Autant

by Paulette Dubé

  “Mom, it was me who . . . ” she began.

  “You did your best, Juliette. You tried. Thank you, ma fille. Now, find Dad. He needs to butcher chickens for tomorrow. We can pluck them tonight and soak them in ice. One less thing to do tomorrow.”

  “Mom . . . ”

  Lucille poked at the clothes already soaking in cold water and absently began to unbutton her own shirt. “I need to check on Bella and get a quick supper going. Toupins are coming tomorrow instead.”

  “Um, Mom?” said Alice.

  Lucille looked at her blankly. Alice gestured toward her hand working the last button.

  “Oh. Yes.” Lucille laughed, shrugged out of her shirt and dropped it in the pail. She pulled down on the front of her bra and adjusted a strap. “I need another shirt,” she said, before quietly opening the door to her bedroom, where Bella was.

  Alice shook her head and busied herself wiping the oilcloth on the table. “Juliette, did Maurice find my knife?”

  Juliette fingered the knife in her pocket. The sharp point threatened to pierce her thumb. She slid her thumb over the blade to the smooth handle. The handle was a hard, dark glossy piece of polished wood. Smooth handle, easy to handle, to handle another way, to hand her the knife, hand her, handle her, use the knife.

  “Well?” Alice straightened and looked directly at her sister.

  “Alice, viens-donc ici une minute,” Lucille called from the bedroom. Alice scowled at Juliette and went to her mom.

  Bella drifted past her into the kitchen, holding the almost empty glass. She offered Juliette the last sip of Eno. Juliette took the glass and swirled the milky pool at the bottom and drank it.

  “Can I go play?” Bella asked.

  “No,” said Juliette. She looked at her sister through the bottom of the glass.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Mom wants you to stay quiet. No more blood. You scared her, Belle, with the creek and all that. Compris?” she said, bringing the glass to the sink.

  Bella looked up past her sister. I could tell Juliette that this one doesn’t feel like ghosts. No sadness, no taste of salt. This is spicy like a pickle.

  “Bella, did you hear me?” Juliette said.

  Bella said nothing. Ruel was putting his fingers over his mouth, the old be-quiet sign. She sighed and went back into her parents’ bedroom.

  Supper that night was perogies, garlic sausage and a salad from the garden. Léah and Joseph were there. The three children did their superhuman duty and did not fight or bicker or even speak unless spoken to. Everyone walked on eggshells and everything felt droopy. Bella was listless, withdrawn. When Joseph tried to make her laugh, she would have nothing to do with it. She slid her gaze across his face then down again with a sigh. Léah took her on her lap and rocked her, crooning and murmuring. Bella closed her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of near sleep, her stomach still roiling with saskatoon pie and Ruel’s presence.

  He chose to sit as far away from her as possible. From his place on top of the fridge he could see the entire family. Through grey wisps the family appeared as a constant to and fro of small lights, quite like stars and yet much warmer. Shades and grades of yellow, a small purple spot deep within Lucille, pink, orange, a green there, then the Bella pearl of calm white light.

  It was intoxicating to be among them. “We get like this,” Lily explained it to him, the last time they were here. He had been feeling quite off, unable to focus, or remember. She told him it wasn’t so much the proximity as it was their peculiar vibration. “Quite different from ours, slightly addictive,” she had said almost lovingly. It was true. There was something raw and rough about them, almost obscene really, how most of them could operate on sensual alone. Not a familiar element to be sure. How to accomplish a task when objects kept moving? When the lights twitched, dimmed and then sparked anew, as if of their own free will? Why all this grey they were surrounded with? The veil, a euphemism he had heard of, was as confounding as it was wearisome.

  Mistakes could be made, accidents. Consequences could be disastrous. Wrong lights being dimmed, wrong lights sparked up again. Tiring, painstaking, finicky work but he was born to it. He only needed more practice. If he were to retrieve the Bellalight, he would need to keep focused on her and her alone, no matter how many distractions whizzed his way. No matter that even through the grey, there was something, something tantalising, a sweetness there in that yellow glow. He could almost . . . almost, what was the word? Taste. Yes, he could almost taste something as Lily said he would if he stayed here long enough. It was a frisson more than a quantity — it was a distraction. He needed to keep sharp. He pulled open his pouch and sent the bees out.

