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followed through.
“But what’s even more suspicious is that, after drowning the human race like a sackful of kittens, Yahweh promises to never do that again. So can anyone explain why,
even so
, Saint John took the trouble to write the Apocalypse? Evidently the poor man had never read the Old Testament.”
The classroom buzzed with whispers. Thrown off balance, Mr. Bérubé got ready to fend off a new series of blows. The bell rang just in time, and we burst out of our seats before he had the chance to expand on the subject.
24. PA RUM PUM PUM PUM
Christmas came upon us with no warning. As usual, my parents invited the Bauermann clan to celebrate Christmas Eve at our house. Come early, bring your own wine.
The aromas of grilled chicken, pickles and doughnuts wafted through the house. The oven had been on since early morning and the main floor felt like a sauna. Thirty or so guests crowded the living room, and Nana Mouskouri’s voice floated several decibels above our heads—“Pa rum pum pum pum …”
Squeezed between the Christmas tree and the bar, I listened to my cousin drone on about George Michael. High degree of insipidness. Nodding my head mechanically, I killed time by thinking of anagrams of Mikhail Gorbachev. High degree of difficulty.
Amid the hubbub I heard the telephone ring. Jumping at the opportunity, I shot across the living room, just barely avoiding my mother, who was restocking the serving dishes with olives and marinated onions, and picked up the handset just in time. At the other end, Hope’s voice sounded strange.
“Are you busy?”
“Absolutely. You’re interrupting a crucial conversation on the subject of British pop music.”
There was a brief bewildered silence. Hope had not realized that I was joking and I was instantly overtaken by an unpleasant premonition.
“Could you come with me to the police station?”
Red alert. Stretching the telephone cord as far as it would go, I huddled in the staircase that led down to the Bunker, away from prying ears. Halfway down the steps, the air was already three or four degrees cooler.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing serious. I just have to go get my mother. Can you borrow the car?”
“I’ll be right over.”
I hung up, grabbed the keys to the Honda hanging on the wall near the phone and plunged into the coolness of the Bunker. In the time it took to slip on my boots and coat, I was stealing through the back door.
The wind outside was sharp and the ground crunched under my feet. I threaded my way over to the Honda. Fortunately, there were no cars parked behind it (nothing can spoil a covert getaway more than having to ask a sloshed uncle to move his 4×4). I started the car and rolled to the corner of the street before switching on the headlights. With a bit of luck I could make the round trip before anyone noticed my absence. I did not know what to expect, but I knew that I wouldn’t want to explain myself later on.
25. MAYHEM AT THE SAINT VINCENT DE PAUL
Hope was waiting for me in front of the Pet Shop, hopping from one foot to the other. She blew on her hands as she sat down beside me. I cranked up the heat and pulled away in the direction of the police station. A minute went by in silence before I dared to ask for details about Mrs. Randall’s criminal activities.
“Nothing too terrible. She went to the place where they distribute Christmas food baskets. Know where I’m talking about?”
I knew very well, yes. Every Christmas, the Saint Vincent de Paul Society organized the distribution of non-perishable goods. In fact, my mother had just donated a dozen cans of Campbell’s soup and a package of Premium Plus crackers. I hadn’t known that Hope and her mother had to rely on food banks …
“Of course not, dummy! We’ve got enough food to last us twenty years! The pantry is crammed and the kitchen cabinets are overflowing. There’s even stuff in the bathtub. My mother would rather buy ramen than pay her Hydro-Québec
“But what’s even more suspicious is that, after drowning the human race like a sackful of kittens, Yahweh promises to never do that again. So can anyone explain why,
even so
, Saint John took the trouble to write the Apocalypse? Evidently the poor man had never read the Old Testament.”
The classroom buzzed with whispers. Thrown off balance, Mr. Bérubé got ready to fend off a new series of blows. The bell rang just in time, and we burst out of our seats before he had the chance to expand on the subject.
24. PA RUM PUM PUM PUM
Christmas came upon us with no warning. As usual, my parents invited the Bauermann clan to celebrate Christmas Eve at our house. Come early, bring your own wine.
The aromas of grilled chicken, pickles and doughnuts wafted through the house. The oven had been on since early morning and the main floor felt like a sauna. Thirty or so guests crowded the living room, and Nana Mouskouri’s voice floated several decibels above our heads—“Pa rum pum pum pum …”
Squeezed between the Christmas tree and the bar, I listened to my cousin drone on about George Michael. High degree of insipidness. Nodding my head mechanically, I killed time by thinking of anagrams of Mikhail Gorbachev. High degree of difficulty.
Amid the hubbub I heard the telephone ring. Jumping at the opportunity, I shot across the living room, just barely avoiding my mother, who was restocking the serving dishes with olives and marinated onions, and picked up the handset just in time. At the other end, Hope’s voice sounded strange.
“Are you busy?”
“Absolutely. You’re interrupting a crucial conversation on the subject of British pop music.”
There was a brief bewildered silence. Hope had not realized that I was joking and I was instantly overtaken by an unpleasant premonition.
“Could you come with me to the police station?”
Red alert. Stretching the telephone cord as far as it would go, I huddled in the staircase that led down to the Bunker, away from prying ears. Halfway down the steps, the air was already three or four degrees cooler.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing serious. I just have to go get my mother. Can you borrow the car?”
“I’ll be right over.”
I hung up, grabbed the keys to the Honda hanging on the wall near the phone and plunged into the coolness of the Bunker. In the time it took to slip on my boots and coat, I was stealing through the back door.
The wind outside was sharp and the ground crunched under my feet. I threaded my way over to the Honda. Fortunately, there were no cars parked behind it (nothing can spoil a covert getaway more than having to ask a sloshed uncle to move his 4×4). I started the car and rolled to the corner of the street before switching on the headlights. With a bit of luck I could make the round trip before anyone noticed my absence. I did not know what to expect, but I knew that I wouldn’t want to explain myself later on.
25. MAYHEM AT THE SAINT VINCENT DE PAUL
Hope was waiting for me in front of the Pet Shop, hopping from one foot to the other. She blew on her hands as she sat down beside me. I cranked up the heat and pulled away in the direction of the police station. A minute went by in silence before I dared to ask for details about Mrs. Randall’s criminal activities.
“Nothing too terrible. She went to the place where they distribute Christmas food baskets. Know where I’m talking about?”
I knew very well, yes. Every Christmas, the Saint Vincent de Paul Society organized the distribution of non-perishable goods. In fact, my mother had just donated a dozen cans of Campbell’s soup and a package of Premium Plus crackers. I hadn’t known that Hope and her mother had to rely on food banks …
“Of course not, dummy! We’ve got enough food to last us twenty years! The pantry is crammed and the kitchen cabinets are overflowing. There’s even stuff in the bathtub. My mother would rather buy ramen than pay her Hydro-Québec
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