For Sure (80 page)

. . .

. . .

“Sometimes dey shows fish.”

“I mean when it's parents, 'tis always a dad an' a mum togedder, never two dads or two mums.”

“Sometimes dey show kids.”

. . .

“I likes
Snow What an' de Satinwarves
.”

Terry decided to throw caution to the wind.

“Did you know der's some children dat's got two dads or two mums, instead of one dad and one mum?”

“That doesn't matter, Dad.”

“Well, alright, we agree on dat. Dat . . .”

The cartoon had just taken a new direction: the farmer pig had planted a seed that immediately began to grow straight up into the heavens. Terry didn't want to tear his son away from the story, so he put off the discussion he wanted to have with the boy until another time.

The real Élizabeth exists. I've just met her. Her name is Mireille Savoie.

“Where's Lisa-M. at? It's bin a shockin' long time since I seen 'er.”

“You didn't hear? She got de carpal tunnel in 'er wrist from playin' de flute. Dey's gonna have to operate.”

“Awh, is dat so?”

“So she can't be liftin' trays an' dat.”

“I'd never 'ave tawt you could get dat just from playin' flute.”

“In de beginnin' some folks was sayin' 'twas a tumour, only dat was just anudder rumour.”

at last twas open

merge yield merge yield were blinking

the old man smiled

the offramp called out to him

to quit life without regret

“Wot sort of animal would you be, if you was one?”

Chico had already thought about it:

“A squirrel.”

Zed was quite fond of squirrels.

“Awh, yeah? On account of?”

Chico shrugged:

“I likes wot dey can do: run fast, climb in de trees an' jump in de branches, hold right still widout movin', eatin' peanuts . . .”

“Yes. An' dey's right comical when der runnin' one after de udder.”

. . .

. . .

“I likes de little brown ones wid de black line. I seen a grey one once, only ee wasn't so nice.”

“We was callin' de brown ones wid de black line little chipmunks. I doesn't know if dat's der real name.”

“You, wot animal would you be?”

Zed, too, had thought about it.

“A bear. A big black bear.”

. . .

“Wid two or tree little ones around. A big bear wot cares fer de wee ones.”

The image made Chico smile; then he stood up to toss a stone into the water.

Correction: maybe this novel is a love story after all.

“Me, wot I likes are all de wee
bips
in me body, all de little
twitches
you doesn't have the least bit o' control over. Sometimes I lies down still, just to be feelin' dem.”

!

. . .

“Dat's life, I suppose. A bunch o' wee
twitches
you doesn't have no control over.”

. . .

. . .

“Did I say
twitch
in de masculin?”

“Seems to me you did . . .”

“Hmm . . .”

“Well, I wouldn't sit me arse down on top o' de stove about it.”

“Dat's some strange, on account of in me head de word
twitch
is feminine.
Une twitch
.”

. . .

“Der's times I tinks French gets inside us an' we doesn't even know it.”

Proverb in the Babar: the glasses're breakin' like water.

There was no lack of choices.

“You can 'ave more'n one if you like. Dat way, one saint won't be doin' all de work by demself.”

Étienne looked at his father. Terry seeing that his son had not grasped the irony, chose to distract rather than to explain, and pointed to one of the medallions:

“Dat one der's right nice.”

Étienne had thought a good way to begin might be to choose his father's favourite saints.

“I wants de same ones as you.”

“Yi yi!”

Marianne didn't understand much of what all these medallions were about, but obviously she wanted the same ones as Étienne. Chico — thank heavens! — seemed to want to make up his own mind.

“Saint Peter? That's a good choice. A person couldn't go wrong wid Saint Peter. You can each have tree. OK?”

“Yi yi!”

“Yes, Marianne. You can have tree, as well.”

Chico bent over to examine other medallions without touching them, unlike Étienne, who was handling them all.

“Étienne, be careful, boy! Yer puttin' dem back in de wrong boxes.”

Then, catching a shadow in the corner of his eye, Terry corrected himself:

“Alright, Étienne. Don't be touchin' dem no more. De man's gonna be takin' dem out fer us.”

The man in question was standing at rigid attention before the little band. Terry tried to show he had his brood under control:

“Two Saint Christophers fer sure. An' one Saint Bernadette . . .”

Étienne was suddenly worried:

“I wants a Saint Bernadette de Spirou, too!”

“Shhhh . . . not so loud, Étienne. Alright den, you each get a Saint Christopher an' a Saint Bernadette. Does you want any o' dem, as well, Chico?”

Chico having agreed, the clerk took six medallions from two different compartments and let them drop one by one into a small bag, as though he were counting them. Even Terry was momentarily hypnotized by the gesture.

“Alright, dat makes two, tree fer Chico wid 'is Saint Peter. Are ya alright wid dat, Chico?”

Chico nodded.

“You doesn't want one fer Granny? A special one, maybe, a wee bit bigger, like dis 'ere of de Virgin Mary?”

While Chico chose a medallion for his grandmother, Terry tried to settle Étienne's and Marianne's choices.

“Are der any of Saint Thomas, Dad?”

Not for the first time, Terry noted his son's excellent memory.

“Why not Saint Louis?”

“No, I want Saint Thomas.”

“Saint Louis was a whole lot nicer dan Saint Thomas, you ask me.”

“No, I want Saint Thomas!”

“Alright, alright . . . An wot about you, Marianne? How would you like Saint Teresa? Eh? A little Saint Teresa fer Marianne?”

Marianne twisted an wiggled in her father's arms before answering at last:

“Yeyessa!”

“Right! Saint Teresa!”

