I'le Dor, page 28
“Drowning,” Lucien said. “Oui.” He knew almost how that might have felt. He was quiet. After a while, he turned on the radio to the local station. The announcer talked about the weather and said the snow would continue.
“Since you came, I feel better,” Lucien said. “Not about Guy. About me. I was hungry for a body in my bed, somebody warm to cling to, but it wouldn’t have worked if it had been just anyone. I never thought I’d say anything like this. Sex for a man is different, tu comprends. But I guess it wasn’t only sex I needed. You came here at just the right time. If it hadn’t been you, I might be out drinking. I might have ended up out at the cemetery next to Guy.” He went on talking until he realized what he was doing. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“We both did what we wanted to do,” she said. “And it helped both of us.”
He had a beer, and then they made arrangements for the party the next evening.
“Blanche said to come early,” he said. “There’ll be lots of food. She’s one of the best cooks, for big crowds, too. She could have taken over at the cookery for White Steve when he died, but she didn’t want to.”
“I don’t blame her. A party’s one thing, but doing it every day?”
“What did Paul have to say?”
“A lot of things. He read the end of Guy’s diary. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
“We talked about Guy a lot. That’s really why he wanted to see me.”
Lucien stood up and took his blue and gold beer can over to a plastic pail under the sink where he stared out the window. “Poor Guy,” he said. “We were beginning to get along when he started the heavy drinking.” He buttoned up his jacket, put on his boots and headed out the door.
“Good night,” he said. “I’ll leave the store early tomorrow and pick you up then.”
She said she would use either skis or snowshoes to explore a bit more of the area around the lake and she might also do some more sketching.
“How did Michelle know about the horse?” Libby asked.
Lucien was in the open doorway by then. He had wondered if she would ask. When she’d told the story, it was as if it were part of a dream, which for her it likely was by now.
“Probably because the farmer was a friend of her father’s.” Old Boisvert had poker games in the kitchen at the farm on long cold winter evenings. Michelle’s father won a lot of money, gambling in his blood, gambling a way of life for the early miners.
“It’s odd,” Libby said. “As far as I know, none of us told anyone about it or mentioned it to each other ever again and when no one else said anything, after a while it was as if it had never happened.”
58.
NICK WALKED ALONG the sidewalk past the log bungalows toward a small restaurant on the main street. He’d told the owner of his lodgings the night before that he would go out for breakfast again. No, nothing wrong, he assured her. He’d been to drink coffee quite often and had sat with a newspaper at the place he now entered. He was glad not to have to follow routine. He should have done this sooner. Just wandered out into the town, deciding to eat where and when he felt like it.
“Bonjour,” the young waitress said as he sat down at what had quickly become his customary booth.
“How are you today?” he asked, glad she was working.
She put a cup of steaming black coffee with a small jug of cream in front of him, knowing by now not to offer sugar. When he ordered pancakes, crisp bacon and maple syrup, he waited for her comment. When she raised her eyebrows and smiled approvingly, as if to say she was pleased he was finally ordering a full breakfast, he grinned. A newspaper, Le Devoir, left on the windowsill, caught his eye and he reached for it. There was a photo of a young boy on the front that reminded him of Marcel Blouin. Maybe he could figure out something that would make a difference in the boy’s life rather than presuming he could do nothing. But if Marcel wouldn’t even go to school, what could Nick possibly do? Suppose he were to talk to Michelle about depositing money into an account for Marcel. Not something that would fall into the hands of his mother and get spent on alcohol or cigarettes.
After eating the pancakes and flipping through all the sections of the newspaper, reading a few articles, he took out his wallet.
The waitress brought him the bill. Had he enjoyed the pancakes? she asked. Bien sur. Would he be staying in town long? Non. She looked disappointed, reminding him of his daughter. He would come back again, he assured her, not sure he ever would. Her face relaxed then.
He decided he wanted to talk to Michelle about the boy and headed toward her shop as soon as he stepped out of the restaurant. From the entrance, he could see her dark head bent over a sewing machine at the back. Hearing the bell, she looked up and smiled when she saw him at the threshold.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said. “Welcome.”
“Would you like me to get some coffee for you?” he asked.
“I have a pot,” she said. “I can pour a cup for you.”
He sat down on a bench across from her. “I had this idea,” he said. “One of those light bulb things.”
She waited expectantly, leaning back in her chair now, holding the fold of the shimmering material in one hand with her knee resting gently against a bar that controlled the old Singer.
“It’s about the boy,” he said. “If you agree to give him money for specific things, you know, things like toothpaste, socks, school books, healthy snacks, I’ll leave enough.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “How would you do that?”
“I haven’t figured out the logistics,” he said. “But there must be a way. And you could see that he has what he needs on a regular basis.”
Michelle heaved a large sigh and scrunched up her eyes so that her face became that of someone much older. “Has it crossed your mind that he might refuse anything you tried to give him?”
“He doesn’t have to know it’s me.”
