If only I could jump high enough to get past their outstretched arms and lie down in their hands. With the air sparkling and Evans carrying me, with the crowd carrying me.
Men, mostly. And smoke. A sauna of cigarettes. Evans buys me a drink. The alcohol tastes like water with just a subtle aftertaste. Martini, maybe. Where’s he dragging me to? He knows his way around. The bar counter is sticky. The white shirt of the man next to me, transparent where it’s stuck to his wet back. The same ugly face as Evans. He buys me another drink. I only smell cigarettes. They probably have rats here.
I have to go to the bathroom.
I knock into a few chairs. And the men sitting on them. Grunts. There are so many chairs. I can’t find it, I go all the way to the back, along the walls. I knock over a few chairs, they fall without a sound. If they do make a sound, I don’t hear it. Where are the washrooms? I have to—I trip, almost fall flat onto a table. A man, furious. ¿Los baños? I yell. I mumble. He pushes me in the opposite direction, points to an even darker corner.
I can’t see a thing. Too dark, too drunk. Where’s Evans? ¡Evans! ¿Evans? That’s not his name. Dumbass, he won’t know that’s him. I don’t know where I am anymore. Forget the washrooms, I have to get out of here. Now.
Gripping onto the forest of chairs like a vice. Tighter and tighter. I can’t move without hitting a chair. They’ve added more, they’re everywhere. I start knocking over the empty chairs, throwing them onto the floor. They’re conspiring. Still no noise. Too many chairs.
They push me. Dumb bitch, go do that somewhere else. Stumbling around on my too-high heels, holding the wall. Nauseous. I get it all over the place. I get back up, my head a little clearer. Our feet always lead us home. No matter what state we’re in. I repeat that to myself like a mantra. Close to home. Almost there. How many metres since I left that cave?
I gather what will I have left and drive straight ahead. Good thing I have this wall. A garbage can falls. Is that me? A cat? Is someone following me? Too late to try to understand how and why objects keep appearing. Where did Evans go? I hold myself up with both hands, puke again. My nice shoes must be full of it, they aren’t mine, what will Adriana say?
I’m sure my hands are pissing blood—no time to worry about that. I run. Trip. Who’s behind me? The wall is so hard. So crooked. Come on, girl. Hurry up. More noise. Voices. Evans? I manage to hit the garbage next to me. Hit? Pet it, almost. I have to run faster. I have to find somewhere to hide. The police? Definitely don’t turn around. Shit. More steps, voices. How many lanes are there? How many cars? I cross without looking. Without knowing where I’m running to. Not the slightest cry comes out of my throat. Am I standing or lying down? I was running. I’m running. The pavement is soft. There must be cars. I have to get out of here. I try to move. What’s happening? A voice now, just one, I can’t move a muscle. It’s this city. People, suddenly. Everywhere. But no faces. They approach me. I still can’t cry out. They touch me. Everything is white and fuzzy. I should be able to scream. Lying starfished in the middle of the street. Stuck there, cemented into the pavement. Someone’s breath. Red. What’s happening? Run! Try to catch hold of something, I don’t feel my fingers anymore, or my legs.
On all fours on the cold bathroom tiles, my head hanging over the toilet bowl, a hand rubbing my back. I puke again. Water. I want water. Jesus I’m weak. Emilio comes back with a glass. I splash it onto my face, neck, shoulders, hair.
He takes me, rocks me slowly, sitting with me on the ground. It hurts, but I don’t have the strength to tell him. Or the strength to be anything but a ragdoll. With one finger, he wipes away a silent tear. The last thing I remember is falling in the street. Was it a street? After that, nothing. Emilio stays with me, calm. He whispers in my ear, shhh, está bien.
I wake up in his arms, in the same place, the same position. Like time hasn’t moved at all. A little wet round spot on his shirt. He runs me a bath and leaves me. In the mirror, I look scary. I think of everything that could have happened to me. Was I drugged? I drank so much.
Betty, look at how I’ve ended up. Look at how fucked up I am. You knew it, you say. Do you remember the princesses?
The ones I dressed up 300 times a day. A new dress every time. No touching, they had to stay nice. Sitting there, all happy. All in a row next to each other. Their smiles trapped in their plastic happiness—princesses never complain.
Even when I’d rip one of their arms off. Always the same, perfect smile.
It’s easy to wallow in despair. Knowing there’s nothing worse. I make up these stories with no nuance, where all error and doubt have been erased. Gone is the tiring blur of the old days. I fight against pictures that are clear, and therefore true. I almost died. For a moment, that comforts me.
If I could scream louder, would I feel better? Red can be red like love, too. Matías emerges and asks me, Chloé, what do you want out of life? Ser feliz, I answer. He just stands there, not sure what to make of it.
