Exiles: Reflections of Michael Trilogy

EXILES

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L . J. AMBROSIO

Copyright © 2023 Louis J. Ambrosio. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electric or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For more information, contact Louis J. Ambrosio: [email protected]

Copyright number TXu 2-398-061

DEDICATION

To my friend and other ego Jamison LoCascio.

To my friend, editor extraordinary, and promoter Judy Thomas.

To my son Adam, who passed by me every night as I typed and asked me how it was going.

To my daughter, a great artist and wonderful mother to my granddaughter Madi.

EXILES

L.J. AMBROSIO

CHAPTER ONE

A cool autumn breeze, in the twilight, wrapped around our exile who sat on a bench in front of a bookstore that resembled a place we might find in a Tolkien novel. On this street, rue de la Buccheri, was the bookstore Shakespeare and Company. The store itself was famous for housing the books of many great literary artists on their shelves. They also supported any young or old artistic vagabonds by allowing them to sleep in the aisles of the bookstore on makeshift beds when finding themselves homeless.

Ron, who managed the store, sat on this bench every evening thinking of Michael. Ron thought of things he remembered and how much he learnt from Michael. He felt the emptiness in his soul, yearning to have that connection just one more time. He had lived in Paris for six years now, a brief time for an exile, yet he was free from a society drowning in untruths; his refuge was the bookstore.

Just like every night, as Ron prepared to close the store, he occasionally checked the front of the store, looking for his friend. Then, he noticed another young man still looking at books on the outside shelves.

Ron moved outside to get a closer look at the late customer under the guise of moving the outdoor book bins back inside. He suddenly noticed that the young man was putting a book down his pants.

Ron raised his voice and shouted for the thief to put the book back on the shelf. The young man, caught in the act, ran away.

The young man sprinted and tripped while running past the café. In this stumble, he decided to turn the corner and make his way rapidly toward la Seine.

Ron, weak in the legs from forgetting the spirit of his youth, had been managing bookstores more than living life. His legs pumped forward. but with the awkwardness of an old man who had forgotten how to walk. In a few seconds he was up to speed and ran faster to catch the thief.

Near the corner, Ron had missed his opportunity to slow and check for other people walking, so he slammed into a group of women. He especially blasted into an old lady whose groceries flew into the sky, and a yogurt splattered against a wall and the faces of the other women. She turned to condemn her assailant, but he was already on the next block in pursuit of the thief.

He spotted the thief at the Notre Dame Hotel, out of breath, leaning against a pillar. Surprised at the thief’s choice to stop here, he slowed down and let his feet pound the street into a halt.

Ron grabbed at him but still missed his shoulder.

Give me the book back! he said, very loudly.

The thief just shrugged his shoulder, a mocking smile. His smile made the act of chasing him through the streets feel silly, as if this were a game that had been played and he took it too seriously.

The thief looked at Ron and asked, sarcastically, What language are you speaking?

What do mean? I am speaking French!

Our thief laughed, turned to a random man who walked down the street, and said, This young man thinks he is speaking French Go ahead say something to this stranger; he will tell you are speaking some other language other than French!

I will call the police, Ron said firmly.

Go ahead! They know me very well. I have been arrested over 10 times.

Stealing other books?

No, protecting my freedom and that of my compatriots; they will arrest me and beat me to their enjoyment. I do not care. You want to see my scars?

What is your name? asked Ron.

Louie Dubois! he said with pride. Who are you? How does an American run a bookstore in Paris?

By speaking multiple languages badly. Okay? You got one jab in, now give me that book back.

So, then what is your name? American in Paris?

Okay, Louie, my name is Ron. Happy now? I have already seen that movie. Book. Now.

"There you go again speaking that strange language with no emotions. My name is not pronounced Louie it is Loo-ee like our former kings! That is how you say it!"

Speaking carefully, yet getting more annoyed, Ron asked him for the book back again, to no avail. He tried again now speaking to him in English, What is the book you took?

Reluctantly, Louie took it out of his pants, then handed it back to Ron answering in English too. "Thoreau! On Walden Pond."

Ron, took the book and looked at the young man as he tried to read his intent in stealing it, So, you like Thoreau that much to steal him or what?

"I do not know his writings; the only nineteenth century American I am familiar with is Whitman and Leaves of Grass. I did read Civil Disobedience by Thoreau in class. It was great, but I wanted to read another of his works."

Louie, you speak English very well.

I studied the language at the university. I used to believe America led the world. Not anymore.

Well, I will not call the police. Tomorrow, I recommend you go back to the bookstore and become a Tumbleweed.

A what? Louie said, with shock.

