Ce matin, je ravive pour vous un autre souvenir de mon enfance. Mon p\u00e8re avait profit\u00e9 du long week-end de l\u2019Action de gr\u00e2ce pour contenter fr\u00e9rot qui voulait voir un ours, \u00ab\u00a0un vrai\u00a0\u00bb, avant que la neige ne se mette \u00e0 blanchir le d\u00e9cor. Papa a demand\u00e9 \u00e0 notre oncle Gaston si nous ne pourrions pas emprunter son \u00ab\u00a0shack\u00a0\u00bb, en plein c\u0153ur de la for\u00eat, pour nous rapprocher de la nature. Et des vrais ours.<\/p>\n
La valise familiale d\u00e9bordait de lainages de toutes sortes, de jaquettes en grosse flanelle, de doublures en feutre pour les bottes et chaque marmot portait son parka boutonn\u00e9 jusqu\u2019au cou. Nous \u00e9tions entass\u00e9s dans la bagnole et nous avions h\u00e2te d\u2019arriver. Puisque le \u00ab\u00a0shack\u00a0\u00bb n\u2019avait ni eau courante ni \u00e9lectricit\u00e9, maman avait pr\u00e9par\u00e9 et plac\u00e9 les victuailles dans une glaci\u00e8re et une grosse bo\u00eete \u00e0 lunch en m\u00e9tal pour \u00e9viter de r\u00e9pandre trop d\u2019odeurs de nourriture autour du camp.<\/p>\n
Papa immobilisa enfin la voiture, maman d\u00e9colla la toute petite de son sein et fr\u00e9rot sortit en vitesse. \u00c0 peine arriv\u00e9s, il fallait d\u2019abord explorer les lieux, une mission que fr\u00e9rot lui croyait destin\u00e9e. \u00ab\u00a0Attends ton p\u00e8re avant de rentrer l\u00e0-dedans!\u00a0\u00bb, avertit maman. Les deux hommes entr\u00e8rent pour faire le tour et s\u2019assurer que c\u2019\u00e9tait s\u00e9curitaire pour notre famille. En mettant le pied dans la baraque, nous avons rapidement constat\u00e9 que le \u00ab\u00a0shack\u00a0\u00bb consistait en une seule grande pi\u00e8ce avec un po\u00eale \u00e0 bois rafistol\u00e9, probablement par oncle Gaston, dont le tuyau, agripp\u00e9 au plafond, sortait par un trou perc\u00e9 dans le mur au-dessus de l\u2019unique porte, et un pot en t\u00f4le avec un couvercle pour les besoins tr\u00f4nant dans un coin. Dans le coin oppos\u00e9, on trouvait un seul lit double dans lequel seraient cord\u00e9s les trois enfants au centre, flanqu\u00e9s d\u2019un parent de chaque c\u00f4t\u00e9 pour \u00e9viter qu\u2019un de nous tombe sur le sol durant la nuit. Le b\u00e9b\u00e9 dormirait dans un mo\u00efse pr\u00eat\u00e9 par la voisine, attach\u00e9 \u00e0 une chaise et plac\u00e9 pr\u00e8s de l\u2019oreiller de maman.<\/p>\n
S\u0153urette avait la t\u00eate enfouie sous un oreiller et moi, \u00e0 quatre pattes sur le plancher, je bougeais d\u00e9sesp\u00e9r\u00e9ment le berceau pour essayer d\u2019endormir la toute petite qui braillait \u00e0 s\u2019en arracher les poumons.<\/p>\n
\u00c0 mesure que la noirceur gagnait du terrain dans la cabane, maman acc\u00e9l\u00e9rait le pas. Marchant de long en large, elle temp\u00eatait contre notre p\u00e8re. Comment avait-il os\u00e9 sortir sans la pr\u00e9venir? Pourquoi avait-il entra\u00een\u00e9 son seul gar\u00e7on dans la nuit qui s\u2019installait sans crier gare?<\/p>\n
\u2014\u00a0\u00ab\u00a0Il voulait inspecter les lieux\u00a0\u00bb, que je lui r\u00e9pondis calmement, m\u00eame si la question ne m\u2019\u00e9tait pas r\u00e9ellement adress\u00e9e. \u00ab\u00a0Il voulait \u00eatre pr\u00eat pour demain matin\u00a0\u00bb. Mes mots ne suffirent pas \u00e0 la rassurer. Maman fixait le fusil dans son \u00e9tui, accot\u00e9 au mur. \u00ab\u00a0S\u2019il fallait qu\u2019il en ait besoin!\u00a0\u00bb, murmura-t-elle, inqui\u00e8te.<\/p>\n
Papa et fr\u00e9rot ne revenaient pas. La nuit s\u2019annon\u00e7ait infernale! Quand les pleurs de la plus jeune finirent enfin par s\u2019apaiser, c\u2019est le grognement d\u2019un ours qui capta l\u2019attention de nos oreilles pourtant assez \u00e9prouv\u00e9es. Apeur\u00e9es, nous entendions clairement le bruit des griffes contre la porte d\u2019entr\u00e9e. Maman avait pourtant ramass\u00e9 jusqu\u2019\u00e0 la derni\u00e8re miette du pain ayant servi aux grosses beurr\u00e9es \u00e0 la m\u00e9lasse que nous avions d\u00e9vor\u00e9es avant d\u2019enfiler nos jaquettes. Terrifi\u00e9e, elle poussa la table contre la porte. Elle grimpa sur une chaise et recouvrit la seule fen\u00eatre du campement avec son manteau, puis ordonna \u00e0 ses deux fillettes de la rejoindre dans le lit.<\/p>\n
