6
29 Aug
88
Once
again it is half a year since the last entry. Why?
George and I
got together a few times since the birthday party. As he had promised, he got
us tickets for Don Giovanni at the Opéra de Montréal in April, but he had to
cancel, so I went with Daniel instead, and it was lots of fun. But there were a
couple of medical conferences out of town, and in July I went back to the
islands for two weeks. This time it was only with Betty, while Daniel was
driving around Eastern Canada with his new drivers licence and his Jetta,
sometimes alone and sometimes with friends.
And each time
I felt, again, guilty and ashamed. I wanted to tell you about it, my journal,
but I could not find the words. I did not really understand what I was guilty
or ashamed of. My weakness in giving in? (Lust?) Not wanting to be somebodys other
woman? (Pride?) Wanting a man all to myself? (Av Greed?) Wanting
more than he can give? (Gluttony?) Not doing anything about it? (Sloth?)
Resentment of him for having his way? (Wrath? Envy?) You see, my father
journal, I have not completely forgotten my catechism. To you I confess my
sins.
Tina has not
been much help. She has no scruples compunctions about sleeping with
married men (she says she does it to get back at Louis, who cheated on her),
and doesnt see why I do. But I felt terrible after the fling I had with Greg,
in 1977, when Marcia and the boys went to Israel. Sam had just gone back to the
US and I said to myself, why not three Jewish men in a row?
After all, I
had hoped to meet Leonard Cohen when I moved to Montréal, but he had already
moved to New York when I got here.
Yes, my
journal, I could be very stupid at times. And stupidity, though not one of the
seven, is in my personal catechism the deadliest sin of all.
But George has
been calling again since he got back to Montréal, and this time he is saying
that he plans to move out, maybe even divorce. Not because of me, I said. He
hesitated but finally said no, not because of you. The only thing that has
kept him at home, he said, is Amy, and he is trying to work something out about
her with Doris.
Back to the
present. Daniel is in New York again. I am in Rimouski. It is late at night.
Everybody is asleep, except me.
I checked my
answering machine. There was a strange, surprising message from Daniel. Hello,
maman, I am having a great time in New York. Dont try to call me at Sams. I
am not staying there. I met someone. I love you. My God, has it finally
happened, now that he is almost seventeen? I hope he tells me about it. And I
hope he took precautions.
Papa is in a
coma. Irreversible, it seems. His doctor told the family not to expect a
recovery. And who should his doctor be but Etienne Palombe, my boyfriend in
Secondary V! He went to Laval and returned to Rimouski to join his fathers
practice and eventually took it over. And Dr. Palombe and papa couldnt stand
each other! That is probably what attr drew me to Etienne, now that I
think about it. What irony!
Papa will
never talk again. What a relief! No more of those insults and threats!
I spent half
an hour alone with him. Maman thought that I was making peace with him! It was
with myself that I made peace, finally saying to papa all the things that for
the last thirty years I have wanted to say. I dont know if he heard me.
Medical science doesnt know these things yet. But as I spoke I believed that
he heard me, listened to me even.
When we first
came I was worried about Betty. (She no longer wants to be called Zoë.) All
these years I was under the illusion that she was close to her grandfather. But
Betty told me that she did not love him, that she was just pretending because
papi was nice to her, but she didnt like how he spoke about Daniel. Its true:
papa was always gentle with her, said nice things to her, never called her la
petite juive, though she is just as Jewish as Daniel, mayb.
I am tired. I
must get some sleep. It was a long drive yesterday, and there will be another
one tomorrow. But it will be nice to be home. Yes, home. Montréal. Not
Rimouski.
Bang!
On the morning of the last Sunday in August, when Daniel
was to take once again the overnight bus to New York, Mireille received a call
from her mother, telling her that her father was seriously ill and asking her
to come for a visit as soon as possible. Reluctantly Mireille agreed, and took
Betty (who by then was no longer Zoë) with her.
Alone
at home, Daniel ate a hastily made pasta dinner while listening to jazz on CBC
Stereo. A top-of the-hour newsbreak told of a horrifying accident: at an air
show at an American air base in Germany: three airplanes had crashed, killing
all the pilots and dozens of spectators. While Daniel did not think of himself
as believing in omens, the report somehow reaffirmed his decision to travel to
New York by land.
