Funny Man

Today I saw Ari and Nicki go right past Funny Man, appearing not to notice that he was making little horns on his head and pointing at Nicki. Perhaps they're getting tired of the game, though they may have been oblivious as six- and seven-year-olds can be.

Funny Man is what the girls call him, and I don't know his real name, though I think Stri does. Our first day here, we arrived in our apartment to an odd assortment of things in the cupboards; a bottle of mint syrup, some random spices, a box of Kellogg's Special K, whatever the last people to stay here didn't consume, and the owners thought shouldn't be thrown away.

I headed out on a shopping expedition, getting turned around in all the narrow old streets and buying milk, water, eggs, cereal, soap in a store many blocks further away than the closest one, which is the one that Funny Man runs. By the time I had carried back my haul, my fingers were white and hurting. Buying water and carrying it for blocks now seems incomprehensible, but on our first day here, it seemed like the right thing to do.

There are many little grocery stores, tucked in here and there, some associated with a chain such as Vival, and some independent, such as Funny Man's, which carries the grandiose name, repeated twice, of Alimentation General, though the most prominent features are the chicken roaster outside and a large yellow blow-up can of "Dark Dog" energy drink strapped to the door. Funny Man's is open about 12 hours a day, seven days a week, and carries a rather random example of various staples in small sizes and things that might distinguish this store from those just a block or so away. Once, there was a bottle of Canadian maple syrup on the shelves, the first we'd seen, but not again, though they did get more for us later as a favor.

Ari's first real independent expedition here in Aix (being seven, and older, she got to go before Nicki) was to go down four flights of stairs, carefully cross the street, walk up to Funny Man's, and get something, I can't remember what. She had to order in French and pay in Euros, and the grin on her face didn't fade for a long time upon returning having successfully accomplished her feat. Stri and I had been watching with both anxiety and pride from the window and but as soon as we heard the downstairs door buzzer, we pretended to be casually unconcerned.

Here is a picture of the girls on an expedition to get a roast chicken, taken from the window of our apartment.

Clearly Funny Man found the girls cute, and would give them candy or a present of fruit even if the girls were just walking by. He would gesture at them, a little angel gesture, making small flapping wings with his hands up near his shoulders alternating with creating a halo with an index finger and then pointing at them. Then he'd gesture to himself and make little horns, like a bull or a devil. Over the weeks, this transmogrified into Funny Man pointing at Nicki and making the bull/devil signs, to which she responds by making the angel signs and pointing to herself, not just once or twice, but with a continuous fluidity possible only by the very young and practiced, almost like a talisman.

Now, even Nicki has gone to Funny Man's on her own, once three times in a row because she kept forgetting something after stubbornly refusing to make or carry a list. Though her neglect may have been intentional to go again a second time, she clearly didn't want to go a third, and it was only because her sister volunteered to go that she mustered the effort to go up and down the stairs again. Now, Stri will say "we need some milk, who's going to Funny Man?" and gets a chorus of "me, me!" in response.

One of the best things about being in Aix as long as we have is getting to see the texture of life here. I can't imagine Aix without Funny Man hanging out in front of his store, greeting those who walk by, especially anyone here for more than a day or two. I have a feeling the girls, especially Nicky, will be making little angel gestures for years to come.