Street of Riches

by Gabrielle Roy

  Meanwhile, Alicia and Ang£s began to beg Maman to go ahead; they had long wanted to be like boys and freed of their heavy locks.

  Then, her eyes closed, Maman gave the first clip with the shears. In the course of doing the job, she must have said to herself, "If I'm to spare my girls work, I might as well be thorough about it. . ." for she practically removed all the hair they possessed. When she saw their shorn locks, she began to lament: "Lord, whatever have I done! This is something your father will never forgive me."

  I never saw a sadder house than ours when Maman and I got back to it. That it was so large had never struck us before, nor that it echoed the sound of one's voice from room to room. We began walking round on tiptoe.

  "Noise certainly echoes in this house," said Maman; and she sat down to write Papa a letter.

  "Dear Edouard," she wrote, "I'm leaving with the money I earned, but unfortunately I haven't enough to pay the tradespeople "

  Over Maman's shoulder I read a good part of this letter, and I don't like to remember it. This was the first time in my life, I think, when I no longer wanted to be a grownup: to be a grownup involved giving too many explanations. "You will say, Edouard," Maman wrote, "that I ought to have asked your permission. But it's not certain that you would have given it... whereas now I leave with at least the benefit of the doubt "

  Afterward we bolted the door of our house; we slipped the key under the mat and we went to the corner to wait for our tram in a cold, thin drizzle.

  At the station, Maman already looked less guilty. For the trip we brought our own food along. If we were silly to go at

  all, we at least had to be sensible in other matters, especially in our small expenses.

  Ill

  I found Canada immense, and it seemed that we had only crossed about a third of it. Maman likewise seemed proud that Canada should be so large a country. She confided to me that when you came down to it, and had circumstances permitted, she could have spent her life looking at people and cities; that she would have ended up a true nomad, and that that would have been her real misfortune. And I became aware how much travel made my mother seem younger; her eyes filled with sparks that glowed at the sight of almost everything we saw. The little evergreens, the water, the rocky ledges along the right of way—Maman beheld them all with love. "The world is fascinating," she would say. And I held it a little against Papa that he did not more often allow Maman to seem youthful. It's really a lovely thing to see an elderly woman take on once again the looks of a young girl. I knew that if I had been a husband, that's what I should best have liked to watch.

  One entire day we skirted Lake Superior. "It's the biggest lake in the world?"

  Maman told me yes, she thought it was the world's biggest lake.

  And I was proud that we people in Canada should own the biggest lake in the world. "Is it bigger than Ontario?"

  Maman laughed heartily. "How do you think it could be bigger than Ontario, since it is contained in Ontario ?"

  Ever since that day I have loved the word "Canada." Before, I had especially liked the "Pampas" or "Tierra del Fuego." From then on I was just as fond of "Canada." You can immediately sense that it is the name of a very large country. And even in those days, I think I should not have wished to live in one of those tiny little countries which are no more than a spot on the map of the world.

  We spent yet another night on the train. The next day my mother became a little anxious, and when we entered the Windsor station, she frankly looked upset. It was because we had no one very close to us in Montreal. Maman had often claimed to have a lot of relatives there and, among others a certain Dr. Nault, her cousin, whose affectionate disposition

  The Gadabouts S7

  could not have changed over the years. But in the station Ma-man told me that, after all, thirty-five years had elapsed since last she had seen this cousin Nault, that he had become wealthy, and that, when they became rich, people found it difficult to recall the things or the faces of other days.

  We left our largest bag at the check room. We then found Dr. Nault's address in the phone book. We asked a dozen people what streetcar to take, and finally someone gave us the correct information. So we started off toward our cousin's home, taking with us our small valise only. "That way," Maman explained, "we shall not look like people who have come looking for an invitation to stay. Yet if our cousins insist on keeping us, at least we'll have what we need for the night."

  And Maman must have begun to envision within herself the warm welcome we should receive, for J saw her smile inwardly, as though she were sure of Providence. There were times, though, when she preferred to call it "her star."

