La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, chapter 5 of the Intermediate 1 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

Deux jours plus tard, je prenais un verre avec Noëlle après notre leçon dans un petit café près de la Sorbonne. Il faisait beau et nous étions dehors pour profiter du soleil.

“Ah, j’adore Paris,” a dit Noëlle. “Cette ville est vraiment spéciale. Sydney est une belle ville aussi, bien sûr, et la baie et les plages sont magnifiques, mais Paris a une beauté qui est difficile de surpasser.”

“Tu te sens vraiment à l’aise ici, alors, Noëlle ?” j’ai demandé.

“En fait, c’est plus que ca, Leïla. C’est chez moi. Je me sens très bien dans ma peau ici. J’adore l’Australie, mais franchement, vivre en Europe me va très bien. J’ai très envie de rester ici.”

“Oui, Jean-Louis a dit que tu parlais de ça quand tu étais chez nous l’autre jour. Il a dit que tu vas essayer de trouver un travail ici pour pouvoir rester. C’est vrai ?”

“Oui, tout à fait. Un travail…ou un homme. Peu importe !” elle a exclamé.

“Mais comment ça, un homme ?” j’ai demandé, confuse.

“Ben, comme je disais à Jean-Louis, c’est une question de visa. Je peux avoir un visa pour rester ici grâce à un travail, ou grâce à un homme. Un homme français, bien sûr,” elle a ajouté et elle a souri. “Tu veux un autre vin rosé, Leïla ?”

“Ah, oui, pourquoi pas? Jean-Louis est à la maison avec les enfants ce soir. Je ne dois pas rentrer tout de suite.”

“Mais tu dois rentrer pour préparer son dîner, non ?” Noëlle me taquinait…je crois.

“Il n’est pas comme ça, Noëlle. C’est juste qu’il ne sait pas cuisiner, donc c’est plus facile si je prépare le dîner.”

“Mais c’est 1968, Leïla, pas 1938. Le monde a changé !”

Je voulais dire quelque chose, mais j’ai remarqué que Noëlle ne me regardait plus. Elle regardait Simon, mon professeur d’anglais qui traversait la rue.

“C’est ton prof, Noëlle ? Comment il s’appelle ?”

“Simon, mais - ” j’ai commencé à dire, mais c’était trop tard.

“Ooh, il est beau ! Simon ! Par ici ! Venez nous joindre !”

Et juste comme ça, ma vie est devenue un peu plus compliquée.

Two days later, I was having a drink with Noëlle after our lesson at a little café near the Sorbonne. It was nice weather et we were outside to make the most of the sun.

"Oh, I love Paris," said Noëlle. "This city is truly special. Sydney is a beautiful city as well, of course, and the harbour and the beaches are magnificent, but Paris has a beauty that is hard to beat."

"You feel really at ease here, then, Noëlle?" I asked.

"In fact, it's more than that, Leïla. This is my home. I fell really comfortable in my skin here. I adore Australia, but frankly, living in Europe suits me very well. I really want to stay here.”

“Yes, Jean-Louis said that you were talking about that when you were at our place the other day. He said that you are going to try to find a job here in order to be able to stay. Is that true?”

“Yes, absolutely. A job…or a man. Doesn’t matter!” she exclaimed.

“What do you mean, a man?” I asked, confused.

“Well, as I was saying to Jean-Louis, it’s a matter of a visa. I can have a visa to stay here thanks to a job, or thanks to a man. A French man, of course,” she added and she smiled. “Do you want another rosé, Leïla?”

“Oh, yes, why not? Jean-Louis is at home with the children tonight. I don’t have to go home straight away.”

“But you have to go home to make his dinner, don’t you?” Noëlle was teasing me…I think.

“He’s not like that, Noëlle. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to cook, so it’s easier if I prepare the dinner.”

“But it’s 1968, Leïla, not 1928. The world has changed!”

I wanted to say something, but I noticed that Noëlle was no longer looking at me. She was looking at Simon, my English professor, who was crossing the road.

“It that your teacher, Noëlle? What’s his name?”

“Simon, but - ” I started to say, but it was too late.

“Ooh, he’s handsome ! Simon ! Over here! Come and join us!”

And just like that, my life became a little more complicated.