this place?”
“It’s Chateauneuf, one of the old castles.”
“This was around during the time of Caesar?”
“No,” replied Uncle Rupert, “this was built long after the Gallic Wars. I would guess it’s only been around five-hundred years.”
“Five-hundred years?” gasped Anton.
“The Gallic Wars happened over two-thousand years ago.”
“I still think it’s a long time,” replied Anton.
“France has had a long history, full of wars and conquests, sieges and battles.”
“Can I hear another story?”
“How about tonight when I tuck you into bed?”
“That sounds fine.”
Uncle Rupert sat the picnic basket on an open table in the corner. He unpacked pastrami sandwiches, sliced apples, and, of course, Camembert cheese and crackers.
“I think I have the perfect bedtime story,” announced Uncle Rupert, “it’s about a heroic cat.”
“Another story about Nappy?” groaned Anton.
“This is not about Napoleon Cat,” reassured Uncle Rupert, “It’s called “The Master Cat.” I know you’ll like it. Have I ever told you a bad story before?”
“I guess not.”
“Then don’t worry.”
Anton, however, wasn’t sure that another Cat story was what he wanted to hear tonight. As Le Car’s tires hummed on the wet pavement, it lulled Anton to sleep. Meanwhile, Uncle Rupert spent the ride home thinking about “The Master Cat.”

No Laughing Matter

As morning changed to afternoon the clouds changed from gray to white. The day also changed from rainy to sunny.
Anton had been enjoying his day so far. It could mistakenly be called the best of times. Unfortunately, the afternoon brought what might be the worst of times for Anton if it weren’t for Doctor Poirier.
It all began when Anton drank from his glass of cold milk. His mother had finished making her chocolate truffles, which were soft and earthy on the inside were hard and sugary on the outside.
“I love your truffles. I could eat them all day.”
“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth,” she replied.
Madame Marchant fetched a pitcher of milk from the kitchen. When she did, Anton cracked a tooth on the truffle’s hard chocolate shell. He took a drink of the cold milk, hoping to soothe the pain. Unfortunately, it only made things worse.
“Owww!” he exclaimed.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“My tooth hurts!”
Uncle Rupert leaned over towards Anton, poking his fingers into his mouth.
“Looks like you’re losing a baby tooth.”
He poked the tooth with his finger. Anton winced in pain.
“Let me get it!”
He rocked the tooth back and forth, trying to pull it out.
“Maybe I should try pulling it out with a pair of pliers.”
“No!”
“Or we can tie a string to it and jerk it out.”
“No!”
Anton took charge of his own tooth, pulling as hard as he could. After a few tugs, he quit. The tooth hung awkwardly in his mouth.
“It hurts to pull it.”
“Let me try again.”.
Anton quickly dodged out of hils way.
“Mom, can we go to the dentist instead?” said Anton.
“Let me give Dr. Poirier a call.”
Dr. Poirier’s assistant answered the phone.
“Luckily,” she said, “we have some cancelled appointments. If you come right now, Dr. Poirier can see you.”
Anton and his mother rushed to the dentist. Dr. Poirier greeted Anton at the door.
“Bonjour! Let’s take a look and see what we can do.”
Anton followed Dr. Poirier into an exam room. Dr. Poitier eased the chair into position.
As Anton sat down, he looked around the room. There were tools of all shapes and sizes. There were metal picks and hooks, and pliers, too. Dr. Poirier picked up a dental tool and held it in his hand. It had a long hook with a sharp point. He used it to examine Anton’s teeth.
“Urrgh!” exclaimed Anton.
“Don’t worry, this should be over in just a moment.”
With a gentle pull, the baby tooth popped loose. Dr. Poirier held it up to the light. It looked like a tiny yellow pebble.
“There you go,” he said, “good as new.”
“What was that string holding the tooth in there?”
“It was your root.”
“It was too tiny to be a root.”
“Roots from baby teeth dissolve. Sometimes they don’t dissolve fast enough, so the tooth doesn’t come out right away.”
Anton stuck his own finger where the baby tooth had been. As he poked at the tooth beneath, it caused great pain.
“That shouldn’t hurt,” said Dr. Poirier.
Then, he investigated Anton’s mouth again.
“I think I’ve found the real problem.”
When Dr. Poirier tapped Anton’s teeth with the handle of his dental tool, Anton jumped in pain.
“I think you have a cavity.”
“Can you pull that tooth, too?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. This one is permanent.”
“But it hurts,” moaned Anton.
“There was a time when dentists just yanked every tooth out of your head, as recently as 300 years ago.”
“What happened?”
“A man named Pierre Fauchard happened. He was a doctor in the French Royal Navy who became known as ‘the father of dentistry’. He invented fillings. Do you have time for a filling? It’s the best thing you can do for your mouth. Once you lose a permanent tooth, it’s gone forever.”
Anton nodded.
“Let’s get started with some nitrous oxide.”
A look of horror came over Anton’s face.
“Don’t’ worry, it’s just laughing gas, just like good Dr. Fauchard named it long ago. It is absolutely harmless.”
Dr. Poirier fit the mask over Anton’s nose. In just a few seconds, Anton fell asleep. When he did, Dr. Poirier went to work. He drilled into the tooth, removing every bit of decay. It was just as Dr. Fauchard had done in 1716, when he was writing his book, “Le Chirurgien Dentiste” (The Surgeon Dentist).
Before his work, dentists just pried teeth out of people’s mouths. They did not use mouth-numbing drugs like Novocaine or Laughing Gas. They even used dangerous chemicals like sulfuric acid to treat tooth decay, which is the same acid that can burn through hardened steel and dissolve human skin.
