‘You need to take your mind off things, Catherine.’
‘Take my mind off things? This is all real, doc! Other people out there have hopes and dreams. Me, I… I‘m alive, but I don’t see what I should get so excited about.’
‘You’re an idealist. You wish life were exciting. But excitement is a youthful ideal. Truth is, life is just one day after the next. You only have two options. You can lose hope, or you can learn. It’s time for you to learn, Catherine.’
‘To learn that everything’s just blah?’
‘To learn what beauty lies in every day, just waiting to be discovered.’
‘Ah.’
Behind him, dust floated on the soft light filtering through the vertical blinds. The same light that had, over the stubborn years, yellowed the old Latin diplomas hanging in their frames.
‘Summer’s coming. Why don’t you go on a trip somewhere?’
‘A trip? You think swanning off to Morocco for a spot of sex tourism’s going to spice up my life?’
‘No. I’m just suggesting something a bit more exotic.’
‘Exotic is a ploy, doc. A temporary diversion for people who take snapshots and make a scrapbook out of their lives.’
‘You’re stubborn and complacent, and irony isn’t doing you any favours here.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s true, I do enjoy driving. It gives me a sense of freedom. But it’s a waste of fuel and it’s bad for the environment. So I go around in circles and always end up right back where I started.’
He stood up, white coat and all, to show me the door.
‘You used to go sailing with your father, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but you know what they say: Leaving is like cheating – Or something like that.’
‘So cheat away to your heart’s content, Catherine. Shed your skin, leave all your thoughts behind. And try not to come back too soon.’
I went home and read the letter from Key West again. Where the heck was Caplan? I looked it up on the map. Then I took care of business, packed my bags and hit the road. Like the doctor ordered. Let’s see, I said to myself.
And see, I did.
Today, the swell rolls like a watery carpet, lapping against the hull of the sailboat, flickering in the slivers cast by the rising sun. The wind fills the sails as the horizon glows red, dawn washing the sea with colour and transforming this story into a scarlet fresco. The sky turns blue, with just enough of a hint of pink to pave the way for the sun. One last time, I turn my light-flooded pupils towards the rugged coastline of the Baie-des-Chaleurs, which, already far behind, fades into the stubborn mist of sunrise.
I lean overboard. In the broken mirror of the water’s surface, I am splinters of stained glass, a tarnished mosaic, a dysfunctional memory out of sync, a jumbled assortment of images pieced together by a watery goldsmith. I open my hands and let the spool of my memories reel out onto the swell, one last time unto the waves.
Dredgers and trawlers
‘Well, let me tell you, mam’zelle, that hotel and bar over by Caplan beach – burned to the ground, it did!’
He opened the dishwasher too early, allowing a scalding cloud of steam to escape. He slammed it shut again and turned to me. Leaning over the counter, he tried to catch a glimpse of the letter from Key West I had reopened to remind myself what it said, but I pulled it away.
‘And let me tell you, quite the fire it was and all! The whole village came out for a ganders in the middle of the night. Folks even came up from Saint-Siméon and Bonaventure to see! I made the most of it and opened up the bistro. It didn’t let up for two days! The flames were licking all up the walls, and bed springs were popping all over the place. Had the firemen running around in circles, it did! You should’ve seen the ashes all over the beach! And let me tell you, it all went up in smoke! The hotel, the bar, even the slot machines! You’re not too disappointed, I hope?’
I smiled. If I’d driven for ten hours to feed the slots at the Caplan beach hotel, then yes, I probably would have been disappointed.
‘Over there, see? It was just the other side of the church – a bit further west. But now there’s nothing left of it. Must’ve been about two months ago, I’d say. Everyone knows what happened. I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it – it made the front page in the Bay Echo. They even did a special feature about it, with colour pages and everything! They say it was probably arson, and the insurance won’t pay up. Cases like this, they’re always looking to point the finger. But let me tell you, it’s funny they told you to go sleep there, you know…’
I checked the date. The letter had been mailed from Key West two months ago. I put it back in my bag. I had nothing to hide, but nothing to say either. He cleared away my leftover pizza, tossed it into the bin and took a step to the side, not entirely satisfied.
‘Let me tell you just one thing, the best place to stay is at Guylaine’s, right here, just across the way. You’ll be a lot more comfortable there than up at the hotel that burned down!’
Keeping his distance this time, he opened the dishwasher again, which was still rumbling away. He picked up a red-chequered tea towel and started flapping the steam away like a matador struggling to tame a mad bull. Then, brimming with local pride, with the tip of his chin he pointed out a big house to the east of the bistro, nestled against the cliffside, looking out to sea in quiet contemplation. A charming auberge that promised a warm welcome.
‘It’s the finest one around! Quiet too. Guylaine doesn’t have kids or a husband. And further down, over there, that’s the fishermen’s wharf and the Café du Havre is right alongside. If it’s fishermen you want to meet, you should go there for breakfast mid-morning, when they come back in. Guylaine will be out for her walk right now, but she’s sure to stop by later. She always comes in to say hello.’
He visibly softened. Without thinking, he picked up a scalding glass, juggled with it then flung it onto the counter like a curse. He gazed out towards the auberge again, then turned to me with a sigh. ‘How about a coffee while you’re waiting?’
I’ve never really liked those bed and breakfasts where you’re expected to make chit-chat, tell people who you are, where you’re from, where you’re going and how long you’re staying, and listen to the owners spouting on about their country-home renovations. But it sounded like I might as well forget about finding another hotel around here, and I’d never been one for camping, so Guylaine’s was beginning to look like my only option.
He cleared my plate and empty glass away and placed a mug on the counter in front of me before charging back for more, index finger pointed questioningly at my bag. ‘If you’re looking for someone around here, I can probably help.’
I hesitated. Swivelled my chair around to face the other end of the bistro. As I recall, the sea was the only thing on my mind right then. The thick smell of it. The breakwater darkening into shadow, ready to slip beneath the heavy blanket of night. With no lights out here, how much could you see along this coast?