For Sure (39 page)

“Dat's troo. Dey's only simple words, mind you, but it's like der made to go togedder.”

“It's like a tango. An elegant tango.”

. . .

. . .

“Elegant. Dat's right nice, too. I like dat.”

Certain books, out of print at the time of
La Bibliothèque idéale's
publication, have been reissued since, while others are impossible to find. We sometimes discover rare books by accident, particularly in used bookstores, or on friends' bookshelves. Watch out for your copy of Gilles Lapouge's
Bruit de la neige (Noise of Snow)
, which I might be tempted to slip into my bag in order to complete my ideal library.

“Me, I'm more an' more afraid I'll die before I finish my book.”

“Is dat really a fear, or just a worry?”

“Mostly, I imagine a stroke, or an aneurism — don't know really, might de same ting. Either way, it'd kill me. An' for sure, I'd be a whole lot more comfortable in my grave if my book was finished.

“You mean you're not going to be incinerated?”

“(Does dat mean
cremated
?)”

“(Yes, but it makes no sense dat way. I mean, wot's more opposite dan ashes and cream?)”

The frequent use of
ça
(or
dat
) amplifies the archaic resonance of Chiac. It also has the effect of infantilizing it.

The first few minutes following their departure were always vaguely turbulent, as each person found their comfort zone and signalled the parametres of their mood and territory to the others. It was also the time when the holiday spirit took hold, a permissive spirit, but not so permissive as to suspend all the usual rules.

“How come yer goin' dat way den? We'd get der a whole lot quicker goin' troo de Wheeler.”

Carmen took the highway only when absolutely obliged to.

“I want the whole town to see we're goin' on vacation.”

She'd even donned her slightly ridiculous straw hat for the occasion, which had made the kids laugh. Behind the wheel, the hat lent a carnival atmosphere to the entire enterprise. Terry conceded the point:

“An' fer sure, it's truly a wonderful sight to see . . .”

Whether they are identified as such or not, this novel's numerous anonymous characters are above all verbomotor beings, the form and content of whose speech serve to colour the background. They are the novel's equivalent to extras in a movie.

The participation of Étienne and Marianne in the filming of the movie
Children By Demselves
had impressed upon Terry the importance of constantly valorizing the French language in the presence of the little ones.

“In Caraquet, everybody speaks French.”

Étienne was not convinced that, by itself, this detail justified the trip.

“Wot else is over der?”

“Der's a shocking great pier, wid boats a whole lot bigger dan de ones 'round 'ere.”

Carmen felt the need to add:

“We'll go fer picnics on our bikes, an bowling with de big balls . . .”

“An we'll cook up some wonderful tasty baked potatoes. You stick dose potatoes in aluminium foil an' trow 'em in de hot coals. By an' by, ya take dem out o' de fire, an' soon as der not too hot, you eat dem, just like dat wid yer hands, no butter, nuttin'. An'
by de time
youse finished eatin' dem yer face is all black wid soot.”

Terry's
by de time
in English had not gone unnoticed.

“Dad! You went an used an English word again!”

From time to time — the result of an intuitive calculation — Terry slipped an English word or expression into his speech because, after all, this transgressive act was also part of his identity.

“Oops . . .”

Carmen and Terry exchanged a complicitous glance.

“Well den, 'ow do you say it in French?”

Étienne thought a bit, then:

“You gotta say ‘when's.' When's yer done eatin' . . .”

“Dat's right. I ought to have knowed it.”

Carmen caught Étienne's eye in the rear-view mirror and winked.

Terry concluded:

“An' instead of goin' off to bed when it gets dark, we'll sit ourselves 'round de fire an' look at de stars. Dat's after we's roasted a whole bag o'
marshmallows
. . . oops!

“
Guimauves
, Dad!
Marshmallows
is
guimauves
in French!

Étienne reflected a moment on all these pleasures to come and declared:

“It doesn't matter, Dad. I'll be der to help in Caraquet, if dey don't understand yer English words.”

The Moncton Beavers, along with the Fredericton Spawn, were the stars of the first Nigadoo Ultimate Frisbee Tournament, having made up a 9–1 deficit in their semi-final against the Edmundston Mad Buckwheat Pancakes, who until then had been the only undefeated team in the competition. In the end, however, the Fredericton Spawn won the tournament, defeating the Québec Gravity O in the other semi-final, and then beating the Beavers in the final. The other participating teams, the Nigadoo Acadian Skitties and the Moncton Mud Slides, lost in the elimination round.

Zed and Élizabeth were riding in the car and talking as though everything was absolutely normal. Which may very well have been the case.

“So then, you must have known Denis?”

“Denis? You know him?”

“He was living not far from us when I's a boy. He was older'n me. His twin sister was right nice, too. Denise. I seen 'er dis past summer in Shediac. She was home for her vacations.”

. . .

“We moved a couple times, only we always stayed in Parkton.”

And since they were in the car:

“Do you want to see? We're not far . . .”

Names of the Senior Memramcook Valley Hockey League teams: the Fishermen from Cap-Pelé, the Brunswick Crane Rental from Memramcook, the Dooly's Combines from Sackville, the Gagnon Overhead Doors from Saint-Antoine, the Furniture 2000 from Richibouctou, the Maritime Doors and Windows from Bouctouche, and the Rallye Motors Voyagers from Dieppe.

The little family had taken its time driving up the coast: Shediac, Pont-de-Shediac, Grande-Digue and Cap-des-Caissie, then a stop to stretch their legs and eat an ice-cream at the Cap-de-Cocagne pier; from there to Saint-Marcel, Cocagne, Saint-Thomas, Dixon's Point, Bouctouche, Fond d'la baie of Bouctouche, Saint-Édouard, then a swim and a walk on the Côte-Sainte-Anne wharf, where Terry filled his lungs with the smell of creosote.

