Autant

by Paulette Dubé

“What are you doing? Are you eating a pickle? Mom will kill you if you have food up here.” Juliette leaned over the side of the bed. “Where did you get the mirror, Alice? Can I see it?”

  “No, Juliette, you may not,” said Alice.

  “Why?” asked Juliette.

  “Ma tante Léah gave it to me.”

  “But, why? When did she give it to you? What for?” Juliette knelt on the mattress, hands on hips, gearing for a fight.

  “Because I am the oldest and I am a woman, that’s why. A woman needs a mirror,” said Alice. With a snap, the treasures were safe inside the case and pushed under the bed. She sighed what she thought was an appropriate sigh for woman in such a situation and got up off her knees. She began dressing for the day.

  “You? A woman? Stinky fart’s more like it,” said Juliette. She flipped her long red hair up over her face, covering her dark blue eyes. Her body was taut, quivering like a bow strung a little too tight. She was shorter than Alice and all the more stubborn for it. Three years and a natural misunderstanding separated them.

  “I know you are, but what am I?”

  “Les filles? Rise and shine!” Their mother poked her head up through the opening in the floor. “All of you, time to get up. The garden needs watering and we need more cattails for the baskets. We’re having company for supper, so the house needs a good going over as well. It’s going to be a hot one today, so the quicker we can get things done, the better.”

  “Are Trefflés coming?” Bella asked.

  Bella had been awake the whole time. She shared the blue eyes of her sisters, but the similarities ended there. Bella had dark hair, her mother’s pride and bane because it was so thick and curly it usually ended up in two fat pigtails or one stubby ponytail.

  “Why in God’s name would I invite Trefflés?”

  “I heard Alice talking. You were talking in your head about Adrien Trefflé, right? I heard you say his name. You like him, right? Wouldn’t it be nice to have him over for supper?”

  “Toupins are coming,” Lucille said, now all the way upstairs, bending when she got to the end of the room because the roof came down in the corners. It was early morning and already stifling up there. She pretended she hadn’t heard Bella’s comment about reading Alice’s thoughts. Lucille did that a lot lately, to discourage Bella from telling people what she could see inside their heads. Not to mention visits she had from the spirits and spooks. No need to ask whether or not the nuns at school would appreciate the “little reports” Bella felt free to give, once she started school in September.

  “Toupins? Oh non, Mom, not them!” said Juliette. Her high-pitched voice cut through the clamour of Maurice being rousted from the nest he called a bed.

  “Juliette, enough.”

  Alice ignored all of them and pulled her nightdress over her head. She made a show of properly folding and placing it on the small stool beside the bed.

  Maurice’s tawny head poked up from the dishevelled blankets. He still sported the baby fat of childhood around his middle but his arms and legs were strong and tanned from a couple months of summer. He grabbed his pillow and threw it at Alice. “Hey, chicken-butt lips!”

  “Maurice, stop. Why say such a thing to your sister? Such language.” Lucille worked a T-shirt over his head.

  “Maybe Trefflés will come some other day, Alice,” Bella said.

  “ . . . and Mademoiselle Chicken-Butt Lips will get a chance to kiss her frog!” Juliette whispered to Maurice as she dropped the pillow on his head. Maurice screwed up his face and made kissing noises.

  “Oh enough, Juliette. Maurice, c’est assez. Dépêche-toi. Don’t tease your sister like that. Get a move on.” Lucille’s voice was stern and the firmness added just enough menace to let them know that they were done here.

  Edgar’s voice rang up the stairs and froze them all in place, “Les enfants, c’est assez.”

  Lucille looked at Alice. Alice looked menacingly over at Juliette and Maurice, who grinned back.

  “Yes, enough,” Lucille said. She smiled at them, and ruffled Maurice’s hair. “Fine. Now, everyone make your beds. Bella, hurry up, puce, get dressed.”

  Downstairs, she made apologies for the children. “This heat is getting to them. Work outside today will help slough off that extra energy. I wish they would put that energy in a bottle and give me some. Must be a full moon coming or a storm.”

  Edgar said, “And I, I have had enough with shaving. I don’t think I need to shave today. I’m already pretty damned good looking. Don’t you think?” He turned to his wife.