  As for me, I must have taken more after my father than I had up till then believed. I began to worry about the adventures in which Maman might involve me. Night was falling. At heart I was afraid of Canada's metropolis. For that Montreal is a big place no one can deny.

  Dr. Nault lived on Rachel Street. We walked along encountering no one save Jews, and then we entered an old-fashioned-looking pharmacy; the counters were full of big glass jars containing dried herbs and powders, on which were inscribed Arsenic, Senna, Belladonna. ... I was in the process of reading all these words when I heard something stir behind a high counter. There stood a slight man, clad in black, with a black beard, very black eyes, and his head covered by a skullcap. Maman having asked him "Are you Doctor Nault?" the old chap replied, "Himself, in person."

  "In that case, do you recognize me?" Maman asked, planting herself in front of the old fellow, her head cocked to one side and her lovely eyebrows arched, as she did when she looked in a mirror or wanted to be seen to best advantage.

  Without hesitation the old man replied, "Not at all. Am I supposed to know you ?"

  At that moment a bell jangled on the other side of a partition, not far away. Dr. Naurt removed his skullcap and said to us, "Forgive me: a medical customer . . ."

  He opened a small door in the wall, which led from the 58 Sired of Riches

  pharmacy into what looked: to us like a doctor's office. We saw a woman patient, who was indeed entering this consulting room, but by a door that opened directly on the street.

  Ten minutes passed. We saw the patient go out as she had entered, holding in her hand a slip of paper on which she seemed, to be looking for an address, for she raised her eyes from the paper to the street number on the house. Arriving at the next door, which led into the pharmacy, she walked in. At the same instant Dr. Nault emerged through the small door in the wall; he put his skullcap back on his head. He was at his post as. pharmacist when his patient walked up to the. counter, and he took from her hands the paper he had given her in the consultation room. Maman and I of course realized that it was his own prescription which Dr. Nault, now the apothecary once more, was about to fill. And, indeed, he studir ausly read all that was written there and then proceeded to mix and grind together pinches of powders which he extracted from left and rights from lower and upper shelves, from almost all the glass jars. Maman made a gesture to silence my laughter. When his patient had taken her packet and had paid him, Dr. Nault turned to us, eager with curiosity.

  "Samuel," Maman then asked him, "don't you remember the dozen broken eggs?"

  The old fellow looked startled and put on his glasses the better to examine us. "Who are you, anyway?"

  "Yes, indeed," said Maman, who, it seemed to me, did nothing to leave him guessing, "I am your cousin Eveline."

  "Oh!" said the old man. "Where on earth have you dropped from?"

  "From Manitoba,." said Maman.

  "Yes;" he observed, "I did hear you'd gone into exile there. But what are you doing here? Didn't you get married ?"

  "I certainly am married," Maman replied; "this is my little daughter."

  The old chap gave me a brief gjance and began to ask quesr tions anew: "But what in the world are you two doing hereabouts ? Manitoba's not exactly around the corner! ..."

  "It certainly isn't," responded Maman, "b
ut with modern means of transport—I mean the railroad—one can move about so quickly nowadays. . . . Have yous any children, Samuel?"

  "Eleven," said he. "But how on earth .. "

  "I was going through the neighborhood," said Maman; "I

  remembered little Samuel, who was always such a joker . . . Do you still play jokes, Samuel? . . . And I thought I'd get some news of how things are going with you, about your family." "I never thought I'd see you again," said the old fellow.

  He made a motion, cast a vague glance at the ceiling. "You're not going to leave," said he, "without going upstairs. We live above. Let's go up," he added, without much warmth and scratching his head beneath his skull-cap.

  On the stairs Maman whispered to me not to look so worried; if the Naults did not invite us, she would find other relatives; she had other strings to her bow.