Terry looked at the clerk and, seeing the man had lost none of his earlier rigidity, poured a little oil on the fire:

“Well, I guess she wants Saint Teresa.”

The clerk complied, relieved at last to have something else to do but stand there enduring the childrens' antics.

“Dad, can we buy one fer Granny, as well?”

“No, just Chico.”

“Why not?”

Terry reconsidered.

“OK den, you can pick one out fer Granny Thibodeau, she'll like dat.”

“Hooray!”

As he was paying for everything, Terry couldn't resist one last jab at the clerk:

“Youse wouldn't 'ave some safety pins, by chance?”

Postal malapropism: Here, you carry the mail, I'll carry the female.

“An den, just as we was goin', dey started seein' all de udder stuff: de rosaries, statues, de lucky charms, lampions. An den de pictures, Saint Joseph, Saint Anthony, Saint Benedict,
la bonne
Saint Anne, mountains of pictures, which Marianne knocked all over de floor, of course, reachin' fer a first communion crown. A real dollar store of religion, dat place!

Carmen was relieved not to have been in Terry's shoes, nor those of the clerk.

“The salesman must have been happy to see you go.”

“Ee held de door fer us an' all.”

Arab proverb: an onion offered with love is worth a whole sheep.

“So den, you didn't know yer man was writin' poems!”

“Awh, ee doesn't tell me everyting he's doin'!”

The Cripple was astonished nevertheless. Was Terry hiding some part of himself? And, if so, why? And had he, The Cripple, revealed his secret?

“I don't tell 'im everytin I do, neidder. A girl's gotta keep a few cards up 'er sleeve.”

Carmen was thinking mainly about the little secrets that led to pleasant surprises for the Other. Not to mention, she couldn't imagine Terry plotting something bad behind her back.

“'Tis only a bit o' fun, so that life doesn't become too dull, too repetitive from one week to de next.”

The Cripple couldn't recall the last time he'd prepared a nice surprise for Antoinette, who did so much for him and never complained.

“You know wot, yer makin' me tink . . .”

“Well, dat's wot we're here fer. Anudder Scotch?”

In fact, Élizabeth had not really enjoyed
How I Became Stupid
by Martin Page.

“Mum, does you tink inventin' a new game every day is too much?”

Carmen had no idea what Étienne was getting at. He added:

“Chico, well, ee doesn't like it.”

Carmen was putting on her coat on her way out.

“Well, der's times we like to do tings we know. 'Tis like listenin' to a song or a story we already know. Must be de same ting wid a game. Der's some we like a whole lot, an' we want to play often. An' we don't really know if we're gonna like de new game quite as much as de games we know and like.”

The explanation was clear. Étienne turned, looking a little disappointed.

On a page, the words:
contusion
,
Venetian Ceruse
,
penumbra
,
sliced pan
,
cluster
,
bocage
,
shamelessly
,
bindlestiff
,
shock of hair
,
lambrequin
.

“Hey! I already dreamed dis!”

. . .

“You was doin' exactly dat. Grabbed de book, opened de tap . . . an' 'twas right before supper, just like now.”

“Enjoy it, while it lasts.”

“Awh, it's already done an' gone. Would be fun if it was to last a wee bit longer.”

“Dey calls it a déjà-vu.”

“I know.”

“Der's some dat says 'tis a wee vein in yer brain dat busts, an' dat makes a gap atwixt wot yer seein' an' de time you takes to figure out wot's happenin'. So, really, it's biological, an' nuttin' whatsoever to do wid yer dreams.”

“G'wan! Is dat right?”

“Well, sometin' like dat.”

. . .

. . .

“You oughtn't to have told me dat. I liked it a whole lot better de udder way.”

Teaching or teething? Agriculture or ogriculture? Monetary or monastery? Sprain your ankle or sprain your angle? Say goodnight or flay goodnight? The Woori Bank or the Worry Bank? A weekend or a weak end? Nevertheless or never the leash? Checkmate or chuckmeat?

“The fly has to look as much like the real insect as possible, that means at the exact stage of that particular insect's development on that day.”

!

“In other words, you have to select the fly of the hour.”

?!

“Take the May fly, for example: that insect has thirteen stages of development. And even then, a May fly on the Kouchibougouac River doesn't look exactly the same as the Notre Dame River May fly, which means your fly also has to correspond to that specific location's insect.”

!!

“Otherwise, the trout will know it's an artificial fly. In the jargon, we call that the bronze fly.”

. . .

“The trout will swim around it, but it won't bite. A big trout, twelve or thirteen years old, has seen its fill of insects, and fisherfolks! She can tell the difference between a natural fly and our flies. Lucky for us, once in a while, she makes a mistake!”

?

“Same thing for the way the fly lands and lifts off the water. A trout can tell if that movement is natural or not.”

Carmen had insisted they take their trip to Grand-Pré after her birthday, because she wanted to be sure to have her new camera on hand to record everything.

“Ah! Now I knows where 'twas I saw you! You was pickin' strawberries last week in Anita's field, wasn't you?”

Terry immediately recognized the woman:

“Dat's right! You was in de row next to us!”

. . .

“Yer brudder-in-law rubs yer nerves raw; dat's de impression I got anyhow . . .”

The woman laughed, adding:

“The nice thing is that, when I'm fishing, I forget all that!”

Remember that now, thanks to the revised spelling rules, the French word for “onion,”
oignon
may be written without the
i
. We might follow the French example and spell “onion” the way it sounds, “unyun,”
so that, while the French mind their own business, as in “
se mêler de ses ognons
,” we would “know our unyuns.”