When Anton woke, his tooth was repaired. When he poked his finger into his mouth again, it did not hurt.
“I noticed a lot of possible problems in your mouth,” said Dr. Poirier, “Do you eat lots of sweets?”
Anton nodded shamefully.
“That’s okay. What child doesn’t? I just suggest that you either cut down on your sugar or brush and floss immediately afterwards.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s start you off on the right track.”
Dr. Poirier picked a fresh orange from the basket sitting on his desk.
“Even fruit has sugar, but natural sugar is much better than refined sugars, like those in chocolate. Also, it keeps you from looking like a pirate. Have you ever seen a pirate with beautiful teeth?”
Anton shook his head.
“That’s right, because pirates don’t eat fruit. Fruit has Vitamin C. If you don’t get your Vitamin C, your teeth might fall out.”
“Oh quit scaring him,” said Dr. Poirier’s assistant, Marguerite.
“Is that something else Dr. Fauchard discovered?” asked Anton.
“It was one of his revolutionary discoveries. He studied old and decaying teeth under a brand new invention called the microscope. He saw bacteria on the teeth.”
“Eww! That’s gross!”
“It’s a lot less gross than what dentists thought before the 18th century. They said tooth decay was caused by tooth worms.”
“What would make them think that?”
“Before then, people believed many superstitions. There were no rules for dentistry. Now that I think of it, Dr. Fauchard even invented the first set of braces, too.”
“It sounds like he was pretty amazing,” said Anton.
“He was the reason you still have that tooth. You can thank him when you eat your orange.”
Anton nodded and then he and his mother were on their way back home. However, Anton did not have to wait long to enjoy his snack. As soon as they got home, his mother peeled it and took a wedge for herself. Anton ate the rest.
“Let me see your tooth,” said Uncle Rupert.
Anton showed the new filling to his Uncle.
“It looks like you’re building quite a set of teeth. Soon, you’ll no longer have your baby teeth and you’ll be a big kid.”
“I am a big kid.”
“I know you are, but you keep growing every single day.”
“But I’m not too old to play dominoes.”
“That’s good,” said Uncle Rupert, who began scattering the tiles face down.
“Can we play dominoes my way?”
“You mean set them up to make a domino chain?”
Anton nodded.
“I suppose that’s fine.”
Anton and his Uncle carefully stood the dominoes on one end, forming a maze on the card table. When they used every domino available, Anton had the honors of knocking over the first domino. The tiles chattered as they fell, one-by-one.
When every domino fell, Anton and his Uncle started over again, playing Uncle Rupert’s version of dominoes. It did not matter which version they played. Uncle Rupert and Anton were having a perfect time. After all, it was the best of times, thanks to the work of two good doctors.

Dominus Dominoes

A gentle but steady rain began pouring on Meaux, watering everything under the sky. Both human and pig got wet, but not for long as Anton went inside where it was warm and dry, leaving Marcel outside. Anton went upstairs and changed out of his wet clothes.
When he returned downstairs, Uncle Rupert was in the living room watching television. Meanwhile, Madame Marchant prepared truffles in the kitchen.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I thought I could help,” he replied.
“I’m almost finished,” she said, “why don’t’ you ask your Uncle if he wants to do something?”
“He looks busy, too,” said Anton.
Madame Marchant led Anton to the living room. Uncle Rupert was reclined in his chair, with a glass of Brandy in one hand and the television remote in the other.
“What are your plans for today, brother Rupert?”
“I may prepare a cheese plate and watch some football.”
“Why not kick the football with Anton instead?”
“It’s raining outside.”
“Rain won’t hurt you.”
“I have a better idea,” said Rupert.
He rocked the chair forward and went to the bookshelf in the corner. He plucked out an old wooden box. He gave a quick huff and a cloud of dust came off the top. As he opened the lid, it revealed a set of black tiles.
“Dominoes? That seems boring,” replied Anton.
“Boring? Hardly!” spouted Uncle Rupert. “Do you remember your Great Uncle Gilbert?”
“Was he the priest?”
Rupert nodded.
“I went to the Cathedral in Saint Julian every day after school and we’d play dominoes until it got dark and was time to go home.”
“I still don’t think I’ll like it.”
“That’s because you have never played Dominoes.”
“I play with them all the time at school.”
“I said play dominoes, not play with dominoes.”
“What’s the difference?” shrugged Anton.
Uncle Rupert dumped the tiles on the coffee table and flipped them all so they faced down.
“Now, we each pick five dominoes.”
Anton carefully sorted through the tiles, picking five dominoes. He then sat them on their side, so only he could see the dotted sides. It was just as his Uncle had done.
“Now what?”
“We take turns placing dominoes on the table, one at a time. The number of dots on the end of any domino must match the number of dots on the side of the domino it touches.”
“Like this?” asked Anton as he placed a domino with five dots on side against the domino on the table, which also had five dots on one side.
“Exactly.”
“What do we do if we don’t have any matches?”
“Then you pick a new domino from the boneyard, that pile of dominoes that we haven’t used yet.”
“And if that domino doesn’t match?”
“Then you pick another tile.”
“What if the boneyard is empty?”
“Then you pass, which means you skip your turn.”
“And to win?”
“Get rid of all your tiles, of course,” answered Uncle Rupert.
They played the first game, with Uncle Rupert winning. At the end, they counted the dots (also called pips) on Anton’s unplayed dominoes. That was Uncle Rupert’s score for that hand.
