Paris Roofs
by Leeza Pantano
Isami Doi, 1931
Jean-Pierre and Pierre-Jean sit on their house before work. They are mimes.
JEAN-PIERRE
Ah, what a beautiful day this is, mm? Pierre-Jean? Isn’t it nice?
PIERRE-JEAN
It is nice.
JEAN-PIERRE
yelling from rooftop
Hear this everybody? Pierre-Jean likes today!
Where is your costume? We have work in one half hour.
PIERRE-JEAN
…
Do you like being a mime, Jean-Pierre?
JEAN-PIERRE
Mm, But of course! I get to show off my imagination, my eye. The tourists point, kids laugh, hehe, haha! It’s an art! Makes me an artist (oooo)!
PIERRE-JEAN
…They do indeed laugh…
JEAN-PIERRE
I know! And it is delightful!
What is the matter, Pierre-Jean? Are you having trouble creating your minds circus?
PIERRE-JEAN
There is no circus, Jean-Pierre! Only us in tight jail clothes and red lipstick.
JEAN-PIERRE
Pierre-Jean, you are so silly. The black and white sets us free!
PIERRE-JEAN
Bah. Having nothing in our show is not freedom! It is…nothing!
JEAN-PIERRE
I know what will help. Go get your costume and come back out here.
PIERRE-JEAN
Hmph. I’ll show you.
He retreats back in through a window, only to come out in overalls and leather boots:
workman’s clothes.
JEAN-PIERRE
Pearl-clutch
Pierre-Jean, what is this—we don’t have time for jokes!
PIERRE-JEAN
Jean-Pierre, I start at the factories tomorrow.
He points to beyond the horizon, where smoke rises from tall grey stacks and chokes the sun.
They promised me dignity, and real work. And a better costume, as you can see.
JEAN-PIERRE
…
Ahh, Pierre-Jean. You know, you break my heart on this nice day.
PIERRE-JEAN
Well, hopefully our new monies can patch it up.
The wind picks up; they shiver from the chill. The sun dims behind clouds, smoke. Jean- Pierre lets out a sigh.
JEAN-PIERRE
Hmm. Let’s go inside, Pierre-Jean. I will make coffee. We will wait for the sun to reveal itself once more.
PIERRE-JEAN
Lead the way.
They step inside, and immediately go and huddle by a little stove in the corner of the room. Pierre-Jean sets the kettle to boil. Jean-Pierre gets out an old French press.
PIERRE-JEAN
Oh no. And now it begins.
I won’t have my coffee until Napoleon comes back.
JEAN-PIERRE
Shhh! I don’t know how you drink it any other way. It is so…without life. Not bold, nor smooth.
This is worth the extra work. A good coffee deserves the work needed to make it.
PIERRE-JEAN
Eh. That’s your opinion. My way means I can have as many as I want, and very fast!
JEAN-PIERRE
Still fiddling with coffee beans and contraption
Yes Pierre-Jean, I know. I hear it. The drip never stops. The burning smell never leaves.
But I think you would like this way, if you had the patience to learn. It has much to teach you, as well.
PIERRE-JEAN
My whole life would pass right by me if I pressed every coffee cup like you.
JEAN-PIERRE
Au contraire, my silly friend. I think the process lets you, for once, savor and think. It is a time for reflection! On mornings past and future. You are syncing with other universes, other timelines when you press.
PIERRE-JEAN
I appreciate your whimsy, Jean-Pierre; I love it in fact. But you are ridiculous.
JEAN-PIERRE
No, no. Listen to me!
He starts to measure out coffee beans to grind.
I know exactly how much we need for two cups. It’s simple.
He grinds them. The kettle boils.
Here. Now they’re ready.
PIERRE-JEAN
If it were my coffee, the whole thing would be ready. We would be enjoying by now!
JEAN-PIERRE
Makes a face
It would not be enjoyment.
No, it would be torture. Burnt and Unbold coffee! No. Let me continue.
Now look here. And now we wait.
PIERRE-JEAN
For what?
JEAN-PIERRE
He grabs the French press, and takes the metal innards out. He balances them carefully on his knees. He scoops the course grounds into the glass, and puts the metal back in.
He pours water from the kettle into the glass.
For the grounds to acclimate to the water, and begin becoming coffee.
I will press after a few minutes, but first the grounds and water must savor each other. There is no winning, no reward if I rush, or cut corners.
He looks at Pierre-Jean
Like your factories. How could you do a thing like that to me Pierre-Jean? I thought we pressed life together. Let the process, le voyage, be the victory. Now what is this about fast money and factories?
PIERRE-JEAN
I do not expect you to understand-
JEAN-PIERRE
No, I do Pierre-Jean. I do understand. It’s easier to make drip coffee. The machine does all the work, and you collect. But where’s the inner collection? Where’s the boldness, the rich flavor? Where’s your press?
Look, look.
And now, to be gentle.
The few minutes have gone by. The press is ready for force.
He places both hands, one atop the other over the French press and slowly starts pushing down. The metal releases soft swishy sounds as it flows through the water.
Right now, all the little flavors of the grounds are waving goodbye to their homes and ascending, transcending. This is their purpose, to make our coffees delicious. You disgrace them with drip coffee.
And factories.
The metal makes it all the way to the bottom, squeezing the grounds into a thin, dark stripe. Pierre-Jean looks vaguely uncomfortable.
JEAN-PIERRE
Sure, I could run them through the machine, but I’d be doing them a disservice. You understand.
The machine rips the flavors from their homes. This is bad.
They must instead surrender, as is our way. But it is also nature’s way, mm? Things are submitted to. And that’s okay.
Do not submit to drip coffee. Your coffee must submit to you. Make it with your hand, your technique. Do not be dictated by machine, Pierre-Jean!
He gets out two little cups, mismatched but made of beautiful fine china. He pours them each some of the coffee. He hands one cup to Pierre-Jean, who stares at it for a moment before taking a tentative sip. Jean-Pierre watches closely.
JEAN-PIERRE
…
Well?
PIERRE-JEAN
Well…
Your coffee is delicious. I knew it would be.
JEAN-PIERRE
And alive with flavor?
PIERRE-JEAN
Yes, and alive with flavor.
…I understand your coffee message, Jean-Pierre.
JEAN-PIERRE
So, are we taking the scenic route to work today, or your shortcut through the park?
PIERRE-JEAN
There is no need to be obnoxious. We have time today.