Gossip and Crime

June 29, 2015

     Just how gossipy is Caunes?  It depends to whom you talk, but in general I would say "very".  This has a connection to the petty crime that happens, which plays out in a funny way.

     I found out how gossipy in my particular case, some people are, on my way to the shops to do errands this morning.  On my way, I ran into my elderly cycling partner coming back from the boulangerie and the butcher's on his bicycle.  He greeted me in his usual cheerful way,  and stopped his bicycle to chat.  Within seconds, I learned that the cashier at the butchers had told him that she took care of Beau while I took communion at Mass yesterday evening.

     This was true:  I have taken to hiking to church, sitting outside with Beau so as not to disturb either my next door neighbors or parishioners at Mass.  When I need to take communion, I either tie Beau to a nearby tree, or someone offers to hold him for me in the meantime.

      Yesterday, the cashier at the butcher's --a woman my age who does not attend Mass, but drives her mother there and back each Sunday-- offered to take Beau.  I like her, but she is not someone who can keep anything secret.  "She and her mother are the biggest gossips in the village", a friend (who shall be nameless, as everyone but one in this post will be), cautioned me.  "If there is anything personal you don't want spread around town, she's not the person to tell."

      On the other hand, it is essential to be able to obtain information from trusted friends in order to be aware of who in the village might be a potential source of problems.  And since it is now widely known that there is a drug market not far from my door, to know who might be affiliated, is to know whom not to share my opinions with, so as to avoid being "tagged" with a grudge by part of the gang.

       And grudges abound in Caunes, as in any small community.  I now understand why Agatha Christie found such inspiration in the small English village: people living close together become very aware of each other: their habits, their comings and goings and their personal lives.

       For instance, I now know that one of my friends is detested by a young man affiliated with the drug trade, a grudge which began because she obtained an order that the road where he normally parks be closed off.  The closure came on account of a wall in danger of collapse which is shared by my friend and an English couple.  Arriving in his car a few days ago, concluding my friend had denied him his usual parking space by the wall, the young man hurled obscenities at my friend in front of the head of the village police, who was setting up the barricade.  My friend in turn warned him that he was on notice that she would lodge a formal complaint if he verbally abused her in the future, and the policeman was her witness.

      I know, too, that the red car always parked in front of the drug dealer's house is actually owned by the boyfriend of the young woman who cleaned for me last year, a young man who made bookshelves for me then.  I know that the car is uninsured and that the police have warned the owner that if it is involved in an accident there will be hell to pay.  (The cars are bought cheap on the black market.)  I know too, that my former cleaning woman's car is, also, uninsured.

       I felt violated by having my tires deflated, but I now know that last Saturday night, this young woman had her car  broken into and the gas line damaged by an attempt to siphon off the contents of the tank.  More, the intoxicated or drugged young man I met early yesterday morning and referred to in yesterday's blog, is believed by the police to be the person who vandalized the car.

     And I know that my neighbor down the street had his car damaged a few weeks ago by someone trying to siphon gas; that an Englishwoman had the same thing happen last week; and that a man who raises burros and horses in Caunes' countryside was broken into: there is an angry sign posted on the farm gate, warning anyone thinking they would try to break in again that they will be met with the full force of his fury.

       One of my friends heard someone trying to break into her restaurant last week: she stuck her head out the window of her garden and realized two young women and a young man had climbed on top of a  garbage bin and were trying to enter the house through an open window.  My friend had sang froid: she shouted out the window "I see you and I just took a photo of you, which I am taking to the police in the morning!"

       The malefactors answered back, "Oh, it's nothing, don't be afraid!" and ran away.  My friend recognized one of the girls as someone who had dropped off a resume, hoping for a waitressing job for the summer.

        This morning when I spoke about all these events with the one person I will name in the post, Gilles Adiveze, the head of the municipal police; he told me that I was wise to put my car in my garage, despite the challenge of parking it.  He also said I should never open my front door automatically because someone rang the bell.  He advised me that I should either get a chain for the front door, or, when someone knocks, go up to the second floor and look out the window.

         "It's disconcerting when they see someone, and if they meant any harm, they'll scram when they see you.  And you have a dog, which is reassuring."

          A male friend was more philosophic.  "I never locked my door when I went out until recently.  And I still leave my wares out for anyone to buy on the honor system.  Some people think that's crazy, 'How can you do that?'.

          "But if you start to be taken over by a paranoia then the bastards win.  The bastards will win in the end, anyway, but they don't have to win because you gave into fear."