After
dinner he packed. The backpack that he had used on his camping trips proved
quite adequate for what he would need in New York. When he was ready he took
the metro to the Central Bus Station, bought his ticket and, after checking his
backpack, boarded the bus, which this time was quite packed. Most of the passengers
seemed to be Americans returning home from a Quebec vacation.
He
found an aisle seat next to one that was occupied by a woman who gave him a
friendly smile when he stopped in front of the seat. She seemed about ten years
his senior, and in a strange way she made him think of Brigitte. She was a
blue-eyed blonde, but that was just about the only resemblance. By no stretch
of the definition could she be called pretty, either in face or in figure. Her
hair was short, and she was casually dressed in sweatshirt and jeans. Yet he
perceived in her some of the sensuality with which Brigitte had struck him.
Hi,
she said as he sat down. Im Jen. She reached her hand out to him.
Hi,
he said, shaking her hand. Im Daniel, but not Dan or Danny. Are you Jenny or
Jennifer?
She
laughed. Actually Im Genevieve. Its G-E-N. Genevieve McGrath. From New
York.
As
the bus started to pull out of the station, they began a conversation in which
he told her the purpose of his trip, while she told him that she was coming
home from a three-week vacation of hiking and water sports in the Laurentians.
She was a teacher in a middle school, which she explained to him as being like
a junior high school without a ninth grade.
So
its grades seven and eight? he asked.
Yes,
she said. Its cute the way you Canadians say grade eight where we in the
States say eighth grade.
Well,
he said, in Quebec its officially called secondary one and secondary two, and
normally theyre a part of secondary school, but in my school theyre on a
separate campus, so its really just like the middle school and high school of
Western Canada and the States. My school even has a grade twelve, which high
schools in Quebec normally dont.
They
dont? Wow! But tell me, is there any health education in the middle-school
grades, whatever theyre called? she asked with a laugh.
I
didnt go to my present school for those grades, and I didnt get any. But my
sister just finished grade eight at our school, and I dont think she had any
either. Why do you ask?
Because
its what I teach, she said.
The
conversation flowed smoothly. Hardly any time seemed to have passed when they
reached the border crossing, well past one oclock. Daniel showed the agent his
Canadian passport and Gen her drivers license, from which he was able to read,
by a cursory glance, that it was from Connecticut, not New York, and that the
year of her birth was 1961. His guess about her age was right.
Once
the bus rolled down Interstate 87 Daniel began to yawn. Youre sleepy, Gen
said. I guess so, he answered sheepishly. Put your head on my shoulder, she
said. It seemed a strangely maternal invitation from a woman who was older by
only a decade, but he felt very tired and agreed. He fell asleep immediately,
and did not awaken until the bus was entering the Albany terminal.
Gen
was awake. It was not clear if she had slept during the two and half hours that
Daniel did, but when he opened his eyes she was smiling at him. She excused
herself to get past him and off the bus into the terminal, probably to use the
toilet.
She
came back just before the bus started. When she was back in her seat she said,
Lets go back to sleep. Do you like sleeping with me?
Yes,
Daniel said, trying to ignore the double entendre and wondering if he was
blushing. This time they let their heads touch each other lightly. Daniel found
that Gens hair and face smelled good. He wondered if she had applied anything
to them during her powder-room visit.
He
woke up again just before the Lincoln Tunnel entrance, a little before seven.
This time Gen seemed also to be just waking, and as she opened her eyes she
looked squarely into his. She brought her face close to his and kissed him. It
was Daniels first sensual kiss. It felt wonderful, better than he had ever
imagined, and they held it for the entire time that they were in the tunnel.
As
the driver was maneuvering into the parking space she asked him, Where are you
staying in New York?
With
a friend of my mothers, he said, or rather at his place, since hes on
vacation.
Would
you like to stay with me instead? He already knew that she had a place in
Greenwich Village. Sure, he said.
They
took the subway down to the Village. Her very old apartment house was a short
walk from the station. They climbed the two flights of stairs, she unlocked her
door and beckoned him in. She dropped her bag on the hallway floor, motioned
for Daniel to do the same with his backpack, and as soon as his hands were free
she pulled him into the bedroom. She undressed quickly and he followed suit.
