Autant

by Paulette Dubé

  “You are whipped by the women in this house,” Joseph said.

  “You want to tell Lucille that?” asked Edgar.

  Joseph didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Let’s get that pig out of the truck. Where do you want it anyways? I got other things to do tonight.”

  “Corneille, it’s my pig and it’s dead. What’s your hurry? We got all night and hauling pigs around is thirsty work,” said Philip.

  “I believe it belongs to the village now,” said Edgar, “and it needs to be delivered to the pit because the coals have been going since this afternoon. That pig will need a good full day to cook. We want to eat before the fireworks.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned around and walked back into the kitchen to tell Lucille they were leaving.

  “What do you mean you have something else to do? What else is there? You work for me, Corneille,” said Philip.

  “I work for who pays me. Yesterday, Toupin. This afternoon, you. Don’t matter to me,” said Joseph. “Give me a smoke there.”

  “Get your own smoke, Big Man,” said Philip. “You got so many jobs, got people paying you, I should be bumming off you.”

  “Don’t be a stingy asshole.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Edgar, stepping back onto the porch, hefting the wine they had started earlier.

  Hector Toupin was behind him, trying to put his hat on straight. “I’m coming too,” he said. We should stop at the store, Florence needs . . . ”

  “We’re not stopping at the store. Fuck Florence,” said Philip, flipping his butt into the darkness. “I’ll drive. There isn’t enough room for all of us, stay here, Joseph Corneille. Or better yet, get lost.”

  He pushed his way past Joseph and down the stairs.

  “Might not be a bad idea, with moving things and all,” Edgar said. He touched Joseph briefly on the forearm and gave him the wine. “Don’t drink it all in one go. You have river work to do tonight.” He winked.

  “Edgar, that boat’ll float whether I am drinking or not,” said Joseph. He clomped down the porch and headed toward the windbreak.

  “Good guy. For a Métis,” said Hector.

  “He is a good man,” said Edgar. “Are you steady there, Hec?”

  “Steady as a, whoops! missed a step there, how many steps you got around here anyways?”

  Edgar laughed and nudged Hector down the steps and into the waiting truck. Alice and Adrien breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Well,” Adrien said, “at least I know where my dad will be tonight. Let my mom know. Don’t forget, tomorrow, the barn.” He took the four steps at one go and landed in the dirt without a sound. He turned and grinned back at Alice, then sprinted out of the yard.

  Upstairs, Juliette rolled over, closed her eyes and started humming. Ruel’s eyes snapped from blue to black and he tightened his grip on the doll.

  Saturday

  THEY MET IN THE BARN, that sixteen-year old boy and that thirteen-year old girl. Adrien had spread a horsehair blanket over a broken-up hay bale and they sat together, side by side.

  “I hear Joe Nault gave a second pig. Pretty good feed tonight I think,” said Adrien.

  “Yes, there’s always a lot of good food,” she said. Correcting him quietly would save him the embarrassment.

  She fiddled with her hair and told him she had braided it the way he liked, just for him. He reached out and stroked the long braid, colour of clover honey. So blond it was almost white. Then he gave it a tug. Clicking his tongue he called her his little pony and Alice laughed.

  “A little pony in the barn . . . that’s a good one! I have to go soon, Mom and Dad are already in town. Dad had some things to do with the parade, and mass is in a couple hours. I promised to do the dishes for Mom so she could talk to L’abbé before mass.”

  “What does she need the priest for?”

  “To get Bella blessed again this year.”

  “How is she?”

  “Mom said it’s a drip that won’t stop. She keeps swallowing it. Can you imagine? Being so scared of something that you keep bleeding? Dad got stung on the back of his neck. Juliette is hardly swollen at all anymore.”

  “Yes, I can imagine some people being scared like that. I can imagine blood. Juliette is lucky. Bella, she’s . . . ”

  They were quiet for a moment. Outside, the birds kept singing, and flies buzzed around the doorway. A bee flew in through shafts of light. Lighted on Adrien’s arm. He didn’t flinch. Just held the arm up to Alice.

  “Figure this was the guy who bit your dad?” he said.

