30
9 June 1992
Betty
is 18. Daniel was here for 3 weeks and stayed just long enough to help
celebrate her birthday and to help finalize the transfer of
the assets that he had ceded to her.
A
few hours ago
Betty and I took him to Mirabel. He has just left for Barcelona (via London),
where Vicky awaits him. We will see what comes of this romance.
But now it
appears that he will not be spending the whole summer with Vicky, only the rest
of June and a week in July. Then he will be going to Israel for 7 weeks with a
group of students from France. He is still pursuing his fathers traces. I
wonder what he will find. Do I want to know? I am not sure. Probably not.
Aunt Fela has
been diagnosed with oesophageal cancer. I talked with Howard Levinson, her FP,
who was one of my residency teachers. The prognosis, he said, was about 50-50.
The EGD shows a couple of fairly small epithelial squamous-cell tumours that
are candidates for surgery, and after that well see, he said.
So far she is
in a lot of pain, and has difficulty in eating and talking. She did not allow
Daniel to visit her. (But she did not fail to send Betty a birthday card with
$180 enclosed.) Daniel took it hard, but probably not as hard (I am
speculating) as he would have taken it before discovering other connections
with his father. Before that she was the only one. It was at her house that he
found his books, photos of him from before my time, and even people who had met
him during his previous visits to Montréal
Now he has
Brigitte (whom he will visit again, in Majorca, during his stay in Spain); the
several Israeli women; and most recently Mauricio, whom D described in not very
flattering terms (egocentric, narcissist etc.), but he is still a cousin.
I wonder if he
will ever become curious enough to discover his other cousins, my nephews and
nieces in and around Rimouski. It would be interesting if he did, but it would
not bother me if he did not. I have had no contact with my brothers since papa
died, and the little contact that I had then was painful.
A few times I
have asked myself why I have kept the name Bouchard after I married Miki. I was
still a student, and I could just as well have become Dr. Mireille Wilner as
Dr. Mireille Bouchard. The fact is that changing my name never occurred to me
at the time. Miki and I never lived as husband and wife. Besides, it was the
spirit of the times, in the early 70s, for liberated women to keep their names.
And as an adherent of the Quiet Revolution I wanted to keep my French Canadian
identity.
But in the
very, very improbable event that I might have married Jean-Marc, would I have
become Mireille Couture? No, my journal, I dont think so. The thought makes me
shudder.
I wish I could
get J-M off my mind once and for all. The last time I mentioned him to you, my
journal, I began having strange dreams about him again, for about a week.
Please, please dont let it happen tonight. I want a good nights sleep. I am
seeing Bob tomorrow, for the first time in 3 weeks.
Good night, my journal. Wish me happy dreams.
Paris
Daniel was startled when Vicky, on her last day in Paris,
proved more fluent than he was in the language spoken by the French students
who were to be his travel companions. He shouldnt have been, because weekend
trips to Perpignan, and sometimes as far as Narbonne and Montpellier, had been
a regular part of her coming of age. She called Perpignan the capital of
Northern Catalonia and said that it was a great party town, as well as the
place where Spanish girls could get RU-486 for unwanted pregnancies.
She
accompanied him to the orientation meeting of the group. They had already
checked out of their hotel. Her bag was in a locker at the Gare dAusterlitz,
while his was in the dorm of the Cité Universitaire where the group would spend
a few nights together before departure and where the meeting was held. The
group leader, or madrikh, had not arrived yet. Daniel introduced himself
to the others, and it seemed that they were expecting him they identified him
as le canot, which he took to be a slang term for a Canadian. While
waiting, Daniel and Vicky chatted in English. Cest ta meuf? one of
the guys asked him. The question stopped him short, and Vicky answered for him.
Oui, jsuis sa meuf.
The madrikh
came. He was a sturdy-looking man of about thirty, named Gabi, who spoke
French like a native but pronounced the many Hebrew phrases that he cited like
an Israeli. He elaborated on the information that had been sent out the
seven-week program would begin with two weeks in Jerusalem followed by two
weeks of touring in northern Israel, another week in Jerusalem, one in the
south (including a side trip to the Sinai), and finally one in Tel Aviv and
answered questions.
