One of our first classes was history and the professor was the epitome of those French leftist teachers. He had said before I went for a year to the US that La Fayette was a traitor to his people and the revolution for having defended a constitutional monarchy.
We were soon to discover another nasty facet, "It is rumored that the GI said "Lafayette nous voila !" when they landed in Normandy..."
"Mademoiselle American Lafayette please stand, have your ancestors liberated us from the Nazis to thank us for La Fayette's help with your independence war?"
Mary-Anne stood, "My name is Laforge-Lafayette from Lafayette, Louisiana , US of A, I am indeed an 'American Lafayette', but that isn't my name. We liberated France as a gateway to Berlin to take down the Nazi regime..."
"Yes, and on the way American bombings have killed hundred of thousands of civilians because they bombed from high altitude to lessen the risks to American pilots. That wasn't too courageous..."
Mary-Anne jumped on her feet, "You are implying that our pilots were cowards!" She also legged it down the classroom till slapping him. She would have slapped him left and right if he hadn't caught her wrist. "Lack of nerves, arrogance, and one sided, very American !"
It was unfair, he had provoked her, and he was painfully twisting her wrist. I charged him with swinging my satchel, his glasses flew and I bloodied his nose. He let go or her, and followed us calling blue murder as we left the classroom.
We were lead to the Dean's office by a supervisor, and Mister Commie followed. We gave our side of the incident, and he gave his. The Dean was no idiot, and told us that we should have fought him on his ground, "...with reasoning!" We both got a pink slip.
We returned home fuming and gave our pink slips to Papa. He was furious! He agreed with the Dean about fighting him on his ground. He told us to wait while he called the university. We heard it all,
"I want that idiot out!"
"Otherwise I will file a suit with the ministry in Paris, the French American Lafayette committee, our député, our sénateur and the press and etc!
"No! I won't wait! I want him out by tomorrow, or I will raise a storm you can't imagine!"
He slammed the telephone down and turned to us, "Although justified you shouldn't have turned to violence. Unladylike behavior! I am going to teach you a lesson. Take off your skirts and knickers. Be thankful that I am sparing you the cane. Marie-Jeanne please bring the martinet."
"Hands on your head !"
With our bushy tufts exposed it was hard to say who was blushing the most. Suddenly the dance started, Papa, aka Uncle George, alternated between the two of us. It was mostly our bums who were concerned by the chastening martinet, but at time we rubbed. Then our thighs were whipped back and front. We hopped, skipped, wriggled, and dodged but there was no way to avoid the punishing martinet. He didn't count the strokes, and we were too busy dancing to count them. Stroke after punishing stroke. We gritted our teeth but it was to no avail.
Mary-Anne wailed, “Oooowwwwwwwooowwwww!” I could feel where the leather laid on top of one welt after another. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. Another stroke from that infernal martinet. “Oh please, please, no more, I’ll never do it again!" echoed off the wood paneling of the room.
As suddenly as the retribution started it ended, and left us standing there, tears streaming from our eyes, and a prime example of humility. We were eventually told to stand in the corner with our hands on our head, our bottom and thighs were throbbing, ouch!
Next morning we pulled our minis as far down as they would go. Maman, aka Aunty Berenice, teased, "I guess I don't have to make sure that you haven't rolled them up !" We weren't humored. We had to wear skirts as we would be going straight from the university to our dance lesson, and Miss Russian-spy has always said that girls should wear skirts...
At the uni we were welcomed with wide grins from our classmates for having stood up to that teach. For the martinet welts decorating our thighs they teasingly sang, "Martinet aie! aie! aie!" It wasn't mean and we didn't mind.
Edouard my boyfriend had itchy palms and wanted to explore my decorated thighs under my skirt. "Doudou please, I don't want another pink slip and a belt smacking."
Mary-Anne teased Jean-Pierre, her French boyfriend, "These marks are so sore and tender, and they give off a heat you could feel on your sweaty little hands.”
Then Mary-Anne threw her head back and giggled as both of us left the boys standing there in the hallway....
Mary-Anne and Marie-Jeanne
Co-written with Jayent
To be continued...
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