Ethel Merman, Mother Teresa...and Me. Tony Cointreau
shortly after she gave birth to their son, Pierre. Then she was able to marry for love, and wed the Count D’Epenoux, who had a beautiful château filled with exquisite museum-quality furniture. They lived part of the year in his château, part of the year at Aunt Mimy’s summer estate, and part of the year in Paris.
La Richardière, Aunt Mimy’s summer estate, not far from Maman Geneviève’s château in France, was a massive house well hidden from public view by a long, winding road, and was surrounded by many acres of woods and gardens where my father had enjoyed hunting parties when he was young.
As far as I was concerned Aunt Mimy could do no wrong. She had a voice and personality that was a cross between Ethel Merman and Maria Callas, and a large body that she always insisted was on a diet. In spite of her weight, Mimy had a pretty face with delicate features, and a seductive smile that was not dimmed by the fact that her teeth were slightly discolored from smoking the Spud menthol cigarettes my mother brought her from America.
Her electric personality mesmerized me; at nine years old, I was already fascinated by larger-than-life characters. I was used to catering to adults and enjoyed being near the aura of such a glamorous woman. And Aunt Mimy was my godmother, so she noticed me a bit more than my brother.
My brother Richard and I were only two years apart, but he was always much larger than I. He was built stout—wide and strong—while I was slender, more bones than muscle. In spite of his abuse, I still wanted to follow him around and tried to be his buddy.
One sunny summer day at La Richardière, Richard was acting mysteriously and implying that something interesting was going to happen soon. As usual he made it sound enticing and then pushed me away.
I surreptitiously followed my brother when he went through a door leading to the dark basement of the house and disappeared. The entrance was dimly lit and muffled voices came from afar. I traced the sounds through a labyrinth of concrete and stone dungeons until I found a doorway. I peeked cautiously through the opening, and saw a large bare stone room with several men standing at the far end in a semicircle. Richard was in their midst, looking up at something with an anticipatory smile on his face. A cold feeling of dread came over me as my eyes adjusted to the light and I focused on the thing hanging by its hind legs above my brother’s head. It was pure white and squirming—the softness of its fur in sharp contrast to the hardness of the men and the stone walls. At first I didn’t understand. I stood frozen outside the doorway, my eyes glued to the ecstatic expression on my brother’s face.
The first move was very sudden. And then I understood. One swift club on the back of the bunny’s head and then a quick thrust with a sharp knife to gouge out its left eye so it would bleed to death. The creature was still wriggling around and trying to free itself, so the man gave it another whack on the back of the head.
They were so intent upon their mission that no one had seen me in the doorway. They did not know the sickness in my body as I slowly backed away. I couldn’t run. I could barely walk back out into the sunshine. All I wanted was to find my mother.
When I saw her she was reclining on a lounge chair in the back of the house, reading a book. Knowing that she would be displeased if I were sick in front of her, I moved cautiously towards her and sat down on the stone floor nearby.
“Mummy, I just saw something awful.”
“What am I going to do with you? You’re always nervous about something!”
“But it was really awful, Mummy.”
I knew that my sensitivity sometimes tried my mother’s patience, so I was not surprised that she gave no response and returned to her book. I walked around the corner to be alone with my thoughts. Maybe if I had been a little quicker I could have stopped them. But they were so big. And Richard would have been angry with me too.
Pale and unhappy, I rested against a large tree and tried to figure out how my brother could enjoy watching an animal suffer. After a while, I became aware of someone looking down at me—a tall, blonde German.
German prisoners of war had been allowed to go to work for very low wages in French households at the end of World War II. Aunt Mimy, never one to miss a bargain with the dozens of people she needed to run her estate, had hired some of them to work in the fields and gardens.
At first I was uneasy. I had heard many terrible stories about the Germans. Also, I had only seen this ex-prisoner-of-war working on the land, but had never spoken to him.
The man knelt down and gently asked me my name.
“My name is Jacques-Henri. And I just saw the most awful thing.”
“You don’t look very well. Why don’t you tell me about this awful thing?”
The young German listened intently to as much of the story as I could articulate and agreed that it was a terrible thing to have witnessed. He said that I was a brave young man to have wanted to save the rabbit but there was really nothing that I could have done. This was the fate of all the rabbits that were being raised for food on the estate.
He was kind, not at all the way the Germans had been portrayed. And although he made me feel better by explaining what I had just seen, I never understood why the rabbit had to suffer such a cruel death.
When the bell rang for lunch, I thanked my new friend and ran back into the house. As hard as I looked for him, I never saw him again.
A few days after the incident with the rabbit, knowing how difficult it was for my mother to deal with my emotional problems, I carefully planned a whole scenario. I was so excited about a wonderful moment that I was creating, a secret gift of gratitude that I would give to my mother. No one else ever need know about it. She couldn’t help but forgive my imperfection and love me more for it.
That evening I could no longer wait. It had to be tonight when she came in to say goodnight to me in the pretty blue and white flowered room at La Richardière.
Tonight I would put on my pajamas, brush my teeth, wash my face, carefully comb my hair, get into bed, and wait for Mother. If the nanny was around, I would ask her to please leave us alone for a while. Richard would not be in the way, since he was allowed to stay up later. I was so sure that nothing could go wrong. My heart was pounding with anticipation.
How wonderful it felt to be surrounded by the crisp linen sheets and the warmth of the blankets while I waited for her to appear. Oh, my God, she looked so perfect as she walked in that I almost lost my nerve. The nanny was slightly miffed and reluctantly left the room when I announced that I wanted to be alone with my mother for a little while.
I started slowly. “Mummy, I want to thank you for being so good to me since my operation. I’ve been so nervous all the time but I know I’m getting better and I wanted to thank you for being so patient with me.”
She gave an embarrassed little laugh as she quickly got up to go, and said, “Yes, sometimes one feels like saying ‘Thank you’ for something.”
Somehow I was not too surprised that my mother didn’t seem to understand the importance of the moment. I didn’t really understand it too well myself. Maybe I hadn’t said it well enough. I knew that I could never try again. I had done my best and the moment was gone. Strangely, there was a kind of afterglow from simply having said the words.
The Doctor’s Report
By the time we left La Richardière, my parents could no longer ignore my escalating emotional problems. I had become even more obsessed with my own cleanliness and perfection, and was increasingly fearful of the outside world. Since my parents knew nothing about what Mr. Fuller had done to me, they were confused by my neurotic behavior, and were finally forced to seek professional help.
That summer, Mother took me to see a doctor at the Children’s Hospital in Paris. Several child psychologists put me through a battery of tests, but in those days child molestation was not as openly acknowledged as it is today, and no one asked me the most important question. My “secret,” being sexually abused and raped by Mr. Fuller, was not brought to light.
So