Against God (3 page)

- That’s if your house doesn’t burn down tonight. Or if a burglar doesn’t rob you
overnight. Or if your children come home from school this afternoon. Maybe
they’ll be attacked on their way home. Maybe some maniac will kidnap them,
torture them for hours then kill them.

malice, and the silence stretches on and on, interrupted only by Alain’s
breathing, but finally he speaks, his voice disconcerted, a tad resentful, he
understands how despair might make you say things
“that make no sense,”
but his last words make you scream, spit, splutter into

- Why wouldn’t it make any sense? Tell me that! He gives fuck all whether
something makes sense or not! He doesn’t give a flying fuck!

the phone, and a frantic Alain asks who it is you’re talking about, but you
don’t reply, you might not even know yourself, at least not clearly, and you
throw the phone at the wall, and you go back to the living room, and you glare
defiantly at the fireplace, but the fire is almost out, so you add more logs
cursing unintelligibly, you stir the embers, and the fire springs back to life,
flaming, triumphant, once more you don’t close the fire screen, coat, boots,
then out you go, leaving the front door wide open, and as you back your car into
the street, you see Michel, furious, emerging from his house, he strides to his
car
with Lucie on his heels, Lucie in her dressing gown, Lucie
in a panic, Lucie in tears, begging and imploring, but you’re not interested,
you drive away, you pass your friend Alexandre coming in the opposite direction,
no doubt on his way to your house, and Alexandre must have recognized your car
too because in your rearview mirror you see him pull a U-turn, probably in the
hope of catching up with you, but you get a good head start, you lose him, and
make your way then to the closest hotel, you book a room, you watch TV, you
don’t answer your cell phone when it rings a half-dozen times, and you fall
asleep, extremely late, an anguished and turbulent sleep, peopled with screams
and fury, and you wake up at ten, eat in the hotel restaurant and return home,
the front door still wide open, you walk inside, astonished to see everything
still in order, nothing has been stolen or vandalized, and the fire in the
hearth is out, and nothing has burned within, so you go back outside and your
cries tumble down the

- 
But this was the time! Why not now? Hey? Why not now?

street, deserted but for a woman farther down staring at you, you give her the
finger, you go back inside and close the door behind you, and you cry, wander,
and you cry, for two hours, and you end up upstairs in your bedroom, black
pants, black suit jacket, white shirt and black tie, you study yourself for a
moment in the mirror, indifferent, then go out, closing the door behind you this
time
and locking it, and just before you start up the car you
stare at the house for a long time, a long, long time, as though your eyes
already knew something your conscious mind had yet to grasp, then you drive, ten
minutes, the funeral home, already four or five visitors seemingly embarrassed
to see you show up a half-hour late, the three caskets, closed, you go from one
to the next, your jaw clenched, thin-lipped, then the handshakes, the
condolences, the sobs, the curses against fate, Judith’s mother who’s in such
deep despair she has to be held up, and you say almost nothing, then Jean-Marc
and his family, Jean-Marc who whispers in your ear that everything is under
control but you need to meet with the funeral director before the afternoon is
out to sign some papers and settle up, then your brother Alain and his family,
his wife who can’t stop crying, her tears on your neck, Alain who says he’s told
Dad and Mom, who’s surprised they didn’t call, but you tell him you haven’t
picked up your messages since yesterday, and Alain shakes his head, says that
Dad and Mom will be on the first plane, assures you they will no doubt be back
by tomorrow or even tonight, then still other people who gradually appear,
including a shattered Alexandre, who swears he drove to your place on several
occasions, and you remain silent, withdrawn, your cousin Juliette approaches,
thin, her face already all wrinkled at the age of forty-eight, her wheelchair
propelled by her husband Normand, her eyes full of compassion, and what she says
to you

- 
I know it’s hard to accept, but everything happens for a
reason . . .

lights a furtive but intense blaze in your pupils, you open your mouth to reply
but a friend of Judith’s steps up to hug you, then other people, more and more,
finally you ask Jean-Marc how it is that so many people know when you told no
one, but Jean-Marc thought of everything, Jean-Marc placed a notice in two daily
newspapers, Jean-Marc started a couple of telephone trees, you nod, look around
you, all the people, all the faces, some just a blur, some you don’t recognize,
then you spot cousin Juliette again, over there, and you head in her direction,
eyes hardening, but she speaks first before you get a chance to, says she wants
to go out for a cigarette but Normand has gone to the bathroom, would you be
good enough to take her outside if it’s no bother, you help her on with her
coat, you slip on your own coat, you push her wheelchair, people step back
respectfully, outside the cold is mild, the sun bright, you head for the
disabled ramp and start to wheel her down slowly, making an effort to ease the
chair down the incline, then you lean over so your cousin can hear you, you say
that, if you’ve understood correctly, the accident that crippled her at the age
of twenty-seven happened for a reason, and she nods, swears she’s stronger now,
you nod, the weight of the wheelchair too much to hold back, and suddenly you
don’t anymore, the chair heads down the ramp on its own now, picking up speed,
your cousin
asking what’s going on, and you do nothing, the
wheelchair heads straight for the street with Juliette yelping, Juliette
fumbling in vain at the wheels with her feeble hands, Juliette coming to a
standstill at last right in the middle of the street just as a car slams on its
brakes, and a second car rear-ends the first, and at last you walk over to
Juliette, you lean in from behind, and your voice

