Rising Abruptly

Published by

The University of Alberta Press

Ring House 2

Edmonton, Alberta, Canada T6G 2E1

www.uap.ualberta.ca

Copyright © 2016 Gisèle Villeneuve

LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

Villeneuve, Gisèle, 1950–
, author

Rising abruptly : stories / Gisèle Villeneuve.

(Robert Kroetsch series)

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978–1–77212–261–9 (paperback).—ISBN 978–1–77212–281–7 (EPUB).—ISBN 978–1–77212–282–4 (mobipocket).—ISBN 978–1–77212–283–1 (PDF)

I. Title. II. Series: Robert Kroetsch series

First edition, first printing, 2016.

First electronic edition, 2016.

Digital conversion by Transforma. Pvt. Ltd.

Copyediting and proofreading by Maya Fowler-Sutherland.

Cover design by Alan Brownoff.

A volume in the Robert Kroetsch Series.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written consent. Contact the University of Alberta Press for further details.

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The University of Alberta Press gratefully acknowledges the support received for its publishing program from the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Media Fund.

For Tom Back,

my partner in life and in the mountains,

always.

MOUNTAIN

A natural elevation of the earth's surface rising more or less abruptly from the surrounding level, and attaining an altitude which, relatively to adjacent elevations, is impressive or notable.

—
The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary

Contents

Nuit Blanche with Gendarme

Jagged Little Peak

Benighted on Mighty Mount Royal

Kinabalu Realm of the Cold

Onion

Nepal High

Assiniboine Crossroads

Acknowledgements

Nuit Blanche with Gendarme

MY SISTER, a whirlwind inside my Calgary apartment. My sister taking me by storm. I prefer storms to stay outside. And I love my sister despite…Here she is. In my yellow kitchen. Arms scratched, fingernails broken, knuckles raw. And in her khaki shorts, legs black and blue.

What the hell happened to you? Come, sit down.

She won't sit. Stares at me with eyes so wild. So very wild. The dark eyes of Medea after she dispatched her children to the other world.

My sister says: It's because of my night with the gendarme.

Gendarme?

My sister has no children to drown in bathtubs or to strangle in the night and she is not given to having trouble with the law. I stare at her bruised legs. I keep my gaze there, because I simply cannot look at her burning eyes.

Gendarme, Sis? What gendarme?

We're in Calgary, not Paris. There are no gendarmes operating in this city. Why would she use that term?

What gendarme? Talk to me.

She asks for water. Her voice calm as a morning lake despite the storm that must be raging in her body. And I must resist looking at her eyes. So primal and wild, her Medea eyes.

She says: I'm thirsty, my dear brother. I can't tell you how perfectly thirsty I am.

I run the tap. Present her with a tall glass of cool water. She drinks and drinks and drinks. Such ecstasy over tap water. I'm a voyeur in spite of myself. Witnessing something unnamed. Can't begin to imagine her night at the hands of that gendarme. A visiting Frenchman? An exchange program with our city police? Maybe she met him in a bar after his shift. What did he trigger in her?

After quenching her thirst, if she has quenched it at all, my agitated sister paces up and down the kitchen. Gets set to tell me her story. Don't want to hear it. Yet, I must. I swallow hard, and the storm is unleashed.

That day, an impulse leads her to the mountains.

Mountains?

Instead of driving to Banff like everyone else, and where we had been just days before, she veers off toward Kananaskis.

Kananaskis, a region she could not possibly know. She, who not only has never expressed the slightest interest in orography, but, more importantly, has been scoffing at mountains ever since arriving in Calgary a few days ago, can't explain what brought her there.

Yes, yes, Sis, that's all very well, but, please, stay focused. What about the gendarme?

One mountain in particular draws her attention. Fascinates her. Galvanizes her into action. The attraction of one single mountain in a jumble of mountains, the same way that one man in a crowd would stand out for her alone.

She says: Believe it or not, I didn't believe it myself, but it hit me hard. What I felt was nothing short of a lightning strike of the heart.

That's it. The encounter in the bar. The one-night stand. She was using the parable of mountains to soften the blow. A lightning strike of the heart? Trust me. My skeptic sister is not given to love at first sight. Certainly not to long-term commitment.

She says: I was contemplating that mountain and, tout de suite, I
knew
. I
knew
I needed the vertical line not to fall. I
knew
the vertical line was the place to quiet your mind. There, in the silence among stones, I
knew
, I simply
knew
that I would find peace of mind at last. Please, more water.

I set a pitcher on the table. I sit down, she stands. And resumes pacing up and down the kitchen. She may seek a quiet mind, but her body will not relinquish frenzy. She drinks and can't quench her thirst.

Watching her, I try to understand without truly grasping what she is telling me. Ever since she was a little girl, she has been queen of the malcontents. Annoyed at everybody and anybody. Bristling with irritation, as if she did not belong in her own skin and had to shed it. Tonight, is she shedding? Sloughing off, to emerge as what? All her life, she has been a wanderer, running away from the noises and vexations of the world. Craving for, and failing to find, her elusive quiet centre.

I've had lots of time to think things through. I might as well tell you I've thought of precious little else, and, in stages, I developed a theory. First, I realized that, when she saw her mountain, my troubled sister identified a deeply rooted malaise. Later, it seemed, she discovered she was suffering from genuine vertigo on flat ground. What I ended up understanding most of all is that my disoriented sister
belongs
in the Rockies.

Elated, scratched, black and blue, she goes on: The search is over, brother. I've found myself at last. That's what I discovered during my night with the gendarme.

I look at her hard. Take the glass from her. Forbid her to drink until she tells me the true story, no matter how painful.

Gendarme, Sis. What goddam gendarme?

Relax and listen.

In a trance, she starts to climb her mountain.

I say: And you want
me
to
relax
? Look at you! You're a mess. You're shaking all over. And now you're telling me that you started climbing a
real
mountain? Just like that? What the hell's the matter with you? You have zero climbing experience. Nothing.

She says: Nothing but an instinct, nothing but an internal compass.

Standing in the middle of my kitchen, she re-enacts her moves.

For hours, she scrambles up the scree.