One evening in Arles

One evening in Arles (France)

That evening in Arles I saw two men speaking English . American men . They were lovers , I think .
I was a young mother in Arles , married to a Frenchman , with two small children . I was walking alone , taking the air after my childrens' birthday party . I sat down at a café table . I smiled at the American men , and said that I spoke English , and that for all I had never been to America , I had read so many wonderful writers , and through my reading knew about Long Island , that Martha's Vineyard place , all the places in Dreamcatcher , Updike and abattoirs , not to mention Walden , Connecticut . And those Little House on The Prairie Books ...Up until that night , I thought that Americans and Europeans were cousins .

Just wanted to say , as a young British woman in France , that I was a bit lonely for the words we have in common

Those gay , American men were very cold to me . I think they wanted to feel that they were in France , where Van Gogh painted . They did not want to have a young British mother out on a stroll after a birthday party talk to them . It was the coldest slap I have ever received . I felt distance and coldness from two American men one warm and perfumed night in Provence .

That night , I got drunk , and something terrible happened to me .