Fish Change Direction in Cold Weather (16 page)

‘
I thought I might die of sorrow and longing.
’

‘That’s why he became what he is . . . or rather, was. Simon told him he had blocked his emotions, that it was as if the clock had stopped for him, and that’s why he was angry
with everyone. But these past three days he’s been able to talk about it at last – and it’s like finding a whole new dad . . .’

‘And where is your mother?’

‘I don’t know. In heaven, in Mexico . . . It doesn’t matter.’

He could see that I didn’t understand.

‘The main thing is that now I know I’ve
got
a mother. You won’t understand, you’ve always had one.’

It was true. I may have been mad at my mum, but to be angry with a mother, you have to have one to start with. You always want more, even though you haven’t really appreciated what
you’ve already got. Alex turned to me and suddenly gave me a big hug, squeezing me very tight.

‘Thanks for doing all this for me.’

Was this really big tough Alex – the terror of the school – who was crying in front of me?

‘I’d like to listen to the record.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, why wouldn’t I?’

‘In spite of what you read?’

‘But they’re still your mum and dad. You don’t have to be ashamed of them.’

When we went into the sitting room, Alexis had put down his guitar and was having a drink. My mum’s cheeks were a little pink, but she didn’t say no when she was offered more wine.
Simon was with my dad, who had managed to wedge a glass into his cast-bound fingers.

‘Tell me, Martin, what did you mean by a “lazybones policeman”?’

‘Well, it’s not as if I was in the thick of the action . . .’

When Simon saw Alex heading for the stereo with the record in his hand, he nudged Michel. There was a sudden heavy silence, because Alexis had stopped talking, too. There were still tears on
Alex’s cheeks. When Alexis saw the record sleeve he stood up. Simon didn’t let him get very far.

‘Alexis, if he wants us to hear the song, you have to let him.’

Alexis sat down again at once. It was weird, like Simon had become his boss. Alex put the record on the turntable. He turned around and gave us all a defiant look. When the disco beat started,
Julie stood up at once.

‘Wow, listen to that rhythm!’

She climbed onto the coffee table and began to dance – well, let’s say undulate.

‘Julie, maybe the table isn’t the best place?’

‘Sorry! But I don’t know how to dance anywhere else!’

I thought it was really lovely, the way she was dancing. Boris too thought it was really lovely. And so did my dad, I could tell he thought it was really lovely. Especially as Julie was turning
around and looking at each of the men in turn. My mum didn’t like it as much.

‘All we need is for her to start undressing.’

When Julie took her sweater off, Simon went to talk to her. But since the music was really loud, he had to shout, so everyone heard.

‘Time to calm down now, Julie! There are children here!’

I could tell my dad was sort of disappointed. He caught me looking at him and he winked. Simon began to dance. For a guy he was a really good dancer. He took Michel’s hand and they wiggled
their hips together.

‘Come on, everybody dance now!’

Boris got up on the coffee table to join Julie. She was waving her arms and he started to do the same. But he really wasn’t any good. My dad was still looking at Julie. It annoyed my mum,
and she stood up.

‘Right, let’s dance!’

‘It’s been ages since we danced together!’

To remind herself of the way things used to be, my mum drained the glass of wine someone had just handed to her. She was a good dancer, my mum. Now my dad looked only at her. He was waving his
casts rhythmically. Alexis stood behind Alex and put his hands on his shoulders.

‘You see how they like it?’

They looked proudly at everyone dancing. Alex didn’t stop crying, all the way through.

Je t’ai bébééééééé . . .

My mum was out of breath, hanging onto my dad. Julie let herself fall backwards: she trusted Boris. He put out his arms, ready to catch her, the way you do at the end of a tango.

Click!

All of a sudden it was pitch dark. And then we heard Julie falling off the coffee table. Boris hadn’t caught her.
Thud!

‘
Golubchik?
Are you all right?’

He really sounded worried. Then we heard some weird little noises. I couldn’t figure out what they were. Then I got it: kisses!

‘My Boris . . .’

‘
Golubchik
. . .’

Then some more kisses, more and more.

‘Calm down, Julie!’