When,
after the meeting, Daniels fellow travelers found out that Vicky was from
Spain, they asked her if she thought that her compatriot Miguel Indurain would
win his second consecutive Tour de France, at a time when Pascal Lino still
wore the yellow jersey. Bien sûr quil va gagner, Vicky said
confidently.
She
and Daniel then joined the countless couples of lovers who, on a balmy
early-July evening, populated the Parc Montsouris. As they strolled arm in arm
around the lake, Vicky ever the student of linguistics explained the slang
called verlan that people of their age were now using; it was based on
inverting the syllables of a word, and verlan came from lenvers.
In one-syllable words a final -eu would be added before the inversion
and then the original vowel would be dropped. That was how juif became feuj,
how flic became keuf, and how femme became meuf.
But
if you are my meuf then what am I to you? he asked, realizing as he was
doing it that it would have made more sense to do so in French. But he couldnt
let go of English as his language of love with Vicky.
Toi,
tes mon keum, she said, laughing. Keum, from mec, he
understood immediately.
Later
they walked the three and a half kilometers to the Gare dAusterlitz. About
halfway there they stopped for dinner, bœuf bourguignon washed down with
Beaujolais, at a corner bistro on the Place dItalie. At the station they had
the stereotypical bittersweet lovers farewell that they had read about and
seen in films scores of times, but experiencing it in the flesh overwhelmed
them. The airport farewell three months earlier had been altogether different;
they had been lovers for only two nights, and were still in a fever of
unreality. Now they had been together for a month, and might not see each other
again for another six, though Vicky would try to meet him in Paris again on his
return from Israel, if only for one night.
He chose to take a longer, more roundabout route to walk
back to the heart of Paris: along the Seine until he faced Notre Dame, whose
bells rang out nine oclock just as the last daylight faded and the City of
Lights began to live up to its name. He then turned south on Rue Saint-Jacques
the way of the pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela, as Vicky had told him
through the heart of the Latin Quarter, past the Sorbonne and the Observatory.
For
an hour he reflected on the last two months of his life. First it was quickly
in reverse chronological order, like rewinding a videocassette in play mode.
When he came to the end of April he mentally pressed stop and play.
He
had been making a series of calls to Montreal informing family and friends of
his summer plans. He also wrote Brigitte Wilner and Nili Rozen about them.
Then
Karen Litov invited him to a party, to be held the following Thursday, in honor
of Israel Independence Day. For a Columbia student it was a strange time for a
party: it was the last of the study days, with finals to begin the next day.
Daniel, it so happened, had no exam on Friday, and so he accepted the
invitation.
Fast
forward to the party. Play.
A
large apartment, belonging to some Israeli diplomat, in an Eastside building
largely inhabited by Israelis, including Karen. A buffet laden with Middle
Eastern food and non-alcoholic drinks. A separate table held bottles of brandy
and vodka, but no wine or beer as far as he could tell. More than half of the
people, and nearly all of those who were of Daniels age, seemingly Israeli.
Karen appearing out of nowhere, a glass of brandy in each hand, putting one of
them down on a bookshelf in order to take Daniels jacket while she kissed him
on the cheek, then telling him to take the brandy, it was very good, clinking
and saying Lehayim! The brandy smooth down his gullet, Karen telling
him to go get some more and going off with his jacket. Refilling his glass,
taking a plateful of snacks while making his way among the crowd, looking for
an anglophone cluster, finding one made up of graduate students discussing
politics, going back to the liquor table for yet another drink. Feeling woozy,
reeling, looking without success for a place to sit down, and seeing the
Persian carpet under his feet moving up into his face, once again Karen Litov
coming out of nowhere to hold him and put his jacket on his shoulders, leading
him up two flights to her studio, telling him to get some rest. Staggering
toward the bed, plopping down, thanking her in Hebrew as he had learned from
Audrey. Awakening as his belt was being unbuckled, opening his eyes, seeing
Karens face above his by the dim light of a floor lamp in a far-off corner,
hearing her say Shalom, motek! as she undressed herself and then him,
feeling her take her pleasure in the same way as on the other two occasions,
going to sleep together. Waking up again in the dark with Karen asleep beside
him, her back turned to him. Saying to himself This is it, stroking her
back and other parts of her as she moved her body half-awake while purring like
a kitten, giving her pleasure in the way that he knew, that he had learned from
Gen McGrath. Finally, when she seemed sated, saying to her, Youre a Mossad
agent, arent you? Karen replying with a forced laugh, If I am an agent of
the Mossad, would I tell you? You just did. Karen saying menacingly, Dont
say this to me again, never, do you understand? This is not a joke. And when
he said nothing, Its better that you go home. Getting out of bed with the
lamp on her nightstand flicked on, finding his clothes, putting them on and
saying Im sorry as he walked out the door.
