them understand what music really is!’
And so Alex followed his dad onto the streets of Old Montreal. Alexis busked, playing his guitar all hunched over, more mumbling than humming, as if he were only playing for himself and didn’t care whether anyone heard him or not. When you don’t have anyone to love, it’s hard to sing love songs. Lovers would walk past him, give him nothing, then go and smooch on public benches. From that point on Alexis’s condition deteriorated.
‘All fags! Bleedin’ Jews!’
So music had ditched him, too. But with a child to support, you have to eat. He began painting; not pictures, but walls and windows, then ceilings, too. Everyone agreed he was a good worker. But too often he would forget to turn up, or he would quarrel with his co-workers, who couldn’t stand listening to him any more.
‘They’re all fags, those carpenters! Fucking plumbers! Bloody Jews!’
It always took him a few days to get the feel of a new construction site. It was better for him to work on his own. Alexis was a drinker, of course. Not a chronic alcoholic, but at night he’d drink as many beers as he needed to get to sleep. The number varied.
When you’ve only got one person to love, and that person loves you, however badly, you love them back. Alex loved his dad. And he wondered why he’d been given this life. He knew his future was all plotted out. The educational director at school had said as much: You’ll come to a bad end, you will!
Alex hadn’t protested. He behaved the way all children do. It’s not what parents say that matters, but the example they give. Looking at Alexis, no one could believe that his son had a happy fate in store.
‘Night, Dad!’
‘Are you going to bed already?’
‘Got school tomorrow.’
‘Already?’
‘Yeah, Dad, it’s the fifth of January, we go back to school.’
‘You’re too serious for your age.’
Alex wasn’t serious at all. He fought with everyone. The shopkeeper at the corner shop didn’t want to see him there any more, because he nicked things. Alex lied to his dad. He faked his signature. He copied his tests off his best friend. He never told his dad when there were parent–teacher meetings. And anyway, his dad was beyond caring about any of that. All he looked forward to was falling asleep on the sofa. First he snored, then he mumbled a song, always the same refrain.
‘Bébé . . . Je t’ai, toi, bébé . . .’
Alex pulled a blanket over Alexis.
‘Bébé . . . Je t’ai, toi, bébé . . .’
Alex never tired of hearing those gentle words. He often stayed next to his sleeping dad until late at night. It was so rare for him to hear anything about love.
‘Bébé . . . Je t’ai, toi, bébé . . .’
Monday, 5 January 1998
‘The forecast was for ten to fifteen millimetres of freezing rain, but we’ve got nearly double that amount: twenty-five millimetres in Montreal, thirty over the Laurentides and twenty in Montérégie. The weight of the ice has been affecting power lines, cables have started to break, and there have been reports of power cuts . . .’
YOUR PROBLEMS CAN’T BE THAT BAD
The alarm clock rang. I woke up with a start. I must not have been sleeping very soundly. For at least five seconds I felt really good. I stretched, and then it all came back. Happiness vanished. I got up and went over to the window and pulled open the curtain. The ground was shiny. Was that ice? I looked again. It was ice! I looked up and the sky was grey and ice was falling! Was this what the sky had done for me?
I ran into the kitchen, full of hope. My mum and dad were finishing their breakfast, staring into their mugs. When they raised their heads and saw me, I understood instantly that nothing had changed.
‘Your father will be leaving today.’
I filled my cereal bowl and sat down across from them. But this morning I didn’t feel like keeping silent in front of them, only to go and cry afterwards.
‘I thought it was Dad who was supposed to stay here.’
I kept my tone cold, as if I didn’t care. My mum, who knows me, spoke gently.
‘The friend whose apartment I’m moving into was supposed to move into another place, but the renovations—’
‘I know. They’re not finished and that’s why Dad is going to the cottage.’
They looked at each other. My mum made a face, my dad lowered his eyes. I didn’t feel like being nice. I didn’t like the fact they’d decided everything without me.
‘Whose idea was it?’
‘What idea?’
‘To split up?’
They both had stupid looks on their faces. After all, as a rule, there’s always one who does the leaving. They stared at each other for a long while. Judging by their expressions I could tell that if they didn’t answer it was because both of them had had the idea.
‘It’s an amicable separation. We both feel the same way.’
They go and tell me they’re splitting up, but they keep saying they agreed on it. When you agree with someone, it means you love them. And when you love someone, you stay together.
‘And what if I don’t feel the way you do?’
My dad was more surprised by my answer than Mum was. He looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. On the other hand, I could tell my mum was annoyed. She tried to stay gentle, but she didn’t manage it.
‘I realise this is making you unhappy, my darling, but these are problems between grown-ups. When a man and a woman decide to split up . . . That’s life. It happens to a lot of people.’
‘But there’s three of us!’
My dad put his hand on my mum’s. It was his turn to speak now.
‘Your mother is right, it will be better for everyone.’
‘But I’m better with both of you.’
‘You’ll still be happy.’
‘I could be even happier.’
They should have just kept their mouths shut. I couldn’t understand how they could say that to me. How could they imagine that I’d be happier without the two of them there together? I got the impression that they knew I was hurting, but they didn’t want me to show it, so that they wouldn’t feel bad. They were only thinking about themselves. As if it was all right for them to split up just because other people do. My dad got up and switched on the radio.