  “No. They die after they sting someone, you know.”

  “Yah, well, this one is dead too,” he said. Chuckling, he trapped it, pressing hard. His laughter died as he raised his hand from his arm. She wants it. He suddenly found he was hard. The bee reared and flew towards Alice. She shrieked and he slapped his hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream, they’ll hear you,” he breathed.

  He grabbed her by the braid with his other hand and forced her down onto the blanket. He covered her mouth with his. Pawed across her chest, kneading her tiny breasts. Pulling and pommelling. He fumbled at her waist, pulling up her dress. Searching.

  Alice wrenched from side to side. She bucked and slapped at his arms. Punched his back, but he rolled on top of her and the weight numbed her, pinned her into a silence.

  His pants down, he braced himself, his arm over her throat. “You are mine so act like it. You like it.” He pushed against her, tearing the panties.

  Hardness entered her. Jagged pump followed jagged pump. She turned her face from him. Numb. There was tearing and there was the little wet blood. Finally he groaned and pulled out.

  She wasn’t trembling anymore. She said nothing, head still turned from his. He rolled off and got to his knees, pulling up his pants. Done is done. What you wanted. What she wanted. He looked at her; he felt as dazed as she looked. He pulled her braid softly. “Alice? I . . . are you okay? Just shut up about it, right?”

  She curled up, away from him, pulling her dress down as best she could. She said nothing.

  He touched her shoulder and she winced. He said, “That’s just what people do. You know that, right? Alice?”

  “That’s not what people do,” she whispered. “That’s animal.”

  He stood and fastened his belt. “You asked for it. You know that, don’t you? You know that. Come on, get up. Don’t be a baby. It’s fine. I love you now, right? Okay? You are mine and no one else can have you. That’s it, it’s done. Alice?”

  He kneeled back down and stroked her hair and helped her up. The panties were around her ankles. He gently peeled them away from her feet and put them in his pocket. “Mine now, right?” He grinned.

  She nodded.

  He smoothed the shoulders of her dress. “Now, you get yourself to la Fête. Wait a minute. Fix yourself first.” He pulled straw from her hair. “I’ll see you tonight, and no one needs to know about this, right?” He chucked her under the chin. “Alice, look at me.”

  She looked at him sideways. Her mouth trembled. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded.

  He pulled a cigarette bent and broken from his pocket. “Let’s smoke to seal the deal. That’s what they do.” He lit the cigarette and shakily took a puff. He passed it to her and she shook her head. “Come on, it’s fine. It is good, we’re okay. Come on.” He held the cigarette to her mouth.

  She leaned forward and took a small puff. She coughed and choked.

  He took a drag. “Yah, it is harsh the first time,” he laughed, “but you get used to it. Here, have another.”

  She took the cigarette and brought it to her lips. “It hurts,” she said.

  “Not forever,” he said, “not forever. Just the first time.” He barely looked at the cigarette before dropping it to the ground. He fussed with her hair some more and checked her mouth closely. There were red marks there and where he had held her across her throat, but they would fade. He took her hand and led her out of the barn.


  The wounded bee circled the smouldering cigarette. She flew around until the flames licked straw, piece by piece, up to the horsehair blanket.

  The soft crackling from the barn floor was joined by an equally determined rustling noise from the hayloft. Juliette emerged from under the remnants of an old tarp and blinked, swaying in the light. She bent in half and placed her hands on her knees, trying to slow her breathing and her racing heart. She had stayed back, hidden, away from the edge of the hayloft. She had wanted to catch Alice doing something really bad for once. So, for once, precious Alice would be in trouble, but once they started, started that . . . what would she tell her mom they were doing? She didn’t have much time. She would have to hurry to catch Alice before she got to town, to la Fête. Stepping toward the ladder, she stopped. Smoke, she could smell smoke. They had been smoking down there. Now for sure Mom would kill her. Perfect! She swung around, her foot searching for the first rung.

  A bee landed on her cheek. Instinctively, she swatted at it with both hands. She lost her grip on the ladder. Her hands scrabbled for purchase. Her foot missed the rung. Her feet scissored the air and she hung there motionless for a heartbeat, and fell. She landed on the back of her head. Her delicate neck cracked.