I don’t know what happened anymore. I think back and there’s hardly anything left. Nothing that explains the gaps between the answers.
It’s for you, you know. The package? I didn’t even think to check.
You’re not gonna open it? Emilio hands me the envelope from across the room, shakes it. A padded brown envelope. With a lot of stamps. A mischievous look on his face, Chloé, you have mail. How is that possible? Something overwhelming comes over me, a mix of too much of everything. I’m suddenly in another room far far away from here. Headrush, I need to sit down.
So? Him, up close, too close. My vision blurred. Who is it? No one.
I’m fiddling around with my fork in what’s left of the spaghetti sauce on my plate. Emilio asks Adriana how her cupcake business is going—her latest venture. She’s fluttering around the room. Would have loved to show him the sparkly bubblegum-pink icing she managed to make into a mushroom-cap shape. Where were you? You missed out on my masterpiece!
Adriana isn’t wearing nail polish. It’s weird, she looks naked. I’ll make more for you, don’t worry. Emilio gives only one-syllable answers. Doesn’t seem very interested in what she’s saying. Aggressive, even. If you didn’t want to know, you didn’t have to ask. What did Gloria do this time? Want me to talk to her? Look at the state she’s got you in. He shakes his head. Abruptly changes the subject. Wow, you two really are a blast tonight. Great vibe, thanks guys. I’m not inviting you out, stay here and work on turning those frowns upside down. Emilio says he feels a flu coming on, shuts himself in his room.
Clowndog, Kloundog, Klog, Clawg. Conedog, Cog, Coggie? I’ll come up with a name for you one of these days.
Don’t be scared, Betty. It’s a sun I’m drawing for you. Bright rays in the middle of your empty sky. Look how happy you look now. The paint marks the walls with my fingerprints. My prints, just mine. My thumb and four fingers stamped on the wall. If you’re good, Betty, I’ll draw stars for you too. I could fill the room with stars. What do you think? Do you think we’d have better dreams? I only have red, though, I hope that’s okay. The red was on special.
On Emilio’s desk, piles of paper, mostly scribbles and words that are crossed out. With arrows in the margins, illegible annotations. The next play? The same one? I sit down on his bed.
I lie down in it. It smells like him. And her a bit, too. He could show up at any moment. I shove my face into the pillows, fighting the odds. Deliciously illegal, in his bed. I roll around in the covers a little. And I start crying.
What do I do if he walks in? What do I say?
He has a spot on his wall too. I can see it, blurry through my soaked eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t even be surprised to find me in his bed.
He’d lie down, I’d take his hand. You have nice hands, you know, I’d say.
I’d clear my throat and go on. A lot of lines, that’s a good sign. Success in these curves. Some crosses,
but nothing too bad. A long life line here, deep. Look, all full of—what would you like your life to be full of? My turn.
Do you know the lines of your palm? Look. This one’s my life line. You see how it’s all mixed up with my heart line?
Current & Upcoming Books
01 LIFE IN THE COURT OF MATANE by Eric Dupont
translated by Peter McCambridge
02 THE UNKNOWN HUNTSMAN by Jean-Michel Fortier
translated by Katherine Hastings
03 BROTHERS by David Clerson
translated by Katia Grubisic
Finalist, 2017 Governor General’s Literary Award for Translation
04 LISTENING FOR JUPITER by Pierre-Luc Landry
translated by Arielle Aaronson and Madeleine Stratford
Winner, 2017 Expozine Best Book Award
05 I NEVER TALK ABOUT IT by Véronique Côté and Steve Gagnon
translated by 37 different translators
06 BEHIND THE EYES WE MEET by Mélissa Verreault
translated by Arielle Aaronson
07 SONGS FOR THE COLD OF HEART by Eric Dupont
translated by Peter McCambridge
Finalist, 2018 Scotiabank Giller Prize
Finalist, 2018 Governor General’s Award for Translation
08 EXPLOSIONS: MICHAEL BAY AND THE PYROTECHNICS OF THE IMAGINATION by Mathieu Poulin
translated by Aleshia Jensen
Finalist, 2018 Governor General’s Award for Translation
09 IN EVERY WAVE by Charles Quimper
translated by Guil Lefebvre
10 IN THE END THEY TOLD THEM ALL TO GET LOST
by Laurence Leduc-Primeau
translated by Natalia Hero
11 PRAGUE
by Maude Veilleux
translated by Aleshia Jensen & Aimee Wall
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Table of Contents
Laurence Leduc-Primeau
IN THE END THEY TOLD THEM ALL TO GET LOST
Current & Upcoming Books
Guide
Couverture
Page de Copyright
Page de Titre
In the End They Told Them All to Get Lost Page 10
