For Sure (57 page)

“
Well, was worth a try.
”

“Wot did she say?”

Linguists currently identify 8 major language families: the Indo-European family, which includes some 1,000 languages and 3 billion speakers; the tonal languages of Asia, which are spoken by 1.5 billion people, including more than 1 billion Chinese; the 370 Afro-Asiatic (Hamito-Semitic) languages, spoken by 300 million people, including 200 million Arabic speakers; the Austronesian languages, which group together 300 million speakers and 850 languages; the Altaic language family which includes 65 languages spoken by 100 million people; 80 million people speak the 2,000 languages of Africa, 900 of which belong to the sub-group of Niger-Congo languages; the Uralic languages counting 25 million speakers, mainly Hungarians and Finns; and the indigenous languages of the Americas, which include 1,100 languages and 25 million speakers. Altogether this adds up to approximately 5,300 languages, but this list is neither exhaustive nor uncontested.

On the way home, Étienne could not get over Carmen's refusal to buy him some Smarties. Hence, the whining tone:

“How come we's always goin' back to de same grocery?”

“So you'll know where to find de things when yer older.”

This silenced Étienne. Carmen regretted her ironic reply, and tried to soften its effect:

“And, when yer older an' drivin' de car yerself, you might be goin' to the store fer us from time to time.”

Étienne thought about this eventuality, and decided, when the time came, he'd buy as many Smarties as he liked.

Terry reads the words
haulms
,
volute
,
shingly
,
keelson
,
parapet
,
cascade
,
trundle dodder
,
and
nimbus
on a page of the small stapled notebook he pulled out of his back pocket. He finds a pencil and adds the word
menagerie
.

“'Round 'ere even language's a sport, fer chris'sake!”

“Fer sure!”

And on the next page of the notebook:

Die? Meself? Really?

It's about time dat sometin'

Leaves me friggin' cold!

Zed didn't want Chico to feel uncomfortable about not calling him Dad.

“Dat's OK dat you don't call me Dad. We know Shawn's yer real dad. Most likely, if you was still a wee ting an' you'd no memory o' Shawn, well den it'd probably come to ya natural. On account of I'd be de only dad you'd ever known.”

Chico put another plate in the dish drying sink. Zed picked it up and began drying.

“I doesn't call you Dad, only in me head yer like me dad.”

“Dat's right fine wid me! Wot counts is dat I help you to 'ave a proper life.”

Chico agreed, but remained silent, washing a few utensils and putting them in the sink.

“Wot're ya tinkin'? Aldoh, you don't 'ave to be tellin' me. Der's times a fellow wants to keep 'is tawts to 'imself.”

. . .

. . .

“Do you tink Granny's got a proper life?”

And there it was. The cat was out of the bag. For a while, Zed had suspected that Chico was carrying guilt about his grandmother. He dropped the dish rag, pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Come 'ere, boy, I wants to tell ya sometin'.”

Chico came closer.

“I already told ya didn't I, dat I didn't really 'ave a real dad neider, at de start, remember?

Chico nodded.

“De ting I most likely didn't tell ya, is dat when I's yer age, I could see me mudder was ‘avin' a hard time of it, see. Awh, not dat she was blearin' or anyting like dat, 'cause she's not de complainin' type. Only I could see she was workin' terrible hard to make a bit o' money to buy our food an' clothes an' a Christmas present an' all dat.”

. . .

“Well, when she starts goin' wid Tony, I's right proud fer her. On account of ee was helpin' 'er out. An' den she marries 'im. An' der again, I's right proud fer 'er. Only, deep down, I wasn't all dat fond o' Tony. I never said a word to me mum, mind you; I didn't want to cause 'er any pain, an' I didn't want 'er gettin' discouraged.”

Chico seemed to understand what Zed was telling him.

“Wot I'm tryin' to say is dat yer granny — an' I knows you love 'er a whole lot on account of she was pretty much yer mum — yer granny made de best life she could. 'Tisn't easy to understand, I knows it, but dat's de way it is. We can't go changin' de past. An' today, one ting dat'll make Granny's life better, dat's to see yer growin' up fine, wid folks dat love you an' helps you out.”

. . .

“'Tis a fine ting you tinkin' of Granny, an' doin' stuff fer 'er, phonin' 'er, bringin' 'er strawberries an' all dat, only you mustn't be puttin' 'er life on yer shoulders. You have to live yer life too, an' you've a right to be 'appy.”

Chico was almost frozen to the spot.

“Do you understand wot I's tryin' to tell ya?”

Chico nodded, and Zed took him in his arms and hugged him tight.

Looking everywhere for your
Bescherelle
, but not finding it. Coincidence?

Étienne spotted a second cross decorated in flowers on the other side of the ditch along the highway.

“'
Ow come
dey puts dat der, Mum?”

Carmen was torn between being happy to see her son wasn't the type to hold a grudge, and being disappointed that he'd used the English expression
how come
.

“Why do they put what?”

“Crosses wid necklaces?”

Carmen thought this was clearly not her day.

“Awh, that's to remind us that somebody was killed in a car crash right there.”

Étienne twisted round in his seat to watch the little cross disappear.

“Dey want us to pray?”

“I think 'tis more a way to be tellin' us to drive careful.”

. . .

“Although, I suppose there's some folks that pray as well.”

. . .

“Only I wouldn't think to pray.”

“On account of you didn't know dem?”

“I don't know me prayers?”

“No! De folks in de car crash!”

“Awh.”

Carmen thought for a moment.

