JUNE 30, 2001
Elodie is sitting very still. A hush has fallen over the room. Her hands are folded on her lap. She can feel them trembling against the fabric of her cotton dress. They’ve all said their piece. Bruno has spoken eloquently on their behalf. They’re close. So very close. All that’s left is to vote on the agreement, which was written by Bruno and their attorney: “For a Reconciliation with Justice.”
Elodie is fifty-one years old. She’s been at this almost ten years. The Duplessis orphans have their own headquarters now, here at the St. Pierre Centre on Rue Panet. There’s a new premier of Quebec, and he’s made the best offer they’ve had yet. The only offer worth considering.
Bruno, sitting at the front of the room, looks out at the assembly of Duplessis orphans, his peers, and says, “Are we in agreement then?”
One of the men, an outspoken critic of Bruno, leaps to his feet. “This decree is an insult!” he says, flushed with anger. “Where is the complete text of the offer from Premier Landry? You’ve made too many concessions in this agreement, Bruno.”
“It’s this or nothing,” Bruno says calmly. “This is as far as the province will go, Robert.”
“We wanted double this amount!” Robert rails. “In Article 10 of the original document, the wording stated specifically that the provincial government, the medical community, and the church would have to contribute to a compensation fund in the amount of fifty thousand dollars per orphan. Why is that article removed from this decree?”
“Because it was not agreed upon, Robert. They refused our counteroffer. It’s this or nothing.”
“But this doesn’t go far enough! You’ve betrayed your principles, Bruno. Did you make a secret deal with them?”
“I made the necessary concessions to get you as much as you’re ever going to get.”
Someone else stands up and says to Robert, “We’re getting old and we need the money before it’s too late. We’re at the end of the line. This is what we’ve wanted.”
“It’s a deal with the devil,” Robert counters. “You’re about to sign away the possibility of ever getting an apology from the church!”
“We were never going to get an apology from the church.”
“Bruno, ten days ago you rejected Landry’s offer. Now you’re about to accept it with no significant changes! What’s in it for you? What happened to ‘I will never settle this case at a discount!’?”
“You’re free to leave,” Bruno says. “You and anyone else who isn’t satisfied with this agreement can walk away right now. I suggest the rest of us vote.”
Heads start bobbing. Everyone is growing restless. The room is airless.
Bruno reads the final paragraph of the decree. “‘In witness whereof, the parties recognize having read all and each of the clauses of this agreement protocol and having accepted them, and have duly signed two copies as follows: The Duplessis Orphans Committee, signed by the President of the Committee—’”
Bruno pauses and looks up. The room is tension-filled and silent. Elodie’s heart is pounding. A moustache of sweat has collected above her lip.
“All those in favor,” he says solemnly.
One by one, from the back row to the front, they begin to raise their hands. Sitting nervously on folding chairs in a room similar to the one from their very first meeting, Elodie can feel the tension, a collective holding of breath. It seems like forever since that first meeting. Elodie can’t even count how many protests she’s marched in, how many letters she’s written to politicians, how many disappointing days she’s sat in court in the last decade. Could it really be over?
She raises her hand.
The prosecutor counts them all as Elodie looks around. She estimates about two hundred people are here today, representing the eleven hundred orphans across the province who qualify for compensation in this new agreement.
“And all those against,” Bruno says.
A few hands shoot up in the air, Robert’s first among them.
“The majority votes in favor,” Bruno declares. “The decree is validated.”
A deafening explosion of cheers and applause erupts in the room as Bruno signs the document.
Elodie hugs Huguette and then Francine.
“It’s done.”
“What am I going to do with my life now?” Elodie says, only half kidding.
“Live it,” Francine says. “Spend your money.”
Elodie will get about twenty thousand dollars—a base sum of ten, and another thousand dollars for every year she was wrongfully locked up. They will not get their apology from the Church, and they’ll have to sign a waiver accepting that, in order to claim their money. There will be no public inquiry into any crimes against humanity, nor will any criminal charges be laid. But this will have to do. It’s better than nothing. It’s much better.
Outside, the sun is shining. The orphans burst through the exit door into the sunlight, like children being let out of school for the summer. The air is thick and humid. People are milling around the parking lot, hugging one another and high-fiving, celebrating. One woman is dancing for the CBC camera.
This is a victory, Elodie tells herself. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money for someone like her.
The media is everywhere. One of the familiar faces—a reporter for CKAC—approaches her. “What happened in there?” he asks her, offering the microphone. “There are a lot of happy faces out here.”
“We’ve accepted the offer,” Elodie tells him, shielding her eyes from the sun, “but with a very clear statement for the government: the offer is insufficient in many ways, but we’re accepting it because we’re getting old. We’ve been at this a long time, and it’s time for us to move on.”
“Insufficient how?”
“The church is getting off scot-free,” she says. “We’d also hoped for double the amount of money, but we know it’s this or nothing. At least this money gives us a chance to enjoy the last years of our lives.”
“So you’re happy with the settlement then?”
Elodie considers her answer. She adjusts the strap of her sundress, which has slipped off her shoulder. “Yes,” she says, enjoying the warmth of the sun. “I’m happy in the way I’ve learned how to be happy in the world.”
“Can you explain what you mean?”
She thinks about her past, what she’s lived through in and out of the asylum, and shakes her head. “I’m not very good with words,” she says, and smiles, knowing she doesn’t need to explain anything anymore.