Chapter 5
Frida Rodriguez ... En Route
November 26, 1991
Paris, France
Perky Kate,
It’s not midnight and I’m not in my hotel room. What better place to finish reading Martha Gellhorn than a window seat at the storied and oh so literary Café de Flore while sipping chocolat chaud poured out of a little silver teapot to keep the cold at bay? Martha is my new heroine! How did she write with a clear head about such grim situations? When I got to the section about Dachau I cried. Do you think Martha ever cried? I’m trying to figure out how she makes you feel the horror you’re supposed to feel about things like that without her own emotions spilling all over the place. That’s great journalism!
Friends from school say I should do TV news because I have such a big personality but I think it’s the words that will last. I’m reading Martha’s words all these years later in the very café where she once sat and they’re still an emotional gut punch. People aren’t going to dig back through old videocassettes to watch CNN clips about Desert Storm. How would they even do it? But words – wordswordswords – wow! Do you see that? The pen and the sword!
I socked away money for almost a year but unfortunately not enough to live here and indulge in cheese daily without working. I have a part-time job cleaning up English documents for a translation company. Not ideal but my choices were limited through the visa program I used. At least they pay by the project – they weren’t prepared for how fast I can type – between that and my savings I can afford to base myself here. So much is happening in this part of the world. Berlin’s reunited, the Soviet Union’s breaking up, Yugoslavia’s heating up. I’m trying to learn as much as possible while I figure out a way to get someone to hire me to cover one of the wars that keep breaking out.
Wow! Did you soak your stationery in truth serum? Besides Kirby you’re the first person I’ve told why I’m really here. My parents think I’m taking a break to eat Camembert and soul search and I don’t want any of my old friends accidentally mentioning it to them – no need for parental freak-outs until I’m actually in a war zone. They’re taking it hard enough that I’m staying here for Christmas but if my plan works out there will be times when I’m in the thick of it and can’t come home so I figure this is good practice even if they don’t know it. I was worried I’d be lonely spending the holidays away even though I’m the independent type but Kirby said he’ll take me to the Christmas markets. We plan to drink buckets of vin chaud and gorge on local delicacies. No roasted chestnuts for me – grainy mush nuggets – but the French make a crème caramel that will knock your socks off and I can’t get enough raclette. Whoever came up with the idea of scraping melted cheese over bread and salami should be given a Nobel. I hope it snows!
I’m sending another traveler’s check. Keep the War Journo Dames coming and I’ll take another book you LOVE. Bravo on the surprise! Boy oh boy did Moon Tiger speak to me. It’s like you knew exactly what I need to read right now. I love how the main character Claudia is her own woman. She doesn’t second-guess herself or do anything because she thinks other people think she should. And when she said “I’ve grown old with this century; there’s not much left of either of us. The century of war. All history, of course, is the history of wars, but this hundred years has excelled itself.” Isn’t that the truth! That’s why I need to use my journo degree for something more important than stock trends.
Now what about you? Why is Kate the Bookseller’s brain always jittering? Why didn’t she send me her novel? Inquiring minds want to know. I’m the one who’s impressed! I could never write anything that long. I have the attention span of a goldfish on NoDoz – or one zap of a TV dial as that dumb Time article says.
Au revoir,
Frida
P.S. I hope you sell those hundred copies of Moon Tiger !