8:17 p.m. Darling Street Page #3

I shouId've seen it coming.

But I was stuck on Denise.

Fate bIocked her and dragged her

back to a vioIent spouse

and an aIcohoIic mother.

ShouId've done my 4th step:

''BraveIy proceed with

a thorough moraI inventory.''

I'd see I was just seeking

excuses to drink.

Why eIse rummage in

misspent Iives, futiIe deaths,

and an inexpIicabIe accident?

Well, hello!

l figured you weren't set up

to cook yet. You like potato pie?

- What is it?

- Salmon pie without salmon.

- A recipe from home?

- No, just poverty food.

Come in.

So, you were born nearby?

So, that was the deaI.

Potato pie for Iife story.

NormaIIy, I'd refuse

but I wasn't myseIf.

She appeaIed to me.

So I Iaid it out: 3 marriages,

career, 6,000 bottIes of Scotch.

She seemed to empathize.

Why'd you like reporting?

Why all the questions?

You should talk.

You like stories. So do l.

But l prefer live subjects.

They're more rewarding

...than dead ones.

Angla...

stop nagging me about that.

- You shouldn't snoop.

- lt's my affair.

You're nosing around

like a reporter again.

l have a right to know.

l nearly died.

What difference will it make?

Think we'll ever know why we die

or survive?

Focus on getting through the day

and on those around you.

Well...

Off to bed.

Up at 5:
00 tomorrow.

- Thanks for the pie.

- You're welcome.

Very nice of you.

Take care, Grard.

So, beautifuI AngIa

went back upstairs,

Ieaving a restIess guy

in an empty kitchen

with dirty dishes

and no detergent.

Next day was

Mme Demers's funeraI.

I drove uptown

and parked my heap on Laurier.

I'II never fathom it.

Outremont, so near HocheIaga.

And yet so foreign.

CIoser to Paris

than to Ontario St.

On Ontario, they have

flats, debts, no jobs.

On Laurier, property,

investments, career paths,

and Ionger Iives

to reap the benefits.

But they end up dying too.

They haven't managed

to buy out of that yet.

Mr Demers requests

you not write about this,

nor compromise the family.

This is to help you out.

They did their homework.

Losers Iike me come cheap.

In fiction, the undone hero

wouId recIaim his dignity,

throw down the cash

and take a beating.

But I couIdn't have

cared Iess about them.

Who cares about

some aduIterous bourgeoise?

What's more to know?

And $1,000 is money.

I went to the bank.

First of the month.

Check Day.

AII the IocaIs were there.

My peers.

My compatriots.

I'II never know

why they're so dociIe.

F***, the sh*t was good.

I passed out...

- Didn't you live on Darling?

- Yeah, so?

l was your upstairs neighbour!

Oh, yeah...

- What's your name again?

- Patrick.

Where's your father?

Why?

- l wanna talk to him.

- Dunno where he is.

l just wanna know what happened.

Where were you?

Not there.

They were fighting at home.

My little sister ran out.

Everyone took off after her.

l went too, but l got lost.

l missed the explosion.

- Lucky, eh?

- Really lucky.

lf you see your dad,

say Grard's looking for him.

Restaurant Adam, you know it?

- Yeah...

- Another thing.

Will there be a funeral?

How should l know?

His story depressed me.

I thought of Jose,

probabIy the sanest person

in her crazy famiIy,

doing the onIy thing reasonabIe

during a fight.

Where are you, Jose?

Leave.

Get out.

FIee far away

from that heII.

Jose!

Where are you?

There's the brat!

What're you doing?

Why'd you run off like that?

Look at me!

I hoped Denise

hadn't yeIIed much,

but had hugged Jose,

shared a tender moment,

and toId her,

Oh, sweetie...

''We'II stop, sweetie.

No more yeIIing at home.''

''Come, sweetheart.

Mommy Ioves you.''

No more yelling at home.

''But Annie shook herself,

repeating over and over,

'l mustn't fall asleep...

- l'm going out for cigarettes.

- Fine.

...lf l do, it's over.

l mustn't sleep.'''

I hoped that, back at home,

she'd given Jose a bath,

put cIean pyjamas on her,

given her her bunny,

taken time to read to her,

before death set in.

For now, their bodies remained

unburied, Iike carcasses.

God, help me get through the day.

Alleviate my thirst.

I waIked Iike I wanted a drink,

without stopping.

If I stopped, I'd drink.

I took cover from the rain.

The deviI was waiting

for me there.

Here. For warmth.

No, thanks.

Come on!

l'm on the wagon.

Do you get bored?

Sometimes.

Not me.

Got a smoke?

Thanks.

God looks after his chickadees.

Supposedly.

Hi, Grard.

Hello.

Caught in the rain?

Yes...

You looked out of sorts at

the diner. Were you mad at me?

No...

Want some chicken pie

with chicken?

l'll change and come up.

I hadn't visited

an unfamiIiar woman in a whiIe.

It was Iike recovering

some Iong-Iost treasure.

LittIe shrines were everywhere.

Sand, stones,

snapshots of chiIdren.

- Are those your kids?

- Yes, my 2 sons.

How old?

The youngest, Michel,

is 13 and Ren's 15 now.

You had them young.

l married at 18. l was pregnant.

l left home. My dad would've

killed me. He's crazy.

l married a madman too.

Soon, a singIe mom with 2 kids.

She Ieft her south-shore viIIage

for Quebec City.

She got work, an apartment,

but was IoneIy. So she drank.

l missed the sea.

l'd drink at night. The boys

would pick me up off the floor.

l went out, slept around.

Lost my job,

totalled my car.

Neighbours started talking.

Social Services came.

One night, l was

out partying and Ren

had an accident

opening his window.

He cut himself.

Blood everywhere.

Michel called 911.

When l got home,

l saw the paramedics' note.

l got to the hospital

at 5:
00 am, drunk.

Social Services got involved.

l lost my kids.

After that,

l did what it took to get high.

Then, a fellow hooker

got stabbed.

l found her body.

Pretty girl.

Not even 18.

That really...

l decided l wanted to live.

So you joined AA?

Yes. A member sponsored me.

Then l came here.

Quebec City's small.

l often ran into ex-clients.

Do you ever contact the kids?

They're in a foster home.

l wrote them last month.

lt'd been 2 years.

Did they answer?

I stood there for ages,

Ionging to go to AngIa's,

knock on her door, hug her.

I shouId have,

but I didn't.

Instead, I got my notebook out,

and reread my notes.

Yes, l'd like to speak

to Mme Caron, please.

lt's Lt Langevin

with the Montreal

fire department.

Mme Caron didn't want to taIk.

She was in chronic care.

I caIIed my ex-IandIord.

He said the neighbour

who disappeared

was KarI Godin. He worked

in an eIectronics store.

- What was he like?

- Quiet. No trouble.

That's about it.

He was in that fire?

We're looking for him.

l saw him Thursday,

days before the fire.

Not since.

No.

You were away Friday.

He came and put three 27'' TV's

on his credit card.

- Three?

Yes. He looked nervous.

- Weird. Not normal.

- Did he say anything?

He paid, put them

in a cab and left.

This story triggered memories:

the Ioud music

KarI pIayed recentIy,

the poems on his door,

aII his nocturnaI activity.

Something had happened.

Any progress?

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