Je croupissais depuis presque huit mois dans la maison de la belle-m\u00e8re sans eau courante ni chauffage \u00e9lectrique, au c\u0153ur d\u2019un village pauvre et d\u00e9sert\u00e9 par toute la jeune population.<\/p>\n
Dans l\u2019immense courtepointe du monde, les anges entre-tissent souffrance et beaut\u00e9, espoir et d\u00e9sarroi. Toutes les laines qui cousent l\u2019ouvrage ont les couleurs de l\u2019humanit\u00e9. Nous, les humains, sommes des \u0153uvres en cours de cr\u00e9ation, continuellement. Ce matin, je me demande ce qui m\u2019est le plus difficile \u00e0 avaler\u00a0: mes erreurs de jugement, mes convictions erron\u00e9es ou cet affreux mariage auquel j\u2019ai consenti parce qu\u2019un enfant grouillait dans mes entrailles. Jeune fille, j\u2019avais pourtant une confiance illimit\u00e9e dans l\u2019avenir. Je me souviens, avec grand-p\u00e8re Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric, nous installions des collets pour capturer un ou deux li\u00e8vres pour notre souper. J\u2019adorais ces balades en for\u00eat! Mari\u00e9e, je suis devenue le li\u00e8vre dans le collet.<\/p>\n
Peu apr\u00e8s avoir donn\u00e9 naissance \u00e0 mon petit dernier, j\u2019avais commenc\u00e9 \u00e0 avoir des naus\u00e9es et je me doutais bien pourquoi, mais je n\u2019en avais pas gliss\u00e9 un mot \u00e0 personne. Puis, 40\u00a0jours apr\u00e8s l\u2019accouchement, lors de l\u2019examen de suivi obligatoire, l\u2019homme s\u2019\u00e9tait arrang\u00e9 avec le m\u00e9decin pour m\u2019endormir et m\u2019avorter sur le champ. Je ne lui ai jamais pardonn\u00e9. Ce mari entrait en moi comme un petit serpent domestique dans une fissure. Ensuite, il fumait deux, trois cigarettes, s\u2019habillait et partait s\u2019amuser. Avec lui, mon c\u0153ur s\u2019\u00e9teignait \u00e0 petit feu. Je n\u2019ai jamais pu contrecarrer les d\u00e9cisions du mari; ni m\u2019\u00e9lever au-dessus des besoins primaires du foyer pour r\u00e9ussir \u00e0 exp\u00e9rimenter d\u2019ineffa\u00e7ables moments de gr\u00e2ce avec mes enfants. Pour s\u00fbr, j\u2019aimais mes petits, je les chouchoutais et les ch\u00e9rissais et ils m\u2019aimaient comme des petits chats qui ont besoin de lait, de chaleur et de caresses pour survivre. Ils me gardaient en vie.<\/p>\n
Apr\u00e8s le sermon de sa m\u00e8re, l\u2019homme voulut juste plier bagage et d\u00e9guerpir. Sa m\u00e8re, sa s\u0153ur et moi \u00e9tions tr\u00e8s surprises, mais heureuses de sa r\u00e9action. Le mari, les enfants et moi retournerions \u00e0 Montr\u00e9al en premier trouver un logis et ensuite faire venir la belle-m\u00e8re et sa fille. Pauvre mari, la vraie vie le d\u00e9primait comme un gla\u00e7on qui fond. Indubitablement, les dieux grecs n\u2019ont pas tous enfant\u00e9 des \u00ab\u00a0Zorba le Grec\u00a0\u00bb qui prennent la vie du bon c\u00f4t\u00e9 et passent leurs \u00e9motions par la danse. Ce personnage plein d\u2019entrain issu de l\u2019\u0153uvre originale \u00ab\u00a0Alexis\u00a0Zorba\u00a0\u00bb de l\u2019\u00e9crivain grec Nikos\u00a0Kazantzakis fit d\u2019ailleurs l\u2019objet d\u2019un film. Lorsqu\u2019aux petites heures du matin le mari dansait et faisait la f\u00eate, il devait \u00eatre aussi heureux que le personnage de Zorba, mais je n\u2019en \u00e9tais jamais t\u00e9moin. De mon temps, ces m\u00e2les grecs discutaient, sortaient et dansaient entre hommes uniquement. La plupart travaillaient dans la restauration et festoyaient comme ces pr\u00e9cieux rois de l\u2019antique Gr\u00e8ce.<\/p>\n
\u00c9tant moi-m\u00eame beaucoup plus r\u00e9aliste, j\u2019avais mal \u00e0 l\u2019id\u00e9e que personne ne nous aiderait \u00e0 recommencer en sol qu\u00e9b\u00e9cois. Comme le mari s\u2019\u00e9tait d\u00e9barrass\u00e9 du peu de meubles que nous poss\u00e9dions avant de mettre le cap sur la Gr\u00e8ce, il faudrait repartir \u00e0 z\u00e9ro. Les belles-s\u0153urs de Montr\u00e9al m\u2019avaient pr\u00e9dit que nous retournerions rapidement au Canada. Elles se doutaient, et avec raison, que nos grosses valises arriv\u00e9es par bateau n\u2019avaient pas \u00e9t\u00e9 ouvertes. L\u2019homme allait devoir les renvoyer \u00e0 Montr\u00e9al par le m\u00eame chemin.<\/p>\n
