Читать книгу Suzanne - Anais Barbeau-Lavalette - Страница 40

On the radio in the kitchen: ‘At 5:45 a.m., the Operation Neptune fleet opened fire on German defence forces.

‘At 6:30 a.m., the first waves of the American assault force landed on Utah and Omaha beaches. In the British and Canadian sector, the attack was launched one hour later because of the different tide times.

‘We do not yet know the extent of the losses, but the Atlantic Wall seems to have been breached along its length, and the Allies have penetrated some six miles inland.’

You, your mother and your sisters are standing on chairs, rags in hand. You are washing the windows.

You are astonished by the differences possible between two lives. This morning, a soldier was running through the sea at Normandy, dancing with death, praying to his mother to watch over him.

You look at your mother. She seems so delicate and small. You could take her and crush her. She notices you looking, which makes her squint in irritation. She turns her head, as if you were giving off too much light. She sends you back to your work with a subtle gesture, pointing to the slimy trace of an insect.

A bird flies into the sparkling clean window. It falls to the balcony. You are fascinated. You love surprises. You rush outside. The bird is there, lifeless. You don’t dare touch it in front of your mother. You know she would wash you in bleach.

But she bends over the bird and picks it up with a tenderness you have never seen in her before.

She cups her palms and the bird curls up in them, as if it were made for her hands.

You aren’t sure who is holding whom. Has the bird picked up your mother or has your mother picked up the bird? For a moment, it is unclear.

They seem fused, like glass sculptures. Frozen in the rift of time where the idea of death stealthily makes itself known. Your sisters don’t move. Neither do you. Standing in this strange moment, just before life resumes its course.

Then your mother’s voice emerges: ‘Suzanne, the garbage.’

She wants to get rid of it, suddenly, right this minute.

You obey. You go get the garbage can inside the house and return, holding it out to her. She tosses the dead bird into it with a brusque gesture, as if parting with a bad memory.

Then she goes back into the house and washes her hands. She scrubs for a long time. You watch her from behind, her neck about to crack.

You imagine her crumpled on the ground. You would have done the same. You would have picked her up, crumb by crumb, held her in the palm of your hands, and quickly tossed her in the garbage.

You tie the bag with a solemn gesture and carry it to the side of the road.