Was
this your first time? she asked afterwards.
Yes,
he said.
I
thought so. Lucky me, she said. But lucky you, too.
What
do you mean?
I
didnt tell you that one of the things I teach kids is sex ed. And I will give you
a free course, not the classroom way but the workshop way.
And
so she did. In the course of five evenings Daniel learned about foreplay and
positions, about timing and afterplay, about lubricants and condoms just for
practice, she said, since he didnt need them with her. She taught him what to
say and what not to say to a girl he was interested in, depending on her verbal
or nonverbal cues. She even told him what to say to his mother when he informed
her that he would not be staying with Sam. The first part would be to call her
and just tell her that something had come up, and that it was good.
Daniel
did just that. Monday evening there was no answer. She must still be in
Rimouski, he concluded. He left a message with the words suggested by Gen and the
promise to call back the next evening. When he did so and she answered, her
response to his Hi, maman was Jai écouté ton message. Ton grand-père est très malade. Il
hes in a coma.
It
was the first time that he heard her refer to Pierre-Joseph Bouchard as
Daniels grandfather, rather than as mon père. He wondered if she felt
remorse over that fact that her son and her father had never met. It had been
her choice, after all.
Im
sorry, he said. Hows Betty taking it?
Shes
okay. Hows it going at Columbia?
So
far, so good.
And
indeed the interviews at Columbia went very well. The people that Daniel talked
with, both in the Admissions Office and in the German Department, told him that
if his scores on the Scholastic Aptitude Test were good, as they expected them
to be, he could skip the formal interview process and apply for admission under
the early decision program.
He
also discovered that the Columbia Library had copies of all three of his
fathers books in German. The discovery meant that he could put their perusal
on hold for a year.
Between
his days at Columbia and his evenings and nights with Gen, it was a heady
five-day week. When he took the train on Saturday morning he felt pleasantly
exhausted, but not at all ready for the start of senior year the following
Tuesday.
He
spent the journey partly dozing (he had not had much sleep the night before),
partly reading The New Yorker and partly gazing at the late-summer
scenery of the Hudson Valley and the Adirondacks. The train had several delays,
and by the time it reached the customs stop at Cantic it was an hour and a half
behind schedule. By this time it should have been in Montreal, and he called
his mother to inform her of the delay. He also told her not to wait for him
with dinner. He was hungry, and he went to the lounge car, where he had
previously had lunch, for a snack or a sandwich. He decided, after very little
hesitation, to order a hamburger, which would be his third one that day. As far
as he could remember, it would be the first three-hamburger day in his life.
While
the lounge had been busy at lunch, at this time there were very few people.
Most of the tables were free, but at one of them there was a woman with long,
wavy black hair sitting with her back to Daniel. Perhaps as a way of testing
his newly achieved manhood he asked her if she would mind his sitting with her.
She looked up at him, startled at first but then pleasantly surprised, and
said, somewhat uncertainly, Yeah, sure.
She
was thin and seemingly tall, in a loose-fitting dress that displayed no curves
whatsoever, and decidedly not pretty, but, as had happened with Gen, Daniel
found himself interested. She looked about thirty and was eating a sandwich. He
asked her if she was American or Canadian. Both, I guess, she answered with a
nervous laugh. Im from Albany, but I live and work in Montreal. They
introduced themselves. Her name was Angie Accorso, and she was a pediatric
nurse at Montreal Childrens. She had just spent a week in Albany visiting
family, and had made two day trips to New York in order to visit galleries and
museums. I just love art, she said, showing some animation for the first
time. Do you like art?
Yes,
I do, he said. I wish Id had time to go to some museums while I was in New
York, but I didnt. But I expect to be living there when I go to university, so
Ill make up for it.
Thats
nice, Angie said quietly. Daniel was informed that his hamburger was ready and
went to pick it up.
As
a matter of fact, he went on after sitting down, I havent been to the Museum
of Fine Arts in quite a while, not since the Leonardo da Vinci show last year,
and I was thinking of going tomorrow. Would you like to go with me?
