Misconceptions

His voice carried throughout the car on the Geneva-bound train and was broken only by his father’s hmm and un-huns. The father, dressed in a grey business suit, turned the pages of the paper he was reading.

Tired of sitting, the little boy popped up to greet the woman sitting behind and within a short time they were deeply engaged in conversation about the sun, cars and trucks visible out the window. He was bearing the weight of being two, a condition that would be relieved in April when he would be three. The point was emphasised with a third finger being added to the other two.

The woman gave him a paper and pen and he disappeared only to reappear and explain about the whale, boat, fish, castle he had drawn. He instructed her to draw a whale and a discussion about what whales do followed.

Every one nearby was watching and smiling, but the father just continued reading.

The little boy produced a small car and the woman had him play which-hand-is-the-car-hidden-in. He tried guessing both hands, but she insisted one or the other. He won. Then it was his turn to hide the car, and although the car was visible, she picked the wrong one which led to gales of laughter.

The woman then started folding paper into hats and boats that the child moved through the air and talked of storms.

I thought the father a bit uncaring but as we pulled into Geneva and were standing in the aisle with our coats and cases, he started talking.

“He never stops,” he said. “He barely sleeps.”

Hearing my accent the little boy switched to English. "Hello, Madam."

“We were in the states until six months ago,” the father explained. “I was a student.”

I learned they were African and on their way to visit the man’s brother in Gex a French town near Geneva.

As we started to leave, the little boy with the biggest brown eyes said au revoir or good bye madam to everyone who had been watching him getting the language right for their conversations that he must have overheard. He looked up at his father and hid his little hand in the big one. The father stroked the child’s closely cut curls and beamed at him.

I cancelled my thoughts of indifference and substituted the word “weary” and added “pride” and “love” as the child beamed back.