Read Online A Fine Passage by France Daigle - Free Book Online Page A

returns to the half-open door. The neighbour points to the jigsaw puzzle, which needs only four or five pieces to be complete. Hans invites him to take a closer look. The young Hispanophone admires the work, passes a hand over the surface, and, indicating the few loose pieces, invites Hans to complete the puzzle in his presence. Hans does not react. The neighbour insists. Hans resists, shakes his head, and motions no with his hands. The neighbour eyes Hans for a moment, pretends to guess what he is up to, and finally laughs; tapping Hans on the shoulder in agreement, he takes the matches and goes. Alone again, Hans wonders what his neighbour could possibly have concluded.
    The man who’d shown no sign of reading is seated with a cup of coffee in his hand.
    â€œSo what’s Moncton like?”
    Terry and Carmen look at each other. Each can see in the other’s face the lack of ready-made descriptions. Finally, Terry laughs.
    â€œIt’s a fine place to look at when it snows. In the evenings.”
    The man sitting opposite them traces a quick sketch in his mind.
    â€œLots of cities are beautiful if one doesn’t dwell on the details.”
    Terry and Carmen think some more.
    â€œThere’s some streets have big houses and big trees.”
    â€œAt Christmastime, with the decorations and all, that helps.”
    â€œAre the houses made of wood or stone?”
    â€œFolks would say they’re wood, I suppose. We don’t really think of them that way. They’re just . . . houses, is all.”
    Terry and Carmen try to think of something else to say, embarrassed at not being able to come up with much. Then Terry finds something he considers significant.
    â€œThere’s a whole lot of artists, though. Folks who paint, I mean.”
    â€œIs that right?”
    â€œThey say the place’s special for that. . . . Not that I know much about it.”
    â€œSpecial how?”
    Terry and Carmen exchange another consultative gaze. Carmen tries her luck.
    â€œI suppose it’s the colours. You might say they’re . . . well, big.”
    â€œBig?”
    â€œYeah. Big. Thick.”
    Terry feels there’s more to it.
    â€œNot only that, mind you. There’s a whole lot. Artists, I mean. For a such a wee place.”
    Carmen risks something more.
    â€œCan’t say they’re all pretty, though.”
    Terry is intrigued.
    â€œAnd which of them is it you’re thinking of, then?”
    â€œWell, the one over at the library, when you’re coming down the staircase.”
    â€œMmm . . .”
    The memory of that particular painting propels Terry and Carmen into a moment of deathly silence, but they eventually resurface.
    â€œThere’s one of them, Yvon Gallant, who can paint anything.”
    â€œThat’s the truth. That fellow’s unbelievable. Not that it’s all perfect to begin with, but in the end, you can’t help liking it.”
    â€œThere’s another, Paul Bourque. You might say, he mixes things around. Won’t sell his stuff, though. Doesn’t want to. Which is why everyone wants to buy them. Pretty sharp, if you ask me.”
    â€œAnd then there’s Roméo Savoie.”
    â€œHermé.”
    â€œThere’s a fellow does everything — writes, paints, makes movies, writes plays. Can’t think of anything he doesn’t do.”
    â€œThose are just the ones best known. There’s a whole lot more.”
    â€œRaymond Martin.”
    â€œRaymond Martin, Nancy Morin, Guy Duguay — well, he’s dead.”
    â€œThere was Denise Daigle too.”
    â€œYup. Denise.”
    â€œFrancis Coutellier . . . Luc Charette . . .”
    â€œDyane Léger . . . And what’s the name of that other one, works next to Yvon in the other room?”
    â€œLionel Cormier.”
    â€œAnd what about Alexandria?”
    â€œAlexandria Eaton. English, that one. But she’s okay, just the