  We were seated on hard sofas facing Madame Nault, who was flanked right and left by her daughters. They all had their hands crossed over their skirts in precisely the same fashion, and all these women were clothed in unrelieved black. By way of politeness Maman inquired whether the family were in mourning, and Madame Nault dryly replied that her family was practically never out of mourning, some of their people having died almost every year recently.

  Maman assumed an expression of sorrow and offered her condolences to Madame Nault, who accepted them with a brief nod.

  We were at once informed that Madame Nault was both niece and sister to archbishops, that she had been born Delilah Forget, and that young girls of good family did not have the opportunities of former times to marry well; advantageous matches were growing ever scarcer.

  Maman also took on the airs of a lady of position: she remarked how true this all was, that we should like to prolong our visit with Madame Nault, but that we had many people and many things we must see during our trip to Montreal, that the time had come when we must return to our hotel. Then Maman added, as though it were quite incidental, that her husband held a post in the Ministry of Colonization. She spoke of one thing and another, and found ways to interlard frequent little phrases like "my husband—in the employ of the federal government" . . . "my husband—a civil servant of the state" . . . and I realized how much better received in society is a woman who boasts of her husband than one who is alone. This seemed to me unjust; I had never noticed that a man needed to talk of his wife in order to appear important. 60 Street of Riches

  Each time Maman said "my husband," Madame Nault chawed out a little more. And in the end she said that there could be no question of allowing visitors from Manitoba to sleep at a hotel. In the best of them, said she, women alone are exposed to serious dangers, and it did not take much, she hinted, to lose one's reputation in Montreal.

  We spent three days in the apartment above the pharmacy. I do not think it was so much because our visit gave Madame Nault any great pleasure, yet all the same she would not hear of letting us go. "Never shall it be said," she explained, "that I would not receive in my house a cousin from the West. ... Blood is thicker than water; never shall it be said ..." And without in the least enjoying it, we felt as though we were prisoners, Maman and I, above the apothecary shop. Maman put a good face on ill fortune, and the Naults went as far as to offer us an expedition to Saint Joseph's Oratory. Its major purpose, I imagine, was to see Brother Andr6. That poor wonderworker sat from morning till night on a straight-backed chair, his head in his hands, listening to the appeals and prayers of the vast crowd filing past him. Many sought to be cured by him; others wanted only to see if he looked like a saint; and perhaps a few hoped for no more than his understanding. You could not help feeling sorry for Brother Andrd; almost the whole while he kept his face a little hidden; one might have thought that he had a headache, or that he himself felt sad at not being understood by everyone. Certainly he had little time to reply to all these people for every day, it would seem, there came as many as on the day we went. Now it was Maman's turn. She asked Brother Andre whether it was a great sin for a married woman to leave on a journey without having obtained her husband's consent. Perhaps Brother Andre did not hear properly. He hastily replied to Maman: "Say a good prayer to Saint Joseph, don't drink too much coffee, and have trust, always have trust."

  Later we found other cousins in Montreal, and thank heaven we did; otherwise Madame Nault would never have yielded us our freedom, for "never shall it be said that she would have left relatives alone and without advice in such a city "

  When the pharmacy door shut behind us, Maman said -I don't know why—"Poor Samuel!" s

  The Gadabouts 61

  rv

  I no longer remember all the other things we did in Montreal; but it was very tiring. We went to see an illuminated fountain at the other end of the city; then a waxworks museum; but the greater part of our time was spent, as I recall, in talking about the dead, about cousins unknown and of the third and fourth generations.

  Then, one evening, I was sitting with Maman near a cabby in a horse-drawn trap, and we were progressing slowly along a low, dark road, where only puddles of water supplied what little light there was ahead of us. The turning wheels showered our faces and elegant jackets with gobbets of mud. We entered a tiny village—at least I thought it a village; a handful of feeble lights glimmered in the bushes. A little earlier, though -I remember now—the cabby had whispered something to Maman, who had pushed over toward me and cried, "Aren't you ashamed! And in front of a mere child! Be careful, sir; I have influential friends, and I could have you taken care of if I chose to make the effort."