L\u2019inqui\u00e9tude et la peur me rongeaient. Je me demandais si l\u2019\u00e9poux aurait assez d\u2019argent pour assurer notre retour au pays. Il fallait pr\u00e9voir les billets d\u2019avion ainsi que le transport par bateau des valises qu\u2019on venait r\u00e9cemment de nous livrer. En plus, nous avions besoin d\u2019un papier officiel pour quitter le pays avec notre tout-petit n\u00e9 en Gr\u00e8ce. Ce document ne devait pas \u00eatre un acte de bapt\u00eame pour lui \u00e9viter plus tard le service militaire obligatoire. D\u00e9but novembre, le mari se rendit deux fois au consulat canadien d\u2019Ath\u00e8nes et a finalement r\u00e9ussi \u00e0 inscrire le petit Nicholas sur son passeport.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0Il n\u2019est pire servitude que l\u2019espoir d\u2019\u00eatre heureux\u00a0\u00bb, a \u00e9crit Carlos Fuentes. J\u2019esp\u00e9rais une vie meilleure comme on esp\u00e8re la pluie en plein d\u00e9sert. L\u2019ami Thanassis s\u2019\u00e9tait \u00e9loign\u00e9 depuis son voyage catastrophique avec le mari \u00e0 Cologne et je n\u2019avais plus personne \u00e0 qui parler. L\u2019homme attendait l\u2019argent de ses fr\u00e8res pour acheter nos billets d\u2019avion. Je ressentais une combinaison de honte et de peur. En ber\u00e7ant mon tout petit, de grosses larmes glissaient sur mes joues, tombaient sur les cuisses du b\u00e9b\u00e9, sur ma vie inond\u00e9e de petits malheurs quotidiens. Arriverions-nous \u00e0 trouver un bon logis pour mes enfants et assez grand pour \u00e9ventuellement accueillir la belle-m\u00e8re et la belle-s\u0153ur? Une \u00e9cole sera-t-elle dispos\u00e9e \u00e0 accueillir le plus vieux en janvier?<\/p>\n
Je me sentais comme une toupie qui tourne sans cesse en essayant de se maintenir en \u00e9quilibre. Plier ceci, donner ce qui n\u2019allait plus aux enfants, repriser ou repasser cela; j\u2019en oubliais de saler la soupe en la cuisant. Ma belle-s\u0153ur Despina essayait de me calmer puis, lorsque le tout-petit avait bien t\u00e9t\u00e9, elle m\u2019expulsait de la maison pour que je puisse me changer les id\u00e9es. Un certain dimanche, je profitai de l\u2019occasion. J\u2019empruntai le foulard de la belle-m\u00e8re et me rendis \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e9glise du village. Le pope grec m\u2019a bien accueillie.
\n\u2014\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0Koritsi mou (ma fille), que puis-je faire pour t\u2019aider? Je sais que tu as trois petits enfants, une belle-m\u00e8re et une belle-s\u0153ur.
\n\u2014\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0J\u2019ai aussi un mari, un fain\u00e9ant qui se croit sorti de la cuisse de Jupiter.\u00a0\u00bb
\n\u2014\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0Ton nom, c\u2019est bien Cora?\u00a0\u00bb
\n\u2014\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0Oui, mon nom de bapt\u00eame catholique est Marie Antoinette Cora.\u00a0\u00bb
\n\u2014\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0\u00c7a ressemble au nom de la reine guillotin\u00e9e en octobre 1793.\u00a0\u00bb
\nJe voulus r\u00e9pondre au pope que le licou \u00e9tait d\u00e9j\u00e0 bien serr\u00e9 autour de mon cou depuis mon mariage oblig\u00e9, mais je me suis retenue. Apr\u00e8s quelques \u00e9changes, l\u2019eccl\u00e9siastique trempa son doigt dans une eau b\u00e9nite et tra\u00e7a une croix sur mon front en murmurant\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0Va en paix, jeune femme.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
O\u00f9 diable se trouvait cette paix promise aux femmes de bonne volont\u00e9?<\/p>\n
\u00c0 SUIVRE\u2026<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Je croupissais depuis presque huit mois dans la maison de la belle-m\u00e8re […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":52311,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-52310","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"I\u2019d been languishing away for nearly eight months at my mother-in-law\u2019s house, with no running water or electricity, in the heart of a poor village that had been deserted by its young people.\r\n\r\nThe angels create an immense quilt out of suffering and beauty, hope and confusion, stitching it together with wool in the colours of humanity. People are works of art that are never quite finished. This morning, I wonder what was the hardest pill for me to swallow: my errors in judgement, my misplaced convictions or this awful wedding I\u2019d agreed to because a child was growing inside me. As a young girl, my faith in the future was inexhaustible. I remember setting traps with Grandpa Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric to catch hares for dinner. I loved our walks together in the forest! I\u2019d become the hare caught in the trap of a marriage.