MON COOZAN, Part 1

In the ETO - Fall, 1944

{A/N: I'm probably playing fast and loose with the facts on one thing. I know "Lacassine Special" was recorded for the first time after the war, but I'm not sure when Iry LeJeune would have written or performed it live before that. He did perform in Eunice prior to WWII, so I'm assuming Caje could have been there. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I have tried to footnote unusual French (especially where Cajun usage deviates from Standard French). I've been trying to keep The Unknown French to a minimum but it creeps in sometimes.

"Coozan" is a Cajun version of the French "Cousin", which means just what it looks like. Cajuns sometimes call each other that – one commentator says he thinks all Cajuns can connect up as cousins through one ancestor or another. [] = Dialog all in French.}

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Paul LeMay took a little time away from the war to be a person again. Not Private First Class LeMay. Not even Caje, the nickname his squadmates gave him. Just Paul again, with nothing to do for the moment except to track down Sarge and find out about his pass. Then he could locate something pleasant to drink and perhaps a pretty face to share it with.

He was rounding the rubble from a blown-up building when he heard a familiar sound, but not one he'd encountered since England, when he and Theo had cheerfully irritated the rest of the barracks by singing songs popular in their Cajun culture.

"O ye yaie, mais rappelle toi ..."

He grinned and rounded the corner, to find a short, stocky man in a private's uniform sitting on a crate leaning against the wall of the rickety building behind him, cap lowered over his eyes. Caje joined him in the verse.

"Petite fille tout les accroires/Les promesses ça tu m'as fait ..."

Taken unawares, the man jerked and nearly fell off the crate. "What t'e'll ..." He lifted the cap off his eyes and squinted at Caje.

"I didn't as' for no sing-a-long, eh?"

Caje shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't realize t'is was a private party." He started to walk away, disappointed.

"'Ey. Wait!" Caje heard the man scramble to his feet behind him and glanced back.

The other man caught up to him. "Mo chagren[i], coozan. Just came off a long patrol, and ah, I'm tired. Didn't mean to snap at a fellow Cajun. Remy LeFranc."

"Paul LeMay." The two of them shook hands.

"Where you from, Paul?"

"Bayou Liberté."

"You over by t'e ville[ii], eh? I'm from Lacassine."

"Like the song?"

"Ah, you heard of Iry LeJeune?"

"He came over to Eunice and some amis of mine, t'ey as'ed me to come over and see him."

"Not bad, eh?"

"Nope, not at all."

They grinned at each other and started singing again, together.

"O ye yaie, mais rappelle toi
'Tite fille tout les accroires
Les promesses ça tu m'as fait
Tu connais je mérite pas ça
Tu m'as dit toi tu m'aimais ..." [iii]

"Will you stop that howling, Frenchy? If I told you once ..." There was no humor or affection in the reprimand. It came from a man wearing a sergeant's stripes who exited the CP with Saunders.

Remy scowled, Caje's expression was a combination of bewilderment and irritation. Saunders surveyed his counterpart noncommitally. Then he nodded at his scout. "Got it for you, Caje …"

"T'anks, Sarge." He took the pass. "Where will I find you when I get back?"

"Same place you left us, as far as I know."

"Sarge, I found anot'er Cajun - meet Remy LeFranc. Remy, t'is is my Sarge, Sergeant Saunders."

"Nice to meet you, LeFranc." Saunders extended a hand. After a moment's hesitation, LeFranc took it and they shook.

"I suppose you want some time off, too, Frenchy."

"If it's all right wit' you, Sergeant Quillan," Remy said indifferently.

"I guess. But don't come back drunk, you hear? I need you to translate for me."

"Non, Sarge. Of course not."

After the two Cajuns left, Sarge looked at Quillen. "You were kind of hard on him, weren't you?"

"Aint got no use for them Cajuns. Lazy bastards, wouldn't see any reason to have 'em around if they didn't parly the frantzy," Quillen drawled.

