Me Meets Monsieur!!

As a child,I was not indecent but then I was not very decent either. I mean I never carried my own handkerchief which is a very unladylike thing for most women, but when I needed one I would either pull it out from dad or wipe with monsieur's. They were great friends and they were forced to take me into their togetherness when I was around five. Soon after my fifth birthday dad gave me a permanently reserved weekend seat on his fantastic motorbike. I remember that first meeting, Monsieur must have been in his fifties. One fine morning,while I saddle the motorbike admiring myself for it, Dad tells me in a grim voice,"Mol, we are meeting a  serious minded man today, so be a good girl".  Yet to lower myself on the reserved seat I declare with my right leg still in mid air,"Me meets Monsieur." My declaration dies in spirit and decibel as he roars up the engine and the best dad and best 'me' bike away.

When we enter the house, the first image I notice is the perfect order in which everything is arranged. I understand dad wants me to join the women in the interior of the house but I am more curious about meeting a really serious minded monsieur. I choose to sit on a long sofa and dad immediately reminds me,"No rocking legs, no speaking till you are spoken to" Hearing that and seeing my dad  rise from his seat in respect I look towards where he greets. A white clad, milky skinned old man with the firmest eyes and jaw line smiles at dad and then quickly notices me . I do not know why but I decide he is a communist. Communist then to my five year old head represented all white clad, serious faced men. Dad introduces me,"Monsieur, my daughter." Busy observing him, I forget my manners to wish and I just smile end to end but he only gives me a curt nod which rather upsets my five year old ego. They begin talking of politics and I watch them, comfortable, used to being surrounded more by adults than playmates of my peer group. That is when I see the cat, soft, demure and by instinct I go after it, pick it up and just as I carry it across to the men busy conversing, the youngest daughter of the house tells me,"Uncle will not like to see the cat in there. So be sweet enough and play with it here". At the same time dad notices me from the doorway and gives me the warning look. To me it is shocking to know there can be someone on earth who will not like a cat to snuggle with. And I wait till dad and monsieur leave the place for a usual walk where they will talk walking what they spoke seated. I use that opportunity to smuggle the cat and settle on the sofa with it. I speak to the cat, I tell it about my pet cat at home. It is not sure if it can continue but still seemed to enjoy the experience. And just then the door opens and the cat jerks but I hold it tight and finally look at impeccable white clad Monsieur looking at me and the cat alike. In my apprehension that a serious minded man will admonish and report to my dad I speak in hurried speech," Am communist. A cat too needs a sofa like us it too likes to sit and talk and listen".He sits on the vacant chair opposite and looks at me without a word.The only response is the way he tightens his jaw a while and then he rubs the tips of  two of his fingers, a gesture I notice as one of controlled emotion in later years to come. The cat is smarter than me and disappears from the scene. Just then dad returns and I am sure am in the soup. Dad enters sees my expression and asks him,"Anything, Monsieur"

I hang my head expecting the world to end. Instead I hear him say," Nothing" I look up grateful and those firm eyes look into my relieved ones and I notice the imperceptible smile in them and across the years my first sense of friendship is born. And the ball of a lifelong friendship that would defy even the grave set itself rolling.