  Later on, when we were alone in the village, Maman warned me against men. "Now you see," said she, "how one must keep one's distance. .. ."

  In this village, the name of which I have forgotten, it was raining, and the night was so dark I have rarely seen its like since. I was tired enough to fall asleep where I stood. Then my memory brings back to me a small, low-ceilinged room, very badly lighted by an oil lamp. Maman and I were surrounded by old maids in long skirts, which they were constantly pulling down over their ankles, black stockings, and collars stretching stiffly up their necks. Maman had half opened the jacket of her suit, by now somewhat w r rinkled; beneath it she was wearing her lovely eggshell crepe de Chine blouse. And Maman was. explaining, "Your dear brother Edouard sends me to bring you his greetings and best wishes...."

  "Hasn't he gone over to the present government?" asked one of the spinsters from her place near a heavy wooden chest. "We heard he had sold out to the King of England...."

  "Came, Ursule, we are all subjects of the King of England, you yourself like me, like everyone in this country 1 What's more, your brother, by settling colonists in the West and laboring for the country's greatness, has not in the least denied his past as a French Canadian. . . ."

  "He left when he was sixteen," complained another of the old maids, "and from that day to this we have received nothing from him but a single post card, and that years ago. So he cannot have been as successful as you make out. If he had succeeded, he would have let us know. .. ."

  "Perhaps he thought you no longer cared about him," said Maman. "How sensitive he is! ... He imagined you felt no regret for him, but I know he still thought affectionately about you. And the proof is that I've known about you for years, you, my dear Ursule, and you, Aglae. . . ."

  "So much the better if that's the way of it," said Aglae, who seemed the less spiteful. And she questioned Maman : "Out in your Manitoba, life is harsh and poverty-stricken, isn't it? You really have a wretched time out there ?"

  "Horrible! People in those parts freeze to death in their tracks," Ursule announced.

  For a moment Maman hesitated, wondering how she should reply. She had already told several people that Manitoba was the most fertile country in the world. But this particular evening, having glanced at the three old ladies sitting quietly in the thick shadows of their home, to my great surprise Maman confirmed Ursule's indictment.

  "Yes, Ursule dear, it is true that out there the
climate is harsh, and the winds are relentless for all of us." She also described the vastness of the plains, the monotony of the West, and the boredom which overwhelmed us all!

  I was dumbfounded; to Madame Nault, Maman had depicted us as better off than we were; here it was just the opposite, and it seemed to do no end of good to Papa's three elderly sisters, who at once appreciated their own wealth and happiness in their small, low-lying house. One of them -1 think it was Aglad—then remarked: "You see how it is with faraway places! You imagine them better than your own home . . . and sometimes they're a hundredfold worse! ..."

  Whereupon they all began to speak well of Papa. They reported that, even when a mere youngster, he had been proud by nature. Mother elaborated the point. "Your brother," said she, "would rather be cut alive into tiny bits than add an unjustified penny to his government expense account." '

  Ursule protested: it was silly, according to her, to put oneself out that much for the benefit of a government of English people. From then on they were all talking at once, Ursule

  prating about the English. Agh6 about Placide: "We must go see Placide . . ." she kept saying.

  Yet Maman said, "Honesty is honesty, Ursule . . ." and the notion seized her of going to Saint Anne de Beaupr6 to pray for herself and for us all.

  When we arrived there, Maman made me write a card to Papa, urging me to tell him that at last we had reached the true goal of our trip, which was to beg good Saint Anne to bless Papa's colonists and to obtain for him relief for his bronchitis. She advised me to add something of my own, "from my heart," reminding me how remarkable a man Papa was. However, since throughout our journey Maman had been discovering so many fine traits in Papa, I somehow felt I no longer knew him very well, and it embarrassed me to write him .. . almost as much as if it had been to a stranger.