7 h 30 au caf\u00e9 du village
\nComment pourrais-je, ce matin, peupler de mots cet \u00e9trange avant-midi \u00e0 la bouche muette? Comment pourrais-je d\u00e9b\u00e2tir cet inhabituel silence agripp\u00e9 \u00e0 chaque table? Je suis toute seule dans ce caf\u00e9 tristounet \u00e0 attendre que l\u2019humanit\u00e9 se r\u00e9veille.<\/p>\n
Dehors, le vent souffle sur la neige et la transforme en rigoles de gadoue. L\u2019hiver agonisant insiste pour gagner du temps. Il ne veut pas c\u00e9der sa place au printemps. Vers 9 h 30, quelques somnambules cherchent des humains en entrant dans le caf\u00e9. Ils ont les yeux \u00e0 demi ferm\u00e9s, la mine basse et l\u2019estomac vide. Comme encore endormis, ils pi\u00e9tinent sur des nuages imaginaires jusqu\u2019\u00e0 se rendre au comptoir de viennoiseries.<\/p>\n
Mes doigts leur lancent quelques brefs \u00ab bonjour \u00bb, mais ils ne les voient pas. Lorsque la machine \u00e0 expresso crachote sa fum\u00e9e br\u00fblante, quelques-uns ouvrent l\u2019\u0153il. Dans leurs mains jointes, la mousse blanche de leurs latt\u00e9s tremblote et lorsque le liquide r\u00e9confortant glisse dans leur \u0153sophage, la plupart se r\u00e9veillent pour de bon.<\/p>\n
10 h 20
\nDe lui-m\u00eame le caf\u00e9 se remplume. Le personnel retrouve le sourire et dix, douze mains s\u2019activent derri\u00e8re le comptoir. Et voil\u00e0 qu\u2019un \u00e9trange Terrien en bottes de peau de phoque entre et s\u2019assoit \u00e0 la table \u00e0 c\u00f4t\u00e9 de la mienne. Il zieute la foultitude de clients r\u00e9guliers et s\u2019informe \u00e0 moi comment commander un repas.<\/p>\n
Je m\u2019empresse donc de lui expliquer avec moult d\u00e9tails comment il doit se lever, s\u2019approcher du long comptoir de sandwichs et choisir lui-m\u00eame ce qui lui convient. J\u2019insiste pour lui sugg\u00e9rer le gros sandwich au pain noir bourr\u00e9 de d\u00e9licieux saumon fum\u00e9, d\u2019oignons rouges finement coup\u00e9s et de diff\u00e9rentes laitues aromatis\u00e9es.<\/p>\n
Ouf! Le magnifique visage h\u00e2l\u00e9 de cet homme du Grand Nord me chamboule; ses yeux en amandes et tr\u00e8s noirs me transpercent. En ligne devant la machine \u00e0 caf\u00e9, l\u2019homme me semble encore plus grand qu\u2019un superh\u00e9ros. <\/p>\n
Les battements de mon c\u0153ur s\u2019acc\u00e9l\u00e8rent. Mes doigts figent sur le clavier, coupant m\u00eame une belle phrase en trois morceaux. Je ferme le clapet de l\u2019iPad.<\/p>\n
D\u2019o\u00f9 me vient soudainement cette femelle extasi\u00e9e? Ces joues br\u00fblantes? Ce c\u0153ur battant la chamade? Ces yeux valsant dans le vide, ces bras s\u2019allongeant jusqu\u2019au 55e parall\u00e8le?<\/p>\n
Une gentille serveuse apporte \u00e0 sa table le repas du nouveau venu. Celui-ci enl\u00e8ve son parka et d\u00e9pose sous sa chaise ses mitaines en peau de b\u00eate. <\/p>\n
En me d\u00e9visageant, l\u2019homme dit : \u00ab Inuktitut, my language. Suis un Inuit du Nunavik. My grandparents were living dans un igloo. \u00bb Et patati et patata, ce dieu Thor du Grand Nord hachure et m\u00e2chouille l\u2019anglais jusqu\u2019\u00e0 me faire comprendre qu\u2019il est venu par chez nous pour visiter les parents de son \u00e9pouse qu\u00e9b\u00e9coise.
\n\u2014 Because new baby arrived last month.
\n\u2014 I understand. Congratulations for the baby!
