The Secret of the Blue Trunk (15 page)

He often talked to me about his wish to have a child. Unfortunately, I couldn’t give him what he wanted so badly because in the years I spent at the camp I had stopped having my period, with lasting consequences. Also, I was older than he was, and afraid I wouldn’t have the patience to bring up a child.

In our first year of marriage, Maurice’s sister became pregnant. It was an unwanted pregnancy. She was thirty-nine and still lived with her parents. She felt just as embarrassed about her condition as a teenager would have been. She knew I couldn’t have children. So, before looking for total strangers, she asked us if we would agree to adopt the one she was carrying. Maurice was thrilled at the idea of bringing up a child with me, but rather than responding right away, he said he would think it over, and asked her not to do anything before he had given her his answer. He didn’t force my hand. When I saw how happy he was, I immediately wanted to give him the great joy of being a parent. He was ecstatic, and I was happy, too, although a little fearful. Yet, with all I’d gone through in my childhood, I longed to have my own family.

Maurice’s sister stayed in the countryside throughout her pregnancy to avoid gossip and so save the family’s honour. During this time, Maurice and I prepared ourselves to give the child a proper home. We took our roles very seriously. We even found a notary who had the power to have the words “illegitimate child” removed from the register of baptisms. So when the child would read its birth certificate, there would be no trace of the adoption. This was vitally important to us.

On September 18, 1955, Maurice’s sister gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

That was you, dearest Lise! We had eagerly awaited the event. Before you were born, we often went to visit your mother in her refuge in the country. We were anxious to see your little face. When we did, I noticed you looked like Maurice, and in this resemblance I found your legitimacy. Everyone would say, “She’s very much her father’s daughter!” You have his eyes and you were a happy little girl, good-natured, very much like him.

Maurice just couldn’t resist spending time with you. He played with you whenever he could. He was always down on the floor and you leaned on him constantly. The two of you were a great pair.

I have to tell you a secret: I was a bit jealous of all the attention Maurice gave you. Since you arrived, he only thought of you, only spent time with you, and you were very close to him. It seemed to me I was losing my relationship with him. Before you came, he was the only one I shared my time with. Now I had to share that time with you, as well. It must be because of the years I spent at the camps that I needed attention and affection so badly. I was like you: I wanted him to love me even more dearly and take me in his arms all the time. You had to stay at the orphanage for a few months, for administrative reasons, and that must be why you, too, needed a double dose of affection. But, in the end, the two of us learned to share our man.

When you were four, I was hospitalized to have a huge fibroid removed from my uterus. The tumour was so large it affected my kidneys. It was a direct result of my period having stopped in the camps.

The surgeon decided to remove everything, and, doing so, found cancerous cells in the kidneys. While you lay beside me in my hospital bed, I caught sight of the doctor as he talked to Maurice in the corridor. I saw Maurice cry for the first time. He paced up and down before coming back. He sat down close to me, put his head on my stomach, began to cry and said, “The doctor told me that at the rate the cancer is spreading, you may only have two years left to live.” He used hints in that sentence so you wouldn’t understand what it meant. Still crying, he added, “I won’t be able to go on without you. I won’t know how to bring up Lise by myself. I want to die before you.”

We prayed every day with great fervour to the Virgin Mary. Six months later, blood tests showed no trace of malignant cells. This was one of the great pieces of news that have marked my life. I received a five-year respite, without any suffering. It lasted until June 18, 1965, to be more precise. I will curse that date until I die.

On that day I was thrown into turmoil yet again. We were coming back from doing our shopping, you and I. We pushed the door open, which, oddly enough, had been left ajar. Your father lay on the floor. I sent you to get help while I stayed with Maurice. I bathed his face with cold water and loosened his shirt. I kept shouting out his name. His eyes were rolled upwards and he moaned. I begged him to talk to me. Assistance was a long time coming. All of a sudden his skin turned blue. He hardly moaned at all now. I understood I was losing him. I held his head in my hands and screamed for help. It finally arrived. One person asked me not to stay there while they tried to resuscitate him.

I complied and sat down a little distance away. Everything was falling apart for me again, but this time adversity had won. I had no energy left to fight. My whole body said, “All right. I give up. The victory is yours …” Maurice was only forty-three.

Then I lost track of time. People who were there that day have told me what happened next. Apparently I uttered sacrilegious curses and attacked God so violently they found it difficult to listen to me. A doctor prescribed tranquillizers, which I had to take during the three days of Maurice’s viewing at the funeral home. I was in such despair I must have frightened the family.