"Lazy? Really?" Sarge sauntered down the street. "That's not my experience. Caje is the Acting Squad Leader when I'm not around. Good scout, too."

Quillen looked at Saunders skeptically. "Oh, they assigned you a saint, did they?"

Saunders snorted, thinking of the last occasion he and Caje had leave at the same time. "He's no saint, but he's a damn good soldier."

"Well, LeFranc isn't. Hardly talks to anyone else in the squad. Does his work but that's about it."

"Thought social skills were only a military priority if you were an officer. Besides, maybe he doesn't speak a lot of English. We had a guy in our squad like that."

"I don't know and I don't care. Not interested in making friends with my men. Just want them to do what I ask 'em. Don't much care for Frenchy's sullen attitude, though."

Sarge thought about Caje's quiet competence and how mostly the squad got along fine, although Kirby's attitude had been pretty bad at first and he and Caje had struck sparks off one another.

"I guess everyone gets a little 'sullen' once in a while. Even me. Hard to be all sunshine and roses when it's 'kill or be killed'."

"You got an answer for everything, don't you, Saunders?"

"Everything, no. But I do know how I'd feel in LeFranc's shoes."

"Yeah, yeah. Cue the violins."

They split up at the crossroads and went to join their squads.

The two Cajuns walked through the village. LeFranc nudged Caje and nodded towards a small storefront on the left.

"Don't look like much, but we get t'e distant relation discount here," he grinned.

The scout laughed. "Lead t'e way, Remy."

They ducked through the doorway. Remy removed his cap and Caje his beret.

"Messieurs, bienvenue." The proprietor nodded and gestured for the two of them to sit.

Caje carefully lowered himself onto a rather splintered chair and looked around. "T'is must have been a very nice bistro at one time."

LeFranc nodded. "T'e owner, he tell me t'at it was the best in town, but t'e Boche t'ought it was Maquis headquarters and did their best to put him out of business. He kinda went underground until we got here."

[Remy! You have returned!] A slender, pretty girl in a neatly patched dress hugged an embarrassed LeFranc and conferred a smile on an amused Caje. [And with a friend, no?]

[Oui. This is Paul LeMay. He is a Cajun, like me.]

[Welcome, Paul LeMay! I am Jeannette Aucoin.]

He smiled at her. [Enchante[iv], Mademoiselle!]

[Et moi, aussi![v] This is my father, François Aucoin.]

The owner returned with two glasses and a slender bottle. [I'm pleased to meet you, Monsieur LeMay. Messieurs, this is something very special I would like you to try.] He manipulated a corkscrew and pulled the cork. He extended it to Remy, who waved it off, redfaced. "Ah, I never known what to do wit' it."

Caje reached for it, sniffed it and handed it back to the proprietor, nodding appreciatively. [You sniff it to see if it smells like wine or like what corks are treated with,] he explained to Remy. [If it smells like the cork, the wine might not be any good. And if it smells like wine, you'd want to make sure there's no hint of sourness.]

[Merci, Paul. You're t'e expert.]

The proprietor poured a small amount of wine into a glass and handed it to Caje. Thankful that his father had made him learn how to properly taste wine, he breathed in the bouquet, swirled the wine in the glass, took a small taste of it and rolled it across his palate. He lifted the glass to look at the color, pleased, and smiled at Aucoin. [Monsieur, this is exquisite! Thank you for sharing it with us.]

[My pleasure! I'm pleased to meet a fellow connoisseur of good wine.]

[I'm not as knowledgeable as I'd like to be. My father insisted that I at least learn something, but I'm still developing my palate.]

[Ah, that comes in time. What is important is that one takes at least the first steps.]

He poured wine for both of them. Retreating to the back of the bistro, he returned with a platter of bread and cheese, which he placed with a flourish in front of the two soldiers.

"Hey, Frenchy. Knew if we found you, we'd find the good stuff!" Two GIs swaggered their way into the little establishment, plopped down on chairs and grinned insolently at their squad mate.

