Washika (32 page)

“But the girls,” Henri persisted. “What about them?”

“They're free too, for a time. Just like you. And you can be free together, for a time,”

“Then what, Alphonse? Why does it have to end?”

“That's the woman in your life, and the man in hers. Anyway, that's how I see it, Henri.”

Henri was confused. He remembered his father's words during his last visit home. His father loved his woman very much. There was no doubt in Henri's mind about that. But his father was not happy.

“Alphonse, is it the woman that makes you not free?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“But, what about the
célibataire
? A bachelor has no woman, yet sometimes he's not free.”

”Yes, that's true,” Alphonse smiled. “It's not the man or the woman. It's life that takes away the freedom. Sometimes a woman helps. Sometimes not.”

“I'm not so sure I understand,” Henri held the empty cup in both hands and he looked at the stain the tea had made on the inside. “For me, it's all very complicated, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Take for example, on the weekend,” Henri continued. “Guess who I saw at La Tanière?”

“Poor Henri. I never go there, you know that.”

“Dumas. Dumas Hébert was there with
Mademoiselle
Archambault. I couldn't believe it.”

Alphonse smiled. “You know, I'm glad to hear that. And I'm not surprised. That's good news, Henri, after all that has happened.”

Suddenly, Henri was torn between his respect for Alphonse and his promise of secrecy to Lise Archambault.

“What do you mean, Alphonse? What has happened?”

“Well,“ Alphonse lit up another cigarette.“ I don't know if I should be telling you this, Henri. So, keep it between us, okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Henri replied. Alphonse looked serious, more serious than he had ever seen him. Henri prayed that he would not be hearing the story of his visit with the nurse at the infirmary.

“You see, Henri,” Alphonse began. “When Lise Archambault first arrived here at Washika about three years ago, we did not know anything about her. She was a pretty young woman, a young woman from the city, from Montréal. You probably noticed how she speaks different than us. She was a recent graduate from a nursing school. That was all we knew about her. And Dumas, that's another one from the city, from Québec City. Ever notice how he speaks? Anyway, it wasn't long before Dumas took an interest in her. He invented all manner of aches and pains to visit her at the infirmary. She never left the infirmary, ever. She never even went outside. This went on for about a month or two and, finally, Dumas gave up. He stopped getting sick, and he stopped visiting the nurse at the infirmary.”

“Do you know why?” Henri interrupted. “Did Dumas ever say?”

“Well, not at first. You know how it is with us men. But then, one day we met in town, at the tavern in Ste-Émilie. It was not often that we saw Dumas in the tavern. Anyway, after a beer or two, we began to talk about Lise Archambault. That's when Dumas told me that it had been a real
coup de foudre
on his part, love at first sight, as they say. But it had been very difficult. She wasn't easy to approach, I think that was how he said it, and he had been so patient, more patient than he'd ever been in his whole life. We used to see him marching down to the infirmary in the evenings, carrying little boxes of chocolate, sometimes flowers or wine. He did his very best. But, like I said, he finally gave up. You know, I was certain that he still had feelings for Lise, even if she resisted his wanting her. Anyway, that day in the tavern, he told me about her. It seems that during her
stage
, her training at the hospital, Lise met up with this young doctor, a recent graduate from the university. An intern, I think. And so, before long, Lise and this intern are madly in love and seeing each other whenever they can, and making plans for when Lise would be finished her nursing course. Then, it was the graduation. The young doctor accompanied Lise to
le bal
and, after the formal ball, they went to a party at someone's cottage. That's where the trouble started. It seems that the cottage was packed. Everyone was having a good time and then someone announced that it was time for the
bain de minuit
, a kind of midnight dip where everyone swims with no clothes on. Naked. I think. Maybe you know about this, Henri?”

“Oh yes,” Henri smiled.

