Late that night, her great-aunt Bebette sat on the edge of Nana’s bed and took her hand. She talked to her looking down, as if she had reason to reproach herself.

“I hope you understand that there wasn’t time to get presents. If we’d known I’d’ve covered you in gifts, you’d have had all kinds of lovely surprises, but as it was last-minute …”

Tell her it doesn’t matter, that the party was enough, that anyway she didn’t ask for so much; make her understand that their generosity touched her, that it will be a bright spot in her memory … But nothing comes, she sits there motionless, her hand imprisoned in Bebette’s, unable to express her gratitude. She can’t understand why. If her grandmother were beside her she would throw her arms around her, embrace her. She would describe the party in detail as if she hadn’t been there, make comments on each of the guests … But she doesn’t actually know them, for her they are a kind of multiple assembly of individual elements that don’t have a personality of their own. She has made the acquaintance, in a perfunctory way, of just three: aunt Bebette, uncle Rosaire and cousin Ozéa, the others are costumed characters burdened with unbelievable names who’ve passed in her field of vision without leaving a trace: they sang, they ate, they laughed, they bellowed “Happy Birthday” in unison, and then they went home. That’s all. She knows, though, that the women worked all day for her, that they baked, grilled, roasted, decorated, but not one came over and talked with her. They gravitated around Bebette, their mother or grandmother or mother-in-law without paying much attention to the person being feted, and all Rhéauna could say was that they’d been very generous. Even that, she couldn’t express.

Her aunt pulls the covers up to her chin. She could have been about to kiss her. No, she, too, holds herself back.

“Try to sleep now, you’ve got a long day tomorrow … Saperlipopette, practically eighteen hours on the train! All by yourself! You leave early tomorrow morning and you get to Ottawa late tomorrow night … I talked to Ti-Lou, she said she’ll arrange to meet you at the train station … And she’d better or she’ll have to deal with me! But she’s never been all that dependable, she’s somebody that could send a taxi for you … Now I know she’s my sister’s daughter, but I tell you she’s something else … Be careful around her, Nana, don’t believe everything she tells you, she’ll often talk nonsense. She’s what they call a loose woman, your grandmother must’ve told you, and those women are dangerous … If we’d been able to avoid having you stop there we’d’ve done it, but going directly from Winnipeg to Montreal would’ve been too long, we didn’t want you to spend a night on the train … And we don’t know anybody in Toronto, we haven’t got any family there, so who would have looked after you if we’d decided to have you spend the night there? Nobody in our family likes Toronto, so we avoid it as much as we can … But here I am talking away, I’m keeping you awake … I’ll fix up some leftovers from tonight for the train … You’ll be having two meals and their food probably isn’t very good … Now go to sleep, sweetheart.”

A hand brushes her forehead, then the light goes out and the bedroom door closes. It’s very dark, she’s not quite sure now which way is up and which way is down, she feels as if she’s floating. Her grandmother would say that she’s too tired to sleep. She has to, though, she needs a good night’s sleep, but bits of the evening come back to her, images that are blurred because there is so much movement, strong odours of stodgy food and overheated bodies, a whirlwind of powerful sensations that make her feel as if she’s flying above her bed.

Eventually she falls asleep, thinking about the archangels that inhabited her dream between Regina and Winnipeg.