My Homeless Friend Peter

FOOD | SHELTER | COMMUNITY

We’re all in this together

I was sorry I’d told him my name. Peter was the self-assigned greeter at Métro Quatre Septembre. Every morning when I emerged from the underground in front of my office, he was the first person I saw. Round-bodied and cheerful, he was always sitting in the same place — on the ground next to a lamppost with a sleeping bag and his worldly belongings neatly arranged around him.

« Bonjour Katerina. Vous allez bien? Bon santé pour vous et votre famille. » (Morning, Kathleen, you doing well? Good health for you and your family). Every day, it was the same message recited in a loud voice as I dove into a crowd of people hurrying to cross the street. I mumbled hello, but I didn’t stop to talk and I really wished he wouldn’t yell.

He was a nice guy, well-intentioned. He wasn’t doing anything wrong — but I was embarrassed to be singled out. Our office had just moved to a new neighborhood. We’d been acquired, and I was lucky to still have a job. I was trying to keep it on the down low while I figured out the new landscape.

Peter and I were the same age, both immigrants to France, both a little wobbly in French. But my wheelhouse included a law degree. Peter seemed savvy enough, but he made money carving wooden spoons and depending on the largesse of the office crowd.

Some days I gave him a Euro or two, or I’d stop to ask if he wanted a sandwich when I was on my way to pick up lunch. One winter, I brought him some wool socks my husband found at the market and an aluminum space blanket. He was sleeping rough. His skin was chapped from the weather and he looked cold.

He returned the favor, keeping me informed if there was a problem on the Metro or pointing out which watering hole my friends had gone to for drinks after work, in case I wanted to join them. He made note of everything that went on around him and served as the de facto concierge of our neighborhood.

One day at lunch, my Romanian friend informed us that Peter was from Moldova. While his native language is called Moldovan, it is essentially the same as Romanian. She was able to have a conversation with him.

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