Washika (25 page)

“Hey Morin!” Henri felt the voice close to his ear, and he felt the moist, cold fingers squeezing his neck. “Come on,
sacrament
! Wake up.”

“I'm not sleeping.”

“
Sacrament
, you've been standing here with your eyes closed for ten minutes at least.” Lavigne said. “Ask Diane.”

The barmaid smiled. She held a folded towel in her hand. “Here,” she said. “Wipe your face with this.”

Henri wiped the cold, wet cloth across his face and around the back of his neck. He felt better.

“
Merci
,” he said to the young woman behind the bar.

“
C'est rien
,” she said. “It's nothing. You'll be okay in a while.”

Henri looked at Lavigne. He looked at the way Lavigne stood leaning sideways, with one elbow on the bar. His hair was mussed and he drank from the bottle with his head tilted too far back.

“Well Gaston,” Henri said. “You're looking good. How's the hunting?”

“
Sacrament
! All they want to do is dance.”

“You see Sylvie Lanthier?”

“No. I've been out a while. Had to take Hélène home.”

“So early?”

“You don't know her father. Thinks all that happens after midnight is between a sheet and blankets. He's so worried about her precious virginity it's a wonder he can sleep at all.”

“Hélène's still a virgin?”

“Come on, Morin. We've been together almost two years.”

“Were you together long before it happened?”

He was beginning to feel better. The words seemed to be coming out all right. The wet towel had helped.

“Five, six weeks,” Lavigne said. “I don't know. Boy, I was glad when that night was over.
Calis
!”

Henri was feeling fine. He waved to Diane and motioned for beer for both himself and Lavigne. The young woman laughed and pulled at the handle of the refrigerator door behind the cash.

The barmaid brought the beer. She removed Henri's half-emptied bottle and glass and placed a fresh glass before him.

“
Ah bien
sacrament
!” Lavigne swore. “Henri, take a look over there, in the corner.”

Henri looked across the empty dance floor, to the corner behind the bandstand. There was a waiter there. He was wearing a white shirt and standing with his back to them.

“Who's there? I can't see anyone.”

“Look there, where the waiter is.”

Henri looked again. The waiter had left and there, sitting at a corner table along the wall, he saw her. She was beautiful with her hair down like that and sitting so straight. And sitting beside Lise, with his head almost touching hers, was Dumas Hébert.

“I knew it,
sacrament
!” Lavigne said. “I knew there was something happening with them.”

“How's that?”

Henri could not think of anything else to say. What could he say? How could she do this to him? And after all she had said, about never being seen together and how they could be together only on Sundays, how she had held him close to her and whispered words in his ear. He made her feel so good, she said, and whole and normal once again.

“Come on, Henri!” Lavigne said. “Think about it: Dumas visiting the infirmary two or three times a day and, after, singing and dancing all over the cookhouse. You think it was the pills made him do that?”

Henri could not speak. He was afraid that there might be an accident. He could feel the beer rising in his throat.

“Hey Morin! What's the matter?” Lavigne said. “You okay?”

Henri leaned up against the bar. It felt so good to rest, to close his eyes. He could smell the detergent that Diane had used to wash the counter. Just five minutes, and he would be all right. Just five minutes with his head resting down like that. He felt warm and secure. Just five minutes more and he would be fine.

T
here was nothing, not a sound or smell, not even a feeling of anything. He was not even conscious of thinking a single thought.

“Hey, come on Morin! Wake up”

Henri felt his neck, cold, his back, wet, and when he opened his eyes the bottles swirled in front of him and the coloured lights seemed suspended in a distant fog. Finally, he saw Diane standing in front of him. She was leaning back against the refrigerator door with her arms folded beneath her breasts smiling at him. He stared at the round bulges beneath her blouse, at her red smiling lips and wondered if she lived alone.

“Is it very far to walk?” he said.

“What are you talking about, Henri?” Lavigne's voice was beside him.

Henri smiled at the barmaid. He was sure she understood. He could see it in her eyes.

