Read Online Kamouraska by Anne Hébert - Free Book Online Page A

. . .
    There! My fear has called her back, conjured her up. Aurélie has hold of my arm. I steal a glance her way. See her profile with that jutting jaw of hers. Her bosom heaving with each labored breath.She seems consumed with indignation. Somehow I manage to turn my head and look the other way, painfully, like a sick man lying prostrate on his pillow. Now it’s Justine Latour, gazing at me, bewildered. Half smiling, half in tears.
    â€œGood God a’mighty, but Madame has really got us in a stew!”
    Aurélie’s wild laughter. Exploding in my face. My two bodyguards hold me tight. Hurry me up the steps, four at a time. Someone I can’t see, inside, opens the front door. Now I’m standing in the hall. The door to the drawing room is closed. Behind it the witnesses stop talking. I can hear their muffled breathing, hear them clearing their throats, snorting, crumpling bits of paper or cloth between their fingers. The muted sound of restless foot-steps fills the room.
    The silence that follows is so sudden, so complete, it almost takes my breath away. There’s no one in the drawing room now. The door opens, slowly, onto the empty space. There’s no one standing beside me either, no one making me move along. Aurélie Caron and Justine Latour have disappeared. I’m alone in the hall. That strong, stale smell of houses shut up tight spreads over me. Goes up my nose, stings my eyes. Sticks to my skin.
    You can see where the plaster has peeled off the walls in great flakes. The chips have been swept into little piles against the base-board. There’s a fine dust falling, effortless as snow. Am I going to die in this utter void? Here, under glass, smothered in this dry endless dust?
    In this minute space, this gray and thinning air, suddenly a little girl appears, dressed for Communion. All in white, from head to toe. Her long veil reaches to the ground. A crown of white roses on her head. I’m powerless to move. In her heavy hand, in my own arm turned to stone, expires a feeble, half-attempted sign of the cross. My childhood self smiles soberly and looks me in the eye. Makes me listen to that solemn little voice I thought was gone for good.
    â€œI renounce Satan and all his works and all his pomps, and I take Jesus Christ unto myself forever.”
    And so, the vows of baptism are solemnly renewed. Now the rest can proceed apace. The door is open. The clear, brisk air fills my lungs. I find I can move again, while here in the hall the child before me is taking off her Communion clothes. My three little aunts go bustling about her. Removing her veil, her crown. She drops her white dress gaily to the floor in a snowy ring around her feet. Hops over it quick as a wink.
    But let’s not linger. Her childhood is past. Now the rearing of a rich young miss can all unfold in order. Quickly the tulle of her First Communion dress gives way to silk and sheer batiste, to muslin, velvet, satin and furs, to fine cashmere. The fashion books, the bundles of cloth, still fragrant with the smell of distant oceans crossed, deep in the hold, wash up ashore here in this shabby hall. This scene of the reenactment.
    â€œThe child is growing up before our very eyes!”
    â€œElisabeth, sit up nice and straight. Don’t stoop. And don’t lean against the back of the chair, for goodness’ sake!”
    â€œWe’ll have to find another seamstress. This one can’t even stitch a straight line.”
    â€œDon’t forget your Easter duty. Just keep your eyes on your embroidery. Your good looks and good manners will do the rest.”
    Adélaïde, Luce-Gertrude, Angélique go whirling about the child, dancing attendance on her. Keeping an eye on her weight, her figure.
    Aurélie is fifteen years old. She’s forever walking back and forth in front of the house. Dawdling along the sidewalk in her little print dress. Gesticulating at me. She and that band of