"Hey, gar-sone, how about some service here, toot sweet!" The bigger man snapped his fingers at M. Aucoin.

The two Cajuns scowled.

"Perhaps you would be more at home somewhere else," Paul glared at the men. "I don't think anything here would suit your sensibilities."

"Didn't ask you, bud. Whatchoo, the local whatzit for culture?"

"I see somethin' that suits my sensibilities just fine, thanks." The other man gave Jeannette a lecherous once-over.

"Leave her alone, Prentiss." Remy stood. "We're supposed to be t'e good guys. T'e ones who help the French, not insult their women."

Caje stood in support of his new friend and the four soldiers glowered fiercely at one another.

"Who said anything about insulting, Frenchy? We're just here to have a good time. Afraid I'll cut in on your action?"

Behind them, a very tall figure ducked into the room. "Hey, Caje."

"Littlejohn? Hey, t'ey sent you back! You all better now?" The scout shook hands with his friend.

"Yeah. Just thought I'd see if you needed anything." He looked meaningfully at the two soldiers from Remy's squad.

"I don't know. Do I need anyt'ing?"

Prentiss and his friend looked Littlejohn over. Behind the big man, Billy, Kirby and Kirkbride looked into the building.

"No, I don't suppose you do." Quillen's men stood and began to leave. "But you better believe I won't forget this, Frenchy. You either, bud. Count on it."

Littlejohn watched them out. "See you, Caje. Have a good 24 hours, okay? But be careful."

"Right, Littlejohn. Good to have you back."

The big man grinned. "I'd say it's good to be back, but Kirby's still here."

"Why you ..." The BAR man sputtered behind Littlejohn as the soldiers left and Caje laughed and shook his head.

"You seem to get along good wit' your squad. Dey your friends, non?"

"Yeah, t'ey are. As much as I'll let 'em be, anyway."

"Ah." Remy sipped at his wine. "You lost someone, eh? Someone from home?"

Caje nodded, unsmiling.

"I see. But dey don't give you a hard time, ces gars[vi]?"

The scout raised his eyebrows in surprise. "T'em? Non. Oh, Kirby used to make me t'e misère[vii], back in t'e beginning, but we get along fine now."

LeFranc didn't say anything. After a while Caje eyed him and spoke. "I'm guessin' you don't have such a good time, eh?"

"Non. De sergeant, he from East Texas."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You know?"

"Got family went to the oilfields. I heard."

"Mais[viii], he don't like me 'cause I'm Cajun and so nobody like me. Unless t'ey want me to translate for some jolie fille[ix] or t'ey need to talk to somemaire[x] or t'e Maquis. T'en I'm dere best ami, you know? Ot'er t'an t'at, I might as well be invisible."

"I'm sorry, Remy. I guess I had it better t'an I knew. You want to see if I can get you transferred? I'd like havin' anot'er Cajun in t'e squad."

"Never happen. Quillen'd make de potain[xi] big time. Like I said, he don't t'ink much of us Cajuns, but he needs a translator. Why t'e ot'er day, dey brought me up and dere were all dese German soldiers. I said what you bring me for, I don't speak German. Turns out dey were from Alsace-Lorraine, and dey spoke French! I never heard of Alsace-Lorraine, me. You?"

Caje nodded. "T'e Germans and t'e French been fightin' over it for hundreds of years. So, d'you understand 'em? I don't always get what the locals say. T'ey talk a different language sometimes, almost."

"I know. But ya, I get what t'ey say. T'e Germans ordered 'em to fight for t'e Nazis and t'ey just wanted out. I t'ink t'e bigwigs sent 'em to fight wit' deFrançais Libre – de Free French, you know?"

"Oui." The scout yawned. "I'm sorry, coozan. I'm more tired t'an I thought. You know a place with clean sheets and maybe does laundry?"

"Yah. Go out and to t'e left, down t'ree houses or so and look for t'e blue door. Madame Delamalliere has rooms. She'll clean your uniforms too."

"T'anks."