  GOD IS GETTING HIS HAIR cut. Truth be told, he could do it himself, it’s a quick job, same length all over with the clippers, but he likes having his head massaged. He is dozing, half in and half out of the world when Coyote slips into the shop and sits down. God smells him.

  “So, what news?”

  “Well, seems our people are neck in neck.”

  “You mean neck and neck.”

  “No, neck in neck, or arm on arm, whatever.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, it’s like this . . . ”

  “Son of a bitchin’.” Joseph scooped a bee off Léah’s shoulder and bumped open the screen door to throw it out. “Crazy little bastard figures you’re a flower,” he said, looking back at her.

  “I am sweetness, dress on, or off,” whispered Léah. She kissed Bella’s forehead and stroked her back.

  “That’s truth,” he said, feeling around his shirt pocket for a smoke. He patted his pants pockets for a match then grabbed the box from on top the coat rail. Edgar clapped him on the shoulder on the way out and together they sat on the porch to smoke.

  Lucille got the dishes sorted and left Alice and Juliette and Maurice to it. She poured the dregs of the teapot into her mug. “Merci,” she said, offering the mug to Léah, nodding down at Bella: “She seems quiet now. Pauvre puce, einh? It’s tough on her.”

  Léah shook her head at the tea. “No, thanks. Tough on all of yous not knowing if she’ll . . . ”

  “Yes, well, we are used to it by now.” Lucille started for the bee circling her daughter’s head then thought better of it. She settled back in her chair and sipped at the tea.

  Léah cocked an eyebrow, pointing her chin towards the bee.

  “Leave it,” said Lucille, remembering how this afternoon she’d felt a little better, a little lighter, after the bee had travelled her arm. “Is Joseph all right now?”

  “Yes, he said he was going to talk to Edgar about it. So I dropped it.”

  “Yes, of course. Play some cards?”

  “Sure, let me put her down first.”

  Bella said, “I am awake you know. I’m not a baby.”

  Lucille laughed softly, “Sure, Bella, sure. Come on, come on, come on. Upsy daisy. Let’s wash your face and get you to bed, big girl.”

  Lucille took her hand and together they passed under Ruel’s gaze. Bella looked up and so startled Ruel that he spun off the fridge and almost landed on the floor. His wings brushed the mug off the table. Eyes snapped from blue to black.

  Bella laughed for the first time since they’d brought her home from Trefflé’s. She winked at Ruel.

  Joseph and Edgar sat on the stoop. “You know you were right. It was that crazy alkeyholic stole the lumber,” said Joseph.

  “Yes. Thanks for that.”

  “Myself, I helped him put up an extra room on that shack of his.”

  “Huh, that was quick.”

  “It wasn’t much really, just a nine-by-nine add-on. Pretty much roughed in, he still needs more lumber and tar paper and whatnot to get her right.”

  “So we watch out for more stuff disappearing.”

  “You know, Toupin’ll figure it was me but what the hell. I want to spank out our shack too.”

 
“Probably a good idea. The sooner we get that done, the sooner Toupin will be off your back.”

  They rested against opposite rail posts and drew up a list of things to buy and plan, two smokes worth by the time Juliette, Alice and Maurice came and plopped on the stairs at their feet.

  Juliette pulled on Joseph’s arm. “Watcha doing?”

  “Building a castle.”

  “Can I see?” said Maurice.

  “Sure. She ain’t much but . . . ” Joseph quickly added lines and a cigar shape to the list.

  “Looks more like a cabin than a castle,” said Maurice.

  “Oh, does it? What about now?” Joseph drew a turret and a moat all around the place.

  “Nice, very nice,” said Maurice.

  Joseph laughed and tucked the paper in his shirt pocket. “Come on, Monsieur Maurice, let’s go see if your old paps here has anything worth stealing in that shed of his.”

  Edgar teased back, “Let’s start with moving some lumber.” They went off to the shed, Maurice howling like a coyote in the wheelbarrow.