  “Shave. Good looking or no,” she said. “What will Florence think when she comes over for supper and you even have a hint of beard? Sloth and slovenly, that’s what she’ll think. And don’t think she is above sharing that opinion with everyone and anyone, at any time, anywhere.”

  “She’ll say, ‘Now that is one hairy chicken butt!’ Bah! I don’t give two cents for what Florence Toupin says,” said Edgar.

  “Edgar! Honestly. You are worse than the kids. And you wonder were they get it from.”

  “I don’t wonder, ma vieille, I know. Their dear mother has such a tongue on her . . . ”

  “Me?” She reached across the table for him, but he dodged her fingertips and made for the door, grinning.

  “I am going out to the shop for a bit,” he said. “When your brother comes by, tell him I’m back there.”

  “Joseph? What does he want?”

  “Just might come by is all.”

  “Invite him for supper. Edgar? Edgar, do you hear me? And tell him to bring Léah.”

  She turned from the sideboard where she had been slicing bread. Edgar was already outside, screen door banging shut behind him.

  “Mom? Alice is being mean again.” Juliette stood at the foot of the stairs, tear-stained face, braid in disarray, holding Bella’s hand.

  “What is wrong with you all today? Am I the only sane one left in this house? Upstairs and get dressed, Juliette. Bella, you too. Oh, you are dressed. Good girl, help me by setting the table. Juliette, go get dressed.”

  Alice poked her head through the hole in the ceiling, “Mom, whatever she is saying, she’s lying.”

  Bella asked, “Mom? Am I? Am I a sane one?” In a family with so many children, Bella found it was usually best to check. Her right eye was tearing. A small knot of pain was forming in her head. She blinked.

  Lucille looked at her and hesitated one heartbeat too long. “Of course you are sane, Belle Bella, of course. And a good little helper too. Now, go get the butter from the fridge. The door is sticky, so pull hard. Get the honey too, if you can reach it.”

  “I don’t need help,” Bella said. “I am a good helper. I can bring the jar down.”

  Alice came down the stairs, dignity restored. Lucille watched as she checked her reflection in the small window along the wall, licking her finger and smoothing her eyebrows, smiling.

  “Why can’t you smile at your sister like that?” Lucille asked.

  Alice turned and Lucille could still see her little girl with short uneven braids, barely visible, but still there in the wide blue eyes.

  “Oh, Mom.”

  “Alice, you are a lovely girl. Try to act like one.”

  “It’s not my fault! Juliette, she . . . ”

  “Ah, non.” Lucille held her daughter in place with the look that reminded Alice of being caught in a prickly bush, unable to move for fear of scratching skin to blood. “Remember, an ugly tongue cuts twice. First, the person you insult gets hurt and then you hurt yourself, poison yourself with hateful words. Get along with Juliette. Be a lady, and you can start by . . . ”

  A lady. Mom called me a lady! From now on I am a lady . . . I will . . . Alice walked in a daze to the cupboard, one hand out. She touched the bread. Everything her mother said was lost to her. Something about tongues, poison, and she thought she heard bees. Her other hand reached for the knife.

  “ . . . toasting the bread. Alice? Did you hear me? To
ast some bread for the others. And shut your mouth before the bees get in.”

  Bella moved quietly. She brought the honey jar to the table. She slid the butter closer to Alice and picked up the bread knife.

  Glint of silver through sunlight. Bella tipped the knife blade. It sliced light into her eyes. It made sparkles behind her eyelids and made the headache go away for a second. She tipped it away. The headache came back, quietly pinching her brain until she felt a little sick. She waited until Alice drifted from the table to the bathroom, then she crept under the table and hunched there. She angled the blade, lit her mother’s shoe. Rode the shoe to the sink, to the table, to the cupboard, to the sink. Her mother stood, hands on the edge of the counter. She looked out the window over the sink. She blocked the sun.

  Bella waited under the table, hardly breathing, head throbbing, and all she wanted was to continue the game. She wanted the sun to come out.

  Her mother leaned forward, letting the light warm the top of her head. Smoke wisped from her crown, slipped down her shoulders. She was burning out strange thoughts, black moths she called them, by facing the sun, by absorbing light. There was a soft kick at the door and Joseph came into the kitchen.

