Fish Change Direction in Cold Weather (15 page)

Why had the tree crashed down on them? Because there was an ice storm!

Given that no similar meteorological situation had occurred since 1961, given that he had been turned down for thirty-nine apartments before he had found this one, given the number of trees in
Montreal, offset by the number of trees shattered by ice over the past three days, take as an index the fact that an ice-covered branch requires three seconds, without warning, to fall off a tree
– in other words, it had been one chance in twenty-eight thousand eight hundred that this branch would fall just as they were walking beneath it. Multiplying that by the probability of being
pinned beneath a branch big enough to hold down two people, Boris Bogdanov concluded that the probability of feeling this sudden erection because he was lying on top of his neighbour from across
the street was only one in thirteen million six hundred and fifty-seven thousand one hundred and fifty-nine. The odds were exactly six thousand six hundred and fifty-seven fewer than getting six
numbers out of six in the 6/49 lottery.

Boris shifted his body above Julie to protect her from the little slivers of ice that were falling off the branches. Beneath him lay the possibility, perhaps unique, of no longer living solely
for his fish. The branch moved. Then all of a sudden, to a sound of frozen branches unheard since 1961, there came a flash of light.

‘Are we disturbing you?’

Before turning to his rescuer, Boris delicately loosened his lovely lady’s arms from around his shoulders.

‘
Golubchik?
’

Standing above them were Alexis, Simon, Michel and the neighbour from across the way, who had both wrists in plaster.

‘Forgive me, but with my wrists like this I couldn’t even begin to move the branch. Then when I saw there were two of you I figured it must be really heavy, so I went to get the
neighbours from next door . . .’

‘It’s taken us a while but we couldn’t help but hear you singing . . .’

Simon nudged Michel with his shoulder. Boris got to his feet, then helped Julie back up onto her boots. Dreamily, she immediately looped her arms around the neck of her new Slavic love.

‘Julie, I’m sorry we interrupted you . . .’

‘Really, Michel, it’s fine.’

‘How on earth did you end up under that branch?’

‘We were collecting ice to put in the bath, because we heard that you can’t drink the water any more.’

‘That’s right, the purification plants are down.’

All of a sudden the tension went up a notch, and they looked at each other. The situation was suddenly critical.

‘We really are up shit creek.’

‘It’s as if there’s a war on!’

‘Think of all the people with kids . . .’

‘Or little babies . . .’

‘And old people, all alone at home . . .’

‘Think of his poor fish!’

That brought the crescendo of miseries due to the lack of drinking water to a sudden halt. Even if the logic required to associate fish with water is pretty basic, no one had thought of it
except Julie.

‘His fish?’

Julie had regained her composure, and she had plenty to say on the matter. In her ecstatic state she didn’t notice that, now and again, like Olga with her carp stuffed with onions, she was
using the odd word of Russian. But her Russian scientist’s topological theory seemed infinitely abstract to the other men, even when it was being explained by a pretty woman. It was a shock
for Boris, suddenly a spectator of his own passion as it was unveiled to everyone around them, a passion in which he had nearly drowned. Holding an ice-encrusted twig, Julie traced the course of
each fish, from memory, on the ground. As he listened, Boris watched people walking down the middle of the devastated street, avoiding the falling branches. He heard the infernal menacing, creaking
sound, the harbinger of an imminent crash. A procession of soldiers went by in the distance. It reminded him of the darkest hours of the communist regime in Russia. There you did not live –
at best you survived.

Where Newton was concerned, Boris felt nothing but the Slavic scorn of a Russian who reproaches the Anglo-Saxons for grabbing all the scientific firsts, but he suddenly decided to view
everything as relative.

‘Maybe there are more important things in life than my fish?’

Everyone seemed to agree except for Julie. Boris’s face became very gentle, illuminated by a new understanding. He smiled at the neighbour who had wanted to help, and whom he’d been
ignoring, in spite of the man’s injuries.

‘What did you do to your wrists, Monsieur?’

From the window, Alex could see Martin waving his arms to mime his fall from the roof. Then he went to the stereo and put the arm back in the starting position to play the 45.
He wanted to hear Al and Doro again.

‘You could have died in a fall like that!’

‘They make us tough in the police.’

