For Sure (82 page)

Singing is like writing by hand. When I die, bury me in a piano, or a guitar.

Antoine and Pierre had barely left the bookstore before Terry called Étienne over.

“You seen de two fellows dat just left?”

Étienne looked outside and saw two young men exchanging a furtive kiss:

“Antoine an' Pierre?”

“Awh, I didn't know you knew dem . . .”

“Well sure, Dad . . .”

Terry pretended to look for a pencil but, in fact, he was trying to find a way to continue.

“Did you know dat sometimes a man can love anudder man radder dan lovin' a woman?”

Étienne wondered where his father was going with such an obvious statement.

“An' a woman as well . . . she might be lovin' anudder woman radder dan a man.”

Étienne wasn't sure if he ought to show agreement with such platitudes or bide his time.

“Wot I mean, even doh most of de time, a man's gonna fall in love wid a woman an' a woman's mostly gonna fall in love wid a man, right?”

“Well, Dad, I know that.”

“Wot I means to say, 'tis alright fer a man to be in love wid anudder man, radder dan wid a woman. An' de same goes fer women. Dey can just as well love a woman as a man.”

Étienne opted for patience.

“De problem is dat der's some folks dat tinks 'tisn't alright to be doin' dat, an' sometimes der mean about it.”

. . .

“Only Carmen an' I, an' a whole lot of folks we know, we tink it's fine. Dey loves each other, right? An' dat's wot's important.”

. . .

“So den, if ever it happens to you to love anudder boy more dan anybody else, dat's just fine. An' you oughtn't to be tinkin' it shouldn't be dat way, on account of sometimes dat's just de way it is.”

. . .

“Anyhow, dat's just sometin' I was wanted to let you know.”

“OK, Dad.”

In retrospect, Terry felt he'd been slightly abrupt in his way of handling the subject, but he was satisfied that boy seemed to have grasped the essential.

Ah ≠ ha. Ah ah ≠ ha ha.

Étienne and Chico were playing quietly at digging a quarry.

“Me, I's gonna pilot helicopters when I's older.”

Chico's declaration seriously impressed Étienne. Suddenly he saw Chico as an older brother, much older than he, and from whom he would learn a great deal about life.

“An' how're you gonna do dat?”

Chico shrugged: he hadn't gotten to that point, yet.

Wonky — in the dictionary!

“Wot does she tink? Dat we'll like 'er fer free'?”

Language as a tool for seduction.

“An' den wot?”

Pomme had just joined his two comrades at the Babar. He'd taken the time to hang his coat on the back of his chair before intervening.

“Eh? An' wot?”

Terry and Zed knew very well they'd end up explaining everything to Pomme in time, but neither figured the time was quite now.

“An' nuttin'. We's just talkin', dat's all.”

Pomme studied them slowly each in turn.

“Alright, den. How about dis: Lisa's pregnant.”

And time to celebrate.

Eventually, in spite of the ban on marriages between cousins seven times removed, the Catholic Church decided it could grant dispensations up to cousins thrice removed, in order to protect inheritances and all that relates to heritage. Protecting one's heritage, saving one's heritage: an essential preoccupation of Acadians. From the beginning of time, defending one's village, cattle, lands, church, and ultimately one's language. From the beginning of time, and most likely until the end.

“I can't be goin' troo, if you puts yer
dump truck
der . . .”

“Yes, you can.”

“No! On account of I has to
plow
dis 'ere side of de butte.”

“Only afterwards, when I goes to
dump
me rocks, I won't be able to slew around properly. Luh . . .”

The two boys studied the whole of the work site, and Chico made a proposal:

“You could be movin' de rocks wid de
crane
. . .”

Étienne considered it.

“Alright.”

. . .

. . .

“Hey! Where's de
cement
truck
got to?!”

For several months, every two or three days, an envelope would arrive for Chico, not very big, white with a pale blue design inside, and containing only a small drawing, a bit of color, a few stick characters without heads. Then nothing more.

“Dad?”

“Wot?”

“You remember de time we went strawberry pickin', just you an' me?”

“Last summer, you mean?”

This reference disoriented Étienne, who did not yet have a clear sense of time. Terry brought him back:

“De strawberries wid no chemicals in dem?”

Étienne nodded.

“Alright . . . an' den?”

“Well, I didn't really tink dat Granny Thibodeau would've put Mister Clean in de pie, because dat wouldn't be nice.”

Terry was impressed:

“Yer still thinkin' 'bout dat? Well, yer absolutely right, me boy, Granny would never do a ting like dat.”

This surprised Étienne.

“But, dat's wot you said.”

“Me, I said dat? Well, maybe so. Only, I don't really tink she'd do such a ting; 'twas only in a manner of speakin'.”

Étienne found it troubling that there could be more than one manner of speaking. Terry added:

“Granny Després wouldn't do such a ting neidder, far as dat goes. To tell de troot', der's not many folks would. Der's not dat many folks're dat mean.”

As he spoke Terry remembered that he had indeed tried to get Étienne to say which of his two grandmothers he was thinking of when he raised the possibility of poisoning.

“Boat yer grandmudders wouldn't hurt a fly. Now, dat's a manner of speakin', as well. On account of dey do kill some flies, from time to time. It only means dat dey wouldn't be hurtin' people.”

Étienne looked content, relieved.

“Dat's wot you was wantin' to tell me?”

Étienne nodded:

“I tawt you were tinkin' I didn't like Granny Thibodeau.”

“Granny Désprés, you mean.”

