Washika (9 page)

“No, Henri. Finish your coffee. I will be only a minute.”

Henri drank the coffee. The door to the bedroom was open, he could see the light was on and he could hear the nightgown being slid off her shoulders. Perhaps she would be angry. She might even see
Monsieur
Simard-Comtois about it. But, what if it was not like that? He would hate himself after. There was not much time. In fact, there was only now.

“Lise?” he said.

“Yes, Henri?” she called from the bedroom.

“Lise, would you mind if I came in?”

There, he had said it. It was quiet in the kitchen. Only the clock was ticking on top of the refrigerator. The ticking seemed to grow louder with each passing second.

“If you like, Henri,” she said, at last.

Henri went into the bedroom. The room smelled of her hair and it was dark except for a lamp by the bed. Lise stood by the bed, in front of the lamp. She was naked and she stood with her head bowed so that her hair covered the side of her face. She was beautiful. Henri had never seen anyone so beautiful. He had seen naked women before, in the magazines, with their slim legs and flat bellies but, here, standing in front of him, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Henri began to unbutton his shirt. He could not take his eyes off of her. Then she looked at him with her green eyes and he prayed, dear God make it good and let me hang on and not be a fool.

“Henri,” she said.

“Yes Lise.”

“Close the door, will you.”

I
t was ten o'clock. It had stopped raining and the sun was out. Henri smelled the good smell that follows a rainfall as he walked across the yard. He went to the bunkhouse-and-office. P'tit-Gus was sitting at the table leafing through one of the picture magazines.

“At last,” he said. “Where have you been all this time?”

“With the nurse.”

“Yes, well don't stand around. I've got lots of work for you.”

Henri did not wish to argue. He stayed away from the man. Her smell was still on him. He could still smell her sweetness and taste her in his mouth. There was still that good flushed feeling and he did not want to lose that arguing with P'tit-Gus.

“What's there to do?” he asked.

“What's there to do,” P'tit-Gus repeated. “I'll show you what's there to do. Come with me.”

Henri followed P'tit-Gus out of the bunkhouse-and-office and across the yard to the main sleep camp. Walking behind the man, he thought about Lise and the last time he had looked at her and how she had stood, naked, behind the screen door.

“Now, first you start at this end,” P'tit-Gus began, “and work your way down to the other end. Clean everything, wastebaskets, ashtrays, anything dragging on the floor. And check under the beds. Here, take these.” P'tit-Gus handed him several black, plastic garbage bags.

“When that's done,” he continued, pointing towards the corner of the room, “there's the broom there. Start from this end again. And don't forget to spread the dust bane.”

In one corner of the common room, next to the broom, was a large green barrel containing the soft, sand-like, green dust bane that was used for keeping the dust down when you swept. Henri liked the smell it made on the floor.

“And when you've finished, do the same over at your bunkhouse.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh no. After, there are the sheets and pillowcases. Come on, get a move on. I've got work to do.”

Henri could not imagine what work there was left to do but he said nothing. He did not want to argue or even speak with P'tit-Gus. It had been wonderful being with Lise. He was feeling so happy and he did not want anything to spoil that.

Henri spent the rest of the morning doing the jobs assigned to him by P'tit-Gus. He picked up, swept and changed the bed clothes in both sleep camps. But, she was always there. He could not stop thinking about her. What was supposed to have been a simple visit to the infirmary had, in fact, produced a profound change in his life. Prior to his visit with Lise Archambault, Henri had made love only in his dreams. Lise had been most patient with him and guided him and held him until it was time, and after, she made love to him in her way and the experience was one that Henri would remember for the rest of his life.

At noon, Henri went to the cookhouse for dinner. He avoided the eyes of the older workers who were there. Maybe just thinking about her would show on his face. Perhaps someone had noticed how long he had been at the infirmary. And there was her smell, that sweet smell of her that was still on him. He sat apart from the others at the table. After dinner, Henri stretched out on his bunk to read and wait for further orders from P'tit-Gus. He could not read. He listened to a bumblebee and watched it banging against the screen, trying to get inside. Later, he thought, he would visit Emmett Cronier at the scales. Perhaps Lise might sit on the verandah in the afternoon. He would be able to see her there from the scales. There would be nothing wrong, just walking down to the infirmary and speaking with her on the verandah. No one would think anything wrong about that. But, he had promised. That very morning, as they sat together with their backs propped up against the pillows, she had made him promise. They would not be seen together, ever. On Sundays, she would pack her fishing gear and sandwiches and head south and out of the bay as she did every Sunday morning if it was not raining. No one would suspect a thing. If he wanted to be with her, she would be by the log dump. There, she would wait for him in her little skiff, fishing for bass in the deep water by the square timber wall and out of view of the camp. There was a beach two miles south of Washika with a dense growth of evergreens above its sloping sand. Behind this thick wall of trees, a circular patch of beach sand lay hidden from view. From this patch of sand one could easily see out towards the lake while no one could see in past the trees. It was there that she went swimming every Sunday and, afterwards, lay on the sand in the sun behind the row of trees. That, she explained to Henri, was how she came to be tanned all over. She would take him there and they would swim together and, after, they would make love on the sand. And maybe, sometime during the day, they would fish a little. Also, she had made him promise; he must bring along his life jacket, the one he used on the
Madeleine
. She insisted strongly on this point. Henri was curious about that but he did not wish to say or do anything to ruin the moment they were living. And, she insisted, they must never be seen together and he must not speak about it to anyone.