  “I got a need for your strong coffee, ‘cille,” he said. “My head.”

  He lowered himself onto a chair at the table. Bella scooted out from underneath and stood shyly by the pantry door, a little dizzy.

  “And a good morning to you too, Brother. Is this the only reason you came this morning? To beg coffee?” said Lucille.

  “Coffee . . . ” he moaned, putting his face in his hands.

  “Does your head hurt too, mon oncle Joseph?” asked Bella. She inched closer to the table on tiptoes, avoiding the red stars on the linoleum.

  He looked at her from between his fingers. Bella made the light glint from the knife blade onto the tabletop and skated it up towards his arms.

  “You cannot burn this out, girl. You should, cut, it, out!” He laughed and made a half-hearted lunge for the knife.

  Bella giggled and swayed away from him.

  Eyeing her brother, Lucille could smell the migraine on him.

  “You could use a hot bath,” she said. “Go pick a ribbon, Bella. I will braid you a good one before you go play outside. Your hair is getting so long.” She held her hand out for the knife.

  The girl slipped past her uncle, passing her mom the shiny blade. She pirouetted in front of the blue kitchen door and patted it. She sang, as much to the door as to her mother, “I love you, big as the big blue-sky bowl, big as the ocean, forever.”

  “Go already,” her mother said, brandishing the knife, “before I skin you like a coyote!”

  Singing softly, Bella disappeared into her parents’ bedroom. “Today, today, a red ribbon day. Long hair for me, yeah headache headache go away.”

  Lucille shook her head and reached for two cups from the shelf. She poured coffee and sat facing her brother.

  “Honey?”

  “Yes, darling?”

  She tapped her finger against his cup. “Idiot. Do you want honey?”

  “Of course, yes, please.”

  She pushed the jar over to him.

  Joseph wrapped his hand around the container. “Spoon,” he rasped.

  “Right here,” she rattled the jar full of spoons in the centre of the table.

  He put a spoon into the near-empty jar, it rattled against the sides. He winced at the noise. “Dry. Nothing left in here but toast crumbs and spit,” he muttered.

  “There’s always more honey,” she said. Going into the pantry she pulled the plastic pail from the shelf and thunked it down at his feet. Joseph jumped. “What in hell, Joseph? Why does the big head sit on you?”

  “Toupin. Figures I stole lumber from Massie’s load. Says I’ll lose my job. Shithead.”

  “Why does he think it was you?”

  “Because I was the last to leave the yard. Tied the load down myself. Was responsible for it, he says. Shithead. Like I don’t know that.”

  “Joseph, did you?”

  “What the fuck do I need lumber for?”

  “You want to build a place for you and Léah.”

  “Chicken coop suits me fine.”

  “That old shed isn’t good for a married couple, even if you did insulate it.”

  “I am no thief, Lucille. You know that. I am lots of things, but I’m no thief.”

  “What about Nigger?”

  “Dog followed me home is all. Can’t help that Léah fed it and it stayed around.”

  “Joseph, if . . . ”

  “If, nothing! My own sister thinks I am a thief. Well no thank you,” he growled. “Your coffee is bitter this morning.” He pushed back his chair. “It makes me sick.”

  “Oh come on. Joseph, please, I don’t mean . . . ” She rose and followed him.

  He shrugged her off.

  “Take a bath. Come for supper tonight and bring Léah,” she said.

  He didn’t answer, just walked through the door, across the porch and down the stairs. Lucille sat back in her chair. She turned her mug by the handle three times then raised it to drink.

  “Mom?” Bella held ribbon and brush in her hand.

  Her mother smiled and motioned her to a chair.

  “Did mon oncle Joseph give you his headache?” she asked, eyes following the throb at her mother’s temple.

  “Non, chouette,” Lucille said. She rose and slowly brushed her daughter’s long black hair. “This one is mine, all mine.”

  “Do you want me to cut, it, out?” Bella playfully mimed cutting with scissors.

  “I want you, to sit.” Her mother reined her in, gently pulling her hair. “Just sit still. I need to pray your braid and I need you to pray with me.”

