Heaven is full of archangels.

She knows that they’re archangels because of their immensewings; if they were ordinary angels their wings would be smaller, their faces less radiant, their songs more fluty. They have low-pitched voices, archangel’s voices, and they chant in unison a kind of litany made up of a single note, an o stretched out to infinity, that actually reminds her of the howling of the train when it has left the station or when they want to warn a village of the danger represented by its imminent passage. Clear the track, get your children out of the way.

Archangels are stunningly beautiful, as all angels are supposed to be beautiful, especially archangels, but their song is frightening because it gives the impression that a train is approaching and that it will come too close to not be dangerous.

Heaven is so full of them they have troublegetting around. Some, who refuse to make way for the others, jostle and, if they weren’t busy producing their long, drawn-out o, they would probably be shrieking insults at each other. She realizes that they are city archangels.

She is all alone in the midst of the traffic of archangels, so beautiful but so disturbing, and she doesn’t know what direction to take. She could ask of course, but do they know how to do anything besides pronouncing the endless o, the incessant drone that gets on her nerves because she knows that it’s fastened down up there in Heaven,eternal as the stars, and she must learn to live with it. Do they themselves know where they’re going?

They suddenly seem to become aware of her presence and they turn in her direction, all together, like a herd of cattle when a train actually does pass. Maybe they will talk to her, help her, tell her where to go and how to get there. Instead they stop their insistent chanting and a great silence takes over Heaven. As unsettling as the din that came before. She raises her hand in the same way she saw hergreat-aunt do to hail a taxi and she’s about to ask them where she is and what she’s doing there, when one of the archangels, the tallest, the finest looking, the most imposing, starts to beat its wings, quickly copied by others – hundreds, thousands of others. The beating of wings replaces the litany heard a while ago, a beautiful sound of birds taking flight rises into the sky. She even expects to hear the cooing of pigeons or the cries of nighthawks. But they remain silent while the beating of their wings speeds up, amplified, until they form a kind of whirlwind that shakes her, takes hold of her and lifts her off the earth. Instead of falling into a hole like Alice in Wonderland, she rises up toward the sky like a rocket on the feast day of Saint John. The whirl of wings lulls her, makes her soar, turns her in every direction, faster and faster. Shesees them, the archangels, who are waving at her in a farewell that she does not understand because she hasn’t even had time to be introduced.

When she slips through them – a tiny hole in a sea of archangels – she feels as if she’s an arrow that is piercing a target, or a bullet penetrating an animal’s skin. She turns toward them. They are now lower than she is. She’s afraid that she has killed them. No, the beating of wings has stopped, the o stretching to infinity has started again and they’ve begun jostling one another again, paying no attention toher.

Now she is all alone in the middle of the sky. It’s cold – the sun is a pale winter sun – the whirlwind is nauseating her and she has lost her suitcase. She will start falling again at any moment. Will the archangels down below form a carpet to receive her or will she crash to the ground? The ground? No, the seat in the train. She is on a train. A moving train. And it’s shaking her up.

Then, on the horizon, a flight of wild geese makes itsappearance. A mother wild goose, cackling and joyous, followed by seven goslings exhausted by their mother’s speed because she doesn’t want to miss the arrival of the train.

The young man who is supposed to look after her until Winnipeg – his name is Jacques and she quickly realized that he is supposed to make her journey as pleasant as possible – is sitting on the seat facing hers. He is holding a tray with all kinds of good things to eat. They look delicious. Her mouth waters.

“How much does it cost for all that? I may not be able to pay for everything.”

He smiles, sets the tray on her lap.

“Don’t think about that. Eat. I threw out the lunch you had with you … It didn’t smell good.”

The train bellows, cows turn their heads in the direction of the passing train, a flight of wild geese crosses the sky.