For Sure (55 page)

“Yah, I wants to know as well . . .”

The two boys looked like a couple of hungry robin chicks, their beaks wide open.

“Say again, wot is it youse wants to know?”

“Wot's dis orient? Dis orient ocean?”

The preface of
Précis de l'histoire moderne
is followed by an 8-page introduction, but, naturally, it is in the body of the text — some 300-pages long — that Michelet examines in depth the events that mark modern history, beginning in 1453 with the Turkish capture of Constantinople, and ending with the French Revolution in 1789. The first and last pages of this copy of the book are especially stained, the middle pages less so, except for pages 92 and 93, which are especially greasy. One might conclude that the student needed a whole lot of butter cakes to sustain the effort of memorization.

The two dads launched into extensive explanations of the phenomenon of disorientation, as it relates to right and left, north, south, east, and west; and to the stars, the compass, GPS, and instinct.

“Let's say dat it's not so easy to know wair* dey ought to be goin', when yer in de middle of de ocean an' neider land nor any signs around . . . doh, sure it's not like dey can read anyhow . . .”

The four beached whales on the beach had attracted a crowd of curious villagers. There was no shortage of opinions:

“Der's dem dat says when a whale dies, de udder whales push 'er toward de shore.”

“Why would dey be doin' dat?”

“We doesn't know fer sure. Some say 'tis a burial like.”

Zed had heard a different explanation:

“A fellow over der's sayin' dey was most likely lookin' fer fish to eat when dey got pushed up on de beach by the storm winds.”

“Dad! Luh! Dey's cuttin' her!”

Indeed, a fisheries worker was taking a sample of flesh from one of the cetaceans. Étienne was close to horrified.

“Dey's gotta analyze dat bit under de microscope so's dey can be findin' out if dese 'ere whales died of some disease. On account of, if dat's de case, maybe dey could keep udder whales from catchin' it.”

The four watched the sampling process:

“Seems like der tryin' to cut in places whar* ‘twon't show so badly.”

“Could be dey're lookin' fer a special part, like de stomach or close to de gills or sometin' like dat.”

. . .

“Maybe dey just don't like to be wreckin' sometin' so . . . majestic.”

Sylvia always eats fish on Friday, a vestige of her religious education, which she originally conserved out of superstition, but that she maintains today more for health reasons and, perhaps a little oddly, out of respect for her ancestors.

Touristic slip: to take the girdled tour rather than the guided tour.

“Reminds me o' de first time you came by to take a look at de lofts building wid me, dat time we unloaded de vinyls. We was after takin' a look round de inside, an' den we's just standin' der in de middle o' de place, an' you says ‘it's ‘entrancing.'”

Yes, Terry remembers.

“Sure, I remember dat.”

“An' den you says 'twas de first time you ever used dat word.”

“Dat's de troot', I did say dat.”

“Just dat wee bit — when we's standin' der, an' you says de word, an' den dat it was de first time youse ever said it — dat's sometin' I's never gonna ferget.”

Terry was both touched and intrigued.

“On account of?”

“Don't know, really. 'Twas just so . . . us.”

. . .

. . .

Vor der Kaserne

Vor dem großen Tor

Stand eine Laterne

Und steht sie noch davor

So woll'n wir uns da wieder seh'n

Bei der Laterne wollen wir steh'n

Wie einst Lili Marleen

Wie einst Lili Marleen

“Dad, I wants to wash me hands.”

Étienne had just woken up. Terry glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Wash yer hands wot fer?”

But Terry had a pretty good idea why. And since Étienne seemed to be still half asleep, his father was quite happy to let his son's request wither on the vine.

“Eh, Dad? Can I wash me hands?”

“Wot's de matter wid yer hands? I'm not about to stop fer nuttin'.”

Terry did not want to drag out their return trip, which was already sufficiently long. He dared to hope that his slightly impatient tone would convince Étienne to forget about his hands, or to go back to sleep until they got home.

“I's got whale on dem, don't I.”

Terry cast a pleading look Zed's way, then dug deep within himself for all the patience he could muster:

“On account of you touched de whale, is dat it? Dat's not real dirt, ya know. It's no different dan if you'd be touchin' leather.”

Zed chimed in casually:

“Leather dat's bin floatin' in salt water, to boot. Salt water doesn't make a body dirty, it cures you.”

“Dat's troo. Don't ya remember when you scraped yer knee an' Granny washed it wid salt water?”

. . .

. . .

“But you said 'twere maybe sick!”

“De whale? I said she were maybe sick?”

Terry thought hard and fast:

“I only meant inside 'er belly. I's certain der weren't no sickness on 'er skin.”

Étienne, both hands resting palms up on his thighs, stared helplessly at the back of the seat in front of him.

“Eh, boy? Do you believe me?”

Étienne, unsure and unwilling to abdicate completely, wiggled his fingers:

“It's sticky, all de same . . .”

And come to think of it, why yellow? Wouldn't any colour do just as well?
Concerning Red. Concerning Blue. Concerning Green. Concerning White.
I suppose not.

In the back seat, the two boys eventually drifted back to sleep. Their long day out in the sea air finally got the better of Étienne's hands that had touched the whale.

“Sometimes, de tings dey come out wid!”

“Don't I know it. 'Tis great!”

“You an' Chico, is it like you figured 'twould be, or better? Or worse?!”

