Against God (4 page)

- Because you’re suffering.

rattles you somewhat, you ask if it shows that much, she doesn’t answer but her
silence speaks volumes, you drain your beer and laugh condescendingly, she
doesn’t react, you look deep into her eyes, her gentle but sad eyes, and point
out she doesn’t look like she’s in such great shape herself, she half-smiles,
her voice barely more than a

- You see, it’s not that hard to tell . . .

breath of air and yet you hear her over the background music, but you shake
your head, as though you don’t like the direction your conversation has taken,
and you order
two more shooters, Guylaine brings two glasses
but Mélanie doesn’t want to drink anymore, you insist but in vain, so you drink
them both, you speak then, yes, you’re suffering, you admit it, but you don’t
feel like talking about it, just like you don’t want to know why Mélanie isn’t
doing all that well herself, just like you don’t give a crap about anyone else’s
suffering, because tonight is a night for living it up, because dammit! we’re
all going to die so we might as well make the most of it, and your companion
listens in silence, her expression sad, and you’re fed up with her gloominess,
so you suggest going back to her place, she agrees immediately, Guylaine waves
coyly as you leave, there’s a cold wind blowing, you make as though to take your
car but Mélanie says you’ve had too much to drink, anyway she lives just one
block over, so you start to walk, you say a little stroll in the crisp night air
will only make you appreciate the warmth of her body all the more, and you
snicker, surprised at your own audacity, yet I remember when you were single,
how you were always quite brazen with the ladies, but Mélanie looks serious all
of a sudden and tells you there’ll be no sex, which throws you for quite a loop,
you try a bit of provocation, tell her girls who take guys home rarely want to
play Parcheesi, at least not in your day they didn’t, but she shakes

- No, not tonight. That’s not what you need. Me either.

her head, you pout, you mutter oh no, this can’t be happening, you
tell her to stop jerking your chain, but she doesn’t back
down, so you turn on your heel, walk to your car, she cries after you that you
shouldn’t be driving but you ignore her, she calls out for you to wait a second,
you turn thinking she’s changed her mind but when you see her digging through
her purse and scribbling something on a scrap of paper, you begin walking again,
get into your car, start to close the door but Mélanie is there, holding out a
piece of paper, it’s her address, she’s usually at home in the evenings, you can
drop by whenever you want, you take the paper scornfully, stuff it in your coat
pocket and start up the car without a word, a quick check in the rearview
mirror, she’s still standing in the street, all alone, turned to watch your car
as it drives off, you scowl, frustrated, the clock on the dashboard reads eleven
fifteen, you drive aimlessly, straight in front of you, a traffic light about a
hundred metres away, it turns red, but you don’t slow down, but you keep going,
but you drive right through the intersection and feel little surprise when the
other car hits you on the passenger side, it shakes you up a bit but not too
much, you take your time getting out, the other driver, in his fifties,
approaches, furious, he wants to know why you didn’t slow down, why you didn’t
stop for the red light, his questions tumble over each other, punctuated with
many a flourish, you listen calmly, wearing an ambiguous grin, as though biding
your time, and when he finally stops to catch his breath, it’s your turn, your
words slurred because

- Didn’t expect that, did ya? Thought you’d be home in ten
minutes in your warm bed like usual! No reason for it to be any different,
right? But I was here, that’s all it took. I came out of nowhere. That’s the way
it is, my man! That’s the way it is!

of the alcohol, he stares at you then, bewildered, finally he seems to clue
into the fact that you’ve been drinking, you reach for your cell phone, he asks
what you’re doing, you tell him you’re calling the police, you tell him not to
worry, you’ll tell them it was your fault, no problem, but he’s not the least
bit reassured, in fact he starts getting genuinely alarmed, he stammers there
must be a way to settle this without involving the police, c’mon, why complicate
matters, and he hands you his business card, and he invites you to call him
tomorrow, you open your eyes wide, surprised, then you understand, you give a
knowing look, he doesn’t want his wife to know he was in the City tonight,
that’s it, or he has drugs in his car, or something along those lines, isn’t
that right, and he finds the allusions even more distressing, he shoots a hunted
look at the couple of curious bystanders watching off to one side, then he steps
up to you, reiterates that the cops mustn’t come, promises he’ll pay you
tomorrow, you study his fear then, yes, his fear, next you slide his card into
your pocket, tell him he can go, and the guy sighs, he thanks you, he shakes
your hand, but you raise a finger, add that you won’t call the police tonight,
of course, but tomorrow, you just might, who’s to know,
or the
day after tomorrow, or another day, who knows, or never, actually you have no
idea, you’ll have to see, it will depend on your mood, in any case, you have his
card should you need it, and all colour drains from the guy’s face as he
listens, you put a hand on his shoulder, your voice is unctuous but

- From now on, it’s me who’s got the power to screw up your life . . . or not . .
. You’ll have to go about life knowing you don’t call the shots . . . That’s
what lucidity is. You’re a lucky man.