“No, Granny Thibodeau!”

Now Terry was completely confused about the details of the imagined poisoning, but he concluded that the result was the same, one way or the other.

“Well anyhow, you're doin' de proper ting tellin' me when der's sometin' worryin' you. 'Tisn't a good idea to keep tings like dat bottled up inside. Alright?”

“I know, Dad. You already told me that.”

Chico doesn't like things being put away under his bed, thereby preventing the dust from going where it will. It makes him feel like he's suffocating.

“Can we go back to wot we was sayin' before?”

“Of course.”

“Colourin' de spaces inside letters, wouldn't dat be like puttin' de golf ball in de hole? Wot I mean, 'as no one ever said der could be some sort o' link atwixt playin' golf an' fear of de void?”

“Interesting question . . .”

“(Friggin' right!)”

“I am not aware of such a link ever having been made. It certainly merits looking up. If not, it would be an excellent topic for study.”

. . .

“Just in passing, the hole on the green in golf is called ‘
une oubliette
,' or ‘forgotten place,' a dungeon accessible only through a hole in the ceiling.”

“G'wan wid ya!”

“Yer pullin' our leg!”

“No way!”

“Well, right der, see! De word
oubliette
tells you der's sometin' to be fergotten. Dat could be de void dat frightens, right?”

Essentially, “useless details” are useless because they come too late.

Zed and Terry were once more alone on the road in Zed's truck. They enjoyed moments like these.

“It's got so anybody at all can be bisexual dese days. Even Carmen says 'twouldn't bodder 'er to be sleepin' wid anudder woman.”

Zed pulled his tumbler of hot coffee quickly away from his lips. Oblivious, Terry continued:

“Not dat I's sayin' Carmen is just anybody at all. I'm only saying dat even she's talkin' like dat.”

Zed thought for a moment, but could see nothing alarming in it:

“Most likely, der's not dat many folks nowadays dat's all one or all de udder.”

Terry went even further:

“Sometimes, I tries to imagine how much farder tings could go.”

Zed tried for a moment to imagine a future society, but unable to conjure up much, went back to imagining Carmen in the arms of a woman.

Names and places of origin of the first French colonists to settle in the colony that came to be known as Acadia.

Étienne couldn't quite describe what he'd seen.

“Roads? What sort of roads?”

“Lots of roads.”

Terry tried to help him out:

“Like a whole lot o' roads all tangled up togedder?”

“No. Dey weren't tangled.”

. . .

. . .

“An' wot about you, where was you?”

Étienne took a mouthful of his peanut butter and jam covered toast.

“Were you in a car or was you walkin'?”

Étienne shrugged.

“Were you alone, den?”

Étienne didn't know.

“Were you feelin' alright?”

Étienne nodded, adding:

“It was never the same road.”

Terry was almost tired of the guessing game, and thought he might bring the discussion to a close with some kind of general conclusion about dreams, but Étienne wasn't quite done:

“One time, it was like in a field, we were comin' down a hill. Der were trees.”

“Was it a field or trees? I don't understand . . .”

Étienne nodded.

“Den after, der was no more hill, only sky. Only 'twas a road all de same.”

Considering the general confusion, Terry decided to deliver his general conclusion:

“Sometimes we can understand our dreams, an' udder times we can't. You just have to leave dem be in yer head. An' sometimes we forget dem, udder times dey erase demselves, an udder dreams replace dem.”

Étienne nodded.

“I know.”

Where economy and religion meet: he who sings prays twice (dixit Saint Augustine).

“Mum, wot's neck's ear?”

“Wot?”

“Neck's ear. (
Cloc
)”

Carmen thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind.

“Who is it said that?”

“
Cloc clac cloc
. . .”

Carmen insisted:

“Was it someone on de television?”

“Yes. Ask for yours and see the difference neck's ear.”

And again, thanks to the
Visual
dictionary, a gift from Zed: dump truck –
camion benne
, crane –
grue
, cement
truck –
bétonnière
.

Terry realized in just how fine a form he was that day, when he saw Alphonse Lemaître, aka LeSage(!) open the door to the bookstore. Needless to say, the retired professor was not one to invite familiarity, and — of this Terry was convinced — he was always asking for books he knew were not on the shelves.

“Is der sometin' I can do fer you today?”

Terry had no trouble accepting the occasional criticism from clients, but he was wary of people who never had anything nice or even polite to say. What's more, he had some experience with this particular pretentious client — Alphonse Lemaître aka LeSage(!!) — who was always careful to pronounce every word perfectly, as though he hailed from Versailles rather than Shediac.

“No, I'm not looking for anything in particular, I simply wanted to look over your new arrivals.”

Terry looked for the dig, but held off jumping to conclusions. Still, he was happy he'd restocked his shelves the day before. At the same time, he had something entirely different in mind for the elderly gentleman.

“I've got sometin' 'ere might interest you . . .”

It was the first time Terry had ventured onto Alphonse Lemaître aka LeSage's territory.

“Ah, do you, now?”

Terry took note of the professor emeritus' ambiguous tone, even thought he detected a kind of malicious pleasure.

“Somebody was tellin' me you used to teach Baudelaire at the university . . .”

“Yes . . .”

Lemaître aka LeSage seemed unhappy to learn people were talking about him in his absence.

“I found dis 'ere old copy of de
Flowers of Evil
. Doesn't look to me like sometin' all dat easy to get hold of . . .”

Terry showed the book to the professor, who took it with a mixture of hesitation and haste that betrayed his interest and his surprise.