“You or anyone. He’s so proud. And besides, there’s his mother. What if she objects? Or more likely, takes the money?”
“I guess I’ll have to go and talk to her.”
“Good luck,” Michelle said. “She’ll never be sober enough to understand what you’re saying.”
“I can try.” Surely there was some way of communicating with his mother.
“There’s something I’d like to tell you. It has nothing to do with all of this. It’s another topic entirely.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“My ex was killed in a car accident.”
The words were so unexpected that it felt as if he’d been hit in the stomach. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I’m not,” Michelle said. “It’s a relief. It would have been a relief whenever it happened.”
“Well, thanks for telling me,” he said. It was just the kind of comment that would have upset him recently had it been one of his patients, but he didn’t hear any trace of malice in her tone. And under the circumstances, she deserved to be relieved. “I guess you must feel secure now in a way you haven’t been able to for years.”
She nodded. “For sure.” And changed the subject again as if that were all the time it warranted.
He certainly wouldn’t be happy if he learned Marie were dead, but he might be if it were Henri who was smashed up in a car or plane crash. What a shocking person he was, he thought, but after all not particularly unusual. He would never try to harm anyone, even a man he perceived now as his greatest rival. But he could wish him ill if he chose to. It was time for him to acknowledge these angry feelings were quite human, he thought, but also probably time to let go of them.
“Anyway,” she said. “Why don’t we see what Lucien thinks of your scheme? He might have some good ideas.”
“How do you suggest I approach him?”
“Just go and talk to him at the pharmacy and we, and anyone else who might be interested, can talk at the party later.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Nick said. “The party. I meant to tell you I’ve decided to leave the day after. There are some other things I want to do before I go back to Toronto. Maybe take some photographs in the Laurentians and wander around in Montreal with my camera. I think photography is more my thing than writing. If I ever go to India, I’m more apt to want photographs than to write a book.” He paused. “And anyway a novel isn’t something for a dilettante to take on. Most of all, I’d like to see my daughter soon and maybe she’ll come to Montreal for a weekend to visit my old haunts with me. Then I need to get on with things.”
“That would be tomorrow?” Michelle said, her tone surprised. Perhaps disappointed also.
A woman came through the front entrance and began to go through a rack of blouses in petite sizes. Pulling out a red one, she brushed one hand down the front as if savouring the sensation. The way women shopped had always astounded Nick. Marie had been able to spend hours just looking at one item after another. Trying on dresses for an occasion, how does this black one look? she would ask. Or the one with the short skirt and the high bodice? He had only rarely accompanied her on shopping trips, but she always wanted his opinion as soon as she’d bought something. Michelle turned to watch the woman who was now moving on to the long dresses. She stood up and started to move toward the racks of clothes.
“I’d like to buy something for my daughter,” Nick said, putting his cup down on the edge of the table where the sewing machine sat. “What would you suggest? I don’t know her size except that she’s slim. Average height.”
Michelle stopped, appearing thoughtful. “Some accessories,” she said. “I’ll get out some things and you can look at them after you talk to Lucien.”
“Thanks,” he said, watching her approach the woman, listening to her friendly greeting.
He nodded at Michelle as he went out through the door again and walked up the street. The pharmacy looked fairly busy so early in the morning. He made his way carefully past the magazine racks, the cough medicines, the pain medications, and then the condoms, on the other side of the aisle. He was glad to find Lucien alone in his office. All the customers were being dealt with by the young woman at the counter. How would he broach with Lucien that he also wanted to get permission for Marcel Blouin to visit Toronto and that he hoped Michelle would accompany the boy on that trip? He was afraid that Lucien would assume he had ulterior motives, especially after the episode with the condoms. Maybe he didn’t have to speak with him. He could go and see the boy’s mother before he left and see if she were sober enough to talk with him. There wouldn’t be much time if he were leaving the following day, but in the morning when he checked out of his lodgings might be as good a time as any. Perhaps the Blouin woman would be less inebriated then, recovering from the night before. She might even be lucid.
59.
WHEN THE GUESTS stepped into the living room of Blanche and Al’s home, they could see a large table at the opposite end covered with a red cloth. At the centre was a sleigh full of boughs and red and green ribbons. Libby remembered that in the north, the festive season began early in December and went on for two or three weeks. This year it would start a bit earlier.
By six o’clock, there were more than forty people crowded into the living room and kitchen. Jacques Paquin opened a beer and leaned back near the old wood stove, his arm around Charmaine. She leaned against his shoulder. Jacques smiled at Libby and gestured for her to join them. If their relationship had been a secret before, it wasn’t any longer. As Libby spoke to them in halting French, they nodded as if to encourage her.
“What a feast,” she said, sure if she sampled everything she would burst the buttons of her skirt. Salads, casseroles, loaves of garlic bread and rolls were spread around the sleigh. Tourtière, spiced beef, Oka cheese, cheddar, brie, green grapes. On a smaller table in the corner were bottles of wine, Scotch, VO, cold beer, ginger ale and tonic, with glasses along one side. In the kitchen, the counter was covered with desserts — tarts, a maple sugar pie and a huge chocolate cake.
