“Listen” she whispered to me while we enjoyed the final parts of one of those lovely musical comedies at the famous Le Bataclan in Paris. She whispered because the entire house seemed to have stopped breathing in order to preserve the kind of silence demanded by those on the stage. With her lips close to my ear, something that I enjoyed as much as what was going on in the stage, she said: “I just remembered a great story that I promised myself I would tell you. Since you seem to write about many things, most of them unimportant and insipid, the one I have should fit in your repertory quite well”
At that point, we both heard the gentle shhs from people nearby, so I gestured to her to stop talking. Helene is one of my favorite executives in the entire European publishing industry and besides her charm and beauty, she shares with me the passion for sailboats, the unplanned meandering along the European canal systems and a the predilection for light musical comedy.
Some moments later, as we were sitting side by side at Lipps, I said:
“Now, sweet temptation of the entire Boulevard Raspail, tell me a story!”
French women have a special way to hold a champagne flute that can cause serious disruption of mental processes on the part of whoever is lucky to be sitting in front of them. It is not a particular pose, or coquettish demeanor but a simple but alluring intention that carries a world of mystery and excitement. Helene claims that it is due to the fact that the man in front is usually two or three sips ahead of the lady. Well, I had to make an effort to remind her about the story. This the way she put it:
“It is a silly story, really. But is has a bit of nonsense that is quite French. I am sure your readers would enjoy a bit of humor. You see, thieves in Paris have a special skill when it comes to quick ventures. Normally, a thief can open a car and remove whatever is worth removing in a few seconds. Museum thieves however are hard to find. Security is such at the Parisian museums that it takes a clever thief to be able to bypass alarms and controls, neutralize video cameras and then remove whatever he wishes to steal. It is probably easier to rob a jewelry store or a bank than a French Museum.”
The introduction sounded good and I said so. She lifted the flute and took a discreet sip, while I watched her do it and kept trying to identify the nature and expression of her moves that brought that excitement into my nervous system. She continued:
“This is the story of a well educated thief who happened to be an art lover. He decided to steal some paintings from the Louvre Museum. After carefully planning the coup, he prepared a rather effective plan and at the chosen time he quickly got past security, stole the paintings he had in mind and with the same speed, carried the stolen paintings to the safety of his van. As he moved away from the Museum, he smiled pleased that the task had been completed with no major inconvenience. He was about to continue congratulating himself when the van suddenly ran out of gas and the police were all around him in no time at all. And it was only two blocks away on the Rue de Rivoli! He could kick himself for committing such crass error.”
She saw that she had my attention, smiled and had another sip. I asked her:
“Okay, what happened next?”
Again she smiled, with a bit of a mischievous touch and continued:
“Once at the Police Station he was asked how he could mastermind and execute a crime of such magnitude, overcome the strict security measures and then make such a stupid mistake as forgetting to fill the gas tank of the van!”
Again, she stopped, smiled and of course took another sip. Then she asked me:
“Are you ready?’
Not knowing what was coming I nodded affirmatively. She then delivered the final chapter of the story:
“The thief shrugged his shoulders and replied to the Comisaire: Monsieur, please try to understand my simple reasoning. You see, one of the reasons that I went through all the trouble to plan and execute this robbery is simply that I had no Monet to buy Degas in order to make the Van Gogh!”