\n\u2014 Thank you, Madame; I now have six children.<\/p>\n
Esseul\u00e9 dans un Sahara imaginaire, mon c\u0153ur d\u00e9sesp\u00e8re. Un fragile instant, j\u2019ai rencontr\u00e9 la beaut\u00e9, un visage magnifique, l\u2019homme de mes r\u00eaves.<\/p>\n
J\u2019aime la beaut\u00e9, le David de Michel-Ange, la V\u00e9nus sans bras de Milo, le Penseur de Rodin et tous les autres chefs-d\u2019\u0153uvre des grands cr\u00e9ateurs. Et tout naturellement, j\u2019aime les choses bien faites et les hommes magnifiques \u00e0 contempler. <\/p>\n
Je vous l\u2019avoue humblement, cet homme du bout du monde glacial \u00e9tait particuli\u00e8rement splendide. Il cumulait toute la beaut\u00e9 et la simplicit\u00e9 du vent, de la neige, de la glace et du soleil.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Tout un coup de foudre!, me dirait mon amie la corneille.
\n\u2014 Un satan\u00e9 coup de foudre, r\u00e9pondrais-je avec empressement. <\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
7 h 30 au caf\u00e9 du village Comment pourrais-je, ce matin, peupler […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":19137,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19136","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"7:30 a.m. at the coffee shop\r\nHow can I fill this strange and silent morning with words? How can I deconstruct the unusual silence that clutches each table? I sit alone in the sadly deserted coffee shop, waiting for humanity to awaken.\r\n\r\nOutside the wind blows over the snow and turns it into rivulets of slush. The weakening winter insists on staying awhile. It doesn\u2019t want to make room for spring just yet. Around 9:30, a few sleepwalkers looking for fellow humans enter the caf\u00e9. Their eyes are half closed, their faces downcast and their stomachs empty. They make their way to the pastry counter, trampling the imaginary clouds under their sleepy feet.\r\n\r\nMy fingers wave a few polite \u201chellos,\u201d but the sleepwalkers don\u2019t notice. When the espresso machine finally ejects its steam, a few of them open their eyes. The thick white foam of their lattes trembles In their clasped hands. The comforting liquid goes down their throats and snaps most of them awake.\r\n\r\n10:20 a.m.\r\nThe coffee shop is getting busier. The staff is all smiles now and 10, 12 hands are moving to and fro behind the counter. At that moment, a strange Earthling in sealskin boots enters and sits at the table next to me. He looks around at the crowd of regulars and asks me how he can order a meal.\r\n\r\nI hurriedly explain to him in detail how he needs to go to the long sandwich counter, make his selection and then place his order. I readily recommend the generous smoked salmon sandwich on black bread, topped with thinly sliced red onions and a mix of dressed mesclun.\r\n\r\nOh, my! The incredibly handsome face of this man from the Great North spins me right around; his almond-shaped eyes are dark and pierce right through me. I look at him while he stands in line in front of the coffee machine; he appears even taller than a superhero.\r\n\r\nMy heart beats faster. My fingers are frozen on the keyboard. They hover over the space bar for so long that they even slice a nicely worded sentence in three. I close the iPad.\r\n\r\nWhere does this ecstatic female suddenly come from? What are these burning cheeks? Where has this racing heart been all her life; these eyes waltzing across the room, these arms stretching as far as the 55th parallel?\r\n\r\nA pleasant waitress brings the newcomer his meal at the table where he\u2019s seated. He takes off his parka and places his leather mittens under his chair.\r\n\r\nThe man looks straight at me and says \u201cInuktitut, my language. Am Inuit from Nunavik. My grandparents were living in an igloo.\u201d And so on, so forth, this heavenly Thor of the Great North \r\nchews and cobbles his English explaining to me that he came to my village to visit his wife\u2019s parents.\r\n\u2014 \u201cBecause new baby arrived last month.\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cI understand. Congratulations on the baby!\u201d \r\n\u2014 \u201cThank you, Ma\u2019am. I now have six children.\u201d\r\n\r\nMy heart, lonely in its desolate Sahara, is getting desperate. For a brief, fragile moment, I had met great beauty, a magnificent face, the man of my dreams.\r\n\r\nI love beauty, such as Michelangelo\u2019s David, Milo\u2019s armless Venus, Rodin\u2019s Thinker and all the great masterpieces made by human genius. So naturally, I like well-made things and handsome men who are pleasing to the eye.\r\n\r\nI must say in all honesty this man from the North Pole was particularly splendid. He embodied all the beauty and simplicity of the wind, snow, ice and sun.\r\n\r\n\u2014 \u201cCawww, what a crush!\u201d my friend the crow would say.\r\n\u2014 \u201cA total crush!\u201d I would quickly reply.\r\n\r\nCora \r\n\u2764"},"yoast_head":"\n