Jean de Florette, a brilliant French novel by Marcel Pagnol, tells the ultimately tragic story of the title character, a newcomer to Provence. Jean arrives in Provence eager to succeed as a gentleman farmer, but is foiled by two supposed friends who have blocked the spring that waters his arid land.
Rent the movie. Watch it and its sequel,
Manon of the Spring, but be sure to pour yourself a tall glass of ice water before you do. There is nothing like the sight of brown dust, the sound of dried corn leaves crinkling in calloused hands, to work up a healthy thirst.
The image of
Jean de Florette has rested with me for many years, a man defeated by lack of water and lack of hope. I picture a Togolese woman at the village well, hauling up gourds of water, hand over hand, 10 gourds to fill a basin, 20 basins to fill a barrel. A sheen of sweat rises on her forehead, glistening like stars against her dark skin in the heat of the morning sun. She balances the water atop her head and heads for home, careful not to spill a drop, knowing her precious load will not last. She must return for more this evening, and the next day...and the next.
No wonder the Samaritan woman perked up when Jesus offered her water that would never run dry.
No wonder David thirsted for water from the well near the gate of his hometown.
No wonder Solomon spoke of his lover as a well of flowing water, a high compliment in a thirsty land.
Meet me at the well, walk with me besides the quiet water and let your soul be restored.
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