For Sure (78 page)

Rather than letting his son languish in suspense, Terry answered the question written all over the boy's face.

“So, yes, de neighbour comes round wid a rifle an'
bang
,
bang
,
bang
, ee kills Pépée, ee kills de pig, an' ee kills de udder creature, probably a dog. Well, when de husband of de woman heard dat — somebody rang 'im up it seems — ee almost went roary-eyed 'imself. Ee couldn't believe it! So off ee goes. Ee gets 'ome right de same time dey's gettin' ready to muck 'is wife off to a sort of hospital. Ee buries Pépée an' de two udder creatures, an' seems ee took it hard, even doh all dat time, 'twas as doh ee didn't care all dat much fer Pépée.”

Étienne was at a loss.

“Well, in de end, can you guess wot ee did wid all dat?”

?

“Ee made a song. A song dat's called Pépée. Just dat. Pépée.”

“Have you ever heard it?”

“Awh yes. We has it 'ere. We can listen to it tomorrow, if you like.”

Yes, Étienne wanted to hear it. His eyelids heavy in spite of the slightly sordid nature of the story, he turned in his bed while Terry tucked him in.

“G'night, boy.”

“G'night, Pépée.”

Terry was stunned for a moment, unsure if the boy had said it on purpose or if it was a slip of the tongue, from Papa to Pépée. He would probably never know.

Not to have gone far enough in modifying the language.

“Der's some who say you ought to wait until dey bring it up demselves. Dat's 'ow you know der ready.”

“I only wanted to tell 'im it's OK, so ee doesn't worry 'bout it, if ever.”

“Yes, I understand. Now ee'll know . . . if ee didn't already.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

“Regardless, sometimes I ask meself if you can really call it normal.”

“Wot? Being gay?”

Terry changed the channel, stopped on images of Asia.

“I don't think
normal
is the right word.”

“Wot would be de right one den? Not
preference
, I hope.”

Terry surfed past a few more channels. No, Carmen did not particularly like the word
preference
to describe homosexuality:

“No.
Preference
sounds as though dey 'ave a choice, only dey keep tellin' us dat dey didn't choose to be that way themselves.”

“Exactly.”

Carmen cuddled closer to Terry's bare chest.

“I love you, you know dat. Yer not a bad bit smart . . .”

Terry felt flattered but decided, for once, to feign detachment.

“Whatever.”

Carmen found him irresistable, grabbed the remote, made the world disappear, and slid beneath her man.

CHAPTER 12

We write because we do not know what we want to say. Writing reveals it to us.

J. M. Coetzee,
(interview),
LIRE
, May 2007

“So do you, like know all dat's gonna 'appen wid us?”

It had been a long time since I'd sat down with Terry to have a bit of a chat.

“Not really.”

“G'wan! You must know . . .”

In fact, I really didn't have anything in particular in mind. It played out day by day. But his curiosity was comforting.

“I heard dat somewhere, writers sayin' dat der characters ends up takin' over de story, only I find dat awful hard to believe. I mean, de story doesn't fall from de sky, somebody's gotta be tinkin' it up. On account of, wedder ya like it or not, der's still gotta be a mind behind all dis. No?”

“Yes. That's true. Only, I couldn't tell you how the whole thing works, really.”

“We's avatars of you, is dat it den?”

He wasn't entirely wrong.

“Yes, in a way. Except that you're better than I am.”

“Dat's on account of you embellish us, wot's kind o' nice on yer part, by de way.”

I had to think about that. Was I really embellishing them?

“I think I'm just a filter. I'm doing me job as a filter.”

Terry seemed to like the image, although:

“All de same, you must know wot's gonna be happenin' to us, eh?”

“What is it yer wantin' to know exactly?”

“Am I gonna be in hot water wid Carmen on account of de stock-market ting?”

I couldn't help smiling at his concern. I decided to give him a bit of a respite:

“No, not really . . .”

A wave of relief washed over Terry.

“Only don't take too long before you tell 'er, and don't go forgettin' her birthday.”

Terry forced a smile.

“An' I'm wonderin' if you might be tellin' me wot 'tis she's hidin' from me . . .”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he retracted:

“No, no. Ferget dat question. 'Twouldn't be fair, I knows it. Only she's terrible hard to sweet talk, dat one.”

I recognized Terry's good sense. Then I glanced at the time, and realized I was late.