  Each twist of hair, each over-under connection, was blessed. “Je vous salue Marie, pleine de grâce . . . ” began Bella. Lucille mouthed words in a different language to appease a somewhat different god, the one who had created her world. She had the feeling to protect her daughter from the mischief that was coming.

  Prayer finished, kiss delivered on the back of her neck, Bella slipped out the door and shadowed her uncle to the shoe repair shop just behind the house. Three soft toe raps on the bottom of the door frame and he pushed open the door. “Hey,” said Joseph.

  “Hey, good to see you, bonhomme. Bella, go help your mom,” said Edgar, looking around Joseph. Bella said nothing, already preoccupied with the pile of leather scraps, looking for a perfect piece. She loved the smell and the feel of leather.

  Joseph reached over and stroked her head. “Hey, fille,” he said softly, “go on, eh, get lost. We don’t need no women hearing our business.”

  Bella looked up at her uncle, patted his hand and left the shop. A small patch of leather tucked into her pants pocket, for later.

  Joseph sighed, slouching over to the counter that divided the shop in two.

  Edgar smoothed the sole of the boot he was working on with glue, and slowly lowered it to cover the upturned bottom of the boot. He studied the arrangement, made a small adjustment and, satisfied, pressed down on the new piece with the flat of his hand.

  “Proche comme ça c’est un beau mariage. ‘What I put together let no man take apart.’ Someone smart said that.” “Yes, yes, everything stays together until it all comes flying apart,” said Joseph.

  “Yes, time has the persistence to undo things. That’s why God made glue,” Edgar answered. Without so much as a glance, he picked up his pipe from the ashtray set amongst tiny tin trays filled with various-sized nails. “So?” He gave his brother-in-law time to answer, gently scraping out the bowl of his pipe with the point of leather-cutting shears.

  “So,” sighed Joseph, propping his chin on his hands. He gazed mournfully at the glue jar.

  “And?” Edgar tamped tobacco down and lit it, cheeks hollowed to draw in the smoke.

  “And so, I wonder why everyone hates me so much,” Joseph said. He picked at the encrusted jar.<
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  “Not everyone hates you. I think Léah and that dog of yours must love you, seeing as how they haven’t left yet,” said Edgar. “And Bella, she listens to you.”

  “Hmm?” Joseph looked intently at the gob between his fingers. The glue had warmed and was slowly regaining its natural elasticity.

  “Playing with that will give you sticky fingers.”

  “Einh? What? Why do you say that? Look I never took nothing, I swear! Damned Toupin has no right!” He slammed his fist on the counter, spraying a tray of tacks.

  “Whoa there! Whoa!” Edgar leaned forward and righted the glue pot. “I’m riding a blind horse here. Slow down and come again.”

  “Toupin said I took half of the lumber from Massie’s wagonload night before last. I never was even near the mill, I swear. He said I could even lose my job at the Post Office. I can’t be trusted! Called in the bastard-village-council guys and everything. Snooping around, buggering about. They could have found, you know, stuff.” Joseph looked up carefully from the rescued tray of tacks. “You know?”

  “Yes, I know. Don’t worry about Toupin. He came over yesterday. I’m part of the bastard-council too, remember. We went over to the yard and looked around where the lumber was stacked on those pallets. Footprints mostly washed out because of the rain.”

  Joseph slumped.

  “But, we were lucky with that rain too, because a couple of footprints were as clear as a bell. Must have been where the thief stood with some lumber in his arms or something heavy like that, waiting for a truck. He stood there, under the overhang, while he loaded the lumber. Those prints were deep.”

  Joseph turned and gripped the counter, lifted his eyebrows. “And?”

  “They don’t belong to you.”

  “Of course they don’t belong to me, I told Toupin that. I told him, ‘You . . . ’ Bah! Who was it then? Can you tell who the footprints belong to?”

  “Ah well, now wait, did the council members find any ‘stuff’ at your place?”

  “Non, non, they think they know everything, but they don’t. And, they think they look everywhere, but they don’t.” Joseph winked and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Tell me.”

  “Tonight, how about you bring what we have bottled as far as Marie Reine? Keep a few bottles for la Fête. Hide the rest in the cache until we’re ready for a little boat ride later on this summer. I have a proposition for Toupin regarding the honey. And what with la Fête au Village, he won’t be out investigating anything until next week.”