“Imagine Paul, Libby and Nick back in town at the same time,” a deep voice intoned.
Hearing his name, Paul drifted over from the crowd that now surrounded the table and Michelle followed him. Blanche also appeared, carrying out a tray of hors d’oevres from the kitchen with an apron flung over her shoulder.
“The hostess never gets to talk to anyone for very long,” Blanche said. “Everyone can wait a little while we chat.”
She welcomed Libby back to Ile d’Or. She seemed to have forgotten Nick. Then she saw him, taking bottles of wine and beer from a large cardboard box and adding them to the table.
“Thanks Nick,” she said. “Please come join us.”
Michelle nodded. For a while, they all seemed to talk at the same time, until they burst out laughing.
“There’s something I’d like to bring up while we’re all here,” Nick said.
They waited expectantly.
“What is it, Nick?” Blanche asked.
“I think you all know Marcel Blouin,” he began. “I have an idea and I’m wondering how we might get together on it.”
He explained what he, Michelle, and then later Lucien, had discussed earlier and suggested they might all want to contribute some small amount. “Lucien will be in charge of the money,” he said. “Of doling it out when Marcel needs things.” He said Michelle was willing to make the trip to Toronto with Marcel next spring, something he’d thought about since the boy had asked him to go there.
“It sounds like a good idea,” Al said. “But when it comes down to it, Marcel will refuse. Not the money for food, but the trip. I know the kid. We’ll have to struggle to get him to go to school, but that part might happen.”
“Why wouldn’t he come to Toronto?” Nick asked. “He’s been asking me for just that ever since I met him.”
“It may sound ridiculous,” Al said. “But he’ll feel he has to look after his mother.”
Nick shook his head. “Of course,” he said. “He puts on a tough guy act, but he’s really looking out for her, isn’t he?”
A lot of head shaking, but the outcome was that the others were also willing to pursue the plan. Nick said when he returned to the city, he would set up some kind of transfer to the fund from his bank account. He didn’t say so, but if Marcel wouldn’t come down to visit him he’d come back in the spring to see how the boy was doing.
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Blanche said. “Well let’s have a good time now and make the most of the party.”
They all started to speak at once, and then stopped to let Blanche tell stories about some of the adventures she and Al had experienced since moving to Ile d’Or.
“That dog,” Al said, laughing. “You know, the Muir dog.”
He didn’t have to go any further to have those around him in gales of laughter. They had all seen him in the taxi with the dog sitting on the front seat beside him as he drove away from St. Luc’s toward the houses on mine property.
“How’s your brother?” Michelle asked finally.
“Oh, Pierre,” Blanche said. “He lives north of Toronto.”
“I didn’t know that,” Libby said. “But then I didn’t know about you either until I arrived here. Just about Thérèse and she disappeared from my world when I was still a child. I remember she missed her brothers and sisters, but I had no sense of them.”
“Well, Pierre’s the oldest in our family,” Blanche said. “When he brought Carol back to Timmins at the end of the war, he said, ‘You’ve heard of one-horse towns. Well, this is a half-horse town.’ She never learned French. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘It’s her loss.’ But I think he cared. They lived at MacNac after we came here. She was quite sick for a while, so they moved south. He said he had to live near Yonge Street because he needed to feel as if he could escape any time. The road to the north, you understand. He said she took a man from the north and expected him to live in an apartment. He wouldn’t go that far. So they live in a house in Aurora. Now she’s the one who talks of moving to North Bay. I guess all those years up there had an impact.”
“Oh, yes,” Paul said. “We end up in strange places for strange reasons, n’est ce pas? Do you know if he was drafted into the forces?”
“He was up north already,” Blanche said. “I don’t know for sure. He could have been. He wanted to leave the mines, so maybe not.”
Al started to sing loudly. Alouette. After that, some other song. Then he put on a tape, Beau Dommage.
“This is a party,” Al hollered. “Not much room to dance. But eat, drink and sing.” He said it in both languages, although Libby and Nick were the only ones whose first language was English and Nick’s might well have been Ukrainian. Someone touched Blanche’s elbow and she turned away reluctantly. Lucien put his hand on Paul’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you came back just now,” he said.
Libby stood beside them, listening quietly as they began to talk about hunting for moose. It took a while before either of them mentioned Guy. The picture that emerged from their conversation was of a man who even as a teenager started to be known as the best shot in the north. Never missed a partridge or a moose. Later took the young kids camping. All of this before he drank too much. He knew every canoe route for miles around, once took his sons up to James Bay. Damn good miner, too. A shame he did not get to engineering school. He used to talk about Walter Muir designing the hoist and what Arthur White knew about rocks. Susan’s father must have told him about prospecting because for a while he went off looking for gold with him. Later he went alone.
“I don’t understand what the point of no return was for him,” Libby said. “When did that happen?”
