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Mending fences Zee French Have Zee Way, Non?By Rick Horowitz
Jacques was always good with flowers. Baskets spilling over with lilies, or tulips singing in every color of the rainbow, or a single bud poking from a perfect vase -- Jacques just had a feel for them. For flowers, and for the things that flowers can do. George was more of a sagebrush sort. That didn't keep Jacques from trying. He would keep trying for as long as was necessary. When one has a goal, one is not easily deterred. Also when one is growing desperate. And if Jacques was not yet entirely desperate, it was only because he had not yet permitted himself to consider all the consequences, to say the words aloud: Jacques and George, apart forever. This he couldn't bear. The small white delivery van had been bouncing its way across the Texas plains for hours, kicking up dust clouds with every bump and pothole. By the time it rolled into Crawford (and quickly out the other side), the van was the color of the toast they serve at roadside truck stops. Not that the driver had paused for a moment at any of those places. His instructions were clear. Get the flowers to the ranch. Now. Jacques had had his people call ahead, had let the men at the security perimeter know the flowers were coming, and when, and why. He could not afford to have his peace offering turned back, left wilting in the morning heat, before George had had a chance to see for himself. Before Jacques' flowers could work their magic yet again. The men at the perimeter had gotten the word; the flowers passed carefully from van to officers, then into a nondescript sedan. A short ride away, they were handed to other officers, who carried them gently to the front door, where still other officers took them -- at last -- inside. Such are the ways of a dangerous time. "You've got flowers, hon!" That lilting voice belonged to Laura. She was George's rock, and somehow, his soft side as well. They both understood how important that soft side was, because George, for all his many charms, was a man with a long memory and a short fuse. In the wrong circumstances, the combination could be dangerous. Laura took it as her mission to watch out for circumstances. "Hon?" she called out again. "You've got flowers. I think they're from Jacques." "Feed 'em to the goats." "We don't have any goats!" "Then toss 'em in the trash with that other stuff." Who knows what makes men who have gotten along get along no longer? Perhaps they come to see the world, or their proper place in that world, very differently. Perhaps one of them seems determined to thwart the other's designs, however well-intentioned. Or perhaps it's something as trivial as money -- ten billion dollars here or there for this or that contract, for control of this or that pipeline. These, too, are matters that can drive men apart, and keep them apart, even if one of them tries to repair the breach. When Jacques sent George the chocolates, row after row of creamy truffles and hand-dipped strawberries, George refused to take a single bite. When Jacques sent George the necktie, dozens of tiny Eiffel Towers intertwined with dozens of tiny Statues of Liberty, George never opened the box. And now the flowers. Beautiful flowers. "And he sent a note," said Laura, handing him a pale blue envelope. "Isn't that sweet?" Certainly not, thought George. Not after all the grief that Jacques had caused him. It was much too late to patch things up, no matter how far Jacques was willing to crawl to apologize -- although the thought of Jacques on his belly in the Texas dirt did nearly bring a smile to his lips. Then George looked down at the piece of paper in his hand and his jaw set as hard as concrete. Laura saw it happen. "What does he say?" she asked him. "He says, 'I forgive you.'" Posted 4/18/03. Keep
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Rick Horowitz