“Geez, I love dat smell!”

Then he told them how his mother had made his brothers and him soak their feet in a mixture of water and creosote when, as kids, one of his brothers or he accidentally trod on a rusty nail.

“I suppose 'twas a kind o' disinfectant. One time, I'd climbed up de roof of de Melanson's garage to hide. Den me mudder shouts it's time fer supper. So, der I go, I jump down from de roof, an' me foot lands on an old plank of wood I hadn't seen on account of de long grass, see. A board wid a shockin' big rusty nail stickin' up out of it. Sure an' wouldn't you know it, dat rusty sparrable goes straight troo me sneaker an' right in de arch of me foot.”

“Hihihi!”

Any sort of acrobatics was amusing to Marianne. The expression on Étienne's face, however, had gone from admiration to pain.

“When I raise up me foot, de nail an' de board come up wid it, de whole ting was stuck togeder. Can't say why, but it didn't hurt all dat much.”

Unable to bear any more, Étienne moved away from Terry, and grabbed hold of Carmen's hand.

The Unavowable Kills.

Zed and Élizabeth drove by Zed's parents' modest little house.

“She looks smaller dan she is. Inside, it's not so small as all dat. She's well divided.”

Beside the house was a vacant lot with several large trees.

“It's on account of dis 'ere lot dat dey decided to buy, on account of it gave us a place to play. All de kids from de neighbourhood were always comin' 'ere to play. Lard, we broke a lot o' windows playin' baseball! Me mudder never said a word, she liked to see us playin'.

Élizabeth was taking it all in as though it were a movie.

“Does it bodder you when I use English words?

A priori, this novel is not a love story.

A hot sun, a feathery breeze, the blue-green sea, slate-blue sky, Bob Marley playing low in the background, Terry, his hand on Carmen's sun-warmed thigh, couldn't ask for more. Cap-Lumière, Richibouctou, Grande-Aldouane. Étienne tranquilly watched the scenery roll by. Marianne dozed.

“Dad, do dey paint de lines on de road at night?”

“De yellow an' white lines, you mean?”

Étienne saw no other lines on the road.

“Naw, dey paint dem in de day. 'Twould be too dark at night. Be too dangerous, now wouldn't it.”

Étienne figured it would be even more dangerous during the day, with all the traffic. It occurred to him that he'd never actually seen anyone bent over and painting lines on the road.

“De line down de middle as well?”

Terry wondered what his son was thinking about.

“When dey come troo, dey paint all de lines at once, de yellow ones an' de white. Dey don't have time to come back too often on de same bit o' road, wot wid all de roads.”

Étienne thought that made good sense.

“You ever seen any, Dad?”

“Any wot?”

“Folks dat paint de lines?”

“A couple of times. Dey do it in de spring an' summer mostly… I tink de machine does de yellow line along de edge an' at least one o' de lines down de middle at de same time.”

Étienne was surprised:

“A machine does it?!”

“Well, fer sure! Would take far too many people an' too shockin' long to do all dat by hand! It's a right big truck specially made dat goes over de road.”

Étienne was reduced to silence, sorry that a specially designed truck would deprive humans of such a pleasant activity.

Hence the relative importance of the confession.

When she's with Zed, Élizabeth spends a lot of time watching him, astonished at how much in him seems to flow as easily as water from a spring.

“So den, you don't mind goin' out wid me?”

The question made Élizabeth laugh.

“So then, we're dating, is that it?”

“Well, we been to de movies, we been bowlin', you seen me parents' house, you came to Amherst wid me, an' we're goin' to Fundy.”

“You forget that we're also going to be Marianne's godfather and mother.”

“Even more so! We look like makin' a fine team, wouldn't you say?”

. . .

“To tell de troot, I left out de ting 'bout bein' godfawder and mudder on purpose.”

. . .

“Seems like it's almost too much. I'm afraid it'll bring us bad luck.”

All things considered, the unavowed is the real.

“
Marianne went down to the mill, Marianne went down to the mill . . .”

Marianne had only just opened her eyes and Terry wanted to wake her up with a song. But Étienne did not feel that this particular song's appeal was sufficient to justify its length. He preferred to follow the progress of the days of the week, of the king, his wife and his little prince.

“Dad, sing Monday morning . . .”

“Alright den, you start . . .”

Étienne was caught unawares. His father had never made such a request before. But the boy was willing. He positioned his voice properly in his larynx and sang clearly:

“
Monday morning, the king, his wife an' der little prince . . .
”

In 2002, the government of New Brunswick bought its white and yellow road surface marking paint from the Laurentide Atlantic company of Richibouctou. The yellow paint cost $661,000 and the white $472,000.

When the vacationers saw the beach and wharf at Pointe-Sapin, they knew they'd arrived at their first destination. All the more so because the sea was full of white caps.

“
Moutons blancs
in French, like white sheep.”

“White wot?”

“Sheep.”

“Why do dey call 'em dat, Mum?”

“On account of it's all white an' fluffy.”

Oh? Terry had never thought of it that way.

“I tawt 'twas on account of dey follows each udder, like when you counts sheep to fall asleep.”

At the snack bar, Terry and Carmen drank tea, the children downed a few mouthfuls of juice and they all shared a great big oatmeal biscuit. The waitress found the little family so charming that she made a special effort to be helpful. After a quick phone call, she explained to Terry and Carmen how to get to the house of the owners who'd agreed to let them pitch their tent for the night. They set out to find it.