It
was one of his most embarrassing moments, and his last time with a woman other
than Vicky, he reflected as he passed beside Ile Saint-Louis. The chevet of
Notre Dame, with its flying buttresses subtly lit like a spider web by subdued
sunlight, came into view. There was just enough light to see the rooster on top
of the spire, and Daniel imagined him crowing as if to say, Dont take it too
seriously.
During
finals, a reply came from Brigitte. She would be in Majorca in June could he
visit her? Of course he would, but he would call once he was in Spain. Also, a
note from Will Prosper to call him when he was in Montreal. No reply from Nili.
Fast
forward again, to Montreal. Play.
When
he called Fela she told him that she was ill, too much so to let him visit.
Call again next week, she said. He called Greg to find out what was wrong,
and Greg said that it was serious. Cancer? Daniel asked, and Greg confirmed
it before changing the subject. There was some paperwork to be done in
preparation for Bettys assumption of her share of their fathers estate, and
the two of them should come to his office. The assets that were readily
divisible cash, stocks, mutual funds and the like would of course be
divided into halves, Greg said. But there were some government bonds and some
real estate, and some financial surgery would be required for those. The
metaphor made Daniel queasy after the conversation about Fela.
Betty,
curiously enough, had some definite opinions on the division of the assets; she
had formed them by discussing the matter with Paul Berman. But it turned out
that Paul had known all along, probably from overhearing his father, that Betty
would become a wealthy young woman at eighteen. He had even made some
suggestions to her about how they might spend her money. Betty was
troubled. Did Paul love her for herself, or for her money? Mireille tried to
reassure her: any guy would love a girl as beautiful and intelligent as Betty
for herself. But Betty had her doubts, and Daniel, in their first talk,
encouraged her to listen to her own heart and mind. She asked him if his
girlfriends had known about his wealth and he said no, there was no way for
them to know, since he didnt live like a rich guy he had a nicer apartment
than most students, but in New York people took that to be a matter of luck.
She said that she also didnt want to live like a rich girl, and if she were to
meet someone new then he wouldnt know, and she would be sure. But dont you
love Paul? he asked. I do, Betty said, but Im not sure I trust him.
Rue Saint-Jacques was crowded with noisy students. The
sounds of Parisian French were hammering their way into his brain, with many
instances of meuf and keum. His mind was struggling to keep its
thinking in English, swimming upstream against a francophone tide, till it
found a lifebuoy in the shape of the memory of his meeting with Will Prosper,
than whom no one could be more English.
The
lawyer told him that he had made progress in the matter of getting a
disinterment order. He had found a precedent in Ontario for a temporary
disinterment with the sole purpose of getting a DNA sample, and a lab in
Toronto that could run the necessary tests. Now it was just a matter of finding
a Quebec judge who was willing to take the precedent into account. Once the
judge so ordered, the disinterment could take place under Article 49 of the
Civil Code of Quebec. Daniel would, of course, have to supply DNA samples from
Mireille and Betty. But, since the procedure did not involve an adversarial
matter under either criminal or civil law, it would not be prejudiced by such
samples being taken furtively. Hairbrush residue would be fine, for example.
Hairbrush
residue. How would one even say that in French? Résidu de brosse à cheveux?