Scratch!
Michel struck a match and quickly lit some candles, putting out the fire that Julie had started. With the glow of light, my mum stepped back from my dad. Julie got to her feet,
adjusting her skirt. And Boris – he had a foolish smile on his face. Alex came over to me.

‘I’m sure he’s fucked her.’

I really don’t like to talk about stuff like that. It was a weird situation. The ice storm had caught up with us again. Fortunately, my dad took control of things.

‘Right, what do we do now?’

‘Just when the party was getting going. What a shame!’

‘Alexis, don’t let your newly regained happiness blind you to the fact that there are others in the city who are less fortunate . . .’

‘Sorry, Simon.’

‘We’re really lucky to be able to have a party while others are having a terrible time of it.’

Everyone felt guilty.

‘The old people’s home!’

It was Julie who thought of it first.

‘Can you imagine them all by themselves in their rooms, alone in the dark, without television?’

‘It won’t last, Hydro-Québec will have it all up and running in no time.’

‘Don’t be so sure, Simon!’

My mum was all huddled up. She was already cold. I wasn’t worried about her – far from it. If she got deep-frozen it would help her think more clearly. Up until now the sky had
helped everyone else, so it was time to finish the job by taking care of me. I hoped Hydro-Québec wouldn’t screw up my plan. Sometimes it’s hard to stop thinking about
yourself.

‘Why don’t we go and help them?’

‘Who?’

‘The old folks!’

‘That’s a great idea, Alexis. It’s important to think about others.’

‘Great. Let’s get going!’

‘Alexis, I meant the idea, your inner path. Let’s not get carried away. There’s no rush.’

We heard the siren of a fire engine in the street. Then another, and another.

‘I’m going!’

‘Me too!’

It seemed strange to hear my dad wanting to get back in the action.

‘
Davai!
’

‘Boris, let’s stay together!’

‘Anne, you stay with the kids!’

My dad headed towards the door without another word and my mum just laughed. Julie, Boris and Michel followed him. Simon didn’t seem as motivated as the others; he just stood there. There
was sweat on his brow. Alexis shook him.

‘Hey, come on, we need you!’

‘I don’t mind listening to other people’s misery, but I can’t stand seeing it.’

My mum seized her chance.

‘Simon, that’s perfectly understandable. Let me leave the kids with you.’

Simon didn’t protest and he immediately sat down. My mum rushed out into the corridor. Alexis gave Simon a comforting hug, and we could hear Julie shouting in the distance.

‘Boris, your fish!’

There was a heavy silence. Alex and I got up and went to see what was happening. Everyone was looking at Boris: he was trembling. Julie gave him an imploring gaze. He raised his chin, as proud
as only a Russian can be.

‘We Quebeckers stick together!’

IT’S ALL THANKS TO A NATURAL DISASTER!

The streets were cordoned off all around the old people’s home, which was lit only by car headlamps and the revolving lights of the police cars. Two yellow school buses
were waiting, their engines running. Firefighters, policemen, ambulance drivers and Red Cross volunteers were helping the old people to evacuate the premises, one by one.

In every society a hierarchy is formed. When a group goes into action they need a leader, either self-proclaimed or elected by his fellows. Martin strode ahead, with Alexis on his right. Anne,
Boris, Michel and Julie followed, in no particular order.

Just off to one side was Staff Sergeant Couillard, in charge of the evacuation. Without a moment’s hesitation, Martin planted himself in front of him.

‘I’m family! What can we do to help?’

‘What do you mean, family?’

Martin lowered his voice.

‘I teach at the police academy.’

‘I see. Were you out in the field for long?’

‘Five, six years.’

Staff Sergeant Couillard could not help but throw him a scornful little look. It was obvious. In the police, those who can, do; those who no longer can, teach. Martin was caught off guard, and
he surveyed his troops, who suddenly looked doubtful. A voice bellowed from the patrol car’s loudspeaker.

‘Boss? Boss? You there, boss? Boss? Are you there?’

Exasperated, Staff Sergeant Couillard turned from the car door he’d been leaning on and picked up the radio in his car.

‘Yeah sure, I’m here, where else do you want me to be? Talk!’

‘We’re in the shit here, boss, it’s taking fifteen minutes to get even one resident out. They cry and cling to the bars on their beds, they all want to take their knick-knacks
with them . . . We need reinforcements.’