“No. 'Tis only that I wouldn't think to pray fer somebody dead.”

“On account of yer shy?”

Misfortune is the true test of friendship. One man's misfortune is another man's gain. Every man is the architect of his own fortune. Fortune favours the brave. When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state. A hostage to fortune. Fortune knocks once at every man's door. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. It's in times of trouble that you know who your friends are. Bad luck and trouble follow you all of your days. Misery loves company. Troubles never come singly. Happiness is an agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another. Bird of ill omen. Lucky in cards unlucky in love. If I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all. Some people are so fond of bad luck they run halfway to meet it. The only sure thing about luck is that it will change. Watch out when you're getting everything you want; fattening hogs ain't in luck. Bread always falls on the buttered side. When the gods throw, the dice are loaded. At the heart of every silver lining is a cloud.

Zed wrote a note to Chico before leaving. As he wrote, he crossed out a word, rewrote it, and crossed it out again.

“How does you write
jusqu'à temps que
?
Temps t-e-m-p-s
, or
tant t-a-n-t
?

Terry walked over to read the note.

“
T-e-m-p-s
. Meaning ‘until de time dat. . . .' De udder way 'twould mean ‘so long as.'”

Terry seemed very sure of himself. Zed reread the message:

“Well, dat's wot I mean, isn't it: ‘so long as I's not come home.'''

“Awh. I tawt you wanted to say ‘until such time as I get home,' like . . . ‘while you waits fer me to get der.'”

“Well, sure, I wants to say dat as well.”

Terry and Zed both leaned over the scrap of paper. Terry read aloud:

“Chico if you get home before I do, go over to the Zablonskis and stay there up until which time (
jusqu'à temps que
) I get back. Étienne will be there too.”

Terry reread the note silently once more before pronouncing himself.

“Far as I'm concerned, it's
temps t-e-m-p-s
, on account of 'tis really a question of time and
temps
means ‘time.'”

Zed nodded; he wanted to believe Terry.

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

“You'd be writing
tant t-a-n-t
if you was saying . . . like . . . I'll take Tylenols so long as (
tant,
t-a-n-t
) me headache hasn't gone.

Zed saw the difference and approved:

“I dunno but der's times when I goes to write sometin' down, you'd tink I never went to school.”

Long ago, when Latin was the dominant language, French was considered a vulgar language, that is a language spoken by the common people.

The next day, Terry was still thinking about Zed's note to Chico. Zed's spelling question had stayed in his mind and he was no longer sure of his conclusions. He sought Ludmilla's opinion.

“Yes, people do say it that way here. ‘
Jusqu'à temps que —
up until the time that.' I think it's actually quite pretty. In France, they simply say ‘
jusqu'à ce que
— up until.' Really both expressions mean the same thing.”

Ludmilla repeated the two expressions to herself, as though the words had not quite yielded up all of their secrets.

“The ‘
jusqu'à temps que
' is interesting because the word
temps
or ‘time' seems to be beating out a rhythm: one-two-three-four-up-until-the-time-that. In ‘
jusqu'à ce que
', or ‘up until' the ‘
ce
' is much weaker, though it does echo the
s
sound . . . ‘
jussssqu'à ce que
'.”

Terry wanted to remind her that it was the “
jusqu'à
tant
que
” that was the problem, but Ludmilla was on a roll:

“Parisians probably preferred ‘
jusqu'à ce que
' because of the alliteration. It's certainly arguable. But it would be such a shame to lose the ‘
jusqu'à temps que
'.”

Language as a mechanism of preferences? Terry had never thought of it that way. Ludmilla continued:

“As for ‘
jusqu'à tant que
' . . .”

Terry jumped. Ludmilla had said, “
Quant à
— As for.”

“Now see! Excuse me, only, just now, you said ‘
quant à
— as for.' Only we woulda said de contrary. We'd 'ave said, ‘
tant qu'à . . .
‘like ‘
tant qu'à moi
— so far as I'm concerned'; ‘
tant qu'à zeux
— so far as der concerned'; ‘
tant qu'à ça
— so far as dat.'”

“Yes, that's true . . . ‘
quant à
. . .
tant qu'à
. . .' it's a simple inversion.

Terry suspected that ‘simple inversion' belonged to linguistics jargon. Ludmilla continued:

“‘
Jusqu'à tant que mon mal de tête sera pas en allé
— So long as me headache isn't gone on its way.' The French would say ‘
jusqu'à ce que mon mal de tête s'en aille
— until my headache's gone' or ‘
tant que j'aurai ce mal de tête
— so long as I'll have this headache.' They probably decided to eliminate the redundancy. And the use of the negative is a trifle heavy . . .”

Ludmilla was not done thinking it over. For the first time, Terry was acutely conscious of the complexity of language operations. Meanwhile, Ludmilla concluded:

“But, the phrase ‘
en allé
' is awfully pretty: more than just ‘gone,' it's like ‘gone on its way,' or ‘taken itself away.” That's awfully pretty. It would be a shame to lose that, too.

Getting back to the title,
Until the End
is too closed, too definitive, almost fatalistic. Unnecessary stress.

“Look, Mum! De house is backin' up!”

Indeed, a raising and transporting company was in the process of pulling a house back from the road.

“They're someplace, looks like.”

The van slowed and parked along the side of the road. Inside the entire family watched the manoeuvre.

“See the house, Marianne?”

“Could be the folks lived there felt the house was too close to de road.”

. . .

“I never knowed a truck could haul a house.”

“'Tisnt sometin' you see all that often.”