A Very Bold Leap (38 page)

M
onths passed. The Bourassa government busied itself with constitutional negotiations aimed at ratifying the Meech Lake Accord; the other provinces raised their sly objections to it; and the so-called reintegration of Quebec “with honour and enthusiasm” into the Canadian fabric began to look like an attempt to close the barn door after the horse had escaped.

On March the 8th, 1990, CBC Television aired scenes that shocked the French-speaking population of Quebec: they consisted of a news broadcast showing members of the Ontario Alliance in Brockville stomping on the Quebec flag as a means of protesting the province’s linguistic policies. Charles was so furious when he saw the footage that he stayed up most of the night writing an editorial blasting the Ontario “Orangists,” and, without showing it to Victor Vanier, ran it in the next issue of the
Villeray Siren
.

The next morning at seven o’clock, just as he had managed to get to bed after a long night of laying out the pages of the
Siren
, the phone rang.

“Get down here to the office, right away,” ordered Vanier. He did not sound pleased.

Guessing what was up, and thinking he’d be better able to deal with the situation after a few hours’; sleep than if he were dead on his feet, he asked if the meeting could be put off until the early afternoon — especially since it was his day off — but Vanier was not to be moved. He mentioned firing. Charles grumbled and sighed and dragged himself from his bed and got dressed.

When she saw him come in, Francine gave him an amused smile of reprimand and told him that the boss was waiting for him in his office, adding that Vanier was boiling like a pot of soup that someone had forgotten on the stove.

“Unless you are a real Canadian,” Victor Vanier began after favouring Charles with a few angry scowls, “there is no place for you on my paper. Do you understand?”

“Weren’t you insulted when you saw that gang of thugs trampling on our flag?” Charles replied, as red as a rooster’s wattles.

“My friend, you will learn that we do not answer insults with more insults. A good citizen knows how to retain his dignity at all times. And a good journalist doesn’t do an end run around his editor. You knew I wouldn’t have okayed that article. You took advantage of my trust in you to sneak something into my paper behind my back. That’s called hypocrisy, sir. It’s also called cowardice. You have forced me to publish an apology in my next editorial. I want you to write that apology.”

Charles gave him a sarcastic smile. “Then I quit.”

There was a moment’s silence. Vanier had not been expecting that response.

“Do you have many readers in Ontario?” Charles asked, mockingly.

“The
Siren
is read in a great many places, young man! Last year my Aunt Édouardine saw a cardinal in Rome sitting on a park bench reading a copy of it! Ha! What do you say to that, eh?”

The discussion went on for several minutes in the same vein, until a telephone call from an important client forced Victor Vanier to switch over to his syrupy, smiling self; with an imperial gesture he signalled to Charles to get out of his office.

After a scene like that, there could be no question of going back to sleep. Charles decided to pay a visit to Blonblon in his antique store on rue Amherst; his friend was going to quit his job in a month’s time to open his own shop on avenue Mont-Royal. He’d already rented a storefront for an unbelievable rent; Charles got the key from him so he could go there to do some cleaning up and painting. Sometimes insomnia could be a positive thing! But first, he decided, he would go to his own apartment and take a shower.

As soon as he stepped into his apartment, he noticed an enormous pair of galoshes beside the door that had not been there when he’d left.

“Hello?” he called a little nervously.

The sound of a familiar throat being cleared came from the kitchen.

“Fernand?” he called in amazement. He felt a surge of joy mixed with trepidation spread through his chest.

The hardware-store owner was waiting for him, his coat folded over the back of a chair. He had aged. The skin under his chin had begun to slacken; he had deep, dark rings forming half-moons under his eyes; and on his head the white hairs were winning the battle against the black and the grey. But he still made an imposing figure, his body firm and upright, his face still expressing the same energetic and tenacious strength of will. Charles felt it had been mean of him to have gone so long without seeing or even calling him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

There was a hint of sarcasm, but of the kind that tried to mask timidity.

Charles smiled at him incredulously. “How did you get in?”

“I had the concierge let me in. It took some convincing, but you know how pig-headed I can be … He gave in eventually, but he wasn’t too happy about it.”

“No problem. But if I hadn’t decided to come home and have a shower, you’d have been waiting here for a long time.”

“Well, I probably would’ve left after an hour or two. I would’ve left a note telling you why I came, even if I don’t write as well as you do …”

Charles took off his coat, went back to the door to take off his boots, then sat down at the kitchen table across from Fernand. With a rare gesture, he placed his hand over the hardware-store owner’s.

“Would you like a coffee?”

“Thanks, but I’ve already had three cups to get me pumped up. But go ahead and make one for yourself, if you want,” he added, smiling. “After all, it’s your place.”

Charles stood. “I think I will. I need it. I was up working half the night, if you can believe it… just so my boss could tell me I deserve to be fired.”

“He’s an asshole, that one!”

Fernand stopped talking, not knowing what else to say, and waited for Charles to weigh in. But Charles had turned his back and was rinsing his coffee pot in the sink.

“Fernand, I… I want to apologize to you, to you and Lucie, for not having come to see you since the breakup… between Céline and me. I can’t tell you
how much that business has affected me. But I still love you both. I hope you know that.”

Overcome by emotion, the hardware-store owner took a few minutes to respond.