‘Do what you can. We don’t have any reinforcements, it’s a mess everywhere! Think about the big picture before you start complaining!’

‘But boss, at this rate, it will take days!’

‘Let me analyse the situation. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Thanks, boss!’

Staff Sergeant Couillard didn’t look far. He eyed Martin from head to toe, sizing him up.

‘How do you think you’ll manage with those casts?’

‘I’m in charge of my team and their contribution!’

The sergeant then turned to evaluate the team. Instinctively, Julie, Boris, Michel, Anne and Alexis stood to attention. This discouraged him more than anything.

‘Damned ice! It’s really only because I’m in the shit here. Okay, fine. You can help. I just need to check one thing.’

The chief moved closer to Martin.

‘Blow!’

Martin didn’t blow very hard, but it was enough for an experienced nose. Martin’s troops thought this was hysterical, and began blowing on each other.

‘Not one of you behind the wheel, you hear?’

‘We hear!’

‘You can take the fifth floor.’

When Martin turned around, Anne gave a shiver. His expression had changed. It was nothing to do with the alcohol; it was a look she had known in another life. She had thought it was lost
forever, but now there it was again. It hadn’t vanished, it had just faded away, and now in the middle of the ice storm it had begun to shine again.

‘Anne, Julie, Michel, Alexis, Boris: above all you need to act, but before you act, you think! Got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, who?’

‘Yes, Martin!’

‘Michel, Alexis and Boris, you’re in charge of carrying people. That’s the part that needs muscles. Anne and Julie, you’ll take care of the belongings, the wellbeing and
the morale of the people we’re evacuating. That’s the part that needs brains. Any recalcitrant cases and you deal with them, talk to them, while the men take the folks who are ready out
to the buses. I want at least one person out of there every five minutes. We have to act quickly, but we have to use our heads, too. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Martin!’

‘Follow me!’

Staff Sergeant Couillard watched as the strange little troupe headed into the building. Puzzled, he rubbed his cap, then picked up his radio again.

‘What are you doing up there, for it to take you fifteen minutes to get one person out? What did they teach you over at the police academy? Do I have to explain everything?’

‘Go on, one more time!’

‘Monsieur Archambault, other people are waiting their turn.’

‘I haven’t laughed this much in fifteen years.’

‘Okay, okay, but this is the last time. Show some solidarity, Monsieur Archambault.’

‘I promise to show some solidarity . . . afterwards.’

Alexis spun the wheelchair over the ice. The beaming octogenarian was in no hurry, recovering from his fit of giggles. But elderly people are not necessarily kind-hearted towards each other, and
promises of solidarity can quickly be forgotten.

‘Don’t do it with old Tremblay. He’s always bugging us in the cafeteria.’

When Monsieur Archambault was finally lifted onto the yellow bus, already full of people, he was greeted with a round of applause. Followed by a heated debate.

‘I’ll bet that the next ones out will be the Gagné twins. Two bucks at three to one! Who’ll wager?’

‘I’m in!’

‘Archambault! Stop betting all your money, otherwise there’ll be nothing left for your heirs.’

A new peal of laughter rippled through the bus. From the windows, thirty or so pensioners with smiling faces waited for the next one to come out. After a minute or so Julie and Anne appeared,
leading two perfectly identical seventy-year-old gentlemen by the arm.

‘Those twins have a way with pretty women, now, don’t they.’

‘You owe me two bucks.’

On the bus, a new round of applause greeted the arrival of the Gagné brothers. And the singing began:

‘
Oh they’re just like us, joining us here on the bus.
’

In the general cheer, no one had noticed Boris gingerly assisting an old lady to the door of the bus. She clung to his neck and hugged him for a long while, while Anne and Julie looked on,
clearly moved.

‘Will you come and visit us, Boris?’

‘We’re neighbours! I’ll stop by with my girlfriend.’

‘You have a girlfriend?’

‘Yes, a life partner.’

Julie collapsed into Anne’s arms. Boris helped the old lady up the steps onto the bus. Martin came out of the building and went over to Staff Sergeant Couillard, who was sprawled against
his patrol car: the entire fifth floor had been cleared, whereas Couillard’s own men had only evacuated half of the second floor.