Desperate and Devastated

I was devastated. This was the second person in my life that was lost to such a horrible tragedy, even if I hadn’t known Isabel nearly as long or loved her nearly as much as Dennis.

 

Naturally, Isabel’s home had been left to her only child, a son. He and his wife and their daughter were soon be moving in and my services would no longer be needed. I was actually a bit appalled by their lack of concern for me. I wasn’t sure if it was the grief over the loss of Isabel, if they didn’t like Americans, or if they simply didn’t care and were determined to get me out of the house so they could have it to themselves regardless of the fact that I had no place to go.

 

It was at a gathering after Isabel’s funeral that I approached Emilie. I hated to do it but didn’t see what other alternatives I had. Emilie sipped some red wine as I explained my predicament to her.

 

“So what do you want me to do about it?” she asked with the cold indifference I expected from her.

 

“I understand that Isabel’s son barely knows me, but you and I at least have some history even if we don’t always agree on everything.”

 

She snorted. “There’s nothing I can do.”

 

“Yes, there is. You have compassion deep down. I know you do. After all, do you really want to see me on the streets in the freezing cold and snow in a country full of people I don’t even know and a language I can barely speak?”

 

“I’m sorry you’re in the situation you’re in. But I have no desire to take you home with me. You’re not my responsibility or my problem. Besides, if I took you with me, there goes your job.”

 

“But you would be paid. I still have some money from the sale of my house, Dennis’s pension, and life insurance that I get monthly. I still don’t have a work visa so I couldn’t go out and get any job, especially when I don’t know enough German. As you know, Isabel got me the cleaning job through a friend.”

 

“Yes, I know. Again, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to work it out on your own somehow.”

 

“Do you think this is what Isabel would want, Emilie? Do you think she would want you to just shrug and say oh well, shit happens but it’s not my problem? It’s not my problem that she’s going to freeze or starve on the streets, whichever happens first.”

 

“Hey, don’t try to put a fucking guilt trip on me, lady.”

 

“I’m not. Just take my money and make me your slave.”

 

Emilie blinked as she eyed me sternly yet quizzically, caught off guard. “What the hell are you talking about, Marguerite?”

 

I cleared my throat. “I don’t mean a sexual slave, of course. But all I need is a place to sleep, pee and shower, then I can give most of my money to you yet still have enough for my basic needs plus to save up to return home. You wouldn’t even know I was there. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse whenever you’re home and do anything you want. You want the place cleaned, I’ll clean it. You want your food cooked, I’ll cook it. You want your laundry washed, I’ll wash it.”

 

When Emilie said nothing, I went on. “I can pay you monthly or make smaller weekly payments if you want. It’s a simple, instantaneous online transaction. If it works out, and I have confidence that it will, I’ll return to the US once I have enough saved to buy a ticket and a cheap dumpy old trailer somewhere in Florida where the cost of living is lower and the weather is nice. There’s just no way I can work here unless you too, know someone like Isabel did.”

 

I could tell Emilie was tempted as much as she was trying to fight it.

 

“Come on, I know you. Even though we didn’t always see eye-to-eye, I know you wouldn’t sleep too well if you knew I was stranded out here wherever,” I said gesturing toward the cold, depressing landscape around us with its old, ugly looking buildings and bare tree branches that sat below a depressingly gray sky.

 

Emilie remained in thoughtful silence.

 

“Let’s call it a trial run instead of anything permanent. Give me a try and if you don’t like me around or my services, you can kick me out and then it will be my problem and mine only. It will be up to me to have to figure out how to survive and I’ll either sink or swim and it will all be on me.”

 

Finally, with much hesitation in her voice, Emilie asked, “Where’s your shit?”