- What about now, do you feel strong now?

is low, so low, and you notice that Juliette is gasping, Juliette’s eyes are
wide, Juliette is about to pass out, and at last you look around you, the woman
driver in the first car transfixed with fear behind the steering wheel, the
driver of the second car stepping out of his vehicle, a hand up to his bloody
nose, your friends and family streaming out of the funeral home, including
Normand who races to his wife’s side, panic-stricken, yelling for someone to
call an ambulance, Juliette’s having a heart attack, and everyone rushes about,
asking questions, turning in circles, and you watch the chaos in fascination,
motionless, a steadfast rock in a storm-swept sea, but someone grabs you by your
arm, your brother Alain, eyes rolling, asks what happened, but you disengage
yourself gently, take a few steps back as though to better grasp the whole
debacle, as though to burn it with a branding iron on your mind, as though to
photograph it in pixels of fire, then you turn on your heel and walk away,
ignoring your brother’s calls, and you climb into your car, and you take off,
you call
Sylvain from your cell phone but there’s no answer,
you don’t leave a message, your fuel gauge shows next to empty, stop at a gas
station, fill up, you go inside to pay and on your way out, you notice the bank
machine in a corner of the gas station, you walk over and withdraw the maximum
the machine will allow, a thousand dollars, and you’re off again, you drive
toward the City, you cross the north bridge, fifteen minutes, you park, you
enter the bar Le Maquis, the server greets you warmly, she remembers you even
though you only come once every five or six weeks, you ask if she’s seen
Sylvain, yes, last night, he seemed quite down, she says you don’t look too good
yourself, you order a beer and sit down at an empty table, happy hour has
started, lots of customers, men and women in their thirties, talking, laughing,
arguing, drinking, good humour, your cell phone rings often, each time you check
the caller, each time you see it’s not Sylvain, each time you don’t bother
answering, but after an hour, you can’t stand the ringing anymore so you turn it
off, another beer, happy hour’s over, fewer customers, the clock shows eight,
you leave to pee, you return, another beer, your fourth, your eyes on the door,
then for the first time you study the people around you, a young woman on her
own over there, in her thirties, pretty, long chestnut-brown hair, she looks at
you insistently and even smiles finally, you look away immediately, as you’ve
done whenever a young woman starts to flirt with you, and I know you’ve
developed the reflex to avoid temptation and trouble and disorder, yes, to avoid
all that, and
suddenly Sylvain appears in a black shirt and
dark jacket, he sees you, is reassured, walks over to sit across from you, he’s
come from the funeral home, everyone’s looking for you, your brother and your
brother-in-law have been trying to reach you on your cell phone, Sylvain himself
tried to call you three times, so why didn’t you answer, why did you leave the
funeral parlour, why are you here, and your silence starts to annoy Sylvain,
finally you say that you want to get loaded, Sylvain calms down then, orders two
beers, he tells you he understands your confusion, tells you that and much more
about the absurdity of life and suffering and injustice, but you’re not really
listening, you watch the waitress as she brings both your drinks, her suggestive
grin in your friend’s direction, her firm buttocks in her figure-hugging short
skirt, and you interrupt Sylvain to ask if he’s ever fucked the waitress, he’s
taken aback, but he does answer yes, and, with no hint of a smile, you ask him
if she likes it hot and dirty, and he, still more disconcerted, says yes, quite
a bit, you nod, staring into space now, slowly you start to speak, your voice
distant, you explain that Judith didn’t like it hot and dirty, at least hadn’t
for several years, you still made love once a week, sometimes twice, but it was
much tamer, especially since the children’s arrival, and she was often tired, or
in a hurry, or both, so sex never lasted very long, not to mention you always
had to check first, no spontaneity, nothing impromptu, but from what your other
couple friends have said, you told yourself that all things considered, the two
of you were within the
norm, yes, the norm, you repeat it
several times, the norm, and Sylvain doesn’t interrupt you, stares at you in
silence, alarmed, then you sigh, look around and declare that you would like to
do it hot and dirty with someone tonight, and you say the words with an odd
lassitude, and Sylvain points out this is definitely not a good time, you get
worked up a bit then, you

- Why not? It hasn’t been a good time for nine whole years! I’ve been keeping a
lid on it for nine whole years, always doing the right thing, and what good was
that, eh? What good was that?