  The bee moved towards her.

  Ohnow mouse shit hay dirt clean brighthot freeh er from thehive clean thedistancebee tween one and the next

  MAURICE BANGED OPEN THE DOOR to the shed, panting and heaving. A shape uncurled itself in the corner. “Juliette? Is that you?” He lurched forward and threw himself onto the shadow.

  “Tabernacle, get off a me!” said Joseph. “Have you gone mental? Get off!” He rolled away from the boy’s clutching embrace. “I am not your sister.”

  Maurice whispered, “Where is Juliette? She said she would be here until the bells rang.”

  “I came for some peace and quiet. To sleep.” Joseph swiped at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “Maurice, what in hell?” He took hold of Maurice’s belt loop with one hand and his arm with the other.

  “Alice, she wants to kill me for killing Roméo. Don’t tell her you saw me.” Maurice shook himself free and raced out the door.

  “Who the hell is Roméo? Not that fuckin’ chicken?” Joseph said.

  He rose to his feet, kicked at his nest, searching for the jar of wine. It rolled out from under his feet, empty. He sighed and stretched his arms up over his head. Great. Looks like I slept half through the day. Just great. Kid’ll tell Garance he saw me, I know it. Edgar’ll know I didn’t deliver the stuff. He’ll tell Lucille about me sleeping in here, Lucille’ll tell Léah and then Léah will kill me. Hostied pique! He turned this way and that, stretching against the door jam, getting the kinks out of his back. The sky was a blazing clear blue, not a cloud to mar it and just a whiff of wind. They say it is this clear sort of blue right down to Texas. Wherever that is. A bee droned close. He swatted at it. A dog barked. He cocked his head, nostrils flaring. Smoke.

  Leaning away from the shed, he looked up and down the farmyard. Is Lucille burning garbage? No, that’s not garbage. Maybe Edgar is burning bush? No, not today, not with la Fête in town. Everyone’s getting to the church and ready for the party. He swung himself out of the shed. Where’s it coming from then?

  When he saw the thin smoke curling from the barn, Joseph thought it looked a lot like a dog up on his hind legs, big as a bush coyote even. It was long and lean and seemed to be sniffing the wind. Then it was smoke again, lying flat on the wall like a bad cat. There was a whoosh of wind and the barn logs barked. He wondered about calling out, or running to get help. It was an old barn and worthless anyway, but the hay in there, they could always use that. Plus, with everything so dry these days, no sense risking the fire spreading.

  He turned towards the house. He had to find Edgar, ask him what they should do. He was still a little drunk. Then he heard Maurice screaming. He turned and raced for the barn.

  Maurice had run into the barn and seen Juliette on the ground. Her neck at an impossible angle. Bees swarmed above her. Like liquid in a jar, they sloshed to and fro trying to mend the rift around her. There was a tear made by some mischief. More and more bees arrived until the air twanged in a high stressed thrum. They fixed themselves together and it looked like they were trying to keep the flames from Juliette. But their wings fanned the flames instead. Accidents happened. Mom said that when mistakes were made they would have consequences.

  Maurice would always remember that sudden heat, and when Joseph pulled him from under a burning beam, it was raining flakes of ash.

  Ash so delicate silver-white, it looked to Joseph as if the boy was covered with moth wings.

  RUEL

  BELLA LAY ON HER BACK on a patchwork quilt under the big spruce, reading a comic book. Her mother and father, not fifty feet from her, were talking with the priest about blessing our girl. That one kept shaking his head and her father had his arms crossed over his chest. Thunder in his face.

  I sat in that dusty spruce tree and soon as she climbed up to share my branch I saw the sickly yellow spire of smoke.

  “Hello, Monsieur Ruel du Ciel.”

  “Bonjour, Bella.”

  “Are you here for la Fête?”

  “Non, ma petite, I am just here.”

  “Soon the bells will ring. The party could be for you, they could know you are here,” she said. “It might be better if you weren’t bees though.” She looked down towards her mother. “After yesterday they are afraid of bees today.”