The two of them shook hands. "Hope I'll see you later, Paul."

"You, too, Remy." Caje finished his wine and stood. He bowed over a blushing Jeanette's hand and waved goodbye to her father.

"Aw, I didn't do nothin'."

"Kirby, you just better hope Sarge doesn't hear about it."

Caje shook his head. "What'd you do now, Kirby?"

Littlejohn opened his mouth to speak, and Kirby cut him off.

"Never mind. Did those guys come back and give you a hard time?"

"Nah. T'anks for t'e support, you guys."

"No problem." Littlejohn stretched and yawned. "Beats me why so many of our guys need to be such jerks. I understand letting off steam, yeah, but it's how, sometimes."

"That's right." Kirby nodded firmly. "No reason why you can't have fun and not cause trouble."

Doc snorted, Billy rolled his eyes, Kirkbride and Littlejohn exchanged a look of disbelief and Caje hid a grin.

"T'ey should follow your example, non? Be a good citizen like you?"

Yeah! That's right! Like me!"

\The squad burst out laughing and Kirby shook his head in exasperation. "With friends like you guys … geez."

Saunders stuck his head in the door. "Glad to hear you're all in such a good mood. Get your gear. We're going out."

The squad assembled with some good-natured grumbling. "Where are we going, Sarge?"

"Does it matter, Kirby?"

"Well... no. ."

"We'll be heading in the general direction of Germany. That enough for you?"

"Sure, Sarge. Just askin'"

As they neared the outskirts of the village, they met up with another squad. The squad leader turned, and Caje saw with a flash of dislike that it was Quillen.

Kirby nudged him and pointed with his chin at the last man in line. It was Remy; his face bruised just enough to be noticeable. Kirby and Caje looked at one another and then turned to look for Prentiss; Caje glared at the other man, silently promising him payback.

"Caje!"

"Yes, Sarge." He took a deep breath, focused on the job at hand and jogged forward to where Saunders was standing with Quillen.

"Take a look here." The two sergeants held a map between them. Saunders outlined the route the detail was supposed to take. Caje pointed out two possible obstacles and the sergeants agreed on revisions.

"We'll lead," Saunders told Quillen. "Caje, take the point. Kirby!"

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"You've got the rear of the detail."

"Right away, Sarge."

Kirby pulled up beside LeFranc. "Hey. I'm Kirby, BAR man for this squad. You okay?" he asked quietly out of the side of his mouth.

"I'll be all righ'. You tell Paul not to start anyt'ing, okay? It jus' make t'ings worse."

"I dunno. Caje ain't much on doin' nothin."

"He must. Tell 'im for me, non?"

The BAR man shrugged. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"Bon." They trudged on. "Merci, Kirby."

"Day ren."

A grin flashed briefly across Remy's face, and quickly disappeared in a moue of pain.

Neither of them saw Prentiss glare over his shoulder as the detail headed down the road.

END OF PART ONE

Notes:

[i] I'm sorry (Cajun French)
[ii] 'Ville' means city, but when Cajuns speak of 't'e Ville', they mean New Orleans
[iii]
"O ye yaie (kind of a general lament, like 'woe is me')
But remember
Little girl, all the fancies,
the promises you made me
you know I don't deserve that
you told me you loved me…"

Lacassine Special, Iry LeJeune

A version of this song by the Balfa Brothers is on Youtube here:"Lacassine Special" (If you listen closely, you may notice that the lyrics vary, but that's not unusual in Cajun music)

[iv] One of the French language's more charming conventions. It means "enchanted", as in "I am enchanted to meet you."

[v] Me, too

[vi] These guys

[vii] 'make me t'e misère' – give me a hard time (Cajun construction)

[viii] In standard (or Quebecois) French, 'mais' means 'but'. Cajuns use it to mean 'well', as in "Mais, cher, c'est un bon idée!" – Well, cher, that's a good idea.

[ix] Pretty girl

[x] Mayor

[xi] 'make de potain' – cause a fuss

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