Early to Bed

 

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

The wobble of the steering wheel and the distinctive thump thump coming from the passenger side rear wheel alerted me to the unfortunate fact that I had a flat tire. I urged the car over to the shoulder, in front of a weathered old manor house that was covered in a thicket of thorny bushes, and got out to surveil the damage. Sure enough, the tire was flat. At least I didn’t have to be in Paris until the morning, but I had been hoping to get in a few hours early to do a bit of the tourist thing.

I opened the trunk of the car and located the spare, thank goodness. With rentals you never could be too sure about these things. Lugged the tire out of the trunk, then went back for the jack, which was mostly there, except one key component, the little metal rod that both unscrewed the nuts and helped raise the jack. Crap.

Fifteen minutes had passed and still not another vehicle had passed. At least it was a beautiful spring day. The sky was a deep blue, the fields were green and the flowers were just starting to bloom. I was marveling at a couple of blue tits dancing in the sky when I was startled from my trance by a small voice. I turned to see a young girl in a blue dress standing next to me.

“Monsieur” she said again, holding out a small bouquet of wild flowers.

“Oh,” I replied, “I’m sorry, you startled me.”

“Monsieur” she said again, extending the bouquet even more insistently towards me.

“Oh, is this for me?”

“Oui Monsieur, it is May 1^st,” she said, bowing her head, “faire la grasse matinée”

“Oh, well thank you. Are you from around here?”

“Oui monsieur,” she replied, and then she turned and skipped off through the spring flowers.

As I watched her disappear in the woods at the edge of the field, a car approached, and pulled over beside me. Thankfully the driver had a jack with all the requisite parts. As we worked to change the tire, I asked the man if he knew the area well. He said he was from the little town just around the bend in the road, born and raised, and, except for a few years during the war, he had lived there all his life. Naturally I told him about the little girl I had met, and as I finished my tale, I noticed he had stopped removing the nuts, and was now staring at me, slack-jawed.

“What is it sir, have I offened?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, and then after a long pause he continued, “do you know the story of Sleeping Beauty?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Yes, well, what you probably don’t know is it’s based on a folk tale set right here, at this old manor house, and the child who lived here, who would awaken after a long sleep on May 1^st , roused by the blooming flowers of spring.”

“Huh”, I replied, “it seems I've seen a ghost.”