Читать книгу Suzanne - Anais Barbeau-Lavalette - Страница 29

As you put the food away, the radio is broadcasting the commentary on the French-Canadian Hilda Strike’s one hundred-metre dash at the Olympic Games in Los Angeles.

At the whistle, Hilda is off like an arrow, a projectile; she splits the air, shaking off her adversaries, leaving them in her wake. In just two strides, she is already one metre ahead of her competitors.

You freeze, a bag of sugar in your hands, suspended, caught up in Hilda’s flight.

The Meteor from Montreal. The Canadian Comet.

‘Suzanne?’

Your mother, annoyed that you’re just standing there.

Hilda shatters the world record, she pulverizes her adversaries, she gulps in air as the astonished crowd looks on. ‘Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!’

But barely fifteen metres from the finish line, Walsh, the Polish champion, catches up.

The two women are neck and neck!

Walsh gives it the rest of what she’s got and beats the French Canadian, barely two strides, just a few inches.

Claudia turns off the radio and suggests you put the rest of the groceries away.

Your eyes are watering. You could picture Hilda sprinting; you imagined her taking flight. She loses and suddenly, here you are, stuck in an ordinary living room, putting away your meagre provisions, with your mother avoiding your eyes.

She doesn’t like displays of emotions. She is afraid of getting dragged along in their wake. She never looks a tear in the eye.

To put an end to it, she opens the bag of sugar and holds it out to you, inviting you to dip your finger in. A rare dip you take advantage of. The sugar mixes with the saltiness of the few tears you shed.

You ask your mother where Quebec is.

Your mother points to the living room wall.

‘That way, I think.’

You stare at the floral wallpaper.

Which you imagine suddenly split open, torn apart by Hilda Strike’s meteoric entrance. In shorts and a tank top, muscular, gleaming with sweat.

A trace of a smile on your face.

One day you’ll go to Quebec, where the women run fast.

Learn to express yourself properly and you will never be truly poor.

Achilles Meloche