Roxanne Bouchard - We Were the Salt of the Sea

Disgusted, he threw the peeler into the sink, pitched the carrots into a pot, splashing water all over the worktop, then hurried off with the pot to the kitchen, before reappearing again and continuing.

‘Every year there’s people who die, mam’zelle Catherine! Tourists, fishermen, you name it, they all drown. And they come from all over. Mostly New Brunswick, but Percé as well… It’s the currents that swirl the bodies about in the bay. Once we even had twins from Maria wash up. Twins! They had the same parents! And let me tell you, that’s no laughing matter. I know, because in my family we’re not fishermen, none of us are, but I lost two brothers in a canoe.’

Grabbing a cloth, he set about cleaning his chopping board. He scrubbed it so energetically, with both hands, it looked like he was giving it a cardiac massage.

‘In a canoe?’

‘It was a long time ago. Let me tell you, my mum made me go home to feed the chickens, otherwise I’d have been out there with them. We used to go off hunting for partridge along the coast, with pellet guns. But because of the chickens, my brothers set off without me. Then the squall blew in and drowned them. Thirty feet from shore in eight feet of water. You can’t believe it, can you, mam’zelle Catherine?’

Two impatient customers gesticulated from the other end of the bistro. They had been waiting a while.

‘That’s so sad. I’m sorry.’

‘Let me tell you just one thing. In my family, we’ve had more than our fair share of tragic deaths, you know. It’s all because of a great-great-great-uncle who married his daughter off to a cousin and never paid for the dispensation. Do you know what a dispensation was, mam’zelle Catherine? It was a paper that gave you the right to marry your cousin. And he should have paid up for it. The folk in the village came over twice to kick up a fuss, and let me tell you, the third time, when he still wouldn’t pay up, they made a scarecrow of him stuffed full of straw and threw him off the railway bridge, you know where? Just up here, where old whatshisname with the limp died a couple of years ago.’

Clearly getting worked up now, the customers gesticulated again.

‘So let me tell you just one thing, we’ve had violent deaths in every generation since. And when my dad was run over by his tractor, I got fed up, so off I went to fetch the priest and we did an exorcism.’ He tapped his right index finger on the counter like a judge making a point.

‘What did you exorcise?’

‘The house. Our place. But not by Father Leblanc here, mind you. Let me tell you, we went off to fetch a blessed priest.’

‘A blessed priest?’

‘The priest in Bonaventure, he’s had the blessing and he knows what he’s doing. Any folk in the village who wanted to come, they came over and, let me tell you, they were praying all over the place! After that, we went around the house three times with the pot of Easter Water, and the priest had me pour Easter Water on the rose bush in the corner that our great-great-great-grandmother planted. And you know what? The rose bush died – dried right up it did, two weeks later! We’d been exorcised! Now there’s nobody dying anymore in my family!’

He whipped off his silly hat, took off and lovingly folded his cook’s helper apron and hurried away to take the impatient customers’ order.

I found myself alone for a few minutes, the silence weighing on my shoulders.

He returned.

‘Have you ever thought of moving away, Renaud?’

‘Where to, mam’zelle Catherine?

‘I don’t know… Away from the sea.’

‘Away from the sea? You can’t be serious, mam’zelle Catherine! The sea is our home. It’s not because there’ve been a few drownings that I’m going to move away. And let me tell you, drowning’s not that unusual. So that’s no reason not to go!’

He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, some glasses, a tray.

‘Go where?’

‘Fishing, with Cyrille! As a tourist, you need to know what the sea and drowning are all about! But you won’t catch me out there, that’s for sure. It’s an experience, though. And you have to do these tourist experiences, don’t you? So let me tell you just one thing, it’s a good idea to go off with Cyrille. Go on! With him, there’s no danger, his family’s already paid their dues!’

‘What do you mean, his family’s already paid their dues?’

Slowly and methodically, he opened the bottles of beer. ‘Cyrille, he lost two brothers as well. And their bodies were never found. Dead people from round here, it’s funny, but I reckon they drift out to sea. It’s the currents that do it. Will you have another beer?’

‘Cyrille lost two brothers?’

‘Don’t look at me like that, mam’zelle Catherine. People have drowned in every family. In mine, in Cyrille’s…’

‘And what about Vital’s?’

He averted his eyes without giving me an answer, then carried the beers off to the table in the back before reappearing in front of me.

‘Let me tell you, the boys are going to bring up their traps then, are they?’

‘Cyrille’s starting to pull them up tomorrow, yes. He’s doing it in three trips.’

‘It’s better that way, not as draining for his health, you know. And it’s one heck of a good idea for you to go, mam’zelle Catherine!’

‘I’m going to think about it.’

He dutifully donned his silly hat and cook’s helper apron, smoothing it down with the flats of his hands, as I placed some money on the counter.

‘Right. I’ll be off then, Renaud.’

‘Already?’

‘Yes. I’m going for a walk on the beach.’

‘Come back for supper, if you like! Let me tell you, there’s going to be fish with little carrots grated by hand!’

I missed seeing the Indigenous fishermen come in. I went down to the wharf too late, coming on for the evening. I sat beside the fishing boats. They were dozing there empty, gently rocking to the rhythm of the waves, snoring against the wharf. They barely raised an eyelid when I arrived. They didn’t care. Sighing, they slipped back into slumber, like fat, lazy cats sinking into the great blue cushion of the water. I read their names and cast my gaze towards the horizon.

Across the breakwater, the bay slipped into her gown of scarlet sequins, like a cheap old lady of the night. The main event of the evening was in full swing. Up on the cliff, the setting sun illuminated the windows of the houses looking westward. She was out there. Somewhere. The woman who had given birth to me was probably enjoying the same show I was being treated to.

I had been here a few days and the effect of the sea was starting to set in. I wanted to be from here too. From the swirling depths of my blood to the crests of the waves, the tides flowed through my body and the twinkle in my eye was surely a flake of salt.

There, on the battered old wharf at Ruisseau-Leblanc, where the river flowed into the sea, I thought it was probably high time I let the bitterness and resentment ebb away. So, I made up my mind to go along with Cyrille and ask him whether he knew her. I took a deep breath in through the darkness.

Meeting Marie Garant.

The thought of it calmed me. I must have spent a good hour imagining that meeting, stretching my hands beyond my comfort zone to bring this woman out of the purgatory to which I had banished her, trying to fit her photo back into the frame of my virgin memory.

They willed Pilar to me and off I went.

Later, when asked what I’d done with my evening, I would have a hard time answering anything, other than that I had revived from the forgotten – like a lost tin lamp you stumble across in the attic and rub back to a shine so you can relight the wick – the woman who had given birth to me. And that I had been happy.