“Well, according to Dumas' story, everyone left the cottage and went down the long wooden steps to the wharf. There were no lights along the stairs and so the people hung onto the railing and to each other going down. Remember now, these people had been drinking since being at
le bal
in town. Anyway, the young doctor, Lise Archambault's young man, tripped going down the stairs to the wharf. It was a couple of minutes before he came back to himself, before he seemed almost normal. Lise worried about him. She passed a cold wet cloth over his face and neck, and tried to convince him to go back to the cottage. But, no, he wanted to join the others. He took off his clothes right there in front of her. Then he kissed her and jumped off the wharf, joining dozens of men and women floating in the water below. After a time, the swimmers climbed back onto the wharf, put on their clothes, and headed back up the stairs to the cottage. One person was missing. The young doctor was not with them. The police were called in and big search lights were used, but no sign of the young doctor. Early the next morning, his body was found floating under the wharf.”

Henri did not speak. He sat there with his empty cup, waiting for Alphonse to continue. He understood now. At least, it seemed clearer now, her insisting that he wear a life jacket, that they should not be seen together, and that he not speak of their relationship to anyone. Now he understood the sadness he had seen in those green eyes. Still, it was unclear why she had accepted him. Why had she not accepted Dumas? Only Lise Archambault would know that.

“So, Alphonse,” Henri spoke up, finally. “You think that's why it never worked for Dumas and the nurse?”

“Could be, but then who really knows. It's true, something must have happened to light the fire again for Dumas. And for Lise? What that was we'll probably never know. But, I'm happy for Dumas. And for her too. Now they can get on with their lives.”

Henri stared back at the man and, in the short interval of time when eyes looked into eyes, all of the goodness of life and all of the women past and all of the women to come flowed between them. Immediately, Henri knew what he must do. He would write to Sylvie. He would tell her about the shoreline and the water with its whitecaps and the sun flowing slowly downwards, making the
chicots
silver in the shallow water. His love for her would show through without explanations and, if she loved him also, she would see the country that he worked in, clean and warm. She would feel as he felt and, if he wrote clearly and honestly, she would feel his love as real as if he had held her in his arms and whispered the words into her ear.

T
he students in the bunkhouse-and-office were surprised to see François Gauthier poking his head into their room. He stood in the doorway and looked at each of them in turn.

“Alphonse sent me,” he said.” He wants to meet with us.”

“So, what's up?” Lavigne said. He stood by the table. He had his lunch pail in his hand. The time for packing their lunches was just in a matter of minutes and Lavigne was always the first fellow in line with his little green ticket. It didn't seem possible, just minutes before the bell rang, that Alphonse wanted to meet with them.

“Alphonse wants to see us?” Lavigne stared at François.

“After we make our lunches,” François replied. “Alphonse says for us to meet at Simard-Comtois' cabin.”

Lavigne let out a soft, drawn out whistle. “
Sacrament
!” he swore. “This doesn't sound good.”

François said no more. He turned and left the bunkhouse-and-office without saying another word.

“Maybe another fire,” André Guy said. “Bet you anything.”

“
Non
!” Lavigne brought his lunch pail down hard on the table. “No sir! I'm not going on another fire. Not me,
sacrament
. I'll quit, I'm telling you.”

As Lavigne spoke they could hear Dumas ringing the lunch bell. The boys picked up their lunch pails and headed out the door. Lavigne was the last to leave and he slammed the door hard as he left the bunkhouse-and-office.

Inside the cookhouse Dumas Hébert stood in the centre of the room, collecting tickets and keeping an eye on the platters of cold pork and ham and the baskets of thickly sliced bread as the students made up sandwiches and squeezed in biscuits and cheese in all of the remaining spaces in their lunch pails.