final, and he’s on the verge of tears, he insists, he’ll give you loads of
money if you’ll just call him tomorrow, he swears, but no cops, no, not the
police, you’re already getting into your car, you drive off, without looking
back, but after eight or nine blocks, the engine hiccoughs, sputters, the fuel
gauge on empty, but you just filled it up not long ago, you park at a fast food
joint that’s open twenty-four hours, you get out, peer under the car, see gas
dripping to the ground, must be a crack caused by the collision, so you abandon
your vehicle and start to walk, your hands in your pockets, you pull out the
guy’s business card, look at it for a minute, then tear it into small pieces
that you drop behind you, the breeze is light but freezing, you turn up your
coat collar, you reach a busier boulevard, pedestrians, cars, a nightclub
disgorging dozens of patrons, must be the end of a show, you stop, you watch
them laughing and talking among themselves, you sigh, then you pull out your
cell phone, snap it open and punch in the first digits
for
Sylvain’s number but you stop, upset, and eventually put your cell phone back in
your coat but it starts ringing almost immediately, you check to see who’s
calling, your brother, you rub your forehead, turn back to the dozens of people
milling about across the street from the club, your expression sinister, and
suddenly you hurl your phone in their direction, but up high, as high as you
can, you watch it rise, become lost for a second or two in the darkness, then
hurtle back down, toward the crowd, but it hits no one, it plunges into the snow
a few centimetres from the feet of a young woman who remains totally oblivious,
your lips pull back into a bitter, ironic smirk, you cross the street, approach
the woman and

- You’ve got no clue what a close call you just had . . .

she, clearly tipsy, has no idea what you’re talking about and giggles, you keep
on walking then, now you’re in a posher neighbourhood, lots of hustle and
bustle, you stare at the people whose path you cross, they ignore you, you pick
a bar at random, enter, the place is more stylish and trendier than Le Losange,
there’s even a no-nonsense bouncer, not too many people, mostly couples or small
groups, two girls, both pretty and sexy, alone at the bar, you walk over, offer
them a drink, the brush-off, annoyance, heads turned, you don’t insist, you down
a shooter, then another, make your way to the bathroom, empty your bladder,
totter slightly on your return, you’re drunk and it shows, you repeat your offer
and one of the two girls, fed up, tells
you to leave them
alone, you lose it then, you yell at them then, you unload on them then, if they
don’t want to be hit on, why go to bars alone wearing sexy clothes, they should
just stay home, dammit, and they stare at you, dumbfounded, call you a bastard,
a frustrated bastard, and you shoot back that they’re right there, damn right,
you’re frustrated, have been for years, just like everyone else, just like them,
you’re sure they are, everyone is frustrated over something or other, you
insist, so why not get rid of the frustration together, eh, right now, a
threesome, a first for you, at thirty-five it’s about time, isn’t it, and what
about you girls, have you already been in one, but you don’t give them time to
answer, you’re in a hurry, you order them to follow you, now, c’mon, let’s go,
quick, you even take each of them by the arm, they yell at you, try to get away,
but another pair of hands swoops down on your shoulders, it’s the bouncer,
direction exit, you protest, not much, for form’s sake, and you find yourself
out on the sidewalk, and you lean against a wall, and you close your eyes, you
look as though you might throw up but the moment passes, you start to stagger
down the street, weaving, take a few seconds to get your bearings, keep walking
and walking, eventually find and slide into your car, and you stare at the
frozen expanse before you, and tears roll down your cheeks, and you’re asleep
before the tears have had time to freeze, it’s the cold that wakes you, you’re
frozen stiff, the clock on the dash reads six, you take off your tie and throw
it onto the back seat, you get out, your head’s pounding but it’s bearable,
you shiver on your way into the first open café, a coffee, a
muffin, you slowly drink and eat sitting at a table, stare at the three other
customers, they look lonely, they look depressed, and you don’t budge from the
table, two hours, you close your eyes and fall asleep, the waitress wakes you,
tells you you can’t sleep here, the clock on the wall reads nine thirty, you
leave, a light snowfall, you stare at the ground, your boots beneath you, the
soles of your boots splashing, slush on the sidewalk, the metro station, you
head inside, pay for a ticket, stand studying the map for a long time, maybe
you’re remembering just how much Alexis loved coming to Montréal to take the
metro, just like you when you were a kid, I even remember that you used to dream
of driving the metro, yes, all that may be crossing your mind, finally you
choose a direction, the platform is almost deserted, rush hour is over, the
train stops in front of you, you step inside, remain standing, holding onto the
centre pole with your right hand, the train rocks its way through the tunnel, a
couple sits across from you, a baby stroller in front of them, an old woman sits
farther up, the young couple murmurs sweet nothings, the young couple smiles,
the young couple kisses, the young couple is alone in the world, as for you, you
eye them witheringly, and you turn to look at the stroller, and you see the
sleeping baby, and you turn back to the couple, to their smiles, to their
cooing, to their kissing, then the train stops, the doors open, no one stands to
leave, the couple still lost in loverland, the couple oblivious to one and all,
you give the stroller a push
then, quick but firm, and the
stroller rolls outside a second before the doors close, the couple must realize
then something’s amiss nearby because at last they stop devouring each other
with their eyes, turn to look, jump to their feet, glance frantically left and
right, finally the woman sees the stroller on the platform and starts to scream,
slowly the train starts up again, the man’s hands tear at the doors, the train
already in the tunnel, the woman’s screams, and her tears, and her cries for
help, suddenly the man wheels on you to ask what happened, you say nothing, you
gaze calmly at the two of them, he asks a second time, shouting, panic-stricken,
hysterical, in stark contrast with your calm, your silence, your fascination, he
grabs you then by the collar, shakes you, asks if you’re the one who did this,
his eyes rolling in rage and incomprehension, and his spouse grabs for the
emergency lever on the wall, practically pulls it off, twice, three times, but
nothing happens, no bell rings, the woman shrieks that it’s broken, you can’t
help a strident laugh then, devoid of gaiety, the harshest sound to have ever
crossed your lips, and your voice is as empty as