“Would you like me to fix a cheese plate?” asked Uncle Rupert.
Anton nodded.
“Face all the dominoes down and shuffle the tiles while I fix a plate.”
“Do we have camembert?”
“If we do, I’ll add it to the plate,”
As Anton readied the dominoes for another hand, Uncle Rupert went to the kitchen, where Madame Marchant was cleaning dishes.
“You’re hungry already?” she asked.
“I’m just fixing a cheese plate,” replied Uncle Rupert.
“Let me do it,” said Madame Marchant.
“Anton wants Camembert and I want another snifter of Brandy.”
“How about I fix hot tea instead?”
“That’ll be fine,” replied Uncle Rupert as he returned to the game.
Uncle Rupert returned to his domino game while Madame Marchant prepared the mid-day snack. When she was finished, she joined the boys in the living room. The tray not only had cheese and crackers, but fresh grapes and truffles, too.
“You know those are tiny monks, right?” she stated.
“What?” said Anton.
“The dominoes are tiny monks. They were called dominoes because they reminded ancient Romans of the French priests, who they called ‘domini’. The domini wore black robes with white inside their cloaks.”
“Did Uncle Gilbert wear that kind of robe?” asked Anton.
“He was a priest, not a monk,” stated mother.
“What’s the difference?”
“Monks stay in their monasteries or seminaries. They believe it’s the highest form of worship. Your Great Uncle Gilbert was a priest at his church, but he didn’t live there.”
“Why would monks live at their monasteries?”
“Part of their oath is to remain separate from the public life.”
“Why are we allowed to visit the local monastery in Meaux?”
“They don’t remain completely separate. They sell things to help support their way of life, just like the rest of us. We get our honey from that monastery. Monks have jobs, just like everyone else.”
“They make electronic parts like my father?”
“I don’t think they do that, but they do cook and clean and bake homemade bread, too.”
“What is their day like?” said Anton.
“I would guess it’s very busy. I know they wake up very early and go to bed very late. I often see them walking around the gardens in the monastery.”
“Yes,” replied Anton, “I’ve seen them, too.”
“They also join together during the day to pray. Sometimes, they even sing Gregorian Chants or Canticles. The Chants are prayers, sung in Latin.”
“We sing Canticles in church, right?”
“Probably the same ones the monks have sung for centuries.”
“How do you know all this if monks lead private lives?”
“Although they choose to be separate from the rest of the world, sometimes the world does not stay separate from them. There are wars and natural disasters to force the monks from their monasteries. That is probably how the Romans knew about the monks.”
“There could not have been so many disasters or even wars.”
“There was also freewill. Some monks didn’t stay hidden away from everyone. Your Great Uncle Gilbert was one of those men.”
“He was a monk?”
Madame Marchant nodded.
“Although he loved the spiritual life, he did not love being apart from his family. One day, he packed his things and left the monastery.”
Uncle Rupert nodded, “He often talked about his days in the monastery. Leaving was one of the tough choices he made, just like becoming a priest. It’s a life of devotion.”
“What’s devotion?”
“Dedicating as much of yourself as you can to something in which you believe.”
“I’m devoted to Camembert cheese!” announced Anton.
“I think the devotion is to more important things, like family,” suggested Madame Marchant.
“I’m devoted to Camembert and Dominoes with Uncle Rupert.”
“That sounds like a plan,” said his mother, “I think I’ll devote some time to watching football and eating cheese, too.”
Anton spent the rest of the morning with his uncle and mother, eating and playing dominoes. This was the kind of devotion he truly enjoyed. Now he understood why his Great Uncle Gilbert chose to leave the monastery – to be with the ones whom he truly loved.

Some Amazing Pig

Anton jumped out of bed early the next morning, disrupted from sleep by the screechy meows of Napoleon Cat. He went to the attic and opened the door. Nappy scampered out and headed downstairs.
“Cat!” shouted Madame Marcant as she shooed Nappy Cat out the front door. He immediately darted towards the garden…and towards Marcel the Pig, too.
Antron hurried downstairs to fetch his cat…again.
“I let him out,” he told his mother.
“He is not allowed in my kitchen…ever!” said mother.
“He has to use the litter box.”
“Why not put the litter box in the attic?” she asked.
“You can’t keep him locked in the attic day and night,” said Uncle Rupert.
“He will stay there until I say different.”
Anton went out to the garden, only to find Nappy stealing Marcel’s food. Anton grabbed Nappy before the cat could do any more damage.
“Nappy, why can’t you be easy to care for, like Marcel?”
Anton returned the scraps of leftover food to Marcel’s trough at the end of the garden. Afterwards, he took Nappy and the litter box upstairs and dropped them at the foot of the attic stairs.
“I’m sorry, Nappy, but you know how mother feels.”
Anton returned downstairs.
“How was your night?” asked Madame Marchant.
“I couldn’t sleep at all,” said Anton, “Nappy was meowing all night long.”
“I meant story time with Uncle Rupert.”
“It was good. We talked about Napoleon and the history of France.”
“Napoleon was not all of France’s history.”
“He was a big part of it,” said Uncle Rupert.
“Long before Napoleon, there were tribes of men who formed the beginnings of France. They were called the Gauls, a great Celtic tribe that existed over 2000 years ago.”
“Celtic Tribes? I thought Celtic people came from Ireland.”
“They did, but they migrated through most of southern Europe, including France, Italy, and Spain.”
“They why aren’t we part of Ireland?” asked Anton.
“The main reason is the English Channel that separates France from Ireland. As time passed, different groups of Celtics developed different languages and cultures. Some of those Celtics became Gauls.”
