For Sure (36 page)

“How about we go in swimmin' den?”

I'm hard pressed to think of even a dozen books to add to
La Bibliothèque idéale
. Such a sanctuary is not open to just anyone. The vast majority of the books I read will have to be content with a spot on the ordinary shelves of my library. Or those of the second-hand bookstore. Sorting.

As time passed, it happened more often that one or another employee would write the correct word in the blank space of an unfinished puzzle. So that gradually the crosswords became the collective pastime of the employees of the Babar.

“Those that prattle . . .”

Josse was looking over Vincent's shoulder.

“Prattlers.”

Vincent entered the missing letters
p
-
r
-
a
-
t
-
e
and continued.

“Aw geez, I hates dese clues, dey writes ‘ch.-l. de l'arr. de . . .' fer
chef-lieu d'arrondissement
, an' we's supposed to know some county town in a district over in France!”

First working title:
Up to the End.
In the context of a project description for a writing grant application to the New Brunswick Arts Board. Grant awarded, thank you very much.

Le Petit Étienne was happy to show his almost-­godfather how hard he was willing to work.

“You're not tired? We can take a break if you like.”

“No, I'm not tired.”

Zablonski watched the little man toiling away for a moment. Then:

“Do you get along with Chico?”

Le petit Étienne shrugged.

“Don't know yet.”

Zablonski regretted posing the question too soon, but the boy added:

“Ee's six years old.”

“And you don't like the same games, is that it?”

“No. We like to play.”

. . .

“Dis mornin' he got up afore me an' den ee went to lie down wid Mum an' Dad.”

“Ohhh . . . that's a bit of a problem, isn't it?”

“Mum said it was on account of ee's missin' 'is dad and mum.”

“Yes, that's very likely.”

Le Petit Étienne shrugged his shoulders again.

“All de same, ee's nice.”

The Other has no truck with the law of supply and demand. And neither does the writer. The writer does not think in terms of demand. Male or female, the writer thinks basically of survival. Writers therefore are limited to the supply side of the equation. Which may explain why, each new season, thousands of new books appear on the bookstore shelves, and that, for the most part, only a handful of these are actually sold.

Eventually, not just Carmen but any one of the Babar staff might take the initiative to start a puzzle. Each one wanted to see how many words they could find before calling for the others' help.

“Well! Are ya plannin' on doin' it all on yer own or wot?”

“Might do. Dey appears to be gettin' easier all de time.”

Blissful brown. Brown chocolate. Brown Bear. Brown skin, chestnut-brown horse. Browning banana. Brown shirts, brown noser. Brunette. Down a brown ale, brown-bagging. Brownie points. Do it up brown. Brown out.

The six pairs of arms Terry had recruited to participate in the “Clear Your Coast” campaign had worked tirelessly all morning.

“I'll tell ya wot I's wantin' fer lunch: I wants de fried clams an' a Pepsi.”

“You got to pay de clams yerselves, der not included in de special, see. Wot's free is de hamburgers, hotdogs, and fries. An' sodas. Or juice, tea, coffee . . . all dat stuff.”

Pomme would not surrender.

“Awh! Can't you spare just one, fer me . . .”

“Not up to me, is it? De headman's de one decides.”

Pomme wracked his brain for something to convince the waitress.

“Last night, I asked me girl to marry me. Der's not a lot of folks dese days have de courage to go an' get married, on account of der's so many divorces.”

The waitress couldn't help laughing at the young man's weak imitation of the anxious groom.

“An' all mornin', while I's workin' so hard, I's tinkin' how wonderful nice of youse to be feedin' us all, an' dose fried clams I's gonna eat fer dinner.”

The waitress could see the waiting-line getting longer.

“Where's you from, den?”

“Moncton.”

“Where's yer summer house, I mean . . .”

“Awh! We don't have a summer house. We only came to lend a hand.”

The waitress eyed him, wondering if she ought to believe him.

“You don't have a summer place?”

“No, honest to god. Only, summer's we sometimes come up to swim at Caissie Cape.”

The waitress looked him over again, thought he had a bit of the look of a rogue, but said quickly:

“Alright den, but mind you be sure to say you paid fer dem yerself.”

Pomme agreed, thanked her and, to show his gratitude, added:

“If ever I divorce, I'll come back round 'ere lookin' fer ya.”

The waitress gave him fair warning:

“Boy, I bin divorced two times, and I's not plannin' on goin' fer a tird go round. So, you enjoys dose clams and good luck to ya!”

Second possible title — FD-ROM — based on a CD-ROM concept that occurred to me while on a writer's residence at the Université de Moncton. In French, we ought to call it DOC or
doc
, an acronym for “
disque optique compact
,” rather than CD-ROM, which is the English acronym for “compact disc, read-only-memory,” or
“
cédérom
” as it's sometimes referred to. In any case, a pretentious title.

“In all of Canada der's maybe 2,000.”

. . .

“Dat amounts to one course fer every 16,000 people or so. Still, compare dat to 120,000 people per course in France.”

. . .

“Dat's near eight times more people per course. Imagine dat, if you can!”

. . .

“An' by now, der can't be all dat much room to be buildin' more, wot wid all de castles and vineyards an' dat over der. All de land must be taken up . . .”

“I doesn't know do I. I never bin to France.”

“Nor I. I just figure.”

Both psychoanalysis and literature rely on words in the hope of lifting the veil that masks the Other. Or veils rather, for an infinite number of veils mask the face of the Other. Faces rather, for the Other has an infinite number of faces.

