For Sure (83 page)

“Came from a fellow brought me a couple of boxes of old books ee didn't want.”

“Ah, did he?”

Alphonse Lemaître aka LeSage examined the volume's every stitch, and was obliged to admit:

“So, you're on the lookout for rare books, then . . .”

It was the first time the old professor had shown any interest at all in Terry.

“I'm startin . . .”

But Alphonse Lemaître aka LeSage quickly interrupted the last syllable of the second word Terry had uttered, as though he was suddenly afraid that . . .

“Yes, of course, I'll take it.”

Terry didn't move, which seemed to destabilize Lemaître aka LeSage.

“It is for sale, I presume.”

“Well, dat's just it. I hadn't made up me mind wot I's gonna do wid it.”

“Ah, is that right?”

“An when you tink wot it's wort', well . . .”

“You know it's value?”

“I've a pretty good idea. Wid de Internet nowadays . . .”

Alphonse Lemaître aka LeSage gave him a little twisted grin; he suddenly knew, this time he would not come out on top.

Zed doesn't like to lose the drawings that Shawn sends Chico. He recovers them quietly, and shows them to Zablonski.

“An' by de way, I started dis whole ting all on me own dis time. I'm tellin' you on account of I wouldn't want you to go blamin' Zed.”

Carmen had long ago accepted the fact that Terry and Zed were in some way inseparable, spiritual brothers.

“No, I've known for a while that you're perfectly capable of having your own hare-brained ideas.”

As she spoke, Carmen drew Terry to her for a hug.

He hugged her tenderly.

“Hare-brained, eh? Hmmm . . .”

Carmen laughed. To Terry, that was a good sign.

For Zablonski, Shawn's drawings complete the squaring of the circle. The artist who, in spite of himself, served as the inspiration for the Prizon Art movement, now discovers, purely by chance, the drawings of an unknown prisoner who is groping in the world of the sign. Zablonski notices that the figures are always composed of five strokes, but he doesn't notice that they are all headless.

“Dad, do computers tink?”

Terry looked at his son in the rear-view mirror:

“No, not yet. Far as I know, anyhow.”

“Well den, wot do dey do?”

“Dey makes connections. Dey can be puttin' millions an' millions of wee scraps togedder, only we has to be de one's tellin' dem wot to do. On der own, dey wouldn't be doin' it.”

Terry thought his explanation sounded plausible; he continued, conscious that he was enjoying listening to himself talk:

“Like, a computer can only be tinkin' wot somebody programmed it to tink. We human bein's, we tinks fer ourselves.”

At that moment, Terry glanced at his son in the rearview mirror to see if he was listening. The boy was looking at him, too.

“Do you understand wot I mean?”

The child nodded yes, and added:

“Me, I like to think. Only der's times I don't know how.”

“Dat's on account of yer still young. You'll learn, don't you worry. Dat's part o' growin' up.”

Le Petit Étienne agreed and turned his gaze toward the exterior.

Well, I'll be darned: I've reread
To Kill a Mockingbird
by the American Harper Lee, and I admit I can't decide if I would include the book in my additions to the
La Bibliothèque idéale
. I suppose I'll have to read it a third time. I can't believe it.

“Luh, Dad, looks like der's somebody campin' o'er der.”

Terry answered absent-mindedly:

“Where's dat?”

“Der! In de trees!”

Étienne's vaguely overexcited tone woke Terry from his reverie; he looked over toward his right. After a moment of observation:

“You know wot, boy, I tink yer right.”

On the shore of the Hall stream, at the mouth of the Petitcodiac, someone had built themselves a discrete shelter in the brush between the pine trees.

“Mostly likely, 'tis a body hasn't got a house.”

Another few seconds of observing passed.

“Or else somebody on de road.”

“Is he gonna be building hisself a fire?”

“Awh, might be. Only chances are de police'll be movin' 'im out o' der.”

“On account of?”

“Well, dey doesn't want folks settlin' in anywhere dey please.”

“On account of?”

. . .

All of a sudden the absolute certitude that I should be writing “
pélerinages
” rather than “
pèlerinages
.” Is it merely a question of the accent? A sudden feeling of not knowing where one stands.

“Dad, are we's gonna sleep in de tent in Caraquet?”

“Are we gonna be sleepin'. Are we gonna be sleepin' in de tent in Caraquet . . .”

“Well? Are we gonna?”

“No. We're gonna be sleepin' in a house where they'll be makin' our breakfast. Dat's a whole lot o' fun as well, you'll see.”

Étienne had never imagined that breakfast . . .

“Dad!”

Terry jumped, thinking there'd been an accident.

“You made me tink dat breakfast!”

Terry regained his composure, adding:

“You can be sayin' it that way. When you says dat, you have to add sometin' on the end of it. Like, you made me tink dat breatkfast . . . is good in de mornin'. Or, dat breakfast, someone has to make it . . .”

. . .

“You see wot I'm sayin'?”

“Yes. Only I just want to say dat breakfast . . .”

Terry let it go. Two corrections the same day was a lot.

It is considered impolite to divulge one's gains on the stock market. The same goes for one's losses.

“Carmen'll never agree.”

“On account of?”

“On account of de stream. She'll be afeard fer de kids.”

“You tink? She's not dat much of a mudder hen as all dat.”

“I'm tellin' you. It'll rub her nerves raw.”

little pink piggy

draw her dad draw her for me

corkscrew of a tail

vest and handkerchief in plaid

wolf eyes on the horizon

“Lakeville.”