“Yer leavin' already? You only just sat down!”

“I've got to go to the optometrist. I was only stopping by to buy some coffee.”

He looked sincerely sorry to see me go. It broke my heart a little. As I went on my way, I wondered if it was normal to prefer characters to real people.

In any case, since the French dictionary now includes
djebel
,
djihad
,
djellaba
and
djinn
, amongst others, why not also include
djob
,
djeule
,
djaque
, and
djoke
, amongst others.

“All dose English words . . . my question is: how come dey can be doin' dat, and we can't?”

On the reverse side, excerpts photocopied from Umberto Eco's
The Open Work
. Rereading the underlined passages, I realize the important role this book played in the very conception of
For Sure
.

Chico and Étienne could see that the needle was moving, trembling.

“Dat's on account of de needle's like a
magnet
, an' a
magnet
is always drawn to de north.”

Zed thought that Chico would be able to appreciate the particularity of the phenomenon, but he wasn't sure Étienne would understand.

“See? De four directions — nort', sout', east, west?”

Zed had pointed to each direction as he named them, and Chico had nodded. Étienne, on the other hand, seemed to be expecting a magic trick, as though each of the cardinal points would make something appear in Zed's hand.

“In de old days — before we had de GPS — dat's 'ow folks found der way in de woods. Dey found de nort', an' den dey was guided by dat wid dis 'ere wee machine.”

Zed would have been hard put to explain how it actually worked, but he thought it important that the boys be aware of the existence of the device.

“In French we calls it a
compas
, even doh on de package 'twas written
boussole
. Dat means boat words are OK.”

Minor mystery to clear up: find out what Gallimard did, or did not do, with Jan Potocki's
The Manuscript Found in Saragossa
.

“Which does you tink is harder? Winnin' de Masters in tennis or singin' soloist in an opera?”

“Wot, are you tellin' me dey's really an' truly measured dat?”

. . .

“Alright, I'd say winnin' de Masters.”

“No. Singin' soloist.”

. . .

“On account of dey already knows de
score
.”

. . .

“Don't mind me. I's only tryin' to be creative wid me Chiac.”

Internet malapropism: sinbox.

In spite of everything, Terry had difficulty believing it.

“So, yer not even a wee bit vexed?”

“An' why would I be vexed?”

“Well, usually you prefers fer us to be decidin' tings togedder.”

Carmen knew what Terry meant. At the same time, she herself had taken her own initiative without consulting Terry.

“Seems to me, in dis case, 'tisn't quite de same thing.”

“Awh, no?”

“No. We both of us need a bit o' freedom, as well. Small things we can be decidin' an' organizin' on our own.”

“Exactly. Dat's well put. Dat's wot I tink as well.”

“An' anyhow, I've confidence in you. I know you'll not be doin' anyting crazy.”

Terry knew very well that Carmen believed in him, but it was nice to hear her say so.

“Seems to me, when we was startin' to go out togedder, you wasn't so sure o' me as all dat.”

“Well, I didn't know you all that well den, did I?”

Terry thought that made sense.

“Dat's troo. I suppose I could say de same meself.”

Terry took the vegetarian shepherd's pie out of the oven, placed it in the middle of the table, and cleared his throat:

“So den, does dat mean I can keep goin' wid it?”

What's more,
hardes
or “clothing,” and
barda,
or “domestic chores,” two undeniably old Acadian words, come to the French directly from Arabic, as do
truchement
(with the aid of),
raquette
(racket or snowshoe),
gerboise
(jerboa),
estragon
(tarragon),
chiffre
(numeral),
satin
,
chasser
(to hunt),
jupe
(skirt),
sirop
(syrup),
artichaut
(artichoke),
mesquin
(petty),
goudron
(tar),
nuque
(nape), and
calibre
.

“'Tisn't an exact science; that's why you have to develop tactics.”

. . .

“You have to read the river, identify the insects flying in the area. The more of them there are, the better.”

. . .

“It also helps to know when the tides come in and out. You have to gauge the light, the shadows, the currents, the wind, the leaves, how much room you've got for your casts. You have to have some idea where the fish are hiding to decide where to place yourself. You might decide to use an attractive fly rather than an imitative fly.”

?