Terry felt this outing offered an excellent opportunity for the boys to get to know the adult men in their lives.

“Pomme, don't take it hard, but I'm not workin' with you dis afternoon.”

Pomme had no reason to doubt Terry's friendship.

“Good. I was just gonna tell ya de same ting.”

Pomme's ready reply made Étienne and Chico laugh.

“Zed an' me's got a couple tings to jaw over . . .”

Zablonski thought it would be fine to team up with Chico and get to know him better. Pomme settled the issue by replying to Terry:

“Well den, I'm gonna work wid yer lad, an' I won't take no fer an answer. Give de boy a chance to see I'm not such a bad sort. On account of I don't know wot you tells 'im 'bout me when I'm not around.”

Chico, busy eating his ketchup and fries, was listening to Terry and Pomme wrangling but not really.

The Other is as evanescent and elusive as gas. And the writer, who has a good appetite and enjoys a hot meal, is constantly lighting the gas. Many writers heat with gas and some even work by gaslight. Although they are well aware of the dangers, writers will not hesitate to light the gas. Even a struggling writer doesn't need to think about it very much before lighting the gas. In fact, the struggling writer needs gas more than the writer in fine form. That's why neither a psychoanalyst nor a literary master would council a writer, even a struggling one, not to light the gas. The psychoanalyst and the master know that gas helps the writer navigate among the letters and phrases. On the other hand, letters and phrases sketch out the contours of the gas. Books are full of gas.

“Do you know where de idea of shoutin' out ‘FORE' comes from?”

. . .

“Lots of folks tink it comes from ‘forward' or ‘forewarned', only de fact is, it comes from de forehead.”

. . .

“On account of it's on der forehead most folks get whacked by de ball.”

“G'wan, now yer pullin' me leg . . .”

“Serious! Bin proved an' all.”

White knight, black knight. White coal, black coal, blue coal. In black and white. Black chocolate, white chocolate. Black gold, green gold, red gold, white gold. Red shirts, brown shirts, black shirts. Black-jacket wasp, yellow jacket, red ant, blue bottle fly. Blond ale, blond tobacco, brown ale, brown tobacco. Red slip, pink slip, green card. Honeysuckle rose, green logo.

One day Josse arrived at the Babar excited and eager to share her discovery:

“Luh! De clues're over 'ere, in de first box, an' den you only 'ave to follow de arrow. Dat way, you doesn't have to be lookin' back 'n fort', and lookin' fer de right column. It's a whole lot more user friendly.”

Josse let her co-workers examine the innovation.

“An' wer did you find dis, den?”

“At Georges-Dumont. In de wee store downstairs.”

“Who was ya goin' to see over der?”

“Me granny had a stroke.”

“Is she gonna be alright, den?”

“Dey doesn't know fer sure.”

“Hm! Dey calls dem arrow-word puzzles,
mots fléchés
in French!”

Third irritant: overuse of the phrase “
la langue de Moli
è
re
” in French and “the King's English” in the other language.

Eventually, one of the staff brought in a crossword dictionary.

“Me aunty gave it to me. She says it's good fer dose short bothersome words she don't know or can't remember.”

“Good! Dose names of towns in France is in der!”

“Dat's 'er old copy. She didn't know wot to do wid it.”

Carmen gladly accepted the book, but most of her employees could not imagine consulting a dictionary for pleasure.

The Other is understood to have existed since the word was spoken and the flesh was human. Might as well say since the beginning of time. Litterature and psychoanalysis sometimes give the impression they invented the Other, but the reverse is actually the case: the Other spontaneously gave rise to both literature and psychoanalysis.

Even Étienne was doing his part:

“An' why not Monique? You like 'er hair . . .”

But Marianne knew the difference between a passing fancy and a life-long attachment.

“Jacinthe'd like to. She said so to Mum.”

As Marianne did not protest, Étienne took advantage of what he felt was an opening to add:

“Dat's de troot. She said so to Mum de udder day. I 'eard 'er.”

But Marianne seemed merely to be losing interest.

“Doesn't ya want to 'ave yer godmudder party?”

Oh yes, she certainly did.

“Well den, you'd best hurry up and find somebody . . .”

Marianne nodded yes to indicate that she was indeed hurrying.

“No, you're not hurryin' ‘tall.”

Marianne nodded yes again.

“No!”

. . .

“No!”

“Étienne, are you in de batroom? Let Marianne do 'er number two alone.”

On second thought, for a book, the shelf in a second-hand bookstore is far better than the long-forgotten box in a basement, attic or shed. A book's sole reason for being is to be read; whether it's new or used is of no importance. Incidental detail.

Josse's aunt's dictionary turned out to be more than useful for all sorts of words, not only those tough little ones. It quickly earned a place within easy reach under the counter, where it was later joined by a complete world atlas, a gift from Didot Books, where Babar employees had been popping in more and more often to consult it.

“An' wot is it yer lookin' for now?”

“
Arrose Romans.”

“You mean
roman
, like a novel?”

Some time ago, Terry had learned that the word
arrose
referred to a river or waterway.

“But wid a
s
on de end.”

“
Romans
. Naw, de first I ever heard de name of dat place.”

The waitress Lydia was an expert at finding places in the atlas.

“
Romans-sur-Isère
. Must be it. Answer's
Isère
.”

Lydia had quickly shut the atlas and was almost at the door when Terry shouted: