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Anjali was determined to learn as much French as she could, in the time available to her in Paris, however much that was.
So one day, walking past a bookstore, her eye was caught by an array of used books on a stand outside the shop. Read in French, she thought. That would be a good way to learn.
She picked through the books in the box marked “Poesie.” It turned out to hold a jumble of all sorts of books, including Camus and Sartre, which she’d read in college and did not enjoy at all. Why did people fuss over them? So hopeless. Of no use to her.
Her hand touched a book of poems by Rimbaud, Une Saison en Enfer, A Season in Hell. She’d heard of Rimbaud before. She probably should read him. She considered how his name would be pronounced in French. Well, truth to tell, it would be pronounced “Rambo,” but with the accent on the last syllable. Hmmm, that name was quite funny actually. She bought the book.
And struggled to understand it. Lots of words were new to her. She had to look up les larmes (tears) and abîme (abyss) and mechant (nasty, mean) and fainéant (lazy). Cadavre was easy. Needless to say, the poem seemed to be a bit unhappy. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to read about dead bodies.
But Rimbaud was world famous.
She sighed and plowed on.