“Is that why we don’t speak the same language?”
Madame Marchant nodded, “Not only is there the English channel to divide us from other countries, but there’s the French Alps in the southeast and the Pyranees in the southwest. There are also large bodies of water like the Rhine River, the Mediterranean Sea, and the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Look at this,” added Uncle Rupert.
He showed a two-euro coin to Anton. A hexagon was embossed on one side of the coin.
“The Hexagon! That’s what we lovingly call our country because of it’s six-sided nature.”
Anton tried counting them on his fingers. “Pyrenees, French Alps, Mediterranean Sea, Atlantic Ocean…”
“English Channel and the Rhine River,” added his mother.
“Oh yeah, I already forgot.”
“Those are the two features that really defined Gaul.”
“I understand the Channel, but why the Rhine?”
“There were other tribes on the other side of the Rhine, like the Visigoths and Ostrogoths. They both lived east of the Rhine, where the Gauls lived to the west.”
“Why did that matter to France?”
“The Gauls expanded east from Ireland, but all of the Goth tribes on the east of the Rhine gave troubles to the Gauls. This is as far east as the Gauls would go. After that, they changed from hunter-gatherers to a more domestic group, living in one place.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the early days, tribes would move from place to place, hunting food. This was the basis for their beliefs. They worshipped natural things, like weather and animals.”
“Like Nappy and Marcel?”
“The Gauls considered wild pigs as sacred.”
“That’s weird,” said Anton.
“It’s not weird. The Gauls formed hunting parties. They’d hunt the wild pigs with bows and arrows, spears and clubs. They worshipped wild pigs because they needed them to survive.”

“I’m ready to worship some pigs right now,” said Uncle Rupert.
“Be patient, Rupert,” said Madame Marchant as she filled Anton and Rupert’s plates with sausage links and fried eggs.”
“We’re eating pig?” asked Anton.
“Of course,” replied mother, what did you think sausage was?”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“Sausage and bacon and ham all come from pigs.”
Anton looked down at his plate and frowned.
“You’ve eaten it many times before. It’s only natural.”
“Why does Marcel look so much different than wild boars?”
“As the tribes learned how to domesticate animals, they no longer needed to be hunters and gatherers. They became farmers.”
“So, we’re farmers,” said Anton.
“Yes, indeed, but not quite in that way. I still go to the market for things like meat, cheese, and bread. It’s just easier.”
Anton reluctantly ate his sausage links, all the time thinking of his dear Marcel.
“Could we eat something else?”
“The eggs come from chickens and hamburger comes from cows. It all has to come from somewhere, Anton.”
“I feel bad.”
“Don’t worry,” replied Uncle Rupert, “Rupert is not for dinner. Farmers also keep pigs for companionship. He’s your pet.”
Anton took comfort in that fact. Now, he felt comfortable eating again.
After dinner, they cleaned the table. Anton took the scraps out to Marcel.
“More for you,” he said to his pig.
Marcel snorted happily as he chomped on the leftovers, including some sausage links. Anton decided that if sausage was good enough for Marcel it must be good enough for him, too.

The Little Emperor

As Anton’s father stepped off the Metro from downtown Paris, everyone else was gathered at the dining room table. Even Nappy Cat was there, , leaping up to put his front paws on Anton’s knee. Anton dropped a tiny piece of bread to the floor next to Nappy.
“Are you feeding the cat again?”
Anton nodded.
“I’ve told you repeatedly not to feed the pets from the dining room table.”
“Well,” replied Anton, “I don’t feed Marcel.”
“That’s just because he cannot fit through the front door.”
Madame Marchant made it a point that food for the table was only fit for cats and pigs after the meal. She would place leftovers in the composting pile at one end of the garden. Once there, Marcel and Nappy would fight over who got what. Until then, they were not supposed to be fed.
Soon after that, Monseuir Marchant arrived home from work. Nappy Cat ran out to greet him. Marcel the pig greeted him, too. It was just as the two animals had done when Uncle Rupert and Anton returned home.
Monseuir Marchant maneuvered his way past them and into the house.
“Bonjour, mon amis!”
“Bonjour, papa!” replied Anton.
Madame Marchant prepared pot-au-feu, or “pot on the fire”. Boiled flounder, potatoes, carrots, and leeks filled the pot. It was her favorite meal to cook. It was everyone else’s favorite meal to eat.
Madame Marchant filled Monseuir Marchant’s plate as he took his seat.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Same as usual; making semiconductors and shipping them to computer manufacturers around the world.”
As Monseuir Marchant ate, Nappy Cat came to his side. Monseuir Marchant secretly dropped a piece of fish to the floor. Nappy Cat immediately devoured his fresh catch.
“William! I just told your son that we do not feed the cat indoors and here you are doing the exact same thing!”
Madame Marchant shooed Nappy Cat out the front door. Now, he would be on Marcel the pig’s turf.
Meanwhile, the Marchant family finished dinner.
“Mother, may I take some fish bones out to feed Nappy and Marcel?”
“Make sure to split the leftovers so they will not fight over it.”
Nappy Cat followed Anton outside, where Marcel greeted them. As Nappy circled near Anton’s feet, Marcel pushed his hips against Anton’s legs. It nearly knocked Anton off his feet. Anton dumped separate halves of the food into separate parts of the garden.
Nappy immediately took his fish bones beneath the porch before returning to the garden. Then, he began stealing Marcel’s food, too.
