From: Dale D Cosper <cosperdd@whitman.edu>
To: faculty@MARCUS, carsonrj@whitman.edu
Subject: Deep Breath
Paris, 1961.
The FLN and OAS plasticating one another across Paris and Algiers. The French ostracizing the "arab"
population, fear of their otherness.
I'm coming back from a night on Monmartre, stop at Les Halles for some
onion soup and pinard. Then to an
estaminet. Three or four French workers
on one side of the "zinc", an Arab worker in worker blues on the
other side. Stoney silence. I order a cognac and take out my Copenhagen
(sent by my mom :)). I feel the gaze of
the "arab" and see he has taken out a little silver tin, removed the
top and is "dipping." Then he
smiles. I pick up my cognac and
Copenhagen and cross to the other side.
Glares and silence from "mes mecs." I find out he's from Algeria, from the Atlas mountains. He tells me of his home, his goats, his
family. He shows his passion for the
land. I tell him about the American
West, the Rockies, my horses, my family.
We're both teared up with nostalgia.
I leave with a little silver "chew" tin with Arabic script on
it, he with a can of American Copenhagen.
Our talismans from a moment of brotherhood. Outside I hear a bomb explode in the direction of Place de la
Republique.