- What were the chances of that alarm not working? One in a thousand? In ten
thousand?

your life, the guy punches you then, a right hook to your left cheek, and he
bellows asking whether you’re crazy, whether you’re the one who pushed the
stroller, you fall to the floor, he kicks you twice, you take the beating, you
make no move to
defend yourself, you don’t budge, you feel the
metro stopping, you hear the woman scream at her spouse to hurry, they’ve got to
catch the train going the other way, running footsteps, cries and sobs growing
distant, the train starts up again, slowly you get to your feet, just in time to
see the couple make a dash for the platform stairs before the train vanishes
into the tunnel, you sit, rub your bright red cheek, your aching belly, the old
woman farther up eyes you in horror, you ignore her and stare into the
emptiness, then you get off at the next station, take the stairs to street
level, the heart of downtown, a light snow falls still, you walk aimlessly,
cross streets without looking, are honked at several times but you don’t react,
you peer at each business you pass, restaurants, clothing stores, movie
theatres, jewellery shops, then the DVD store, you enter, a score of people
browse through the movie aisles, four TV screens all broadcast the same picture,
you find the sports section, for a long time you look at DVDs on hockey,
baseball, car racing, then you take first one, then another and another still,
and since your two hands aren’t enough to carry them all, you fetch a basket and
you fill it, the cashier flashes a big smile, asks if you won the lottery, but
getting no response he doesn’t insist, thirteen hundred dollars, all on your
credit card, you head out of the store with two full bags, one in each hand, the
snow has stopped, you walk for some twenty minutes, you take an overpass, stop
in the middle, set the bags down on the ground, lean over the railing, an
expressway eight metres below, cars racing by, you pull out the first DVD, hold
it over the drop and let go, it falls between two cars and
is crushed in under a second, you pull out a second DVD that you throw, this
time it bounces off the hood of a jeep, then a third DVD, a fourth, a fifth, you
throw them all onto the expressway, one by one, some cars swerve, slam on the
brakes, but that’s all, you still have a dozen movies left when a voice shouts
at you, a pedestrian, a man in his fifties, outraged, he asks you what you think
you’re doing, he tells you you could cause an accident, so you throw a DVD at
him, the man jumps back, a look of stupefaction on his face, then you throw a
second one, the man hurries off, yelling that you’re a nutcase, and you turn
back to the railing and throw your last DVDs onto the expressway, increasingly
feverish, you yank your wallet from your pocket, you pull out your local gym
membership, you throw it into the void, then your other cards follow, business
cards for your sports gear store, health insurance, social insurance, driver’s
license, Petro-Points, Air Miles, you throw them all out except your bank card
and your credit card, then you stumble upon two pictures, one of your wife and
the other of your two children, you stare at them for a long, long time, you
bite your lip, your eyes fill with tears, but you stretch your hand out toward
the void, you spread your fingers and the two pictures flutter for a second
before gliding down, like two dried leaves falling from a tree, but you don’t
watch them fall to the ground, you turn on your heel and away, you walk
aimlessly for a while, hunger has set in but you don’t think of eating, finally
you sit on a snow-covered
bench, your hands in your coat
pockets, you feel a piece of paper in your pocket and pull it out, that girl
Mélanie’s address, you think, you stand, hail a passing taxi, give him the
address, the taxi starts up, the driver is Haitian and in fine form, talking
non-stop, commenting on the mild winter, forever smiling, you say nothing for a
moment then you ask him in an expressionless voice how he can be in such good
humour after what happened in his country of origin a month and a half ago, the
Haitian’s serenity instantly evaporates, silence, uneasy glances at his rearview
mirror, then his voice sounding