  Alice said she figured it was time to make sure the chickens were shut up for the night.

  Juliette said, “Hey wait, I’ll do it for you.”

  “What? Why? Like you would do me a favour.”

  “I feel bad about today, you losing your knife and all, okay?”

  “You didn’t find it, did you?”

  “Well, mostly.”

  “What do you mean, mostly? How can you mostly find a knife?”

  “I mean, I know where it is, okay? It’s in the creek. There was no point going in there with the muck all stirred up and crazy like that. I’ll go tomorrow and find it. Promise.”

  “Juliette! By tomorrow it’ll be all rusted, it’ll be ruined. God, you are such a pain.”

  “Fine, I’ll go get the fucking knife right now if you need it so bad. As if you ever even use it. Go kiss your chicken beddie-bye, okay?”

  “You little freak.”

  “Me freak? You freak. You love that chicken more than Adrien will ever love you.”

  “Juliette, I’ll go get my knife from the creek myself. You kiss the chickens, I mean put the chickens in the coop.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Freak.”

  “You freak.” Juliette turned and stomped away. She turned to watch Alice disappear into the windbreak, then danced a little jig that scared the chickens back into the coop.

  Secretly, Alice was thrilled to be able to walk to the creek, knowing that Adrien sometimes went there to fish after supper.

  She could hear him singing before she saw him, the song about the prince killing someone’s favourite swan. She smoothed her hair and started whistling the same tune so he wouldn’t be startled. Sure enough, a blank face had replaced the singing by the time she was beside him.

  Alice asked if he had fished out a knife. When he looked at her closely, she felt the blood rise to her face and hurried through an explanation of the afternoon.

  “So, you carry a knife with you, but not now. No knife,” he said slowly, looking at the surface of the creek.

  “Juliette said it was still out there, somewhere in the mud.”

  “I’ll keep my eye open,” he said and cast again, and handed her the rod. He reached into a canvas rucksack beside him and pulled out a mason jar. After a slow full drink, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and nodded toward her. Alice nodded, and he passed it over.

  She wiped the rim and took a sniff. She wrinkled her nose and held the jar up to the slanting sun. Exactly the correct colour. Same as her mother’s. She asked him where he had gotten it, knowing and hoping he had stolen it from his own father’s stash. Her mother only made enough for family and family friends after all.

  Adrien shrugged and reached for the jar, drinking half of it in one more go. He screwed the lid back on and, fumbling, put it away.

  They made small talk about the weather and school starting up in September. They would be in different grades of course, but shared the same hallway. Adrien filled her in on the details of how the grade tens had stolen the five-foot Virgin Mary at the end of that hallway. She knew most of the story but hadn’t realised the whole grade had been threatened with expulsion if they didn’t bring her back in one piece.

  “Old Tremblay was shitting bricks, I tell you!” said Adrien. “He said to bring her back, but he didn’t say where, so we left her in his garage. And the garage was full of nudie pictures and not just calendars, right? He didn’t tell anyone and neither did we.”

  “That’s why you weren’t expelled?” asked Alice, pretending she knew what nudie pictures were all about.

  “Pretty much,” he laughed. “Anyway, all we wanted was to kidnap Marie in return for a day off school. A little fun right? And well, now we know where to go to look at boobs and snatches.”

  “Oh right, snatches. Um, and what about Marie?” asked Alice.

  “She made it back, all in one piece. So deal’s a deal. Done is done.”

  Alice shivered. The sun was long to setting but the mosquitoes were already out humming and hunting. She slapped a few from her legs and arms and finally, when he seemed to be out of story and words, she stood up. “Well, I better get back.”

  “Yup, me too. See you soon, right?” He pulled himself up. His hand took hers and squeezed roughly.

  “I suppose so,” she said, smiling, and tried to pull her hand away.

  “Say yes, Alice.” He squeezed a little harder.

  “Yes, sure,” she said, feeling the blood race into her face. He let go of her hand. She put her throbbing fingers to her cheek and turned away. “See you,” she said. She heard him grunt and unscrew the lid of the jar.

