After by Francis Chalifour Page B

good. Can we have pancakes for supper?”

    The hard days were getting farther apart, so when they came they surprised me. I was hanging around in the boys’ washroom waiting for a break in hall traffic so I could go to see Mr. Bergeron when I was hit by a memory. Papa and I were up on Mont-Royal. He pointed at the tallest oak. “See that tree? It’s dying. Even the tallest trees die some day. They go back in the soil and feed the others.”
    I talked about it with Raymond–Mr. Bergeron. “Was that his way of telling me he was going to die too? Was he asking me for help, but I didn’t realize it?”
    “Maybe he was just telling you about trees,” said Mr. Bergeron.

    “Knock me over with a feather.” That’s what Papa would have said, relishing the news. It seemed that Aunt Sophie had met a man. He was a widower, and he didn’t have children, but he had a fat, bad-tempered dachshund. Aunt Sophie brought the man and Spaetzle, the dog, over for Sunday dinner. This event could have won the Horrible Family Dinners Derby hands down.
    The whole time, I was afraid to catch Maman’s eye because I knew that once we started laughing we would never be able to stop. First, there was the fact that Luc had never seen Aunt Sophie with a man before and he gawped unselfconsciously as she fussed away at him like a southern belle. If she’d had a lacy handkerchief, I’m sure she would have fluttered it. Then there was the malodorous dachshund panting under the table, having commandeered all of Sputnik’s toys between his stubby paws. On top of that, there was the man himself. When he took off his green baseball cap, I recognized him as the guy who’d ordered the club sandwich at the deli. I don’t know if he remembered me or not. It was the first time that a man, other than my father, had eaten at our table. The evening was a mess. A few months ago it would have made me angry or sad. Now it made me laugh.

14 | R EPLACEMENT
    I woke up with a start to the sound of Luc crying. I found him lying on his bedroom floor–he must have fallen out of bed.
    “Can I sleep with you? I’m scared.” When I knelt down to rock him, I could feel his fragile body trembling in my arms. Saber-toothed tigers. By the time I had settled him in my bed, he was asleep again.
    The next day was Monday Have I mentioned that on my Hit Parade of Hates Monday mornings are right up there? I poured Luc’s cereal into his bowl. Maybe it was the influence of Raymond, but I was on a talking kick.
Talk about things. Don’t hide them.
    “What happened last night?” I said.
    “A nightmare.” He was pressing down on each Cheerio, one after the other, to try to sink it in his milk.
    “Really?”
    “Nightmares are not funny, Francis,” he said sternly.
    “No. They’re not.” I waited.
    “I had a dream,” he said.
    “Was it a nice dream?”
    “No,” he said in a sharp voice.
    I kept excavating for words from him. It was hard work. “What was the dream about?”
    “A candy dream.”
    “You dreamed of candy, and it was a nightmare? That’s hard to believe!”
    “But it’s true! I dreamed I was hungry, and there was nothing I could eat in the house, except for SpaghettiOs. I thought maybe there could be at least some jelly beans in the jar, but there were none.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I cried.”
    “Why didn’t you eat SpaghettiOs?”
    “Because I wanted to eat candy. Not SpaghettiOs.” He looked up at me to make sure that I understood.

    After school I did a shift at the deli. Mr. D. was in what was, for him, a talkative mood. “I’m happy to see you. There’s a ten pound bag of potatoes with your name on it, my son!”
    My son.
The words made me want to cry. I went down the narrow wooden steps to the basement and took up mypost, peeling spuds, glad to be alone. It was safe down there, with no one to tell me to do my math homework or to nag at me to eat or to ask me to go to the convenience store to buy some milk. When I was done