‘Are you a policeman? With which squadron?’

‘The lazybones squadron’

‘There must be a lot of you!’

‘Alexis, don’t you start! I’m Simon, by the way.’

Simon gingerly looped his hand around the cast held out to him. He was very careful not to shake it.

‘And I’m Martin!’

‘I’m Julie!’

‘I’m Boris!’

‘Ouch! Careful with my cast!’

‘And I’m Alexis!’

‘Yes, I recognise you, you’re Alex’s dad – he and my son are best friends.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And I’m Michel.’

‘You must be Simon’s brother?’

‘Not his brother, his boyfriend.’

‘You mean his buddy, Alexis.’

Martin wasn’t sure he understood. Julie decided to drive the point home.

‘His partner, if you prefer.’

All holding their breath, anticipating his reaction, the little group turned to Martin. He did not hesitate for long.

‘Very pleased to meet you! It’s crazy that it’s taken a disaster like this for us to finally get to know each other.’

Michel and Simon shared a look of relief: at last they were rid of the burden of being clandestine. Out in the street, in front of their neighbours, they were holding hands.

Je t’ai bébééééé . . .

This time Alex decided not to listen to the song again. He’d heard it so many times that he could play it in his head. He carefully replaced the record in its sleeve. On the front cover
was written
Al and Doro
, in purple against a yellow background. On the photograph, wearing a white shirt with the collar opened wide, Alexis was smiling from one blond sideburn to the
other. Next to him, with a white band around her black mane, was Alex’s mother, Dorores. Alex traced his mother’s lovely face with his finger, then put the record under his pillow. The
front door opened.

‘Come in, everybody, we’re glad you’re all here.’

‘Are you sure we’re not disturbing you?’

‘Of course not, there’s nothing else to do, anyway. Michel will make us a lovely big dish of spaghetti carbonara!’

‘I’ll go round to my place and get two bottles and I’ll be back.’

‘Can you manage with your casts?’

‘Yes, don’t worry, Alexis.’

Alex went out into the hallway to greet everybody and found them all bumping into each other as they removed their boots. He saw Julie and Boris first, as they had got their shoes off before the
others.

‘Alex! My little kitten rescuer!’

‘You filmed us, too, I hope?’

Alex turned bright red. Boris, still laughing, headed into the sitting room at Simon’s invitation. The bubbly Julie waited until the two men had moved away to lean down to Alex.

‘So, you were filming me, you naughty boy?’

She ruffled Alex’s hair, and, given the circumstances, he had no choice but to let her, even if he didn’t like that sort of thing: he was a rebel, after all. Julie rubbed his head
harder and harder. Was she about to tell him off and shout at him? Then she tenderly smoothed his tousled hair.

‘I hope you’ll show me some day, I’ve always dreamed of being in a film!’

Sometimes life is just like the movies.

WE QUEBECKERS STICK TOGETHER!

My dad took my mum’s arm, under the pretext that he was afraid he’d slip on the ice. Not long before, when I’d looked out of the window at him trying to lift
the branch, he seemed to be standing up fine. Just like he’d been fine last night, hiding from us and eating on his own. I liked this little game he was playing. I was glad we were going out
the three of us together, even if it had taken Dad some time to convince Mum to come with us.

‘You’ll see, they’re really nice. And besides, what could be more normal than meeting your neighbours?’

‘In seven years we’ve never said a word to them and now we have to go running over there?’

‘Exceptional situations make for exceptional encounters.’

‘Well, I don’t think that girl who lives next door is anything special.’

‘She’s very nice. She and her boyfriend, that young student from across the street, just had a branch come crashing down on them.’

‘Frankly I have no desire to find myself in the same room as Alex’s dad. I’ve said hello to him dozens of times and he never bothers to answer.’

‘He’s changed a lot, you’ll see.’

‘Oh, wow, it’s an epidemic.’

‘Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!’

‘Damned ice!’

Now my mum stood in front of me holding a bottle of wine in each hand, my dad clutching her shoulder. He stopped her with his arm and whispered something in her ear.

‘Well, it looks like we’re having one surprise after the other!’

‘You’d better tell him, anyway.’

‘I think it’s better if it’s a man who tells him.’