“Is it very far?” he repeated. He tried very hard to remain focused on her eyes.

“Where to?” the girl laughed.

“Your place.”

“You mean, where I live?”

“Yes. You have an apartment?”

“Yes. About five minutes from here.”

“Good. Could I take you home later? Maybe we could talk a little. You know.”

The barmaid laughed. Henri grinned and almost fell backwards trying to stand up straight. He passed his hand over his mouth. His forehead felt wet and cold. He did not look at himself in the mirror.

“I'd better be going,” he said. “What time is it?”

“Two-thirty,” Lavigne said. “Listen Henri, you can't go home like that. Come with me.”

“Oh yeah? Where to?”

“Your friend, Greer, he has a room upstairs. You can sleep there for a while.”

“David?”

“Yeah. David Greer. There's a party on after closing. Come on, I'll take you up.”

“Sure, okay. But wait, I want to say hello to Dumas and the nurse.”

“They're gone. Almost an hour now. Besides, you already talked to the nurse.”

Henri was suddenly almost sober. He looked straight into Lavigne's eyes.

“You don't remember?”

“No. Was I really bad?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh yeah. So, what happened?”

“Nothing. She kept trying to speak to you but you kept turning your back on her. Funny. There she was, trying to speak to you. She even had her arms wrapped around your shoulders. And you, with your head down all the time and saying over and over, ‘No, I'm never going fishing. I'm never, never going fishing.'”

“And then?”

“Then what?”

“What happened after that?”

“Dumas came around then. It was him squeezed cold water on your neck. He paid me a beer and asked me to take care of you. After that they left.”

Henri stood up straight, holding on to the edge of the bar. He took several deep breaths. That always helped when he felt weak or if he thought there might be an accident with the beer rising in his throat.

“And Sylvie Lanthier? Was she here too?”

“No. I told you before,” Lavigne replied.

What?”

“I haven't seen her all night.”

“Oh.”

There was that at least. Henri felt better. He drank a little from the bottle. He waved to the barmaid who was talking to her waiter. She did not return the wave. Henri summoned all of his strength and cleared his head of all other thoughts and started to walk away from the bar.

“Hey!” Lavigne said. “Where you going?”

“You said there's a party, didn't you?”

T
hey were all there. As Henri and Lavigne entered the room, André Guy let out a war whoop and was soon joined by Pierre Morrow and Gaston Cyr. Only St-Jean was missing.

“Where's Maurice?” Lavigne inquired.

“Busy,” David Greer replied, nodding towards the bedroom door. “You next?”

“You bet. How's the beer?”

“Lots.”

Lavigne went into the bathroom. The lower portion of the bathtub was covered in crushed ice with only the tops of the beer bottles showing. Lavigne brought out two bottles, sweating from the ice and the heat of the room. He opened them using the handle of the dresser drawer and handed one of the bottles to Henri.

“Want to go after me, Henri?” he said.

“Where's that?”

“Do you want to go after me? Or would you like to go first? It's okay with me.”

“Go where?”

“I didn't tell you? I thought you knew. Remember Francine Villeneuve?”

“Sure.”

“Well, she's in the next room.”

“Francine Villeneuve. You mean Francine Villeneuve who used to live next door to your place?”

“That's her. Look, if you want, I'll let you go first.”

“No, that's okay. You go ahead.”

Lavigne grinned. He tilted back his bottle and swallowed several times. When he had finished he tossed the bottle into the empty case on the floor.

“Ready for another?” he said.

“No, I'm okay,” Henri replied. He watched the door to the adjoining room. Who was Francine with now? Did she still look the same? Actually, he had never seen her naked. It had been dark in the car and, then, she had not really taken all her clothes off. The clothes had just been slid over and up here and there so he could touch her. He remembered how soft she was, that one hair near the nipple of her breast, and how she had begun to shudder and let out little puppy moans when he had moved his hand up in between her legs. But she had a steady boyfriend not long after that and, shortly afterwards, her family moved to the Capital and he never saw her again.