Elle voulait prier, me dit-elle; mais sa gorge restait nou\u00e9e. Au lieu de r\u00e9citer des mots, elle avalait de longues gorg\u00e9es d\u2019angoisse. Ses paupi\u00e8res papillonnaient d\u2019effroi. Ses mains, facilement la proie de l\u2019ecz\u00e9ma, devinrent toutes rouges.<\/p>\n
Je devais \u00eatre \u00e2g\u00e9e d\u2019environ 6\u00a0ans et je savais \u00e9crire des mots. Dans ma na\u00efvet\u00e9 enfantine, j\u2019ai pens\u00e9 \u00e0 en \u00e9crire partout sur les murs avant d\u2019\u00eatre d\u00e9vor\u00e9e par l\u2019animal qui r\u00f4dait autour du \u00ab\u00a0shack\u00a0\u00bb. Agenouill\u00e9e devant le lit, maman ne parlait plus, mais avec ses bras et ses mains, elle insistait pour que nous restions coll\u00e9es \u00e0 elle. Je suis demeur\u00e9e dans les bras de ma m\u00e8re un si long moment que je me suis crue au paradis, m\u00eame si la peur que nous vivions \u00e9tait infernale. La chaleur de son corps avait r\u00e9ussi \u00e0 nous calmer et sans que nous nous en rendions compte, le sommeil s\u2019est \u00e9tendu dans le lit tel un \u00e9dredon de r\u00eaves. Peut-\u00eatre nous guiderait-il vers une clairi\u00e8re de bleuets sauvages? Ou sur la gr\u00e8ve chaude de la Baie-des-Chaleurs? Ou sinon chez tante Hope, qui habitait \u00e0 Saint-Alphonse et qui nous laissait caresser ses gentils moutons?<\/p>\n
\u00c0 l\u2019aube, c\u2019est papa en personne qui r\u00e9veilla notre campement. Fr\u00e9rot croulant de fatigue, mais encore rempli d\u2019excitation, insistait pour nous raconter leur nuit dans un arbre! Haute comme trois pommes, s\u0153urette l\u2019applaudissait comme on le fait pour un h\u00e9ros. Elle aussi, voulait voir un ours!<\/p>\n
Notre s\u00e9jour a \u00e9t\u00e9 \u00e9court\u00e9. Tr\u00e8s peu de mots ont \u00e9t\u00e9 \u00e9chang\u00e9s, mais comme toutes le filles du clan avaient v\u00e9cu la frousse de leur vie, les deux gars ne se sont pas object\u00e9s. Le lendemain de notre retour, comme tous les dimanches apr\u00e8s-midi, papa reprendrait la route avec sa valise de commis voyageur et ses \u00e9chantillons de petits savons. Heureusement pour leur union, il quittait chaque dimanche en tourn\u00e9e autour de la grosse pointe gasp\u00e9sienne pour rentrer le vendredi soir. La distance sauvait nos parents, comme le mur de Berlin \u00e9rig\u00e9 entre deux partis s\u00e9par\u00e9s. Les silences de maman, plus difficiles \u00e0 vivre que des repr\u00e9sailles, s\u2019av\u00e9raient la pire des tortures pour papa. Les mains de maman se couvraient alors d\u2019ecz\u00e9ma qui la faisait souffrir et papa avait le c\u0153ur qui baignait dans une saumure aigre. Nous, les enfants, ignorions tout de la vie, de leurs vies, de l\u2019amour et du r\u00e9confort que procure habituellement la famille. Leurs larmes, vers\u00e9es en silence et \u00e0 l\u2019abri de nos regards, sauf quand nous arrivions par surprise, emplissaient notre maisonn\u00e9e de tristesse. Le plus douloureux, c\u2019\u00e9tait leur silence; comme un garde-fou qui doit essayer de nous \u00e9viter le pire.<\/p>\n
C\u2019est seulement beaucoup plus tard, \u00e0 la suite de leurs d\u00e9c\u00e8s arriv\u00e9s \u00e0 court intervalle en 1982, que j\u2019appris la raison derri\u00e8re la lourdeur de leurs chagrins. Maman, en tant que fille, \u00e9tait amoureuse d\u2019un jeune protestant anglophone. Mais, puisque sa famille et le cur\u00e9 du village lui avaient interdit de l\u2019\u00e9pouser, elle dut rompre avec l\u2019amour de sa vie. Mon grand-p\u00e8re avait neuf filles \u00e0 marier. Quand il rencontra celui qui allait devenir mon p\u00e8re, il trouva que c\u2019\u00e9tait un bon parti, propre de sa personne, bien habill\u00e9, travaillant et surtout \u00e9pris de sa fille, celle qui avait d\u00e9j\u00e0 le c\u0153ur bris\u00e9. Sous l\u2019insistance paternelle, ma m\u00e8re \u00e9pousa mon p\u00e8re. Elle v\u00e9cut triste et m\u00e9lancolique la majorit\u00e9 de sa vie apr\u00e8s son union. Tr\u00e8s t\u00f4t apr\u00e8s le mariage, elle d\u00e9veloppa une forme s\u00e9v\u00e8re d\u2019ecz\u00e9ma qui lui rongea les mains. Mon p\u00e8re, quant \u00e0 lui, se r\u00e9v\u00e9la \u00eatre le meilleur des hommes, courageux, responsable et tellement \u00e9pris de sa femme qui restait de glace que les vieux du village se moquaient de lui.<\/p>\n