  She knew if he found the knife he would give it back to her, surely, maybe. Probably he would give her whatever she asked for now.

  Thursday

  JULIETTE LET THE COOP DOOR slap shut. “Maurice? Where are you?” she called. She shook her head, searched the yard for her brother, a chicken under her arm.

  “Here.” Maurice’s voice came from behind the scrub-brush pile between the house and the coop. He had wandered away from the men when they seemed more interested in the jars in the shed than the lumber. He didn’t want to move jars because he was afraid he would drop one. He was clumsy they said.

  “Mom wants two chickens for supper tomorrow. You and I get to butcher them, come on. I have one. Bring that one.” She waved towards the chicken pecking Maurice’s running shoe.

  He stared at his sister, jaw open. “Mom wants us to kill Roméo?”

  Juliette bumped his arm with her elbow as they walked towards the stump and the axe. “Yes, we need chickens and, plus, we need to put old Roméo out of her misery, you see. Alice loves this old chicken so she can’t do it. Roméo is sick and won’t live very long anyway.”

  She placed her chicken on the stump and, clucking to it, drew a line with her finger across the stump, mesmerizing the chicken to stillness. Maurice handed her the axe. As she stroked the chicken’s back, she pushed its head down. She placed her foot on the head while Maurice positioned himself to hold the legs. He pulled just enough to stretch out the chicken and give Juliette a clear shot at the neck. It was a tight fit with the two of them hovered over the stump, but the axe was sharp and Juliette was strong. She brushed the chicken head from the stump and Maurice tossed the body a little ways over. Roméo jumped towards the carcass, cackling and pecking.

  “Sick? How is Roméo sick?” Maurice picked up the chicken and set her down on the stump. He began to trace a line in front of Roméo’s beak.

  “This chicken is suffering. You can see that. She is all tired, look. Look at her eyes. Her eyes are half closed all the time. See here, how crooked the nails on her feet are? Sure sign of a sick chicken. And this last thing, it isn’t a pretty sight, but you need to see this to understand how sick Roméo is. She has big lumps under her wing. Feel.” Juliette lifted the wing of the half-sleeping chicken and by stretching the wing
up a ways, made the tendons stick out. “Letting a sick chicken back into the coop isn’t good for the other chickens. All their feathers will come off and then they will have sunburn and die.”

  Maurice recoiled. “Oh non! Pauvre Roméo.” He lifted a grubby finger and smoothed the top of the chicken’s head, stroked her beak. Juliette was glad to hear the crack in his voice, to see tears welling in his brown eyes. “Pauvre, pauvre Roméo,” Maurice said. A heavy tear plopped the dust in front of him. The chicken snapped out of her trance at the sudden movement. She fluffed her chest feathers and tried to pull back her wing. A large wing feather came off in Juliette’s hand as the chicken squawked and tore herself away. “Oh!” Maurice’s hand went to his mouth. “Oh! She is losing her feathers! That’s not good!”

  “Hurry up and catch her,” said Juliette. “Come on, Maurice!”

  Maurice took off after Roméo. Juliette’s face lit up with this new mischief.

  RUEL SAT ON THE WINDOWSILL; Bella was on her own bed upstairs, playing with her doll, Léah-banane.

  “Because she has a nose like a banana, see? and ma tante gave her to me.”

  “Why Léah?” Ruel asked.

  “Silly, she’s my ma tante,” Bella said. “She comes over to visit my mom and me. We talk and play cards sometimes. She sees the people I do sometimes. She plays pretend with me.”

  Bella paused and looked at Ruel. He was wearing a dress after all, and a purse thing. “Do you?” she asked.

  “Do I what?”

  “Play? Play pretend?” Bella asked.

  “Yes, you would see it as that. Yes,” said Ruel.

  “Do you play house or church or school? Like us?”

  He turned his face away from her. He seemed sad about playing pretend; the corners of his mouth turned down a little. She searched for the right words, something to make him feel a little better.

  “Alice sometimes still plays, she gets all the good parts. She is the teacher when we play school, the mom in the family.” Bella giggled. “Sometimes, she makes me be the dog.”

  “You can be whatever you want to be?” asked Ruel.