At supper, on Monday evening, Henri had avoided looking at the cook. Tuesday morning, he had stared directly into the man's face. Dumas had smiled at him, his cold steel, uncommitted smile. Henri's eyes met the blackness of the cook's eyes now and, once again, he failed to detect any reaction, any implied comment. After all, he had made a fool of himself at La Tanière during the weekend. His behaviour was less than acceptable. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He wondered how much Lise Archambault had told him. If Dumas knew anything at all about their little arrangement it certainly didn't show. He wore only the face of confidence, of a man who had won a woman's favour totally and unconditionally. If indeed he was ignorant of the details of Henri's little adventure with the nurse, he was demonstrating an understanding and a forgiveness of Henri's foolish behaviour at the bar, an understanding that could only stem from a clear remembrance of his own troubled youth and that, coupled with the happiness and generosity towards one's fellow man, that new love brings. Certainly, love had softened the lens through which Dumas now saw the world. Otherwise, Henri might not have come through it all so easily. His carrying on at La Tanière might have caused him more problems than he was able to handle.

But now, there were new problems at hand. All eyes were fixed on the short, stocky man with the thick moustache, the thinning side-combed hair and the brooding eyes. Alphonse was not disturbed. He stared right back at the students, and he smiled at them, showing his one gold filling.

“Alphonse,” Lavigne said softly. “Is it true, you want to see us?”

“Yes. As soon as you're finished here.”

“What's going on? Another fire?”

Alphonse smiled. He leaned on the cover of his lunch pail and closed the fasteners. “Hurry up, Gaston,” he said. “We don't want to keep
Monsieur
Simard-Comtois waiting.”

Alphonse left then, walking between the rows of tables. At the door, he turned and waved to Dumas

Lavigne hurried along the table, tossing chunks of cheese and biscuits into his lunch pail. When he had finished, there were biscuits and cheese and corners of thick bread sticking up above the edges of the pail. He cradled the lunch pail under his arm without closing the fasteners and turned to leave.

Dumas stood at the entrance to the kitchen. From there he could keep an eye on the goings on at the lunch table.

On his way out, Lavigne stopped in front of the cook. “
Monsieur
Hébert?” he said

“Yes?”

“
Monsieur
Hébert, are you aware of a fire?”

Dumas' face stiffened. The old Dumas look. He stared at Lavigne.

“Fire?” he said. “Of course I know about a fire. What do you think? I don't know what goes on here?”

“Ah
sacrament
!” Lavigne swore, raising both arms above his head. His open lunch pail flew to the floor.

The cook stared into Lavigne's eyes and then he gazed at his immaculate grey plank floor, at Lavigne's open lunch pail and the biscuits, cheese and bread spread all around it. Dumas turned abruptly, without looking at Lavigne, and went into the kitchen.

As the last of the students filed past Lavigne picking his lunch up off the floor, they could hear Dumas and Richard Gagnier, the cookee, laughing hysterically. The laughter would stop momentarily, the cook and cookee making a brief appearance only to disappear as quickly to the sounds of laughter the likes of which had never been heard in the cookhouse before, ever.

Outside, the sun was shining and the dew sparkled on the sparse tufts of green grass growing here and there in the yellow sand. Just beyond the knoll, where the superintendent's cabin was, Alphonse stood beside Simard-Comtois and both men were smoking filtered cigarettes

“Is this all of them?” the superintendent said.

Alphonse looked at them. His lips moved as he counted.

“Yes,” he said. “That's all of them.”

“Good.” Simard-Comtois said. He looked at the students and he waited until the last of them had stopped talking. “Well boys,” he began, “we have some good news for you this morning.”

A low murmur, more like a groan, arose from the fellows gathered before him. They had heard this little speech once before, begun with exactly the same words. Good news. Really.

“Now, now boys,” Simard-Comtois continued.” You remember, not long ago, we sent you up on the fire. I'm sure all of you appreciated that experience. Well…”

“
Calis
!” The word cut through the morning air, as sudden and as brutal as a rusted razor blade. It was not obvious who had spoken. All of the students wore faces of defiance, of total mistrust.

The superintendent pretended not to hear. He tried not to show how this apparent hostility affected him. Still, his voice seemed to crack some when he continued his discourse. “We have another little job for you,” he said. “I am confident that this additional task will round out your stay with us here at Washika, or rather, on the Cabonga.”