Well, of course, why not? But it sounded funny.
Though
Betty and Mireille were both out, he felt like a spy when he sneaked into their
respective bedrooms and combed each of the hairbrushes that he found on their
dressers with a fine-toothed comb that he had soaked in boiling water. He
picked up enough fine auburn strands on both, and put them in zipper-close
plastic bags on which he had already written the appropriate names and birth
dates with in an indelible marker. He placed the bags in an envelope and mailed
it to Prospers office. The molecular die was cast.
He passed two girls walking arm in arm. One of them looked
a lot like Megan Kenner, only with shorter hair. He thought briefly about
Megan. He had scarcely given her any thought since he got her note, at the
beginning of May, telling him that since finals at Concordia were already
ending, she would be out of town during his time in Montreal.
After
he passed yet another baroque dome, that of the Val-de-Grâce, he began to feel
cold. He had dressed for the warm summer day that it had been and had not
prepared for the chilly evening. When he passed the Observatory and came to
Boulevard Arago, he saw that the Denfert-Rochereau station was a block away to
his right. He turned, went into the station and took the RER train to Cité
Universitaire. When he entered his room he noted thankfully that his roommate,
André Halphen, was already asleep.
He
lay down on his bed, finally letting himself think about Vicky. But for some
reason the first thought led back to Bettys question whether his girlfriends
had known about his wealth. Now he somehow had the impression that Vicky knew.
She let him pay for everything that they did together, and while she stayed
within a reasonable price range in arranging his hotel bookings and their trip
to Paris (in a sleeping car and not a couchette), she never asked him if the
price was right for him. But of course! She had learned about him from
Mauricio, and Mauricio from Fela, and there was no reason why Fela should not
tell Mauricio who after all was mishpukhe, his family name the same as
hers that Daniel had inherited a large part of the wealth that her husband
had bequeathed to his nephew Miki.
The
thought made him shudder. Could Vicky be after his money? He felt cold sweat on
his skin. How could he ignore his suspicions after advising Betty to heed hers?
Not that the two situations were parallel. Betty knew Paul, had known him for
most of her life, and if they discovered each other as the male and female of
the species when he was eighteen and she was seventeen, a year before becoming
rich, that might or might not have been a coincidence. Daniel had known Vicky
for a few months, been with her for a total of one; did he know her? And yet,
the more deeply he thought about it, the less it mattered.
Had
she come on to him? I could almost fall in love with you, she had said. Yes,
that was a come-on. But they had had spectacular fun together, and the past
three weeks since his return from Majorca and the end of her exams that he
spent in Sitges, with trips to Tarragona, Barcelona, Perpignan and now Paris,
had been the most wonderful of his life. Nor did he feel any reason to doubt her
when she said the same of herself, there on the platform of the Gare
dAusterlitz, an hour and a half earlier.
His
feelings were now pulled between missing Vicky and excitement over the upcoming
trip to Israel, which would start the morning after the next, after another
orientation session, this one daylong. At this time his motivations for going
there no longer seemed clear. The tug-of-war inside him kept him awake. He also
missed the sound of church bells; there seemed to be no church in the vicinity of
the Cité Universitaire. The hotel in the Latin Quarter where he had stayed with
Vicky what a lovely pair of nights! was within earshot of Saint-Séverin,
with the oldest bell in Paris. He let the bells sound in his minds ear.
He
woke up from a strange philosophical dream in which God had decreed that all
the worlds vaginas be closed. Its meaning was obvious: there was to be no sex
in the Holy Land. Ridiculous, his conscious mind said. Of course there will be
sex. The group seemed evenly divided, male and female, like Noahs ark. Already
at the meeting, while he was sitting next to Vicky though before she had
declared herself to be his meuf two of the girls had given him the
eye, elles jouaient de la prunelle avec moi. The question now in his
mind whether they would pair off as couples or there would be random mating.
For himself, Daniel didnt care; it would be rec sex, le sexe
comme passe-temps, nothing to do with his feelings for Vicky, rien
à voir avec mes sentiments pour Vicky
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