attract stares, Sylvain begs you to calm down, which you do eventually, but you
throw back your beer, and your friend tries to reason with you, states you need
to go back to the funeral home, everyone’s waiting, someone told him one of your
cousins almost had a heart attack earlier on but that she’s out of danger now,
you tell him you know all that, you were the cause, Sylvain doesn’t understand,
you explain, he stares at you then, outraged, how could you push her wheelchair
into the street, you point out you didn’t push her, but hearing her bullshit,
you simply lost any desire to keep holding onto the wheelchair, you wanted her
gone from you, actually you’re not really sure what you wanted, to let go, just
let go, but you couldn’t have predicted she would roll right onto the street, or
that a car would nearly hit her, or that a second car would run into the first,
or that your cousin would come that close to having a heart attack, no, you
couldn’t have predicted
that the mere loosening of your
fingers would provoke such a chain reaction, just as Judith and your children
couldn’t have predicted that they would die on their drive home, no one can
predict anything, no one can know anything, no matter how well-organized, how
well-prepared, how much in control, or more specifically how much a person feels
in control, and you get excited again, you ask your friend if he remembers when
you were teenagers, how irresponsible and disruptive you were, how you didn’t
give a damn about a thing, how when you came home from parties totally hammered
you’d still drive your parents’ cars, or how you skated on the lake during the
early April thaw, and then you got older, you came round, like everyone does, or
at least, you came round even if he didn’t, and the whole while you thump on the
table as though trying to squash the phrase, pulverize it, and you raise
your

- Me, the sucker, I swallowed it all: take responsibility, prepare for the
future, get your life in order. . . But you got it! You got that it’s all
pointless, you didn’t change and you were right!

voice, but Sylvain retorts it isn’t that simple, so you bang even harder on the
table, you yell at him to stop lying, everyone has been lying to you for years
but not him, he’s not allowed, not your best friend, and you get to your feet,
intent on leaving, on hitting every single bar, you want to get pissed with
Sylvain like you used to, hey, Sylvain, c’mon, let’s go, but Sylvain looks
somber, Sylvain doesn’t want to go,
Sylvain tries to pacify
you, you don’t understand, you remind him he’s usually the first to jump at the
prospect of a party, he loses patience then, gets to his feet, says you’re
upset, urges you to go back to the funeral home where everyone’s waiting, but
you yell you don’t want to go back, you yell you want to stay here, you yell as
loud as you can, Sylvain grabs your shoulder then, says okay, fine, don’t go
back there, but he begs you to come to his place instead, right now, you’ll keep
talking and drinking all night long in his apartment, but that’s not what you
want, you want to get out, erupt like a volcano that’s lain dormant for too
long, and you’ve started back on your litany of excess when Dan, the owner,
comes over to ask you to leave the premises, because by now everyone is looking
at you, annoyed and apprehensive, but Sylvain knows Dan well, takes him by the
arm, leads him aside for a talk, you sit, wait, glare at the other patrons, and
once more you notice the pretty girl on her own, who’s still watching you, but
this time you don’t look away, this time you raise your glass in her direction,
this time you wave her over, and she, after a moment’s hesitation, stands up,
walks toward you, sits down on the chair you motion to with your chin, and you
tell her that just three days ago, you would never have dared invite a beautiful
girl over to have a drink with you, that you would have been too afraid of any
problems that could cause, and you give a joyless laugh while the girl nods,
then you ask her her name, Mélanie, so you ask Mélanie if she would like to go
out with you tonight, another moment’s indecision,
then she
agrees, her voice calm, which is when Sylvain comes back to tell you he’s
smoothed things over with Dan, but you get up, announce you’re going out with
Mélanie, invite your friend to come along, but Sylvain refuses, discouraged,
Sylvain begs you to be reasonable, and you get angry all over again, you yell at
him, how can he ask you that, him, your friend, but you see a furious Dan
approaching so you throw on your coat, grab Mélanie, who has her coat on by now
too, by the hand, head for the door, and Mélanie hesitates slightly but finally
does follow you, she says her car isn’t far, but you insist on taking yours
parked out front, you open the car door and see Sylvain coming out of the bar,
looking for you, but you order him not to follow you, you don’t want to see him
again, he stops but begs you not to do anything stupid, call him later, crash at
his place, but you get in the car, Mélanie too, the doors slam, the car takes
off, Mélanie is worried, haven’t you had too much to drink to be driving, but
no, you only had four or five beer, she asks where you want to go, you have no
idea, other than Le Maquis you don’t know many bars in Montréal, actually the
ones you hung out at over ten years ago must attract a crowd much younger than
you by now, so she suggests a little bar she knows, right next to her place,
that way you won’t have to drive if you have too much to drink, all spoken as
naturally as can be, you shoot her a knowing glance, but she looks straight
ahead as she gives you directions, the neighbourhood you’re now in is on the
poorer side of town that you don’t know all that well, finally you park, you
both get
out of the car, you follow Mélanie into a bar, Le
Losange, a fairly shabby interior, slot machines at the back, so-so music, a
dozen seedy-looking customers, for the first time you notice that Mélanie’s
clothes are a little worse-for-wear themselves, not that that lessens her
desirability, you find a table, the server comes over, her outfit too sexy for
her body, she greets Mélanie like an old acquaintance, Mélanie introduces you,
her name is Guylaine, Guylaine sizes you up quite openly, amused by your suit
jacket and tie, you order two shooters, Mélanie refuses at first but you insist
so she accepts, downs her drink in one go without pulling a face, then you order
two beer, Mélanie still hasn’t said anything, just looks at you often, you ask
her why she agreed to come with you tonight, and her answer