“That’s the kind of thing it’s a pleasure to hear,” he finally managed, his voice sounding curiously like notes from a tuba. He cleared his throat and continued. “Too bad you can’t say the same to Céline … She really went off the rails, you know … We went through a winter from hell, I can tell you! There were a few times when I wanted to go over to your place and kick your ass three ways from Sunday and no two ways about it. But after a while I calmed down.”

Still facing the sink, Charles continued rinsing out the coffee pot, which was already as thoroughly rinsed as it could be.

“I acted like a complete shit,” he finally said. “I’ve never been such a shit before in my entire life.”

“Yes, well, that’s too bad for you. She’s made herself a new life by now.”

Charles gave a start and shot a look at Fernand, then went towards the refrigerator, his cheeks burning red.

“Manner of speaking, of course,” the hardware-store owner thought it best to add. “It’s not like I’m here to announce her wedding or anything like that.”

“She’s free to marry whomever she wants,” Charles said.

Silence fell again in the room. Fernand judged it time to change the subject if he wanted to prolong his visit.

“Truth be told,” he said, trying to make his voice sound cheerful, “I didn’t know how you’d take it, seeing me here. Your friend Michel Leblond told me that you never work on Thursdays. And since I hadn’t seen you for months and months, and because I still think of you as my son, despite everything, I said to myself, ‘Go see him, you big lummox, go pay him a little visit. The worst that can happen is he’ll tell you to get lost.’”

“Fernand, you know I’d never speak to you like that,” said Charles, smiling.

“Hmm, well, you never know with children. I remember when I was a kid-”

“So anyway,” Charles interrupted him, “you’ve been seeing Blonblon? He never said a word about it.”

The store-owner turned his head away. “I run into him from time to time, nothing planned. If I see him on the street, we stop and talk for a bit.”

“Tell me, was it him who suggested you come see me?”

Fernand hesitated a moment, then nodded.

“Bloody Blonblon! He hasn’t changed a bit … Still the professional mediator!”

“Getting along is always better than getting ahead,” Fernand put in, proud of his turn of phrase.

“If he ever becomes the prime minister, the cannons will roll, that’s for sure! How’s Lucie?”

“Lucie is well, but she misses you. She’s busy these days with a family from Peru who’s moved into the neighbourhood. They’ve got seven kids. It’s taken her mind off things. She’s got us subscriptions to the
Villeray Siren
and
Artist’s Life
, if you can picture that. She collects all your articles … You’d make her a very happy woman if you came by for a piece of cake one of these days. Naturally, we’d make sure Céline was somewhere else at the time … unless, of course …”

“I’d rather she were somewhere else,” Charles said dryly. Then he smiled. “Thanks for the invitation. I’d love to come and see the two of you. I’ve been wanting to for some time. I’ll give you a call… let’s say in a couple of days. Give Lucie enough time to bake a good cake … Would that be all right?”

“Tickety-boo, my boy! She’ll make you the best cake you ever saw in your life!”

The hardware-store owner looked thoughtfully around the kitchen and gave a small cough. Charles was expecting him to reach for his coat, now that his mission had been accomplished, and not wanting to wear out his welcome, but instead he continued the conversation, talking about this and that in a vaguely embarrassed fashion, as though there were something specific he wanted to say but didn’t know how to bring up. Eventually he asked for a cup of coffee and tossed it off in two gulps, like a soldier knocking back a glass of schnapps before a bayonet charge. After finishing the coffee, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Anyway,” he said, “I hear you’re in a bit of a financial fix these days. Is that true?”

“Is that what Blonblon told you?”

“Yes, it was him,” Fernand admitted, two red splotches appearing on his cheeks.

“He talks a lot, Blonblon does,” Charles said lightly. He stood up and
began pacing the kitchen floor. “He may even talk too much at times. I’ll have to have a word with him about it. Anyway, what about it?”

“Nothing, nothing at all… What I mean is… Well, things have been going pretty good at the hardware store for a few months now … I’ve got to say, Henri has been giving me a lot of help. He’s full of bright ideas, too. So anyway, I just thought…”

“No, Fernand. Thanks, but no,” Charles said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Let me finish, at least! I’m not offering you a handout, for crying out loud! I know you can manage on your own, as a responsible citizen, as the saying goes. I’m just talking about a loan, that’s all, a thousand dollars, or two thousand, more even, which you can pay back when your ship comes in.”

“No thanks,” Charles said again, but more firmly. “You’ve already helped me out that way, Fernand. You should be thinking about your old age.”

The hardware-store owner gave Charles a look that was so helpless, so miserable, that Charles’s pride cracked within him. A wave of tenderness flowed over him so forcefully that he almost broke into tears, and he had to blink several times to keep his eyes from overflowing. He put his hands on Fernand’s shoulders and spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Fernand, Fernand…You’ve already bought me for five thousand dollars from my father, you raised me, you fed and clothed me for eight years. Don’t you think that’s enough? I’m a bit short right now, it’s true, but I’ll be all right, don’t worry … Anyway, I know you’re there, and I promise you that if I’m ever really in trouble I’ll let you know…. Is that good enough?”

“It’s all I ever wanted,” Fernand replied, struggling to hide his disappointment. “Knowing that will let me and Lucie stop worrying about you.”