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German
Girls and Cemeteries
__________
German
girls have a liking for cemeteries: I've (somewhat accidentally)
done my research. When I lived in Paris I'd often ask a girl,
shortly after I met her, if she cared to go for a stroll in Cimetiere
du Montparnasse, located across the street from where I lived
on Rue de Campagne Premiere.
I
recall strolling through the cemetery on a cheerful May day with
a Mexican girl, met in a Sorbonne French class -- a mild look
of perplexity crept into her face; she said: "A little strange,
I think, coming into a cemetery." I skirted this comment by saying
I'd brought her there to see the cats -- the magnificent, half-wild,
cats that live in all the Paris cemeteries and subsist off of
hand-outs. She liked cats and accepted this as a reason for being
there, but still couldn't get past the impression that being taken
for a stroll in a cemetery by a boy she'd just met was "weird."
British
girls, Spanish girls, Italian girls: they often greeted my cemetery
stroll invitation with a quizzical look and some of them never
lost the look for the duration. In addition to the cats, I'd fall
back on a visit to Baudelaire's resting place as an excuse for
being there or say it was a shortcut to a café on the other side:
I didn't want these girls to be uncomfortable.
French
girls, on the other hand -- whether they be Parisian or not --
generally seem to have, so to speak, seen it all at the moment
of birth: nothing astonishes them. The somewhat distant look of
placidity on their faces wouldn't alter in the least when I'd
inquire as to whether they cared to stroll among the sepulchers:
no surprise or dismay would flicker in their eyes; neither would
enthusiasm. The cats? -- Oui. Ils sommes tres charmant.
The tomb of Baudelaire? -- Pourquoi pas? And they'd be
inherently sophisticated, like all good French girls; and keep
their thoughts to themselves, like all good French girls; and
be unaffectedly sweet, like all good French girls; and make out
on a bench without the least trace of reserve in a nondemonstrative
manner, like all good French girls. But the fact we were in a
cemetery meant little to them: they could take it or leave it.
But
German girls are another matter: ask them if they'd like to promenade
in a cemetery and their eyes ignite! Perhaps they've been keeping
their opinion of me somewhat in check before this question; after
this question, it's as if I can do no wrong! German girls can't
wait to get to cemeteries! And once there... They become blithe
and animated, chat up a storm, ask questions, talk of themselves:
now that they've decided they definitely like me, they want to
get the getting-acquainted stage out of the way as soon as possible
and proceed to more engaging activities.
There
was one German girl in her early twenties, with such an engagingly
cute little girl face that all took her for sixteen at the most:
she'd be stared at in the Metro by junior high aged boys as if
she was a girl in their math class they wanted to grope. And this
girl -- I recall it as clearly as if it was yesterday: she's seated
before me on a headstone in Cimetiere du Montparnasse,
wearing a short pink dress with white fringes -- and lacy white
half-gloves that leave the fingers exposed -- and a white ribbon
in her long flaxen hair; and her blue eyes are flat out spinning
in delight as she grasps the back of my neck with both hands,
stands up, and fastens her lips on my neck and begins sucking
with all her might from between gently scratching teeth: I don't
think I've ever been hickeyed so quickly. The contrast between
her innocent doll face and take-charge hunger was priceless. And
I distinctly felt I owed it to the fact that being in a cemetery
awakened her.
There
was another German girl, inordinately fond of wearing capes and
of an artsy and career-minded disposition (she wanted to be a
producer), who I met through friends. One evening, at a rather
tepid party that we were both bored at, she was busy lecturing
me about my propensity to stay up all night and sleep during the
day -- saying that eventually I'd have to give it up in the interests
of making a living; that I couldn't be irresponsible forever:
she seemed to be annoyed at me for some reason -- while also liking
me in a begrudging manner -- and was digging at me in this oblique
way. So, because the party was so stupid and she had little interest
in it and because I'd had enough of being dictated to and also
because I liked her despite her artsiness and lecturing nature,
I asked her if she'd like to go for a stroll inside Cimetiere
du Pere Lachaise, located a short Metro ride away. Well,
she altered in an instant -- all of her subdued hostility melted
away; attentive warmth swept into her features; her eyes grew
interested and kind. But then a thought occurred to her: it was
after dark and the gates to Pere Lachaise were closed:
how would we gain entry? So I told her we'd need to locate a van
parked close to the wall of Pere Lachaise and climb on
top of it to reach the top of the wall; then I'd drop to the other
side and assist her down. She began laughing so excessively that
she drew stares.
So
we say our good-byes, hop the Metro to Pere Lachaise,
and begin strolling around its walls. We find a delivery truck
parked close enough and I assist her in ascending it. And my,
what a priceless memory! This girl, always overdressed and seeking
to project a complex-mystery-woman image; this girl, a somewhat
pretentious devotee of gallery openings and avant garde films;
this girl, so utterly finicky about her clothes and very protective
of her capes (frowning when they become unevenly distributed on
her shoulders and brush the ground as a consequence, yanking them
up with alacrity verging on alarm); this girl, I say, is climbing
onto the top of the cab of the truck with her precious cream-colored
cape dragging along the grille and getting soiled and she doesn't
care! A childlike look of mischief and joy is absolutely beaming
from her eyes! She's far too preoccupied with getting to the top
of the wall that circles the cemetery to care about striking mystery
woman poses, being artsy, or spouting lectures! The escapade at
hand -- prospect of strolling inside Pere Lachaise after
dark -- has thoroughly banished all predilection to posture and
be self-righteous from her personality! Why? Because she's German
and therefore adores cemeteries: her pedigree runs deeper than
putting on silly art-girl acts!
So
we climb onto the top of the wall -- conveniently about two feet
wide -- and I drop down the other side into the cemetery. She
requires assistance to descend and this requires that I grasp
her in places that I haven't been allowed to have a hope of touching
before. She's a very fit girl -- athletic build with a hint of
voluptuousness -- and my palms thrill to the sensation of the
satiny cushions of her behind. Once she reaches ground, her dress
and cape are caught between our bodies and have been lifted higher
than her waist and she's laughing herself dizzy. She backs away
and her dress and cape fall into place and she says with a grin,
"I don't think you're going to see that again until we leave!"
(She's referring to the boost I'll need to give her when we climb
one of the tombs to reach the top of the wall from this side.)
But she's only teasing: I get to see the engaging sight of her
behind again shortly thereafter, and plenty else besides. And
I know for a fact that I owe her kindness and familiarity to the
fact I had the sense to invite her for a stroll in a cemetery;
barring that, I never would've broken through her subdued hostility
and confirmed that posturing artsy girls are capable of having
fun, if they happen to be German and are in a cemetery.
* * *
(Of
course, now that I've made bold to declare German girls have a
liking for cemeteries, some German girls who read this will conclude
I'm an imbecile, it not being true of them. So be it. Fact is,
every time I asked a German girl if she wanted to visit a cemetery,
she embraced the idea with rapt enthusiasm: I can hardly be blamed
if it was purely coincidental.)
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Visit
Online:
Cimetiere
du Pere Lachaise
(A
virtual tour: click on the white dots
on map to move about.)
Cimetiere
du Montparnasse
Cimetiere
du Montparnasse
(Another
virtual tour: click on "Vue
panoramique" under the photo at top.)
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