That afternoon as the earth dried out Paul worked with Blanchard hoeing up potatoes. He kept at it for three hours and had blistered hands before Blanchard ordered him to stop. He went into the kitchen with Blanchard, and Julienne brought beer for the man and barley water for Paul. The bottle and the pitcher had been cooling under the well-cover and now they sweated in the heat of the kitchen. She gave them apple fritters, and Paul ate so many he had no appetite left at supper time and all he took was a glass of milk.
He went to bed immediately after supper very tired, and lay on his back with his sore hands clasped behind his head. He was happy about nothing in particular. Only last week he had moved into his brother’s room because it was larger than his old one, and he liked it. Marius’ room had shiny white wallpaper with a fringe of bluebirds around the cornice, and it made Paul feel older, being in the room with all his brother’s things still there. In one corner there was a shotgun and on the side wall a pair of snowshoes hanging crossed over a nail. In the cupboard Marius had left some suits and sweaters, a suitcase, and a sleeping bag he sometimes used in the fall when he went hunting. Above the bed was a bronze crucifix, and facing it the altar with the candles and the cross. Near the photograph of Marie-Adèle was a picture of Jesus with blood dripping down His forehead from the crown of thorns. It was the only sacred picture in the house except for the ones Julienne kept in the kitchen.
Paul had taken two books to bed with him. One was The Three Musketeers in French, the other Treasure Island in English. Captain Yardley had given him Treasure Island only a few days ago, and he wanted very much to read it because it was about the sea. He spoke English as easily as French, but he found it very difficult to make any sense out of the words when he read them, for he could not spell English yet. And anyway, he was too tired tonight to read anything. He lay awake in bed until the light began to fade and the swallows were swooping around the window. There was a nest of them under the eaves, and this was the main reason why he had wanted the room; also, it gave a better view of the river.
It was after twilight when he heard the door click open and looked up to see his mother come in. She was carrying a cat in her arms. She entered with a soft rustle of skirts and smiled when she saw he was awake. She sat on the edge of the bed and as it gave with her weight he slipped over against her. She dropped the cat on the bed beside him.
“I brought you Minou,” she said. “Don’t tell your father, now.”
He sat upright, grinning, and made a catch at the cat with his hands. Minou leaped away and sat on the end of the bed, her back to Paul and Kathleen. Paul lay back against the pillows and she put her hand on his forehead. There was a faint odour of perfume as she bent over him, and he lay back and thought her beautiful and smelled the faint odour of her perfume and felt safe.
“Where have you been, M’ma?”
“With your father. He’s very tired and worried today.”
“Is everyone tired and worried when they grow up?”
“Oh, no–but your father’s a very important man and has specially big things to worry about.”
Paul thought about this for a moment. “M’ma–will Marius be sore about me being in his room?”
“Of course he won’t! What an idea!”
“He gets awful sore.” A pause. “M’ma–is Marius in trouble?”
“He’s all right. He’s a big man now.”
“But he won’t come home to P’pa. Why does he hate P’pa?”
“He doesn’t. Now don’t you think about things like that. Promise? Little boys shouldn’t think about things.”
“But–”
“Marius is a big man, and he’s clever, and big, clever men never get into trouble.”
He thought about this, his brown eyes grave. “Do you only get into trouble when you’re small?”
She smiled, picked up the cat and held its fur against her cheek, the cat settling comfortably on her shoulder. Then she lowered the animal gently to the bed, pressed her into the hollow made by Paul’s knees and stroked her into quietness. “There now,” she said. “There now. You and Minou can put each other to sleep.”
Her hand was still on his forehead when Paul closed his eyes. She remained until his breathing became regular, then bent and brushed his forehead with her lips, and left the room on tiptoe.
Everyone in the house was asleep when Paul began to dream that Christ hung from a cross in the sky and that light poured down from Him holy to the earth. But underneath the holy light there was darkness, and terror moved through it with a droning sound. The drone ceased, the darkness rolled up like a curtain, and soldiers staggered out of an underbrush that covered the ground, lurching forward with weapons to kill each other. There were soundless explosions that remained motionless in the scene as they did in pictures. Paul saw himself crouching behind a rock witnessing what was happening, both hands gripping the top of the rock and his mouth opening and closing as he begged them to stop it, but no sound issuing from his lips. Then he saw two soldiers stabbing each other and they were his father and Marius. He looked up and the eyes of Christ on the cross rolled, and then he was awake with a cry in his throat feeling a hand clamped down over his mouth and his brother’s voice sudden out of the darkness.