They kept me so full of pills that I saw nothing of the ceremonies and I think it was actually better this way. My only regret, dearest Lise, and I apologize to you, is in those days of intense sorrow I completely forgot about you. I thank those who looked after you until I came down to earth.

After this difficult ordeal, we became closely knit. From then on, no one could drive us apart. I know you were afraid I would abandon you.

I hope that when you read these notebooks, you will understand the way I behaved now and then, which may have seemed unreasonable to you. Old wounds were in fact resurfacing at those times.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for having been by my side. You enriched the rest of my existence, which might have been meaningless without you. Along with your father, you were the greatest gift life brought me. I will always love you.

Mom

I
f
it’s true that children choose their parents before coming into the world, Maurice and Armande would definitely have been my first choice.

Sharing my mother’s life with you allowed me to learn many things about her, and myself as well.

I love her even more today.

One of my regrets is that she died shortly before you made it possible for me to earn a decent living thanks to the fine profession of humorist. I would have liked to spoil her and make her last days a little easier, but she died in poverty because at that time I myself had difficulty making ends meet. After her death, my career soared. Who knows if she wasn’t behind me to help me forge ahead and make you laugh so that now
you
might adopt me?

While I wrote this book, I thought I sensed her presence. I had a feeling she laid her hands on mine when I wrote.

It was in May of 2004 that the idea of the book began to form and I started the research.

I wanted to share her life with you as a tribute to her and so she wouldn’t have experienced all that suffering in vain. I fervently hope you have enjoyed her story and feel a tiny bit of compassion for her so that her soul receives a caress.

We all have our lot of suffering, but as I became familiar with her story, I realized I would never have survived such a tragedy. There’s no question I would have given up long before.

It is important that young people know what really happened so it will never be forgotten.

My mother came to be an inspiration for me, which often helps me to start the day on the right foot.

Thank you, Armande.

Your daughter,
who wanted you
to become immortal.

M
y
first thanks, which will never be adequate for the story she lived and passed on to me, go to my mother, Armande.

To Ariane, with whom I began the extensive research the narration required, a big thank you.

My thanks also to Christiane for helping me put this extraordinary story in order.

And a huge thank you to the great Quebec author Chrystine, for sharing her knowledge with me, an amateur author.

I am grateful to Monique for her support and her assistance with a thorough examination of the narrative.

A truly special thanks to Valéry, the policewoman who gave me the chance to experience one of my life’s great moments by arranging for me to meet a citizen from her district, Madame Iréna, who is Polish and Jewish and lived through all the horrors.

My immense gratitude goes to Madame Iréna, who told me the story of her life, which moved me deeply. I will always cherish her.

I want to thank Sister Éva Tremblay for putting into words a part of the puzzle that was missing from my story.

To the people at the Société historique du Saguenay a big thank you for giving me access to the treasures contained in their archives.

I am grateful to all those who decided to put their records on the Internet.

A warm thank you to Ève-Marie for contributing to my research with a document she gave me during one of my appearances on
Salut Bonjour
.

I am immeasurably grateful to Manon, Yvan, and Carole, who kept my life outside of my writing going by taking care of my affairs.

My thanks to Mado, who is part of my roots, for remaining my friend for life in spite of Armande’s mood swings.

A triple thank you to my three dear Johannes. To the first, my long-time friend, for her great support. To the second, my angel of the Saguenay, who guides me in my life now and then because she knows the events that happened before my time. And finally to the Johanne who had faith in me and made my dream come true, the Johanne who made it possible for me to hold my mother’s immortalized life story in my hands and smell the paper it is printed on, and with whom I shared all my weaknesses. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.

To my right arm throughout the venture, who encouraged and supported me, who was by my side in my research, in my insecurity, my doubts, and especially in my cave away from the outside world: Thank you so much, Lorraine.

To Jacques, many thanks for turning me into a much less amateurish writer.

My gratitude to Karine, the extension of my memory.

To Daniel, who is involved in all my projects, my great supporter, my artistic rock, my coach, my agent, a big, sincere thank you.

And a thank you as huge as the sky to Claudie and Hugo, my children, who are larger than life and often more mature than I am. I’m proud of you and it’s important to me that you be proud of me, too.

Thank you, my audience, for supporting me in my ventures and for all those years of loyalty. It gives me great joy to share the story of my mother’s life with you.

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