NOTES: The Psychic Dislocations of Dayton Lummis

Years ago Meredith and I rented a rural “gite,” or small farmhouse in the Dordogne region of France. It was October and the area was very rustic and quiet. On my afternoon walks I used to pass by a small store where Madame would be sitting outside in the still-warm fall air. I would nod, tip my straw hat and ask, “Comment ca va, Madame?” To which she would respond, “Tres bien, merci,” smiling quizzically. I think she wanted to engage me in conversation, with the tall perhaps Englishman with the moustache and surprisingly passable French accent. But she did not. Meredith a few times walked up to that store, for eggs once, for butter (“de beurre,” I coached her), and another time for a needle and some thread, which severely taxed Meredith’s very limited abilities with French, which were mostly for shopping for clothing. On each of her visits to the little store she got the impression that Madame “was asking about Monsieur”—me, obviously wanting information. But Meredith was not linguistically able to deal with that. I told her that on her next visit if she got the impression that Madame was asking about “Monsieur,” just smile and say, “Ah, Madame, Monsieur est BIZARRE!” That she did, and Madame’s eyes lit up, she smiled and said, “D’accord, oui.” As if everything had been explained. Which in a way it had, “bizarre” having a very special meaning in French. I guess that “eccentric” would be the best English equivalent. And after that, when I would pass by the store, after our usual exchange of pleasantries, Madame would smile knowingly at me and nod. Now she understood all! Monsieur is “bizarre!” D’accord…