“Shut up!”
Paul sat up terrified. He saw the window pane a deep purple with stars behind it. The moon had already set. He saw a shadow move and then a match strike, light flare out from it and Marius’ hair hanging down over his forehead as he lit the lamp. Light welled out into the room.
“What’s the matter?” Paul whispered, trembling.
“What are you doing here?”
“They said it was my room now.”
“Oh, they did, did they!”
Marius crossed to the cupboard and then jumped suddenly, nearly knocking the lamp over. “What’s that?”
Paul saw a dark shadow on the floor fading out of the circle of light. “It’s only Minou.”
“What do you want a cat in your bed for?” Marius opened the cupboard door. “Those cats are all lousy.”
“Have you come home?”
“I want some things, that’s all. Don’t ask so many questions.”
Marius undressed quickly, taking off all his clothes until he was naked. The lamp sent long shadows and lights up his body; he was so thin that every rib stood out and cast a shadow on the skin above it. He hung his old clothes in the closet and Paul caught their stale smell. Then Marius took out a suit and two sweaters and walked naked to the dresser, opened the drawer and took out some shirts. He dressed quickly while Paul watched him, thinking how fine-looking he was. Then he went to the cupboard again and came back with a suitcase and put the spare shirts and sweaters in it. He put on a pair of heavy boots, lifted the sleeping bag from its hook and rolled it up. He seemed to have forgotten Paul’s existence.
When he had everything he wanted he put on his hat and pulled it down over his forehead, then turned abruptly to Paul. “You keep your mouth shut about this–understand!”
Paul nodded. Marius crossed the room and took the shotgun from the corner. He broke it open and squinted down the barrels, pointing it at the lamp. Then he snapped it shut again and replaced it in the corner. “No good to me,” he grunted. “No shells for it.”
Paul was now sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling. “You can’t go hunting anyway–not till fall.”
Marius came over and stood looking down at his half-brother with his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. “Listen–what did you eat tonight?”
“Only a glass of milk.”
“I mean, what did the rest of them eat?”
“Roast lamb, I guess.”
Marius gave a short laugh. “Well, I hope there’s some left.”
“What’s the matter, Marius? Where are you going?”
“Never mind where. And you didn’t see me here–remember that. You keep your mouth shut.”
He picked up his suitcase and the sleeping bag and went on tiptoe to the door. A loose board creaked and he swore under his breath. He set the suitcase down while he gently opened the door and put the sleeping bag outside. As he did so the cat jumped through the opened door and he swore softly again. Then, carrying the suitcase, he went out and closed the door behind him.
It was the next morning about eleven o’clock when Athanase called Paul into the library. His face was stern as he told him to sit down. “What happened in your room last night?” he said.
Paul hung his head.
“Marius was there, wasn’t he?”
When Paul refused to answer, Athanase became angry. “What do you mean not answering your father? What did Marius tell you?”
“He–he just took some things and left.”
Athanase grunted. This was too much. He had slept fairly well last night, but the moment he woke up the previous day’s scene with the priest had hit his mind like a physical blow. And now, on top of everything else, there was Marius. The boy had left his traces all over the place. The icebox was almost empty and Julienne’s daughter, who cleaned the upstairs, had found his smelly clothes in the cupboard.
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
Paul shook his head. Without raising it, he said shyly, “What’s the matter, P’pa?”
“Nothing–nothing. But you should have told me when he came home, that’s all. Run along now and play.”
Paul did as he was told.
Athanase sat thinking for several minutes, snapping his fingers spasmodically. After a bit he went out to the hall and called Kathleen in from the gallery. With a quick look around to make sure Paul was out of hearing, he drew her close. “Paul doesn’t know anything, but Marius took the sleeping bag. Do you think he’s in the sugar cabin?”
She nodded. “Probably.”
“The poor fool! The poor young fool!”