She
looked even more startled than when he asked to sit with her. You mean
she
began, but didnt seem to know how to continue.
I
mean, it would be nice to go with someone who appreciates art. Are you free?
I
guess so.
They
agreed to meet in front of the museum at two oclock, and, after getting off
the train, shook hands to say good-bye. Angie lived downtown, a fairly short
distance from the station, in a flat that she said was halfway between her
hospital and the museum, and said that she would take a taxi home. Daniel
decided that, since her place would not be very much out of the way if he also
took a taxi, he would do so. Lets take a taxi together, he suggested, and
Ill drop you off.
Okay,
she said, but Ill pay my share.
No
need for that, he said, since its on my way.
Angie
and Daniel did not talk during the short ride to her place. A as she stepped
out of the taxi, he said, See you tomorrow! She smiled back at him and said
something that he didnt hear because a truck was just driving past. The driver
handed her her suitcase and she went inside. During the ride home Daniel felt a
welter of elation and exhaustion. The Indian music that the driver played on
the sound system suited Daniels mood just fine.
He
gave his mother a brief summary of his week, at least the part dealing with
Columbia. Youre tired, she said to him when he yawned. Tell me more
tomorrow, she added with a sly look and a sideways glance at Betty. Gen had
been right: Mireille had understood the meaning of the hint he had left on her
answering machine.
Daniel
did not share his mothers view that his fully developed fourteen-year-old
sister who, at least at school, did not try to hide her interest in boys
needed to be sheltered from the facts of life, but he respected it. She was,
after all, their mother.
He
slept late. After brunch, once Betty was away with a friend, he told his mother
not only about Gen but also Angie. Tes tout un homme, Mireille said.
He took the metro to the museum and got there about ten to
two. Angie was already waiting for him. I thought Id be here just in case you
were early, she said with a shy smile.
Its
nice to see you, he said. She was wearing, as she had on the train, a
loose-fitting long-sleeved dress light blue this time that seemed to have
been chosen to hide the thinness of her torso and her arms, but not the
relative fullness of her hips. In the sunlight her complexion looked darker
than it had looked on the train. If she wore any makeup, Daniel did not see it.
They
did not talk much as they ambled from one gallery to another. After about an
hour and a half he felt sated. She seemed to notice his state. Shall we call
it a day? she said.
Yes,
he said. Would you like some coffee?
She
hesitated for a moment before saying, No, I need to get back.
Another
time, then, he said. Let me walk you home.
The
walk from the museum to Angies place took only ten minutes. Along the way the
chatted about some of the art works they had seen, the weather and not much
else before they reached the apartment house. She reached out her right hand,
but he took it with his left, and then took her left with his right. Holding
both of her hands and squeezing them gently, he said, Id like to go to bed
with you. Gen had encouraged him to try the direct approach when the situation
felt right, and he couldnt think of a reason why this one did not.
Angie
looked at him as though in shock, then looked away and said nothing.
Did
I say something wrong? he asked.
She
slowly turned her head to face him. No, she said at last. Its just that
that Im not used to a good-looking guy like you wanting to go to bed with me,
when you can have any pretty girl you want.
What
makes you think I want any pretty girl? I like you, he said and gently began
to pull her toward him. She resisted.
I
like you too, but weve just met. Its so soon
Im
not asking you to marry me, he said. She laughed, and her resistance to the
pull lessened. She moved a few inches closer to him. But if youd rather
wait, he added, its okay. Youre worth it. That seemed to be the right thing
to say, since she now let herself be drawn to him till they were almost
touching. He kissed her softly on the mouth.
Come
on in, she said.
Later that week there was another letter from Brigitte.
This one spoke of her and Mikis social life in Hamburg, and especially their
friends Helmut and Margot. Helmut was a fellow actor who had been her co-star
in her first film, and Margot had been Mikis fellow student and later his
editor. They met when they came, with their respective spouses Helmuts a television
actress, Margots a university professor to a dinner party at Brigitte and
Mikis apartment. They fell in love and moved in together, though they never
married. They were great fans of The Beatles, and when they had a daughter they
named her Rita, for the meter maid in the song. Rita was about Daniels age and
was lovely, as in the song. Brigitte hoped that he could meet her some day.
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