  “Only you are supposed to see me.”

  “Please, if we showed them, just for today? Mom, and maybe Juliette again? I think she forgot already. They’re all sad and grouchy. If we showed them that you are here, they would be happy again. Do you see?”

  “They would not be happy.”

  “Monsieur, even Dad prayed to God last night. If you would . . . Here, I brought you something.” She stretched her leg to get at the prize in her pocket.

  “Bella? What is it?”

  She opened her hand and offered the last bee. “Hold her for me. You won’t let me fall. I trust you. Watch.”

  And in that blink, I won. I held the bee and learned that when the soul is given freely, there is no pushing, no pulling apart or scattering.

  Adults turned their heads, thunder slowly faded. Their bodies tensed as if bidden by coiled springs, by the turn of some key. L’abbé Breault held the mother by the arm as she stretched towards my falling Bellalight, a scream tearing her throat.

  She was there, kneeling. Her lips made the prayer. Her hands formed the Marie circles. Bella threw up. She looked up at me and said the deep humming of my voice shook her stomach. She quickly filled with loosed blood then stepped delicately from the body. People saw a large brown and yellow chenille bag drift down from the tree. Everyone saw bees, Edgar’s bees. They saw the swarm hover over Bella, then rise.

  Such a column of thick smoke over that place now. I bent my head and wept.

  I CANNOT LEAVE, THERE IS one mistake left to make. Here they are, my family of lights. This family, a peculiar constellation that has shifted too quickly. No, of course not. They move in accordance to the divine plan. Just so. Although, I have to admit, two missing from their circle makes an interesting difference.

  That Lucillelight has purple inside her. He is a stranger. There is no need to bother him. Alicelight needs to be consoled. A rip in her pink, there. Not exactly of my making, but I did nothing to discourage it. Not paying attention when I should have been. I knew Lily was . . . enough. I was sent for another reason. Ainsi soit-il.

  I feel the pull to be gone. I know I am going to miss this place. This stone orchard is littered with the bodies of white moths. I had no idea that our tears would manifest as reams of white moths. These tiny flickers of light, ratty and torn, now lie dead and dying on the ground and villagers take ginger steps through fields of them to weep near my family. The family, I mean.

  The priest leads them through prayer. Words I can u
nderstand. Words starved for love. “I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.” Indeed.

  Alice, look here.

  Alice raises her eyes from the mounds of dirt that hold her sisters. She looks blankly at me, the stranger wearing rhinestone sunglasses. A woman in ridiculously high heels. Shiny red high-heels and a cigarette dangling from her black-gloved hand. I choose to play pretend, for Bella.

  There is something I need to give you.

  I click open my patent-leather purse and hand Alice a folded handkerchief. She takes the plump cloth and holds it at arm’s length as though it smells bad. As if she can smell anything beyond the memory-stench of moths and lingering smoke from a burned-out building.

  “Those are for you. For you, Alice.” I fold my hand over hers. She nods but not really hearing or understanding. I tuck the gift into her little straw clutch. Impressing upon her the greatness I am bestowing, I feel my own vanity rearing pointy little horns. “When you get home, put them in a safe place. For later. There won’t be any left in a little while and these ones are to start things up again.”

  “What are they?”

  What sang you here will bring you back.

  — letters from Autant

  AUTANT, 2012

  “LET’S UNLOAD THE TOOLS, BOYS.” André hustles his sons. “Okay, where is the rototiller? What? I most certainly did say to bring the rototiller, and an empty half-barrel and three shovels. And now we need some gas or kerosene to burn it all. What all did you bring? Two shovels? For Pete’s sake, les boys. Since when are two measly shovels considered enough tools? Pierre, go to the summerhouse and see if you can wrestle up at least one more shovel. Bring the wheelbarrow while you are at it. Roll ma tante’s barrel clean and bring it closer to the house. Léo and I will scoot on home and get the rototiller and gas. We’ll bring the truck. Whose idea was it to come in the car? I don’t care if it is more comfortable, this isn’t some holiday camp, you know.”