A Tumbleweed, like me and you, Ron said firmly.

Ron instructed Louie in the steps to joining the Tumbleweeds at Shakespeare and Company.Write a one-page biography, bring it to the store, joining it with the 30,000 other biographies that are housed there. You must work a 2-hour shift at the bookstore taking care of the books, dusting them, and putting them back on their shelves. And you must read one book every day. You can sleep any night at the bookstore with all the other weary travelers. Keep the book, then come back and tell me if you want to be a Tumbleweed.

Your French got a little better Louie said with a smile.

Let's keep to English. said Ron, directly. He remembered a Thoreau quote. All men want, not something to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be. He smiled at Louie and handed him the book back.

Louie smiled delicately and said, Maybe.

CHAPTER TWO

Ron sat on the bench at the bookstore, exhausted from his pursuit of Louie. He felt a bit like Javert as he chased Jean Valjean but for a book rather than a loaf of bread.

The door of the bookstore was left wide open while he was gone but there were four Tumbleweeds staying overnight.

Suddenly, noticing a movement at the door, he looked up to see Julia. She asked, Where were you?

Auditioning for Les Misérables, but I wasn't the right type.

Julia grabbed Ron tightly and kissed him on the cheek.

Let’s go home, pick up some food at Legalize, feed and walk Rhonda, and then sleep, forever.

Good idea, Ron said, exhausted.

As they walked towards Ron’s apartment onRue des fosses-Saint Jacquesthey passed the Patheon, a monument to the heroes of France after the Revolution.

Ron loved to sit in front of the statue occasionally and imagine how these heroes loved Paris and defended its spirit endlessly.

The citizens of Paris had a special love affair with their city, a city brimming with desire and passion. On their walk home, Ron and Julia would also pass the church of Saint Etienne du Mont, designed in true neo-classical architecture, with some elements of Gothic style.

Ron would never go to church services, but he had sat in the pews a few hours here and there, remembering how Michael loved Christ. He smiled and thought often of that special Christmas Eve with the beautiful lights and the priest coming down the aisle with a clay Jesus in his arms. How Michael had loudly declared He’s the Man! in his unique celebration of baby Jesus. Ron had to laugh at moments like this. He missed Michael’s antics and his great conversations.

Ron learned to love Christ’s teachings of peace and humanity, even just the Sermon on the Mountalone was incredible. When Ron left the church each time, he would light three candles for his mother, father, and Michael.

Julia ran to the Sorbonne to pick up some of her medical textbooks. She had left them with a friend and wanted to get them after graduation. Ron had instructed her to keep them hidden away because he felt uncomfortable with some of the strangely unsettling covers of them, one of a man split down the middle, half naked, half seeing his insides as he stands there. He had called them Julia’s horror books.

Ron slowly walked up to his apartment stairs, anxious to play with Rhonda, his little aging Jack Russell terrier. She scratched her nose and pawed at the door expecting his arrival, and sometimes he would sing to her through the door, especially songs like My Little Buttercup.

He opened the door, and Rhonda leaped towards him. He grabbed her and continued to pet her for several moments, especially under her belly. It was always like this.

He looked at Rhonda and quietly said You are the rock of my life. Boy, do I love you; you want a bone? He went to the closet, took one gigantic bone, and placed it near her mouth.

Rhonda quickly grabbed the bone, ran around the house, and hid it under a blanket on the ground. This action forced Ron to look for it. As this game went on, Rhonda would just bark and bark, like a chant, that her best friend was home. Rhonda again hid her bone, but Ron knew this is what she would always do regardless.

Ron entered his bedroom to get a change of clothes. The room had wooden floors, a great wardrobe, lots of storage space, a bedside table, and a bed. The living room was large with a leather couch and armchair; it had a desk and beautiful French windows leading to a small patio. The kitchen was like all those French movies, small yet oddly functional, then there was also the bathroom near the kitchen.

An individual had to walk up about six steps to the door of the bathroom. It was an odd layout, but it was a nice big bathroom. Julia loved the bathroom, and Ron was sure Rhonda did too.

Ron sat in the living room with a glass of red wine. The door opened and it was Julia. Rhonda, to no surprise, jumped on her until she rubbed her belly. It was all a repeat of what happened with Ron, except this time, she already had a bone to play a game with. Rhonda even ran to the kitchen to get the bone she hid and showed it to Julia.

Julia went to the kitchen and put the food they bought on the counter and grabbed a glass of white wine.

I am so happy we moved in together. I would have had to worry about getting rid of your apartment, said Ron. And now off to New York and Mount Sinai for your internship.

I sort of liked living with you, Julia said with a