After (6 page)

After Luc was in bed and Maman was asleep in front of the fireplace, I snapped on Sputnik’s leash. It was a brilliantly clear, cold night. As I walked down the dark street, I could see in the windows where blinds hadn’t been drawn for the night. The people inside seemed impossibly happy and warm. I walked down to Houston’s house, which is
not far from mine. I thought that maybe we could talk or play Nintendo, like we used to in the days when we both believed that the Transformers would save the world, but when I got near his house I could see that he and his dad were in the garage fiddling with the car. I turned back before he noticed me.

You might be wondering where the rest of our family was all those weeks. Nowhere, is where, except for Aunt Sophie. Every week or so, Maman took us to visit Grandpa in the nursing home. He’d ask where Papa was. Sometimes he’d call me Ben. Maybe nature was being kind to him by letting him forget that his son was dead.

As for all my uncles–and there are tons of them–I don’t remember seeing them that year. Our family is big, but that’s not unusual in Quebec. My mother has six brothers, and my father, ten. And then there are all my aunts and their husbands. They phoned Maman every now and then, but I don’t remember any of them turning up to see me or Luc. My father had been a disgrace, a suicide.

Uncle Ted did a vanishing act. For the first time in my life I needed him. I wanted him to call me to say something like: “Hey Francis! What are you doing this afternoon? I have two tickets to see the Expos. Wanna come with me?”

Or, “Wanna help me to fix the old clunker? The muffler is broken, my boy. And you know what? After that, I could even teach you how to drive.”

He never did. I heard Maman tell Aunt Sophie that Uncle Ted liked to drink water, the kind that you put in a tray and it becomes ice cubes, and then it swims in a glass of Scotch.

I wanted to make sure that Christmas was okay for Luc’s sake. To avoid going up to the attic for the Christmas boxes, I had bought new tinsel and Christmas decorations at Canadian Tire. Luc was curled up in front of the TV watching
Barney
when I came in with my packages. The curtains were drawn against the dark, even though it was only five in the afternoon. I went into the kitchen and put the bags on the table.

“Why did you buy that stuff, Francis? How much did it all cost?” Maman sounded exhausted.

“It’s Christmas, in case you haven’t noticed!”

“What did you use for money?”

“Last year’s birthday money from Grandpa.”

She looked at me as if I was Spock from
Star Trek.
Spock used to scare me. Actually, so did Barbra Streisand. When I was little, I would lie in my bed in the dark, afraid that they would come into my room and kidnap me. I was a weird kid, what can I say? It was a terrifying thought at the time, but now it would have been a relief to have them come for me.

Frowning, Maman poured herself a cup of black coffee.
“Next time, before you buy junk, think of buying food instead. It would be more useful.”

That was all the thanks I got. I left the Christmas decorations in their plastic bags piled on the kitchen table, and went to my bedroom.

Despite the decorations and Luc’s stage debut in a pink and white lamb costume, Christmas was a big zero. Now I could add Christmas holidays to the long list of things I had grown to hate, which included going to church on Sunday and locking my keys in the house. Aunt Sophie suggested that we go to a restaurant for Christmas dinner, and Grandpa invited us to the Family Fun Christmas at the nursing home. Maman told them we needed the time alone, so Luc and I sat in the living room, with tinsel tacked around the windows and across the mantel, and a crackling fire in the fireplace. That was our big Christmas entertainment, watching the fire.

Since I can remember, we’ve had a family routine. At six o’clock on the nose before we sat down to a dinner of salmon, Maman and Papa handed out the Christmas gifts. Luc and I had bought Maman a candle that smelled of pine in a holder shaped like a Scottie dog. She wiped her eyes when she opened the box and thanked us.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wrap your presents, boys, but here they are. Francis, this is for you.”

It was a knapsack for school. I’d been hoping for a Play Station, but I knew I wasn’t going to get it.

“And Luc, here’s something for you too.” A Fraggle Rock lunch box. Maman didn’t wait for us to say anything. White-faced, she ran upstairs to her bedroom. I could hear her close her door. She slept all night.

I was left alone with Luc. It was too early to put him to bed so we sat on the rug, Sputnik between us, watching
It’s a Wonderful Life
on TV. I prayed for the Apocalypse or the Third World War or the Return of the Extraterrestrial or Barbra Streisand–anything that would get me out of this empty, sad house.

When I went back to school after what could only charitably be called the holidays, Houston was full of news about all his gifts–a Play Station, a new computer, a snowboard, Vuarnet sunglasses–his father had given him. I had nothing to say.

Although months had passed since Papa’s suicide, Luc was convinced that Papa would come back. I was sitting on the bathroom floor thumbing through a comic book while Luc played in the tub. He ducked under the surface to rinse his hair and bobbed up, rubbing his eyes.

“When will Papa come home, Francis? Maman says he’s gone for eternity. What’s eternity?”

Luc was always ambushing us with questions that stumped us.

“Can Papa stop being dead for my birthday? Did I kill Papa because I told him that I didn’t love him anymore? I didn’t mean it, Francis.”

I was trying my best, but all I wanted was for him to shut up.
Did I kill Papa because I left him alone to go to New York?

Saturday night, late. I heard the TV blaring, but when I went downstairs the living room was empty. I felt a cold blast and realized that the front door was wide open. I went out on the porch. Luc was standing on the walk in his bare feet.

“Luc!”

He didn’t seem to hear me.

“What are you doing, Luc?”

I saw that he had taken the clothesline from the backyard, and had wrapped it around Sputnik’s neck.

“For God’s sake, what are you freaking doing?”

“I want Sputnik to commit suicide.”

«
Stop it! Are you freaking crazy?
»

I leaped down the stairs and ripped the clothesline from around the dog’s neck.

“I want Sputnik to find Papa.”

I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I felt so lost. Sputnik shook himself and plodded up the stairs. He
stopped on the porch and looked back at us reproachfully before going into the house.

Luc went into High Question Mode. “Does it hurt to die? What do we eat under the ground? Who will tell Papa when to come back?”

I squatted close to him, in the snow. What else could I do but listen?

“Francis, Luc, what are you doing there? Are you two crazy? You’ll catch cold. Come back in the house this instant!” Maman sounded frightened.

I’ve never been so cold. The sky was full of stars. I wanted Luc to understand once and for all that Papa would never come back, and that he had to leave Sputnik alone–poor dog. Luc’s big blue eyes looked at me as if I were Superman.