\r\n\r\nShortly after giving birth to my youngest, I started to feel nauseated. I knew why but I didn\u2019t say a word to anyone. Then, 40\u00a0days later during my postpartum appointment, Husband had the doctor perform an abortion on me right there. I never forgave him. That man would slip into me like a small snake in a crack, smoke two or three cigarettes, get dressed and then head out for a good time. My heart was slowly dying. I was never able to oppose Husband\u2019s decisions or go beyond the family\u2019s basic needs to experience genuine happiness with the kids. I of course loved my children, I cuddled and cherished them, and they loved me like kittens in need of milk, warmth and care to survive. They kept me alive.\r\n\r\nAfter his mother\u2019s sermon, Husband had only one thought: to pack up and leave. His mother, sister and I were surprised but delighted with his reaction. We would go back to Montreal first to find an apartment and then mother-in-law and her daughter would follow. Poor Husband. He was like an ice cube melting in life\u2019s harsh heat. It turns out not all Greek gods give birth to a sunny \u201cZorba the Greek,\u201d gyrating out his emotions on the dance floor. The movie was actually inspired by the larger-than-life character Zorba from the novel \u201cThe Life and Times of Alexis\u00a0Zorba,\u201d by Greek author Nikos\u00a0Kazantzakis. When Husband partied and danced until the wee hours of the morning, he probably was just as happy as the fictional character, but I was never there to witness it. In my days, Greek men chatted, went out and danced among themselves. Most of them worked in the restaurant industry and partied like the great gods of Ancient Greece.\r\n\r\nBeing much more realistic, it upset me to think that no one would be there to help us start over again once we were back on Quebec soil. Since Husband had gotten rid of the little furniture we had owned before setting his sights on Greece, we\u2019d have to start from scratch again. My sisters-in-law in Montreal had predicted we\u2019d quickly return to Canada. They suspected, and rightly so, that our large suitcases that followed us by boat had never been opened. Husband was going to have to return them to Montreal via the same route.\r\n\r\nWorry and fear were eating me up. I was wondering if Husband would have enough money to get us home. We had to book the plane and ship the recently delivered suitcases by boat. In addition, we needed to obtain the official documents for our baby who\u2019d been born in Greece so he could leave the country. It couldn\u2019t be a baptismal record; otherwise there\u2019d be no escaping his mandatory military service. In early November, Husband visited the Canadian embassy in Athens twice and finally succeeded in adding baby Nicholas to his passport.\r\n\r\n\u201cBetween expectation and reality lies suffering, between hope and facts there is often disappointment,\u201d wrote Carlos Fuentes. I was hoping for a better life, like rain in the middle of the desert. My friend Thanassis was keeping his distance since his catastrophic trip to Cologne with Husband, and I was left with no one to talk to. Husband was waiting for his brothers to send him money to buy our plane tickets. I felt a mix of shame and fear. While I was rocking my youngest, huge tears rolled down my cheeks, falling onto the baby\u2019s thighs, and onto my life flooded with small daily misfortunes. Would we be able to find an apartment suitable for my kids and big enough to eventually welcome the in-laws? A school that would take the oldest one in January?\r\n\r\nI felt like a spinning top that never stopped, struggling to stay upright. Fold this, give away that, sew, iron\u2026 I even forgot to salt the soup a few times. My sister-in-law tried to calm me and, once the baby had nursed sufficiently, she\u2019d throw me out of the house so I could take my mind off things. One Sunday, I seized the occasion; I borrowed my mother-in-law\u2019s scarf and went to the village church. The Greek pope welcomed me.\r\n\u2014\u00a0\u201cKoritsi mou (or, my girl), what can I do for you? I know you have three small children, a mother-in-law and a sister-in-law.\u201d\r\n\u2014\u00a0\u201cI also have a husband. A lazy man who thinks he was made from Jupiter\u2019s thigh.\u201d\r\n\u2014\u00a0\u201cYour name is Cora, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\r\n\u2014\u00a0\u201cYes. My Catholic baptismal name is Marie Antoinette Cora.\u201d\r\n\u2014\u00a0\u201cIt sounds like the name of the queen who was guillotined in October 1793.\u201d\r\nI wanted to tell the pope that the halter placed on me by a shotgun wedding was already pressing into my neck but abstained. After a few exchanges, the man of the cloth dipped his finger in holy water, traced a cross on my forehead and whispered, \u201cGo in peace, young woman.\u201d\r\n\r\nWhere on earth was the peace promised to good women?\r\n\r\nTO BE CONTINUED\u2026\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n