That was the difficult part. When the others arrived at five o'clock, he would have liked to stand aside with St-Jean, and maybe Lavigne, and tell them what an extraordinary day it had been. He wanted to say how beautiful she was and how she made soft sounds in her throat when he touched her and, later, how she made love to him. But, he had promised.

“And how were the flies?” he said to Lavigne.

“
Sacrament
! Always the same. And you?”

“Not bad. The burn's not so bad now.”

“No, no. P'tit-Gus, I mean. Didn't work you too hard? He was pretty pissed about us this morning.”

“No. Not so bad.”

“Tell me. Maybe I'll get a burn tomorrow.”

Henri had not thought about that. Suppose Lavigne was to get a burn and be forced to stay in camp, and see the nurse. Would it be the same with Lavigne?

“No, my poor Lavigne,” Henri said. “It's not worth the trouble. P'tit-Gus is so hard to please and, besides, it's so boring here all day with no one to talk to. Believe me, you're much better off out on the lake.”

“I suppose you're right. A guy alone like that, he starts to think. It's bad enough on Sundays. Hey! Can you imagine, Henri, some poor young girl wandering in here on a Sunday?”

“Like those tourists near the log dump,” Henri laughed. “Remember them?”

“Yeah. And that wasn't even on a Sunday.”

They both laughed. Henri remembered that day and he often wondered how the two girls must have felt. It was close to five o'clock and Alphonse had suddenly veered to starboard, steering the
Madeleine
towards the log dump and the two two-hundred-gallon fuel tanks strapped to the square timbers of the wall. Between the log dump and the dock at Washika, a car was parked on the road just above the beach. An aluminum boat was tied to a rack on the roof of the car and, as the
Madeleine
went by at a slow speed, they saw a short, fat man wearing sun glasses and a baseball cap, fishing from the shore, casting out onto the water, spinning the reel and casting again. Just beyond the fat man, two teenage girls ran along the beach. Both girls were deeply tanned and their long blond hair flew freely as they ran along the beach together. They wore shorts and light T-shirts, and the older girl was not wearing a bra. It had been a long time for the students from the Collège de Ste-Émilie. It had been almost two weeks since their last trip down to Ste-Émilie. It happened suddenly, and spontaneously, and without warning of any kind. As the
Madeleine
went by the tourists, nineteen young men jumped overboard, each one yelling madly as he did so. The water was shallow there and soon they were running in the water towards the shore. The girls looked frightened. They turned and ran back towards the fat man. He reeled in quickly and all three of them got into the car and sped off towards the log dump.

The students dropped onto the sand, laughing and catching their breath. Only one of them was missing. François Gauthier had been the last to go over the side. He was not interested in the girls on the beach. He was dry and warm and he wanted to stay that way. Still, he had learned not to like being different. At the very last, he had jumped from the stern. He had felt stupid as he did not believe that the young girls would have anything to do with them. It was stupid, and senseless, but so was putting up with their needling. So, he jumped. He sighed and looked up at the sky and stepped off the
Madeleine
's rounded stern. The water had been shallow when the others left the tugboat. Gauthier was not so lucky. He managed to tread water, held afloat by his orange life jacket and wearing his hard hat. He felt a fool in his wool mackinaw that would take days to dry.

“They sure were good-looking,” Lavigne said.

“That's for sure. And remember Gauthier?”

“Poor Gauthier. And him not even interested in girls. I can hardly wait. Only three more days.”

“Three days?”

“Today is Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

“Well? This is our weekend to go down.”

Henri had not thought about that. On Saturday, it would be three weeks since their last weekend off in Ste-Émilie. That was it, then. He would not have to tell her. Lise would see the bus arriving. She would know that he could not stay behind. They would think he was crazy not to go down.

“Of course!” he said. “I forgot it was this weekend.”

The bell rang. It was time for supper. Henri was not thinking about food. It would be a long weekend without her. He reached into his wallet for a ticket and left the bunkhouse-and-office.

T
hat morning it was not raining. It had rained during the night so that the sand did not give easily under their feet, and the air was cool and the sky a dark shade of blue. The students walked in single file, over the knoll and down towards the dock and the grey tugboat. By the dock the water slapped against the
Madeleine
's hull. It was quiet, and damp, and only the sound of the waves slapping against the
Madeleine
made it real.

“Come back!” a voice called from the crest of the knoll. “Come back, you guys!” It was Alphonse. He waved to them to return to camp.

“Good old Alphonse,” someone yelled.

Henri looked up at the sky. It was not so dark. To the east was a clearing. It would probably not rain at all.

They were happy. Alphonse was a good man. He would not make them work in the rain. Maybe they should buy him a little something in Ste-Émilie during the weekend. That was it. They would buy him something together.

“Well, my little ducks,” Alphonse began as the last of the students reached the circle around him. “I have some good news this morning.”

Alphonse turned to look at the man standing behind him. “
Monsieur
Simard-Comtois here has something to say to you.”

The superintendent cleared his throat and stepped into the circle.

“
Messieurs
,” he began. “
Monsieur
Ouimet here informs me that you have been doing excellent work out on the lake. In fact, he is quite proud of you all.”

The students looked at the sand. Then they looked at Alphonse. Alphonse lit a cigarette and smiled at them.

“You know,” Simard-Comtois continued, “the Company takes great pride in being able to assist any young man in getting a start in life. It is hoped that by the end of the summer you will have not only achieved financial gains but it is also our belief that you will have accumulated a certain degree of experience that will remain with you…”