None of the Usual Theatrics

This quote is translated from the original French, obvs. xD

"There will be no duels, no poisonings, no wracking coughs. No one will die, or, if someone must die, it will become a comic scene. No, there will be none of the usual theatrics. What you will see tonight is a very simple woman, a woman who will simply talk..."
— Michel Tremblay

Previously:



"So," Ellie chirped, using that syrupy voice she put on when she was about to say something someone wouldn't like. "You've taken me just about everywhere you could think of and encouraged me to eat sugar and now we're in a store full of shiny things. What, exactly, is up?"

There it was. The question he'd been dreading and hoping for all evening. And now he was supposed to give an answer, but despite having churned it over and over in his head for hours, Laurence still didn't know where to begin. He waved away the fifth or sixth staff member and kept his eyes firmly on the glass in front of him. Admittedly, though, he didn't really see the gold and jewels he knew were behind it.

Cracks, his mind whispered, but then he steeled his internal deaf ear.

"You're a smart girl," he finally said.

"Uh-huh."

When Laurence looked up at Ellie, she had her arms crossed and her mouth set. Best get this over with, he thought.

"An' you grew up in anglo Québec..."

"Also, uh-huh. Like ripping off a band-aid, Laurence, spit it out."

He sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck. Frankie had just known, and somehow he'd assumed Ellie would, too. Maybe, he thought, catching those piercing blue eyes for a moment, she did know and wanted him to say it out loud anyway.

"Did you ever read 'La grosse femme d'à côté est enceinte' when you were in school?" he finally blurted.

Ellie's brow furrowed, and then relaxed as an old memory resurfaced. "The... Was that the book about the Plateau during the war? Yeah, in the tenth grade. Why?"

Laurence nodded. "I read it in school, also. It was de only assigned book dat I actually read, front to back. What do you remember about it?"

"I don't see what..." Ellie began, but she looked Laurence straight in the eye and reconsidered. "I felt like it wasn't so much a story," she said slowly, "as a social snapshot. Poverty, oppression, ignorance. Tradition and self-interest above all else, unless you could be strong enough to go a different way."

He nodded again, more forcefully. His mouth was dry.

"The middle-aged fat woman next door getting pregnant was a scandal because so many people thought she was just pregnant so her husband didn't have to go to war," Ellie went on, her eyes boring holes in Laurence's head, "but she was also a bit of an idol. She was different from the norm and hated and revered for it."

"Exacte," he breathed. "And... de big family. Remember dem?"

Ellie had to think for a long moment, but finally she said, "Yeah, I do. I remember thinking they had a mostly horrible life."

"Pourquoi?" he pressed.

"They were a whole social scene by themselves. Some of them loved each other, some of them were happy, but... they were all so tied down by poverty and what they were supposed to do and be, and I know it was the early forties, but the imbalance of power between male and female--"

"I have sisters," Laurence interrupted, staring as hard as ever at the glass. "At least tree of dem, all older dan me."

Ellie fell completely silent.

"Ma mère les adore, she loves dem so much. Mon père... he loved dem so much, an' ma mère, dat he had as many bastards as possible. Until he had a son." Laurence met Ellie's eyes, but couldn't read them. "Any concept of faitfulness I learned from ma mère," he went on.

"What is this about, Laurence?" Ellie murmured, very lowly. She held his gaze, almost unblinking.

He broke eye contact, which was a mistake.

"What did you do?" she pressed, her hand clamping on his shoulder. He was stronger than her, but she had to know. Had to help. It was why he'd brought her out here.

"Jel'aiembrassé," he snapped, all in one word.

Ellie's eyes widened. "You--what? Who? Who did you--"

"Santa."

Utter silence seemed to fall, even in the soft bustle of people in the jeweler's, idly chatting without knowledge of the monumental thought process whirring in Ellie's head. Laurence watched her as she absorbed his confession, connected the dots between it and everything that had already been said. Then her eyes snapped onto his and darted to the jewelry under the glass, faster than he could blink.

Ellie's expression shut down, and he watched anger bloom. "Would you like me to make a scene here," she said softly, evenly, terrifyingly, "or on the street?"

Laurence froze.

With no answer forthcoming, Ellie pivoted and stormed out of the jeweler's, and Laurence at least had the presence of mind to follow lest she come back and make good on the first part of her query/threat. He stepped out of the store to see her leaning her head on the nearest street light, and the moment he emerged the scene she'd promised came to life.

"I finally get it!" she said triumphantly, turning to face him. "I finally understand the stupid fascination, and do you know what? It has never been more stupid."

"Je comprends," he said, palms up in surrender, "I should know better--"

"And do you know what the worst part is?" she charged on. "You think I'm angry you kissed her."

Laurence blinked, paused. "You're not?"

Ellie screamed into her hands. And then at him: "No! Idiot! You make all that noise about La grosse femme because you think it'll all come down to your daddy issues, right? Leclerc senior is an asshole and Leclerc junior is fleeing his shadow. Fine. But you honestly think the answer is to buy a ring for June Jonassen?!"

"I can't be--"

But she wasn't finished. "Do you actually believe that marrying her will make your problem go away? Because it won't. I adore you, Laurence, but you are a certified moron."

He tried to get a word in, but she was having none of it.

"Here's how I see this, and feel free to interrupt if I'm wrong: June is a substitute for the ideal in your head, the girls back home. In fact, she's probably just about equivalent to your mother. You want to marry her to give your father's life a do-over."

"Quoi? Mais--"

"I said if I'm wrong. I am so right, aren't I? And June, what a candidate. Prim and proper, legs neatly crossed for months--don't give me that look!--what a perfect traditional wife-to-be. She'll be just great for popping out traditional, legitimate babies!"

He couldn't breathe. Ellie's cheeks were bright red, her ice-blue eyes fiery and hot, and what she was saying made too much sense. Laurence blinked back a rush of panic.

"'La grosse femme d'à côté est enceinte' is a great book, you know," Ellie said, and her voice was suddenly much softer and quieter, utterly drained of anger. Laurence looked up and she was right in front of him, trying to catch his eye. He allowed it. "But there was more than one story there. It wasn't just about that family. It was about the cat and the boy he adored, and that poor newlywed girl, and the prostitutes, and the war, and a fat woman seven months pregnant at forty-two years old. It was about a whole society struggling with what was traditional and what was good."

Laurence stared at Ellie for what felt like a very long time before she gently put her hands on his shoulders. "Get me?" she murmured, very quietly. He nodded, a tiny gesture, and gathered her up in the biggest bear hug he could manage when his limbs felt like jelly.

-----

They stopped at the racetrack on their way home, mostly so that Ellie could pick up her car but also to harrass Chloe and Frankie for staying so late to do all of Tom's grunt work. And so it was that they walked down the Brazen Fields shed row sharing a comfortable silence when something out of the ordinary caught Ellie's eye.

She stopped, backed up, and peered into C'est Impossible's stall, where the black filly lay peacefully in the straw, curled around a distressingly thin, bruised body. Laurence hovered over Ellie's shoulder, and she heard his breath hitch. She punched him in the arm, gave him a pointed look, and dragged him away to Chloe's office.

Yes, she acknowledged, at some point Laurence would have to get a grip on whatever incomprehensible nonsense was flying through his head, but not tonight. Tonight, Santa would at least get some decent sleep.



'La grosse femme d'à côté est enceinte' is a classic Québecois novel written by Plateau Mont-Royal native Michel Tremblay, taking place on a single day in 1942. I read it in the most fantastic French class in high school, taught by an extraordinary woman by the name of Prachar, and I do hope she'd appreciate this if she ever stumbled on it.

<3