“Quit it, Nappy!” scolded Anton. Nappy ignored him as he crawled under the porch. Marcel followed, attempting to shimmy under the porch. Unable to fit, Marcel began head-butting the side of the house.
“What is THAT noise?” exclaimed Madame Marchant.
Anton’s father ran to the window.
“Marcel is trying to crawl under the house!”
Everyone ran outside, only to find the real problem. Nappy Cat had stolen Marcel’s fish.
“Anton, fetch your cat right now!” exclaimed Madame Marchant.
Anton shimmied under the house and carefully retrieved his cat.
“From now on, Nappy will be your responsibility,” said his mother.
Anton took the cat inside and locked it into his bedroom. The cat, however, did not like his new prison. Later that night, Nappy escaped when Anton opened the bedroom door. He hid behind the living room couch.
After everyone went to sleep, Nappy appeared from behind the couch, taking over the front room of the house. Madame Marchant discovered Anton’s cat sprawled across the area rug, right beside her coffee table.
“Out with you! Out! Out! Out!”
Nappy scampered back to Anton’s room. He had successfully occupied the living room, but only for a little while. With Anton’s cooperation, Madame Marchant formed a coalition against Nappy Cat.
Every night, Nappy Cat escaped from Anton’s room. The next morning, Madame Marchant or Anton put him back into the room.
However, the “coalition” of of Madame and Anton Marchant was not having much luck with Nappy Cat. One morning, Madame Marchant found Nappy Cat on the kitchen counter, eating some of Uncle Rupert’s leftover cheese.
"Nappy! I’ve had enough of this nonsense!"
She took Nappy Cat back to his room and put him inside. Unfortunately, there was no lock on Anton’s door.
“Rupert, could you put a new lock on Anton’s bedroom door?”
Rupert nodded.
“I’ll give you several Euros so you can fix it. Will that be enough?”
Rupeert nodded again.
Uncle Rupert went to the hardware store and picked out a new doorknob with a secure lock. When he returned home, he quickly fixed it into place and showed it to his sister and nephew.
“How does it look?”
“Magnificent!” exclaimed Madame Marchant.
Anton locked Nappy in the bedroom. It was Nappy Cat’s private prison. Now everyone else (including Marcel the Pig) enjoyed some peace and quiet.
A few days of peace and quiet seemed strange to Uncle Rupert, who did not have to fight with Nappy while he enjoyed cheese and Brandy.
“Where’s Napoleon the Cat?” asked Uncle Rupert (who almost always called Nappy Cat by his full name).
“He’s still in Anton’s room,” said Madame Marchant.
“You’re leaving him there alone?”
“It’s the only way I can keep him out of trouble.”
“You mean keep him out of your way,” replied Rupert.
“If he’s out of my way, he’s out of trouble.”
Still, Nappy Cat would find trouble, even locked away.
“Nappy! Look at what you have done!” exclaimed Anton.
Uncle Rupert went upstairs to see what happened. Nappy had torn through papers, spilling them across the floor.
“Look!” exclaimed Uncle Rupert, “you cannot leave a cat in a bedroom like this. He will make a mess.”
“Where do you suggest we put him?” asked Madame Marchant.
“How about the attic?”
“I guess that would work for now.”
Anton locked Napoleon away in the attic. This time, thought Madame Marchant, her problems would be solved.
It wasn’t until Monseuir Marchant was disturbed that Anton’s cat would truly be in trouble. Until then, Uncle Rupert was sent with Anton to make sure Anton’s cat would not bother Madame Marchant again.
“Would you like to hear a bedtime story?” asked Uncle Rupert.
Anton nodded.
“It’s about Napoleon.”
“Napoleon, my cat?”
“Not really,” said Uncle Rupert, “It’s about the Emperor of France.”
“Oh,” replied Anton.
“That’s okay, though, because it could be about Nappy Cat, too.”
Anton tucked himself into bed, eager to hear about his cat.
“There once was a great Emperor, named Napoleon Buonoparte.”
“This isn’t about my cat,” sighed Anton.
“Just listen,” said Uncle Rupert.
“There once was a great Emperor, named Napoleon Buonoparte. He was also known as Napoleon the First, Emperor of France.”
“After the French Revolution, all of Europe was in turmoil. As one author put it, ‘It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.’ France was not yet a country. Germany wasn’t a country either, just a collection of tribes.”
“What do you mean by ‘tribes’?” asked Anton.
“Large groups of people lived together. They would roam from place to place, hunting and gathering the things they needed to survive. They worked as a group, co-operating to solve their problems. A warlord ruled over each tribe.”
“What is a warlord?” asked Anton.
“A warlord is like a general. These warlords ruled Germanic tribes, including the Goths, Visigoths, and the Saxons. They were also called Barbarians.”
“Although people were unhappy with the King and Queen of France, they loved Napoleon. He would lead them out of poverty and despair. Soon after the French Revolution, Napoleon became King of Italy. It wasn’t long after that he became the Emperor of France. He invaded Northern Eruope, attacking many of the Germanic tribes.”
“This has nothing to do with my cat.”
“But it does. Just like Nappy Cat invading every part of the house, Napoleon invaded all of Europe. As he became more successful, he angered more people, too.”
“So they put him in the attic?”
“Not the attic, but they exiled him to an island named Elba. It was very much the same thing. Eventually, Napoleon was allowed out of exile.”
“What happened when he returned to France?”
“The French Empire was in ruins. Although he escaped from Elba, countries like Austria, Prussia, and the United Kingdom had joined forces. It was called ‘The Sixth Coalition’. Even many of the Germanic Tribes had joined forces against Napoleon. Less than a year later, as he traveled north from France, he was thoroughly defeated at the Battle of Waterloo.”