Lavigne opened a window. It was warm in the room and most of the boys sat on the bed with their shirts off, smoking and playing poker, and waiting their turn. David Greer sat in a bright orange lazy boy, drinking from a large pewter mug. He kept changing the station on the radio beside the chair and, whenever he found a good rock ‘n' roll tune, he would turn the volume up full. Henri sat on the floor, next to the lazy boy.

“How is she?” he said. David winked and raised his mug in recognition.

“How is she?” Henri repeated.

David turned down the volume. “What's that?” he said.

“She pretty hot?”

“You bet.”

“How long she been up here?”

“This afternoon.” David laughed. He leaned back in the chair and put the mug to his lips. The beer leaked out over his chin and down inside his shirt.

“You mean, when I met you at the bar earlier, she was up here all that time?”

“Yup”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You were too busy hustling smiley then. And besides, she was out cold. We went on a bit of a bender together this afternoon. I just woke up when you saw me down at the bar.”

“How is she anyway?”

“Go in and find out. Christ, you want me to take you in by the hand?”

“It's just that I used to know her and everything.”

“So did I, old buddy. So did I.”

The door to the adjoining room opened and Maurice St-Jean came out carrying his shirt in his hand. The fellows on the bed gave a cheer and all of them threw their cards onto the centre of the bed.

“Next,” St-Jean grinned. He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

The boys looked at each other. Lavigne got up off the bed.

“Everyone go yet?” he said.

The fellows nodded. All had been there and back.

“Maybe Morrow,” André Guy said. “He was only three minutes. Maybe he wants to go a second round.”

The boys laughed. Morrow blushed and tilted back his beer. He drank quickly and then began coughing violently.

“What about you, Henri?” Lavigne said.

“Go ahead,” Henri said. He leaned against the wall and watched as Lavigne entered the dimly lit room and closed the door behind him. He had hoped to get a glimpse of her but he had not been able to see inside. He would ask St-Jean about her and, if she was all right by St-Jean, he would be next.

Henri lay sideways on the blue carpet. He was unable to stay sitting upright for long, even leaning against the wall. As he lay there, smelling the musty carpet, he could hear the rock ‘n' roll music and the boys swearing, someone opening a bottle on the dresser drawer handle and cheering at the end of each hand and then the slapping sound of the cards being shuffled once again.

T
he first thing was the smell of roast turkey. Henri raised his head off the pillow and the pain shot from his forehead across his skull to the back of his head. He tried to concentrate: to not smell the turkey and not move his head on the pillow. But the odour of turkey fat bubbling around the browning bird lingered and haunted him. He was afraid that there would be an accident. Just the thought of vomit soaked blankets on his bed was too much. His mother would not accept that. Slowly, Henri slid his feet from beneath the blankets and angled them downwards until they touched the floor. He stood up, letting the blankets fall back upon the bed, and for a brief moment, he held on to the bureau. He tried not to think about the turkey and how the sides of his head seemed to expand with each beat of his heart. If he did not think of these things, it was not so bad. Now, all he had to do was make it to the bathroom without moving a muscle or opening his mouth.

He made it in time. Just. He turned the faucet on full so that no one could hear. After he had cleaned up the carpet around the toilet bowl, Henri sprayed the room with lilac from a purple can. He lay on his back on the carpet and closed his eyes. It was cool on the floor. He listened to the water running into the sink. A chill came over his chest. The sound of running water had changed and he felt its coldness on his legs as the water flowed over the edge of the basin onto the floor. He turned the faucet off and watched as the water spiraled and disappeared into the blackness of the drainpipe. He reached behind him and turned the cold water on full. The loud rain shower noise of water striking the walls of the metal shower was what he needed. He went over to the toilet bowl once again. Kneeling down in front of the bowl, Henri tickled the back of his throat with an index finger. The liquid was a pale yellow and had a bitter taste but, afterwards, he felt much better.