Je conclus cette triste histoire en vous avouant que je n\u2019ai pas fait mieux qu\u2019eux dans les eaux matrimoniales. Divorc\u00e9e endurcie, je cherche encore le baume capable d\u2019apaiser mes blessures. Moi aussi, mari\u00e9e oblig\u00e9e, j\u2019ai assombri la vie de mes jeunes enfants en demeurant dans un mariage sans amour ni affection. Mais j\u2019ai espoir. J\u2019ai beaucoup d\u2019espoir pour mes petits-enfants qui sauront, j\u2019en suis certaine, se lib\u00e9rer des malheurs de leurs anc\u00eatres et construire librement leur propre bonheur.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Ce matin, je ravive pour vous un autre souvenir de mon enfance. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":62223,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-62221","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"This morning, I\u2019m revisiting another childhood memory just for you. My father had taken advantage of the long Thanksgiving weekend to satisfy my brother\u2019s request to see a bear, \u201ca real one,\u201d before the snow covered the landscape with a white blanket. Dad has asked Uncle Gaston if we could borrow his shack, in the middle of the woods, to get closer to nature. And real bears.\r\n\r\nThe family suitcase overflowed with all kinds of woolen clothes, heavy flannel nightgowns and felt linings for our boots. Every kid wore a parka buttoned up to the neck. We were squeezed together in the car and we couldn\u2019t wait to arrive at our destination. Since there was no running water and electricity in the shack, Mom had prepared all our food and placed it in a cooler and large metal lunchbox so the shack wouldn\u2019t smell heavily of food.\r\n\r\nDad finally put the car in park, Mom removed the littlest one from her breast and my brother jumped out of the car. We\u2019d barely arrived, and my brother, believing it was his destiny, was already off to explore. \u201cWait for your father before you go in there!\u201d warned Mom. The two men inspected the shack to ensure it was safe for us. Upon setting foot inside, we saw that the shack consisted of one large room with a wood-burning stove that had been cobbled together, probably by Uncle Gaston. The pipe, which was hanging loosely from the ceiling, ran outside from a hole in the wall above the only door. A tin pot with a lid that served as a rustic chamber pot sat in the corner. In the opposite corner, there was a double bed. The three children would be crammed in the middle, flanked by a parent on each side so that none of them would fall out in the middle of the night. The baby would sleep in a cradle that we\u2019d borrowed from the neighbour. It would be secured to a chair and placed next to Mom\u2019s pillow.\r\n\r\nMy sister had buried her head under a pillow, and I was on the floor on all fours, desperately rocking the baby\u2019s cradle, trying to stop her from crying her lungs out and put her to sleep.\r\n\r\nAs the cabin grew darker, Mom started to pace more quickly. Walking back and forth in the shack, she raged against our father. How dare he go out without telling her first? Why had he taken his only son outside with him while night was approaching?\r\n\u2014\u00a0\u201cHe wanted to check out the surroundings,\u201d I calmly answered, although she wasn\u2019t really asking me. \u201cHe wanted to be ready for tomorrow morning.\u201d My words didn\u2019t succeed in calming her. Mom was staring at the gun in its case, resting against the wall. \u201cWhat if he needs it?\u201d she whispered, worried.