“Is that what it means to ‘meet your Waterloo’?”
Uncle Rupert nodded, “that’s exactly what it means. Even Napoleon stated that even though he’d won over forty major battles and wars, in the end, he would be remembered for Waterloo.”
Uncle Rupert tucked Anton safely into bed before leaving.
“Bonsoir, Anton.”
Bonsoir, Oncle.”
“Bonsoir, le chat,” said Uncle Rupert as he checked on the attic door.
It was not long at all until both Anton and Nappy were asleep. Anton dreamed of the great French Army, while nappy dreamed of the tasty fish that Marcel the Pig was enjoying instead of him.

Burnt Wine

When Anton and his Uncle arrived home, Uncle Rupert’s pig, Marcel, greeted them. Marcel was in the side yard, 'ruffling through truffles', as Uncle Rupert called it. Marcel pushed his snout through the mud, digging up those tasty mushrooms.
When he could, Rupert would steal some of Marcel’s truffles. Anton’s mother would then create her own version of chocolate truffles.
Anton’s pet cat, Nappy, was in the garden, too. As Uncle Rupert opened the front gate, Nappy strutted towards Anton and did figure eights around Anton’s legs. Anton ignored Nappy, eager to cut the cheese (the Brie de Meaux, that is) with his Uncle Rupert.
Uncle Rupert tiptoed around Marcel as he gathered some freshly unearthed truffles. Marcel snapped at Rupert several times. As soon as Uncle Rupert thought he’d stolen enough of Marcel’s truffles, he hurried inside.
“These look and smell so fresh. I cannot wait to eat them,” Uncle Rupert thought to himself. He poured the truffles onto the kitchen table and returned to the living room.
He cleared a space on the table between Anton’s chair and his rocker. Meanwhile, Anton unloaded the grocery bag in the kitchen. He returned with a plate full of the new cheeses.
“What would you like to try first?” asked Uncle Rupert.
“I think I would like some Brie de Meaux. It’s my favorite.”
“It’s my favorite, too.”
Uncle Rupert removed the plastic wrapper and paper tissue surrounding the wheel of Brie. Anton thought it was funny how the tissue left imprints in the cheese as he watched Uncle Rupert begin to slice the cheese, just like a pie. Then, he began to cut the slice from side to side.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Anton.
“I’m cutting the cheese.”
“You’re cutting off the tip. You know it’s not proper to point the Brie!”
“I know,” replied Uncle Rupert, “but I know how you dislike the moldy crust.”
In fact, Anton did not like the stiff, white crust at all. Luckily, Uncle Rupert always ate any of Anton’s leftovers, even stiff Brie crust. Anton ate his piece and waited for Uncle Rupert to eat his first slice. Uncle Rupert was careful to cut the cheese correctly, like spokes on a wheel. He then shaved the rind off each of Anton’s pieces.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Uncle Rupert.
“Are you going to eat?” asked Anton.
Uncle Rupert nodded. He cut several slices of bread from the long, thin baguette. He gave half to Anton and kept half for himself. He placed a wedge of Brie on the slice of baguette. When he took a bite, the hard bread and soft cheese melted together in his mouth. He washed it down with a sip of Brandy. He sat the snifter of dark brown wine upon the table and smiled.
“What does it taste like?”
Uncle Rupert pressed a wedge of Brie onto a piece of bread and handed it to Anton.
“No, I mean the Brandy,” replied Anton.
“Would you like one tiny sip?” asked Uncle Rupert.
Anton nodded. Uncle Rupert carefully passed the special wine glass to Anton. It had a short handle and the glass was round, like a tiny fish bowl.
“You have to cradle the snifter in your hand as you carefully sip Brandy. Be sure to inhale the fragrance of the wine as you drink it.”
Before he could get the snifter to his lips, Anton inhaled the Brandy smell. He snorted and sneezed.
“It smells like gasoline from a tractor,” said Anton disgustedly, “This is wine?”
“It’s a special kind of wine,” replied Uncle Rupert, “Back in the 1100s, almost one-thousand years ago, there were no cars or airplanes. There were only horses and ships. When the French traded wine with the Dutch people, in northern Europe, it took several days to travel from place to place. During this time, the wine would spoil.”
“So, we’re eating spoiled milk and drinking spoiled wine?”
“Burnt wine, that’s what the Dutch called it. It’s not spoiled wine at all. The wine makers in Frnace heated the wine, to distill it. Distilling made the wine purer, plus it was easier to ship, since they had to pay taxes on each barrel they sent to Holland.
The people of Holland used to replace the water that was removed during distilling. More and more, they liked the taste of the burnt wine. Eventually, the ‘Burnt Wine’ turned to ‘Brandywein”, and then it just became Brandy.”
Anton looked at the Brandy snifter. The Brandy didn’t look like wine at all. It was dark brown and the liquid was thicker than wine. As Anton pinched his nose and took a drink, Uncle Rupert ripped a hunk of bread off the baguette.
As soon as Anton began snorting and spitting, Uncle Rupert gave him the baguette, followed by a glass of water. Anton emptied his glass.
“It tastes like tractor fuel, too!“
“Have some Camembert. It’ll help erase the alcohol taste.”
Uncle Rupert spread the white cheese on the bread, handing it to Anton.
“It’s got rind on it,” replied Anton.
“Just try it.”
Anton ate the Camembert, moldy white rind and all. Unlike the Brie, the white crust of the Camembert wasn’t stiff and crusty. It was smooth, like the cheese inside.