“Up until now — touch wood — it's been smood sailin'. It's like ee was me little brudder I've known from way back.”

“Great! More dan likely 'tis better dat way dan bein' a real parent.”

“Ee rings up 'is granny a lot, dat's 'ow ee calls 'er, ‘me granny.' I figure ee's worryin' she'll be lonesome by 'erself. When ee's on de phone wid 'er, I pretends to go to de batroom or some such ting, just so ee feels free to say wot he likes. I tries not to crowd de boy. But, when ee's done, ee tells me everytin' dey said.”

“Does ee talk 'bout Shawn at all?”

“From time to time, he does.”

. . .

“Udder day, ee tells me he dreamed dat folks wot killed der fawder or mudder weren't sent off to prison — to de
jail
is 'ow ee put it. Dat it weren't de sort of ting you get sent up to prison fer. Dat sometin' else happened, only ee couldn't say wot.”

“Hun! Dat's not so crazy . . .”

Examination for course on Geography of the Ocean (GEOG 2831): Jonas in the belly of the whale? Really? Base your case on the fact that he boarded at Tarshish, near present-day Port Said, and that he only travelled on the Mediterranean Sea. (Bonus of five points if you draw a map of the main fish migrations in the Atlantic, between the Arctic and the Antarctic).

“An' wot about Élizabeth in all dis?”

“She does a right proper job of it, she does. Gives us plenty o' time an' room. Doesn't try to be a mudder, an' dat's a good ting. An' she never tells me wot to do, unless I asks 'er.”

“Geez . . . stop! I'm gettin' jealous!”

Zed laughed.

“Are yer wee sisters still gone head o'er heels over 'im?”

“Tell ya de troot, me parents're just as bad. Dey hauled him off to Fredericton last week — me dad had a wee job to do down der, an' next ting, dey goes an' buys de boy a brand new pair o' skates.”

“Dat's wonderful nice o' dem to tink of it.”

“I knows it. I figure me dad's feelin' guilty fer all de hard times ee put me troo. One o' dese days, I suppose I ought to be tellin' 'im ee doesn't 'ave to be carryin' all dat guilt.”

“Might not be guilt. Might be ee just figured it out, finally!”

“Could be.”

. . .

“Yer still on de lookout fer de moose, eh?”

The list of automatic corrections for common errors in German (Germany) is not available. The component is not installed. Do you want to install it now? Yes. No.

“How about you, is there something in particular that frightens you?”

“Well, I'd hate to be gettin' meself killed in a car accident. De worst part'd be hearin' all dat metal gettin' mashed wid me inside it. Brrr!”

“Does this fear keep you from travelling in cars?”

“Naw. Only I's gotta be de one drivin'.”

. . .

“You can skip
me turn if you tink me fear's too borin'.”

Reminder: check your car's wheel nuts! Unseen defects, such as overtightening, can lead to loosening of the wheel nuts. All nuts must be checked after driving a distance of 80 km with newly installed tires. Come by your Atlantic Tire Dealers Association member sales outlet for a free checkup on wheel-nut tighteness. Your safety depends on it. This reminder is provided by the Atlantic Tire Dealers Association.

“So den, when did you start?”

Before replying to Zed's question, Terry glanced behind him to make sure that Étienne and Chico were still asleep.

“Bin a couple o' years now. Longer if you count de time I was lookin' it over off and on, 'afore I made up me mind.”

. . .

“Didn't want to go blabberin' about it doh, in case I screwed up.”

. . .

“Now, it's got so it's a wee sideline. Keeps me goin'.”

…

“I did kinda want to tell Carmen, only I never did. I suppose I's afraid she'd panic an' tell me to stop.”

. . .

“Dunno really. 'Twas like 'avin' a bit of a fling I suppose.”

. . .

“An' now, well . . .”

In time, all things come to rest/rust.

“It's my first time inside a prison.”

. . .

“How are you?”

Shawn gave me a quick nod of the head. My interpretation: superfluous question. I tried to switch tracks.

“I explained in my letter why I was wantin' to talk to you. Have you any questions?”

He shrugged. My interpretation: I'm here for a momentary distraction.

“Yer not in a talkin' mood, I can see that. I can come back anudder time, if you like. Most likely some days're better than udders.”

Shawn forced a quick laugh. My interpretation: good days are rare.

. . .

. . .

. . .

“'Ow's Chico doin', den?”

“Pretty well, far as I can tell. He looks like a right fine little fellow.”

My answer seemed to reassure him. I added:

“Zed's takin' wonderful fine care of him.”

Shawn was silent. I wondered if my mention of Zed had troubled him.

“What I mean to say is I don't think you have to be worryin' about him.”

He nodded. My interpretation: no need to dwell on the subject.

. . .

“Well, den, wot was ya wantin' to know? Shoot.”

I got straight to the point:

“Do you think you were treated fairly in this whole thing? I mean, do you think they were fair to ya?”

He considered it seriously.

“In a way, yes.”

“An' . . . in the udder way?”

He took a moment longer to think.

“No one showed me 'ow to handle meself, how to handle me dark side.”

“When you were a boy, you mean, or since you been in 'ere?”

“When I's a boy. Once yer in 'ere 'tis too late, obviously.”

It was my turn to nod.

“An' when did you realize you had a dark side?”