Le Dernier Mot: Wait a Minute Mr Postman

Around noon, when the sonnette rang, I peeked out the window and saw two people at our front gate. They must be selling something, I thought, tempted to flee, when a little voice inside me said: “Don’t hide. Seize the day!”. Hurrying to open the gate, I greeted a man and a woman d’une soixantaine d’années.

“Bonjour, Madame. On a du courrier pour vous…”

Accepting the carte postale, I noticed a message scribbled on the back. There was no signature but the penmanship looked familiar. As I stared at the cursive, the strangers kept mentioning “les îles Galápagos” but the words only sailed into one ear and out the other. In an attempt to communicate something to me, the couple smiled expectantly, but I was as confused as ever. It seemed the only way out was to feign comprehension.

“Ah oui!” I nodded. “Oui, oui!”

My visitors seemed satisfied and, wouldn’t you know, just as soon as I relaxed it struck me: my dad and his wife had travelled to some islands last month…

Still, how was it these strangers had in their possession a postcard from my family? Had the wind carried it out of my mailbox and these passers-by were returning it? Two unfamiliar faces continued smiling at me and under their charm I gave up and invited them in for a drink. In return I was treated to one whale of a tale….

MESSAGE IN A BARREL

“We were on the Galápagos Islands last month,” the man began. “A long time ago, there were whale hunters in this deserted place. One day the lonely fishermen devised a way to get messages to their families. They set out a wooden barrel in which to deposit their letters. Sailors on passing ships would then pick up the mail.