“Why is the crust different when it looks just the same?” asked Anton.
“Like I told you, there are only five things that make up cheese taste: curds, rennet, brine, aging, and mold. There are different molds used to make the outer rinds.”
“But they look the same.”
Uncle Rupert nodded. Sometimes, cheese makers use the same bacteria, but even the two different molds are very similar. It could also be the brine.”
“The salt water?”
Uncle Rupert nodded, “The more salt in the brine, the stiffer the cheese becomes. Some Camembert uses no brine at all. No salt means soft cheese.”
“I really like Camembert. It’s easier to eat.”
“Then we’ll get Camembert next time.”
“I hope we still buy Brie de Meaux, too.”
Just then, Anton’s mother arrived home from the hospital, where she worked as a nurse.
“What are you boys up to this evening?”
“I went to the longhouse with Uncle Rupert and I learned how cheese was made. Did you know they use bacteria?”
Madame Merchant nodded to her son. “It’s good mold. When you get an infection, we use the same mold to make you better.”
“You do?”
“It’s called penicillin.”
“Are you joking?”
“Of course not,” replied his mother.
“Speaking of molds and spores,” said Uncle Rupert, “I stole some of Marcel’s truffles. We were wondering if you could make some of your truffles.”
“I suppose I could do that,” she replied, “But first I’m going to fix dinner.”
As Madame Marchant cooked in the kitchen, Anton sat in the living room with Uncle Rupert. Anton picked up the bottle of Brandy and read the label.
“It says it’s Cognac, not Brandy.”
“Cognac is a very special type of Brandy.”
“I suppose it’s from the city of Cognac?” asked Anton.
“Wines are made a special way, just like cheeses. Each region has its special differences. Cognac uses a very specific type of grape. They also age the wine in special barrels. Usually, those barrels are made of oak. Each time you use a barrel, it absorbs the taste of the wine.”
“What are the other wine regions?”
“Chardonnay, Burgundy, and even Champagne.”
“Champagne is wine? It’s full of bubbles.”
“That’s how champagne is different. They use a special process to create carbonated wine.”
“Like soft drinks?”
Uncle Anton nodded. “But it’s still wine, just like Cognac or Chardonnay.”
“Dinner’s ready,” said Madame Marchant.
Anton and his Uncle joined her at the dining room table.
“Where’s father?” asked Anton.
“Unfortunately, he’s working late at the superconductor plant. He should be home in time for dessert, though.”
“That’s no fair,” said Uncle Rupert.
“I agree,” added Anton.
“Rupert, do not get him riled up. Everyone can wait until after dinner to eat dessert. That includes Monseuir Marchant.”
The three of them said their prayers and began eating. Both Anton and his Uncle were very hungry. Hopefully, there would be enough left over for Monseuir Marchant. Luckily, Madame Marchant hid a large plate of food in the refrigerator for her husband. It did not matter, however, because Anton’s father was arriving from the city on the Metro just as everyone else sat down to eat. He would indeed be home in time for dinner.

Where Cows Go Meaux

A schoolhouse, not too big and not too small, sat in the middle of a grassy field. Farmland, cut into rectangular fields, surrounded the schoolhouse. Each shade of green represented something different in the field. It also represented each family whose children attended the schoolhouse.
At a quarter past three, the final bell rang and the school doors opened. Children flooded out and scurried home. One particular boy named Anton Marchant, however, did hot hurry home. He walked across the playground and through the field to his house. Even if he left the classroom last, he was the first one to arrive home. His house was the closest to school.
When Anton arrived home, he found his Uncle Rupert in the usual place in the reading room. More often than not, Uncle Rupert had a book in one hand and a piece of cheese in his other.
Sometimes it was a silky slice of Camembert. Sometimes it was a smelly Tomme de Savoie. Other times, it was one of the bleu cheeses, like Roquefort. Often, Uncle Rupert would have a clump of Brie de Meaux grasped in his fingers. Brie de Meaux was Anton's favorite.
"Bonjour, Oncle Rupert."
"Bonjour, Anton. Comment allez-vous?"
"Bon," replied Anton.
Immediately, Anton noticed something was wrong. There was no book. There was no chunk of cheese. Instead, there was a glass of wine, a plate of crackers, and a small cup of spread sitting on the table next to Uncle Rupert.
"What is it you are eating?" asked Anton.
"My usual mid-day snack," replied Uncle Rupert.
"What's that?" Anton pointed to the bowl of spread.
"You mean this? It's cheese. It's called Boursin."
"It doesn't look like cheese."
"Try some."
Uncle Rupert spread the creamy Boursin cheese on a cracker and handed it to his nephew. Anton carefully investigated the spread. The cheese was creamy and white, but it had tiny green flakes all through it.
Anton let the cracker rest in his mouth as it melted. The cracker was buttery. The cheese was, too. After the cheese melted, tiny bits of herb were left on his tongue. Anton spat them out and used his fingers to wipe the herbs off his tongue.
"Ick!"
"You don't like the bits of rosemary and thyme?"
"The herbs taste like grass clippings!"
"All right," chuckled Uncle Rupert, "let's see what we can do for you."
Uncle Ruper got out of his chair and put on his wool cap. He grabbed his cane and went to the front door.
"Would you like to go to the longhouse?" asked Uncle Rupert.
Anton nodded eagerly.
"Let's take Le Car," said his uncle.
“Le Car” (which means ‘the car’ in French) was the name of the tiny yellow hatchback that Uncle Rupert drove everywhere. He, however, was one of the few who drove a car. Most Parisians (and most French, for that matter), took a train called ‘The Metro’ wherever they went. Anton preferred Le Car.