“Of course, in spite of all that, and even in the best conditions, you may not catch anything. Some things we just don't know. Some days they're biting, some days they're not. You never really know why. So, from one time to the next, you come up with tactics to attract the fish, to outsmart it. Because you know he's there, he's swimming down below the surface, he sees your fly, but he's not biting.”

bottle

a note within

who finds it will reply

ruining the silence for oceans

of years

“
Give up
, den?”

Étienne wasn't ready to yield so quickly.

“Well? Does you
give up
?”

But making Chico wait wasn't easy either, especially since he had no idea.

“OK, I
gives up
. . .”

The important thing is not having a huge variety of flies at your disposal. More important is to have all the sizes in a few select varieties.

“'Tisn't an exact science; that's why you have to develop tactics.

. . .

“Over 'ere, you has all de stocks on de TSE.”

Terry continued to work the keyboard.

“Well see, dat's it right der! I wouldn't be comfortable wid any old company. Like, I'd have a hard time investin' in some company dat's clear cuttin'. Or a uranium company, even doh I suppose we needs dem. An' not de banks neidder, I doesn't feel like helpin' dem any more dan we has to.”

“Fer sure, 'tis a proper ting to know de companies yer investin' in.”

“Alright den, how does we know der really honest? Dey can say anytin' dey like, fer all we knows . . .”

“Der's people been studyin' dat for a right long time. Dat's de idea behind de list of fifty companies I's showin' you. All dose have got a proper track record.”

Zed looked once more at the list in his hand.

“Or you can go fer de real fair-trade companies, companies dat wants to make a profit by bein' fair wid people an' wid nature. Der's more an' more of dose.”

“Alright, sure, only are dey makin' any money?”

Periphairy. The nonexistence of certain words is so astonishing that it's with great joy that we bring them into the whirled.

“Josse doesn't tink de lofts're so great as all dat.”

“Awh, no?”

“I's hearin' her talkin' to Simon, who was tinkin' o' movin' in der, I suppose.”

“Simon? Wid Nadine?”

“I couldn't make out wid who.”

“Well who's movin' out, den?”

“You doesn't know? Alain found hisself a dot-com in Montréal.”

“Alain?! I tawt der was sometin' fishy goin' on!”

Irritation on the subject of the subtitle
Unidentified Monologues
. It ought to be understood as monologues from anonymous sources, generic, or unattributed monologues.

Terry had been so relieved that Carmen wasn't angry with him for his stock-market activity that, for several days, he forgot that she too had a secret to reveal to him.

“So, when does I find out wot you's hidin' from me, den?”

Carmen was burning with impatience to show him her surprise; nevertheless, she managed to hold off a few moments longer:

“Are you sure yer ready?”

“Well, I can't say I'll ever be as ready as I'd like to be . . .”

But that was her limit. Unable to bear it any longer, Carmen pretended to change the subject. She bent over:

“Seems like der's something caught under the cushion yer sittin' on.”

Terry looked around, saw nothing, and did nothing more.”

“Looks like Marianne's giraffe . . . take a look an' see.”

Terry got up, lifted the cushion, but rather than a giraffe, what he found was a light blue plastic pocket folder on which, among others, were the words
sun
and
vacation
.

“Wot de . . .”

Standing with his hands on his hips, the man studied the ground, taking a few steps in one direction, turning around, looking. It was rare to see anyone at all in this small wood. Then the policeman signalled for her to advance and Josse advanced.

As they did most Thursday nights once the kids were in bed, Terry had been expecting Carmen and he to watch a film and munch on a few snacks. He was certainly not expecting to find four airline tickets under one of the sofa's cushions.

“Are you pullin' me leg or wot?!”

But Terry was already imagining his little family disguised in tropical duds, dragging their suitcases through an airport. He lifted the flap on the plastic case, searched a bit to discover their destination.

“Holy Jesus, Joseph'n Mary!”

Carmen was gleefully watching Terry's every move.

“How did you manage dis?!”

Carmen laughed with joy. Terry shook his head slowly back and forth as he read the details of their itinerary. Carmen thought she could detect a thin veil of moisture in his eyes.

“Geeze . . . I never been in de sout' in me whole life. De furdest I ever been in dat direction was Bangor.”

“I've been saving my tips for two years fer this. Do you think 'twas a good idea?”

“I can't believe it! 'Tis glorious! Totally glorious!”

Carmen was proud of herself.