He took his hat from one of the prongs of the moose’s antlers and put it on his head, selected a stick from the rack and went out to the gallery, Kathleen following.
“You’d better not walk all the way up there yourself,” she said anxiously. “You shouldn’t walk at all on a day like this.”
“I can’t drive the horse up, can I?”
“Let me go too.”
“You’d be a great help,” he said, “with Marius!”
He walked slowly past the barns through the fields up to the ridge, stopping for breath every fifty yards. It took him half an hour to reach the sugar cabin, and when he entered it Marius was not there. The sleeping bag was rolled out on the floor and the suitcase was in one corner. There were tins of food and a small sterno set and the remains of a leg of cooked lamb, all spread out on a plank resting over the grills where the sap was boiled in March. Athanase grunted and sat down on the only bench in the place. He took a note-book from his pocket, tore out a sheet and pencilled a short note telling Marius not to be a fool and to come down to the house. Then he went out and closed the door behind him.
On the walk back he encountered Daphne and Heather coming through the grove with Paul between them. Heather spoke up at once.
“We just saw him, Mr. Tallard. We saw him and he wouldn’t even speak to us.”
Athanase swore under his breath. These English children–he had forgotten at the moment that they were Yardley’s granddaughters. He was humiliated that they should have seen a son of his in hiding; also concerned lest they tell their mother. He wanted to warn them not to mention to a soul that they had seen Marius, but his pride choked him. He walked slowly home, angry that English children should be here at all under such circumstances. What business was this of theirs?
By the time he reached his gallery he was very tired, and for nearly ten minutes he sat quite still in his rocking chair without even reaching for the newspaper Kathleen had laid on a nearby table for him. Finally he picked it up and for nearly half an hour read it carefully.
At last, after four years, the news was good. The Canadians had actually been the ones to send the German Army on its way back to the Rhine. The Royal Twenty-Second was right up in the front, where it belonged. Why couldn’t a fool like Marius see that the Twenty-Second was as representative of Quebec as all the long-haired, big-mouthed, thin-shouldered friends he had made in college? He read the news with real satisfaction, but by the time he had finished the paper a sense of depression had returned again. The war had lasted too long. Too many men like Marius had become embittered. God knew how long it would be before these wounds healed.
A little before noon he heard footsteps crunching on the drive and immediately his nerves tightened again. Two men were approaching, one a sergeant of military police, the other a short, square man in a business suit. Both had solid faces and the kind of eyes that stray around, concentrating on the details their superiors have told them to look for. Seeing them coming up to his gallery, Athanase became so angry he did not bother to rise from his chair when they introduced themselves as Rogers and Labelle. The sergeant was English, the other man French. Labelle did the talking, and his voice had all the mechanical solicitude for unimportant facts common to a hack policeman anywhere in the world.
Athanase listened, then said quietly, “You’re wasting your time. My son isn’t here.”
Labelle glanced at the sergeant, then back at Athanase. It was obvious that he did not believe the answer, or expect to be told the truth. But he had to go through with his routine.
“We think he’s here, Mr. Tallard,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
Athanase exploded in voluble French. Where did Labelle come from? Who was his boss in the police force? What did he think he was doing here anyway? And finally, did he want to keep his job or lose it? Labelle listened, shrugged his shoulders a few times, and looked stubbornly at the ground.
“Listen, Mr. Tallard,” the sergeant interrupted in English. “We got a job to do. We don’t want any trouble. Your son’s got to go sooner or later. All we want is a look around.”
“You won’t look around my house.”
“He’s been seen around here,” Labelle said.
“You’re a liar,” Athanase said. “Even if he were seen, no one in this parish would tell you, and you know it.”
“Now look here…”
Athanase pointed his long forefinger. “Both of you,” he said coldly, “get off my property! If you try to set foot inside my house–by God, I’ll break the pair of you! Finish! Understand?” He picked up his newspaper and began to read.
The men looked at each other and again Labelle shrugged his shoulders. The sergeant’s mouth lifted at one corner. “All right,” he said, “if that’s how you want it. Don’t blame us if there’s trouble, that’s all. We got a job to do.”
They went off down the drive together, and Athanase kept watching them around the edge of his paper until they were out of sight. They were moving back toward the village. He laughed shortly. They wouldn’t get any news there.