"I don't really want to go out," my husband growled as he stretched his legs further towards the fire, "I can't speak French anyway and I'll just be sitting there
while everyone chats around me, I will feel awkward. I wish you wouldn't accept these invitations without asking me".
I sighed, "we have to go, Marie has gone to a lot of trouble to help us and I would like to make friends with our French neighbours, we neednt stay long and anyway Marie and her husband Claude do speak some English."
I rustled together an easy meal, aware that aperitifs usually meant an alcoholic drink and not much in the way of food to soak up the effects of the liquor. I thought about what we could take, Mark was on a health kick and hadn't had any alcoholic beverage for two months now, he would have to make do with sparkling water and I would take a pot of my home-made apricot jam as a small present.
We were greeted with an abundance of warmth from Marie who took us straight inside the rustic home that she shared with her husband. They had renovated the interior themselves, in a simple way that had reused the existing materials and which maintained the character of the old French farmhouse. A large wood fire was burning fiercely surrounded by a circle of miscellaneous chairs placed to make the most of the warmth. A variety of glasses were set on a small table in the corner with a mix of drink bottles and some bread plates and knives.
There was a woman already sitting in the chair closest to the fire, she had her shawl wrapped tightly around her, but as we moved further into the room she stood and smiled at us as we were introduced and then kissed us on both cheeks in the traditional style. We all settled ourselves around the fire and exchanged pleasantries in a stilted fashion, Elsapet spoke no English so I translated with the help of our hosts and another guest who had just arrived.
Jean was a kindly man of mature years (as we all were) and his English had been acquired from expats whom he had befriended and worked for, chauffeuring them backwards and forwards to Toulouse airport. This was a valuable acquaintance for us as it was always a problem to reach the airport without the car.
Drinks were offered and handed around and we continued our conversation as Claude methodically divided up an onion tart that Marie had produced from the kitchen. The onion tart was a French fantasy of light flaky pastry filled with caramelised onions with just a slight covering of an egg and milk mixture and we
contentedly ate our way through this offering while listening to the incredible story of Elsapet unfold.
Elsapet is an Armenian who had married a man from Azerbaijan, they had met and fell in love at the school where they were both teaching in Azerbaijan. Hostilities between the two countries had been ongoing throughout the 20th century but had escalated during the late eighties and nineties with ethnic cleansing being carried out on both sides and intervention by the then USSR to try and prevent the attacks and violence between the two countries. Elsapet was forced to flee Azerbaijan to prevent being tortured and murdered as an Armenian but was not able to return to her own country because of her marriage to an enemy. She aranged her escape through people smugglers which cost a lot of money and left her husband and son. She was smuggled on a truck in a cardboard box and driven through Europe until she reached France. The driver offloaded her in Foix on his way through to Spain. She was penniless, but as she had practiced as a French teacher at least had the appropriate language skills. Her initial approach to the Mairie (like the Council) led her to be taken in by the Red Cross and she has re-established a life for herself in France. Unfortunately she is not able to make any contact with her husband and son and has not heard from them for many years.
Elsapet looked now to be in her late fifties/early sixties and I contemplated how dreadful it would be to leave your home and family under these circumstances in your mature years, she had been in France now for a few years.
We ended our evening with a hot drink and a traditional Armenian cake prepared by Elsapet and took our farewells. Jean followed our car as we drove down the steep bluff on the short ride home. He wanted to confirm where to collect Mark for his trip to the airport the next day, the air was freezing and our breath puffed out in white drifts as we waved goodbye and entered our front door, it had been a delightful evening spent amongst the warmth and generosity of new friends.