“Lakeville Painsec or Lakeville Saint-Philippe?”

“Lakeville Painsec.”

Lisa-M. felt something bursting open.

“Ought to be called just plain Painsec. Like 'twas in de old days.”

Lisa-M. was already throwing herself completely into the idea of a return to the land:

“Wid a stream on top of everytin'! 'Tis like a dream!”

Pomme had never seen her so enthusiastic, including when he'd asked her to marry him:

“Lard, girl, I didn't know you 'ad all of dat in you.”

Lisa-M. would not budge:

“Dat's where tings is goin'. We has to learn to be relyin' on ourselves.”

!

“I can't wait! When does we find out?”

“Afore long. An' don't ferget, now, yer not to tell a soul!”

“I knows it. Only 'tisn't gonna be easy!”

Hans did not usually drink alcohol. But that day he'd gained some awareness of the size of the universe, and thought to himself, why not. (“Infinite to the naked eye, our galaxy, the Milky Way, is located on the periphery of a cluster of galaxies, that is of a group of at least a thousand galaxies. Scientists have recorded 86 clusters, which suggests the existence of at least 86,000 galaxies.”)

“Mum, can we be inventin' words ourselves?”

Carmen took the time to think about it, then began:

“Yes . . . only you can't force other people to use them.”

Étienne took his own time to reflect. Drifted away. Only to come back to it the next day:

“Mum, is der anytin' you can force udder people to do?”

In the end, the six-pronged fork turned out to be very handy.

“Gold is uncertain.”

. . .

“It'll probably be a
dead cat bounce
.”

In 43, after condemning (Saint) James the Great to death, King Herod had (Saint) Peter imprisoned, ordering that he be chained in a cell. An angel rescued him, breaking his chains. Hence the name Saint-Peter-in-Chains.

Carmen was stunned:

“A stream?!”

“Well, way over at the end of de land. An' 'tisn't deep.”

Terry held his breath.

“How far an' how deep?”

“Well . . .”

There was a time, not so long ago, when it was quite common to see a boy pull a penknife out of his pocket and use it skillfully — to whittle a stick, cut a rope, open a clam, repair a flat bicycle tire.

“Hans? Hans?”

Élizabeth had come be the Babar by chance, thinking she might take Marianne to the Magnetic Hill Zoo.

“Hans!”

Hans opened his eyes. The people gathered around the body stretched out on the floor could appreciate Élizabeth's skills in action. She kept one hand on his pulse and the other on his forehead.

“Élizabeth? Is that you?”

Comically, someone thought of Gabriel being reunited with Évangeline.

an X in the hand

or a sharp knife in the back

death will sign its folk

“I heard Terry an' Zed made a killin' on de stock market.”

!

“Seems dey had shares in a wee company dat just got bought up by General Electric fer sometin' like twenty times de price dey paid.”

“Good fer dem!”

“Dey's tinkin' o' buyin' land in Lakeside . . .”

“Wot fer?”

“I don't know, do I. An investment, I suppose.”

Luck.

“Does you like drawin'?”

Chico shrugged. No, it wasn't generally something he did of his own volition. But maybe he ought to try? Only Étienne didn't pursue it.

“Do you want to read?”

Chico shrugged again. Drawing, reading, on what strange planet had he landed?

“Do you want to make a boat?”

Now, Chico's face became a question mark. Étienne opened two doors near the floor that concealed a small workbench for making things with wood. Chico put his hand on the real hammer. Étienne showed him the nails.

“I never hammered nails before, only now I knows how.”

The character of the photocopier could have been more developed.

“I heard Terry an' Zed lost der shirt in de stock market.”

?!

“Seems dey put all der money in a wee company dat went bankrupt.”

“Dat surprises me. Seems to me, der not so stun'd as dat.”

“Dey bought an ol' house fer next to nuttin' behind Lakeside, I suppose dey'll be movin' out der.”

. . .

“Der wives aren't all dat suited . . .”

To go on, in spite of everything. We can't always wait for clarifications, or retrace our steps. Allow real life to operate within the work.

“Fer Bas-Caraquet, you's gotta turn right when you gets across from de hospital.”

Étienne interrupted them:

“But, Dad, der's no hospital!”

Terry was happy to see that the boy was attentive to conversation around him.

“Well, troot is der is one. It's only dat 'tisn't near as big as it used to be. Dey closed down some of de sections.”

Étienne wondered at what age one began to understand things properly. Then he thought of the sky-blue windows of the old eviscerated convent, drifted off. And came back.

“Mum, do you tink birds are lucky?”

Names of Acadian dogs: Prince, Brownie, Ginger, Rex, Sabre, Prince II, Vagabond, Coco, Bijou, Kayle, Keisha, Maggie, Corneille, Fido, Bailey, Tootsie, Baldor, Sandy, Rosie, Zack, Niki, Louis, Chopper, Popotte, Milou, Ti-Lou, Pépé Cool, Maxi, Pooh, Choco, Pitou, and Moka.

“Saint Cecilia painted a church in Caraquet.”

“Wot colour?”

“A whole lot o' colours.”

. . .

“Only der all de same.”

. . .

“Blue.”

The perfect sentence on the art of becoming cheese, read somewhere, and never found again.

“Terry? . . . Terry? . . .”

. . .

“Terry!”

And Terry opened his eyes. It worked every time. Zed had learned the trick a long time ago, watching Élizabeth pull Hans out of a slumber that seemed like it might last forever.”