Page 42, “The Persuasion”
When we had time, we toured the city Tonin knew so well he could have written the guide. He took me through back alleys at Les Halles until we landed at “the only place in Paris to buy butter;” to a charcuterie in the 5e without a sign that had “the world’s best cornichons;” to the tiny Chagall museum—a house one room wide—only open to “the public,” meaning friends of the owners, on the third Thursday of the month. And then there was the fine second-hand clothing shop devoted entirely to silk blouses, where, on our first visit, he’d bought the two I’d mentioned to Bird.
One day, he took me to Notre Dame, where he’d been “a hundred times.”
“Come here.” He maneuvered through the nave to a small alcove on the right, not far from the Rose Window, where stood St. Theresa. He dropped a franc in the coin box and took a candle and placed it at the statue’s feet. ““The patron saint of children,” he said. "This is for your parents.”
He struck a match, lit the candle, and a chorus of children’s voices sang out. We turned toward the children—I thought they were in the back of the cathedral, but Tonin was looking the other way, to the front.
“Where are they?” We whispered to each other.
An elderly couple, small and slender, standing right by St. Theresa were looking too. “Où sont les enfants?” the woman said.
J’ne sais pas, the man replied with his hands.
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