My dad beckoned to me. He didn’t want to let go of my mum. He grew suddenly very serious.

‘I don’t want you to be surprised, but sometimes in life you will come across men who don’t always necessarily go out with women. It’s their choice. Simon and Michel are
. . .’

‘A gay couple!’

‘You knew?’

‘Yes, Alex told me.’

‘And what did you think?’

‘Nothing! Why should it bother me? They’re happy, and
they’re
together.’

My mum and dad understood the same thing at the same time. I’d hit the bull’s-eye. Neither one wanted to say anything. They were saved by the music.

‘Ready to dance?’

Alex’s dad came across the street, holding a guitar and, what’s more, he had a huge smile on his face. He came up to my parents and held out his hand.

‘Hey, Martin! Are you going to introduce me to your wife?’

‘Alexis, this is Anne, Anne, may I introduce Alexis.’

‘Very pleased to meet you, Anne! Very pleased . . . I haven’t always been very friendly. Please forgive me.’

Alexis didn’t wait for my mum to reply. He turned quickly to lead the way. Mum looked at Dad, then she spoke to me, as if I was the last one left whom she could confide in.

‘What is going on with everybody?’

‘What do you mean?’

Alexis, without ringing the bell or even knocking, opened the door to Simon and Michel’s place. We heard laughter. Everyone was having a good time. We hurried in. Alexis sat down on the
couch with his guitar. After dusting it off, he tuned it quickly, by ear.

‘First, a tribute to the greatest of the great, Félix Leclerc.’

He began to play to a brisk rhythm. Before long my mum could not help but join in and clap her hands. Alexis sang the first verse.

‘
I found my joy by the side of the road

It looked pretty sad so I gave it a ride . . .
’

As she gazed at Boris, Julie began to cry, but there was something joyful about her tears. Alexis was looking at Simon and Michel, holding hands.

‘
My brothers all forgot me, I fell down, I feel so bad!

If you don’t pick me up, I’ll surely die, this song’s so sad!
’

The two men were visibly moved. Then Alexis stared at Simon alone, slowing the tempo.

‘
Kind sir, I beg you, release me from my pain . . .
’

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

‘Follow me. I’ve got to talk to you.’

I went with Alex into the bedroom. Pipo, no doubt in a state of shock at finding so many people in his house, was peeking out from under the bed.

‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I just didn’t want it to end.’

He looked me right in the eye. He was waiting for me to forgive him. I smiled. He went over to the bed and reached under the pillow for a record in its sleeve, then handed it to me.

‘That’s my mother.’

I felt my throat tighten, I couldn’t help it.

‘She’s really pretty.’

‘Now I know why I don’t look like my dad.’

‘It’s because you look like your mum.’

‘No, it’s mainly because he’s not my real dad.’

I had to sit down on the bed. I looked at Alex, and I didn’t know what to say. He was so calm, almost like a grown-up. He sat next to me. We were both looking at the record sleeve.

‘But Alexis is my dad, my only dad. My mum’s name is Dorores. Dorores Sanchez. She lives in Mexico . . .’

Alex had his own story at last.

‘My dad fell in love with her at first sight. He didn’t know she was already pregnant with me. She didn’t know, either. She was a good singer, and he wanted to give her the
most beautiful present on earth . . . He’s the one who paid for the recording, with his own money. He did everything; she just sang what he told her to sing. He wanted to make her a
star.’

I looked at the sleeve. Al and Doro. I’d never heard of them. If someone’s a star, even if it was a long time ago, your parents tell you about them. Alex put his hand in the sleeve
and pulled out a tiny newspaper clipping.

‘Read this – you’ll understand.’

I read out loud.

‘“I Got You Babe by Sonny and Cher is a pop classic. This disco version of it – in French! – completely bombs. “Je t’ai bébé” is a classic
failure, courtesy of the insipid Al and the woman we hope never to hear again, Doro.’

In the sitting room, Alexis was singing even louder.

‘
My happiness left without taking my hand.
’

‘She
was
forgotten. She was so ashamed, and so mad at my dad. She came here to live out her dreams, and it ended up being a nightmare. But to give me a better life than I would
have had in Mexico, she left me with Alexis. He wasn’t really up to it . . .’