Anton buckled himself into the passenger seat next to his Uncle and away they went. Anton watched the farmhouses passing by, one-by-lone, as he ssat next to his Uncle. Hedgerows lined the old country road from Meaux to Paris. This was the same trip his father took to work every day. Anton hardly ever went to Paris, but he almost always went to the longhouse with his Uncle.
The longhouse looked just about like every other farmhouse, although it was long and wide and not too tall. Uncle Rupert pulled into the gravel drive leading to the large aluminum doors at the center of the building. After Uncle Rupert parked the car, he went inside the longhouse. Anton tagged along behind him.
The farm sat to the right and the dairy sat to the left. Uncle Rupert went to the right.
“Aren’t we going to buy cheese?” asked Anton.
“Soon,” replied his uncle, “but I thought I’d show you how cheese is made.”
They walked down the center aisle. Several large machines lined this half of the longhouse. There was even shelves full of cheese. It reminded Anton of a library.
Further along, they passed the mixing tanks, followed by a row of holding pens at the far end. Men were guiding goats from the pasture to the holding pens.
“Here is where milk comes from,” said Uncle Rupert.
“I thought cheese came from cows.”
“Cheese does come from cows, but it comes from goats and sheep, too. All female mammals can create milk.”
The farmers hooked nozzles to the goat’s udders before turning on the milking machines. The machine pumped milk from the udders, depositing it into large vats.
“They take the milk and put it into holding tanks. You’ve seen curdled milk, haven’t you?”
“Of course, but it’s spoiled, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” replied his Uncle, “the farmers take the curds and use it to make cheese.”
“Why are they dumping liquid into those vats over there?”
“That’s ‘rennet.’ It’s bacteria to help the milk curdle faster. It’s stomach acid from cows. It’s said that cheese was discovered when farmers carried milk in pouches made from cow stomachs and intestines.”
“That sounds gross,” replied Anton.
“I don’t think it’s true,” replied his Uncle, “because if you simply leave your milk sitting out for a day or two, you’ve already got spoiled milk. I do, however, think that’s how they first discovered rennet.”
“Makes sense to me,” replied Anton.
They walked further along, passing the filtering tanks. The vats were filled with curds and whey.
“This is where they cut the cheese.”
Anton giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“They cut the cheese?”
“Not in that way,” chuckled Uncle Rupert, “see how the man is cutting the cheese with a large knife? This helps make the cheese smoother.”
A man gathered the curds in cheesecloth bags. He slapped the full bag on the side of the vat, draining extra way through the netted cloth. Afterwards, he placed each bag into metal circles sitting on a cart.
“what is he doing now?”’ asked Anton.
He’s separating the curds from the whey. The curds become cheese. The whey is a by-product of cheesemaking.”
“What is a by-product?”
“By-products are the leftovers whenever you make something.”
“There’s so much involved in making cheese,” replied Anton.
“There’s more,” said Uncle Rupert.
Further along, a man popped cheesecloth bags out of molds. He peeled away the cheesecloth and dropped the cheese wheel into a large vat of salt water, called brine. The brining vat had two purposes. First, it added salty taste to the cheese. Secondly, the salt in the brine helped remove moisture from the cheese. The less moisture in the cheese meant harder cheese.
The two final steps took longer. This is where the chemists added mold to some of the cheeses. Roquefort and Bleu Cheese were injected with bacteria. Mold grew inside the cheese. With Anton’s favorite, Brie de Meaux, bacteria was rubbed on the outside.
“That’s it,” said Uncle Rupert, as he pointed to a shelf filled with wheels of Brie.
“Where are the other types of cheese?”
“There are special rules for cheese. Brie de Meaux is made in Meaux and Roquefort is made in Roquefort, and Camembert is made in Camembert.”
“That makes sense,” replied Anton.
“And that’s all it takes to make cheese: sour the milk, add rennet, drain the whey, sometimes you add the mold bacteria, and you let it age.”
“Why do some cheesee taste so different?”
“It’s how much you do each thing that makes the cheese taste different.”
Anton took his Uncle by the hand as they walked across the entrance towards the store on the other side of the longhouse.
Uncle Rupert purchased wedges of Brie de Meaux and Roquefort (which had been shipped from Southern France) and Camembert (which came from Northern France). He also purchased whey powder.
“I thought that was a by-product,” said Anton.
“It is,” replied Uncle Rupert, “but it’s useful, too. I can stir it into my drinks.”
“What does it taste like?”
“It doesn’t taste like anything.”
“Huh?”
“Whey powder helps my body work better. You know how I have diabetes, right?”
Anton nodded.
“My body cannot produce insulin. Insulin sort of ‘eats’ sugar in the body. That sugar is pure energy. Whey powder helps my body make insulin.
“That’s neat.”
“It sure is,” said Uncle Rupert.
Anton carried the grocery bag to ‘Le Car’, holding it in his lap the whole way home. As they returned on the same road they came, As they passed each farm, Anton waved to every sheep, goat, and cow.
“Bonjour, cheesemakers!”
“Mooo!” bellowed a cow.
“moooooo!” replied Anton.
“Don’t you mean Meaux?” chuckled Uncle Rupert.
“Cows don’t Meaux. Only goats Meaux.”
“Not true. There are some Brie de Meaux made from cow’s milk.”
Anton leaned his head outthe car window.
“Meaux!” he bellowed.
“Moo!” replied some cows.
And the rest of the cows?
They went “Meaux!”