\r\n\r\nDad and my brother weren\u2019t coming back. It was going to be a horrible night! After my little sister finally fell silent, our ears, despite being numbed by the recent screaming, caught the growl of a bear. Frightened, we clearly heard its claws against the door. Mom had picked up every last bread crumb that had fallen from the large, buttered molasses sandwiches we\u2019d devoured before putting on our nightgowns. Terrified, she pushed the table against the door. She climbed on a chair and used her coat to cover the cabin\u2019s only window and then she ordered her two daughters to join her in bed.\r\n\r\nShe told me she wanted to pray, but the words caught in her throat. Instead of reciting words, she swallowed large gulps of dread.\r\nHer eyelids fluttered with fear. Her hands, quick to fall prey to her eczema, became inflamed.\r\n\r\nI must\u2019ve been around six and I knew how to write. In my childish mind, I thought about writing all over the walls before the bear, who was prowling around the shack, found a way in to devour us. Kneeled at the foot of the bed, Mom had stopped talking, but gesturing with her arms and hands, made it clear we were to stay nestled against her. I stayed in my mother\u2019s arms for so long that I felt like I was in paradise despite the terror of the moment. The warmth of her body eventually calmed us and, without us even realizing it, sleep fell upon the bed like a quilt made of dreams. Perhaps it would lead us to a field of wild blueberries? Or to the beach on the Baie des Chaleurs? Or maybe to Aunt Hope\u2019s place, where we were allowed to pat her sweet lambs?\r\n\r\nAt dawn, we were awoken by Dad. My brother was exhausted but excited too, and insisted on telling us about spending the night in a tree! My little sister was applauding him as if he had returned a hero. She wanted to see a real bear too!\r\n\r\nMom\u2019s silence was the worst torture for Dad. It was harder to take than overt retaliation. The day after our return, like every Sunday afternoon, Dad would go back on the road, taking his travelling salesman\u2019s suitcase and small soap samples with him. Thankfully for their marriage, he\u2019d leave every Sunday to tour Gasp\u00e9sie and return on Friday night. Like the Berlin Wall separating two sides, the weekly absence kept them apart, allowing them to both survive. Mom\u2019s eczema-covered hands made her suffer and Dad\u2019s heart marinated in sour brine. We children knew nothing about life, their lives, love or the comforts of a normal family. Their tears, which they cried in silence away from our eyes, except when we caught them by surprise, filled our home with sadness. The most painful part of it was their silence. A firewall that prevented us from knowing the worst of it.\r\n\r\nBoth our parents died in 1982. It was only then that I found out the reason for their heavy sorrows. As a young woman, Mom was in love with a young anglophone protestant. Her family and the village\u2019s priest forbade her from marrying him, however, so she had to break up with the love of her life. My grandfather had nine daughters to marry. When he met the one who would become my father, he believed him to be a good man, clean, well dressed, someone who worked hard and, above all, was head over heels with his daughter, whose heart was shattered. Her father insisted, and my mother married my father. She lived a sad and melancholy life for the most part after their union. Very quickly after their wedding, she developed a severe form of eczema that ate away at her hands. My Dad, on the other hand, turned out to be the best of men, courageous, responsible and so completely enamoured with his frigid wife that the old men of the village would make fun of him.\r\n\r\nI\u2019ll end this letter by admitting to you that I didn\u2019t do any better in matrimonial affairs. A hardened divorcee, I\u2019m still looking for the balm that might soothe my wounds. I was also forced into marriage and I too put a dark veil over the lives of my young children by remaining in a marriage without love or affection. But I have hope. I have a lot of hope in my grandchildren who I\u2019m certain will know how to liberate themselves from their ancestors\u2019 misfortunes and build their own happiness as they wish.\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n