»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #42
»
Felix The King of Quebec City
| Open Poetry #42 |
|
Felix The King of Quebec City |
|
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 
|
Mother took me North by train, a long green train rolling on by thatched cottages on through Montreal, Three Rivers under the gaze of Laurentian Highlands, on past black fly plains into the great bold City of Quebec. In nineteen forty-four, we disembarked in plumes of sulfurous coal smoky steam, to find the working house that mother had arranged. Because it was morning we took a walking tour, strolled the green Plains of Abraham, death place for brave Montcalm and Wolfe, over Dufferin Terrace, past Champlain's statue, we walked the narrow streets, they reminded me of home. Towards evening we arrived at the house my Mother had arranged. At the foot of Chateau de Frontenac, Canadian Pacific's castle of bacchanalian feasts and ever so discreet trysts between opulent tourists and native friendly hosts and hostesses. We could not go in there; it was too fancy for the likes of us. The man of the house allowed us in, I walked into the brightly-lit front room, wood trim painted a shiny white, walls a shade of egg. The floor lamps burning brightly, showing six very pretty ladies, sitting, smiling, speaking softly of amorous adventurous matters that escaped my understanding so completely in the well-lit room. They were draped in fancy dresses of pastel pinks and blues, their jewelry reflecting the light from lovely swan like necks and dainty wrists and fingers. The room was so shiny bright that it astounded me. Mother greeted the other ladies with friendly smiles and hugs, they were sisters in the trade. Mother was very smart and beautiful, just like the other pretty ladies, she spoke French with such ease and oh so very well. I thought they were nice ladies, no, I knew they were nice ladies, but I did not know what they said, I was worried about that, so I held tight to Mothers hand. The man took us to our room, he was very friendly man, took great pains to welcome me, he spoke good English and tried hard to make me feel at home. He said I looked a goodly boy, I was the kind of boy that he could help, he would take me under wing, I would do well in Quebec City, he would teach me his dearest secrets, I was handsome, tall, straight for eight, he would groom me for a leader's role, I must learn the language fast. Mother unpacked our things, dressed in her fancy clothes, put on her strings of pearls, clipped slave bracelets to her wrists, slipped on her cut glass rings, did the powder, rouge and lip stick thing, she prepared herself for the night. Kissing me on the lips, Mother passed out through the door, she left me by myself again, I hoped she would have some fun, enjoy the cool summer night. Mother got back early morning, careful not to wake me. It went that way for about a week, I still could not speak French; I missed my friends at home, grandfather would miss me, I knew that I missed him. During breakfast one morning, Mother asked if I liked Quebec, could I live here and grow to become the great man she knew that I could be. I lied "of course I can". Leaving my French toast, buttered with powdered sugar sitting on the green counter top; I slipped silently off my stool, went outside the cafe to the street, sat on the curb and started to cry, something that was rare for me. Mother came out to me, asked me what was wrong; I told her I was homesick for the English language. Mother sat beside and said, "well then we'll just go home". She loved me a lot and I knew it broke her heart to leave, she wanted so to stay, but I was thinking of myself, cowardly and scared, it was and is my shame even to this brightly shining day. Next morning early we packed our bags silently slipping from the house, we walked down the hill to catch a cab. The man followed us running down the street, Mother talked to him in French, he was very mad at me, said I was a foolish boy. “Didn't I want to stay in his house, where I could someday take his place and grow up to be the King of beautiful old Quebec City?” Mother gave the man some money; I was afraid of him now, and glad we were going home. Now in later years I think I was a little fool, I would have been indeed the King of Quebec City. Bobby [This message has been edited by Robert E. Jordan (03-14-2008 10:44 PM).] |
||
| © Copyright 2008 Robert E. Jordan - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
What a very interesting story, Bobby. I think we all have a destiny we must follow and I guess your destiny was not Quebec for one reason or another but you made Quebec come alive, you have an amazing memory. Ida |
||
Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
Awwww, Bobby - she loved you so. And you know, you are King of Philadelphia in my mind. I agree with Ida. This is a very interesting poem - and, as always, you tugged on my heartstrings as you do so well. I am glad that you and Felix are here. A |
||
|
effjayel Senior Member
since 2007-09-30
Posts 1474At the Crossroads of Infinity |
Bobby, I loved the style of this one and also the story behind it, as sad as it is. It is obvious the depth of love that mom had for Felix, I guess parents the world over make similar sacrifices for their kids. After all, we all want the best for our kids, to maybe give them the opportunities & things we never had. I am sorry things did not work out in Quebec, but on the plus side I do not speak french so had Felix not moved & found his way somewhere else instead of here, I would never have had the daily pleasure of following his exploits. thanks again for keeping us updated on the little guy.... John |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Ida, Thanks hon. I'm pleased you found it interesting. I'm old, but I remember loads of stuff. Bobby |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Alison, Thanks Hon, Felix and I are just as glad to be here. Yes, Mom and I were very close. I'm still ashamed of being such a chicken. Bobby |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
John, One of the surprises of my life is the way Mom knew French. She was fluent in the language. She never ceased to amaze me. I kept asking my self: "How'd she do that?" Bobby |
||
|
JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Enjoyed reading this...James |
||
|
2islander2 Member Ascendant
since 2008-03-12
Posts 6825by the sea |
hi bobby, mothers have always great expectations for their kids, they all want their sons be king of quebec, i enjoyed your very interesting and moving poem, i discover with emotion your talent and wish i will be too a king of quebec for someone... Regards yann |
||
|
Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Did you know that yann is French Bobby? He is from Brittany. He came to this sight at my suggestion. I think he is doing a great job of learning English while writing for an English speaking audience. By the way I have a very good memory too. Sometimes a good thing, sometimes not so good, but always useful. Ida |
||
|
Joyce Johnson
since 2001-03-10
Posts 9912Washington State |
Dear Robert, I have been reading your Felix poems and thought you were describing your own childhood until I came across the one in which you say he was a cab driver you had met and you were telling his story. I have tried to find the first of your Felix tales and am not sure I have, but surely you have them in a book. I would feel very sorry for little Felix but I think he would hate that and get quite fierce about it. So may I say, I admire his spirit. Love, Joyce |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Yann, Thanks for reading, and for your kind words. I'm 71 years old now. I have taken all of my four children to Quebec City, and shown them the house their Grandmother worked out of for a short period of time. I still feel bad about having been such an eight year old coward, and disappointing my mother. She was a wonderfully kind mother. Perhaps I would have made more money as King of Quebec City, perhaps not. Good luck with learning English. Read a lot of people’s poetry here until you become comfortable with the language. Bobby |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Ida, Thanks for letting me know about Yann being French. I think he will do fine. Bobby |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
James, Thanks for reading my story. I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Bobby |
||
|
Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Joyce, Yes, some of the Felix stories are about a friend who now drives a cab. This story however is about my own childhood. Felix is me in this one. I still feel bad about disappointing my mother. Bobby |
||
|
Earl Brinkman Senior Member
since 2010-03-03
Posts 1183Osaka, Japan |
This story appears in City Boy Stays Alive. I knew that I had read it somewhere. Jack Roll also appears in the book. It is a good book. |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
