Houseboat on the Seine. William Wharton

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      WILLIAM WHARTON

       Houseboat on the Seine

       To the river we love and all who live on it.

       ‘Love this river, stay by it, learn from it.’ Yes, he wanted to learn from it, he wanted to listen to it. It seemed to him that whoever understood this river and its secrets, would understand much more, many secrets, all secrets.

      — Hermann Hesse

       Siddhartha

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Epigraph

       1 Kindergarten Entrapment

       2 A Brief Enchantment

       3 The Cutting Edge

       4 In the Hands of the Gods

       5 Getting Up in the World – and Down

       6 White as Driven Snow

       7 The Floor Plan

       8 Smoothing Things Out

       9 Money Problems

       10 Time Passes and Then the Gangplank

       11 Family Arrangements

       12 Moving In!

       13 Digging Out

       14 Two Holes in One

       15 Dead Man Tales

       16 10-Meter I-Beams

       17 The Rug Merchants, Part I

       18 A Wonderful Surprise

       19 Bringing It Together

       20 Blood in the Street

       21 Impatience

       22 Finale, I Hope

       Also by William Wharton

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

      1

      Kindergarten Entrapment

      My wife, Rosemary, was for twenty-five years a kindergarten teacher at the American School of Paris. Last year, by French law, she was forced to retire. I must say, almost everything I’ve ever really needed to know, I learned from my kindergarten-teaching wife, except somehow, she never taught me how to live on a houseboat.

      About twenty-five years ago, she worked with a lovely woman named Pauline Lee. Pauline taught first grade next to Rosemary, and lived on the Seine in a houseboat. The houseboat was located in the small village of Le Port Marly, not far from Versailles and St Germain-en-Laye, ten miles west of Paris proper.

      One day, Pauline suggested that the kindergarten and the first grade go out on a field trip to visit her houseboat.

      My wife was enchanted with what she saw. I don’t really know if the kindergarten children were – that’s not my concern. My main concern is my wife, and she’s something to be concerned about. Anyway, she came home all excited and wanting to live on a houseboat. That sounded crazy enough, but was OK with me. Rosemary is subject to these impulsive, out-of-this-world decisions, and I’ve learned to go along for the ride.

      ‘Just tell Pauline to keep an eye out in case there are any cheap boats available, dear.’

      I’d had a few good painting sales for a change, and was feeling relatively flush. Oh, how easily one can dive in over one’s head … literally! My problem was I didn’t actually believe any of this was for real.

      Three weeks later, Pauline calls to tell us a houseboat only four boats toward Paris from theirs had burned to the waterline over New Year’s Eve, and she thought it might be for sale. We contact the owners, and sure enough it is. And I might say, for good reason, more good reasons than I could possibly realize.

      That weekend, we drive out to look at this boat. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m thinking that maybe we can take a nice walk in the forest at St-Germain-en-Laye. We stop by Pauline’s, and she points out the boat that’s for sale.

      We thought we would be having Pauline as a neighbor, but it didn’t work out that way. Bob, her husband, had been very much involved with the students during what the French call ‘Les Événements de Mai’, that is the Student Revolution. When all the smoke died down, Bob was asked to leave by the administration of the school where he worked, The American College of Paris. He not only left the job, but he and his wife left the country as well. They went back to Michigan, where Pauline is again teaching.

      We look over the quay down a muddy hill to the water. This is a flat-bottomed wooden boat, sixteen feet wide by fifty-four feet long. It’s actually more like a house than a boat. It has no real bow or stern. It’s just rectangular and flat. There’s no motor, no sails. It has wood siding with windows, the kind you might find in any ordinary house. It even has shutters on the windows. I’m thinking, where are the portholes? Pauline explains this boat had been built on an old sand barge by a French Arctic explorer named Victor Émile, sort of a French version of Admiral Peary, for his lady friend. That sounds romantic enough, but this boat isn’t very romantic now.

      Pauline has the key, so we walk down the squishy quay on stone steps, then up a small gangplank and into the boat. It’s completely smoke-damaged, the ceiling’s burned out with bare electrical wires hanging everywhere, and most shockingly impressive … truly burned down to the water on the river side. The water laps into the boat when scullers swish by. These turn out to be the main traffic on this dead arm of the Seine where the boat is located. There are about a dozen or so houseboats in this area, protected by an island in the center of the river. The advantage is the houseboats do