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

good-for-nothings with her, hustling her about. She taunts me, this child, and makes me green with envy. At fifteen she knows as much about life as the dead themselves.
    Aunt Luce-Gertrude shuts the door.
    â€œThat child is ruined already. What a disgrace at her age!”
    â€œI wish I could go out like that. Go fishing for catfish, the way I did when I was small! With boys!”
    Aunt Luce-Gertrude doesn’t try to reply. Aunt Luce-Gertrude can only gasp. Aunt Adélaïde too. It’s clear, the child has become a woman.
    Here she comes, dressed for her very first ball, all rustling and shimmering, shoulders uncovered and flowers in her hair. Lucky for us, in this wilderness, that we have the governor’s ball!
    The three little sisters let themselves plunge into a mad, yet agonizing, dream. As if they themselves were about to take part in some carnal, wild, erotic mutation.
    My mother comes quietly into the hall. Looks at me in blank amazement. Feels a surge of melancholy. Finally makes up her mind to speak.
    â€œWe’ll have to find a husband for the child.”

I have just enough time to run along the towpath after Aurélie. We may as well meet right now, the two of us, in the tart freshness of our fifteen years.
    We stand eyeing each other. At a distance. Wary as a couple of cats.
    Her tight skirt clings to her legs. Her bare feet are caked with mud. Two long woolly braids flap against her back, like two black straps, haloed about with little bristles reddened in the sun. Her face, her neck, her bare arms all have the ashen pallor of mushrooms, freshly picked.
    â€œMy, but you look pale, Aurélie.”
    â€œOh, Madame knows . . . I always had this prison look. A taste of what was coming . . .”
    And that’s that. From the very first, we get right to the heart of the matter. She mentions prison. She calls me “Madame.” Now she’ll begin growing older before my eyes. Heavier. Under the weight of her every passing day. Take me to task, perhaps? . . . I’d give my soul if only I could keep all that from happening again! My very life, just to recapture, as it used to be, that time when both of us were innocent!
    â€œBut I never was innocent. And neither was Madame . . .”
    It’s as if we’re rehearsing a play. Groping for words and gestures already used before, already worked out at leisure, but reluctant now to appear in a certain light.
    Her voice grows more piercing as she speaks. More like a grown-up, more unpleasant.
    â€œAnd me, in prison, those two years and a half. All on account of you. ‘Held at the court’s discretion.’ Isn’t that how they say it? While Madame gets out on bail . . .”
    â€œAre you forgetting the two long months I spent in prison. Aurélie?”
    Her voice, shrill, as she jumps aside. Crouching. About to pounce.
    â€œI don’t forget a thing. Not a thing.”
    I have to act fast. Protect myself from Aurélie’s rage. Have to save us both. See that we make our peace once and for all. Rid ourselves of one whole part of our lives. Go back to when we both were growing up. Long, long before . . . I seem to be tugging, trying to pull a certain phrase out into the light. Just one, heavy, from far away. Such an important one, like a weight, sunk in the earth. A rusty anchor. Buried underground, at the end of a long rope. A kind of root, embedded deep . . . Down deep . . .
    â€œCharges withdrawn! Charges withdrawn! . . . You must have heard, they’ve dropped the charges, Aurélie!”
    Over and over Aurélie repeats: “Charges withdrawn!” Hardly seems to believe it. Not too sure. Like someone learning a new, language. “Charges withdrawn!” Then suddenly the meaning of the words shines clear. Makes her burst out laughing.
    â€œâ€˜Charges withdrawn!’ And the judges scratch their heads . . . And the witnesses all go home . . . And the reporters have to shut