Something is missing

THE Seven-up sign was there when I first came to Argelès in 1979. The store was a mammi and pappi grocery store run by a couple of "black feet" the term for French who grew up in mostly North Africa but geography can be flou and repats of countries in middle Africa sometimes are brandished with the term.

And there the sign stayed, after the store was taken over by their son and daughter-in-law, Jean-Pierre and Babette. 

Every morning, except Mondays, Jean Pierre would bring out the racks of onions, carrots, turnips, leeks, potatoes, beans and place them on the left of the door. Apples, melons, pears, peaches, depending on the season would go to the right.

At noon he would throw a blue tarp over the veggies and fruit and remove it at 3:00.

At 7:00 p.m., 12 hours after his day began, Jean-Pierre would move all the veggies and fruits inside and the lower the metal gate.

The store had no charm like chez Elizabeth and the other green grocery, who artfully arrange their wares on carts and in patterns. Still the produce was as good. The shelves inside were stocked with the basic canned goods, paper products, etc. A case offered local cheeses, sausages, ham. And there were eggs, milk, butter in an see-thru-door frigo.

Babette, not always the most smiley person, was ensconced behind the counter with the old-fashioned cash register and rang up orders. She would emerge to cut a wedge of cheese or slice ham for a customer. When things were slow, she'd knit or do cross stitch.

I would shop there rather than in any chain, because I cared more for the couple than some anonymous share holder, even if they might be lovely. More of my money stayed in the community as well.

There was a comfort to know if I needed an egg that I had forgotten to buy at 11:55 I merely had to gallop down the stairs and street. (Stores in the village usually shut for three hours at lunch and a wonderful peace descends).

Babette and I have shared Ptah II watching duties. Ptah II is the cat of a friend whose store and home is kitty-corner (no pun) to the grocery when the friend was away visiting.

Jean-Pierre and said friend were known to do a Gene Kelley routine and dance when it was raining and sing the classic song.

Margaux, the daughter of the owners of the restaurant Bartavelle, just a few doors down from the grocery, fell in love with Jean-Pierre from the time she could crawl. It was mutual. When she learned to walk he would hold her fingers and parade her up and down La rue de la Republique.

Now that Margaux is in school she has her goute there and after finishing her cookie, she and Jean-Pierre have been known to play whale either over or under one of those blue tarps spread out in an aisle.

The sign is still there, but the store has closed. Jean-Pierre and Babette have retired and it seems so strange to walk by and NOT have it open.

Something is missing in the village and the sign is a sad reminder.