The Acadian

By Claude Thibault

Montreal, 1947, a country boy comes to the big city. Never having left his little village, the big city, like a big monster, scares him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claude Thibault
• Release date: Dec 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393794981

Claude Thibault

Claude Thibault habite sur une ferme au Québec dans un petit village du nom de Yamaska. 

Book preview

Claude THIBAULT

THE ACADIAN

©Claude Thibault 2020

THE ACADIAN

Foreword

The Acadian is a work of fiction. For my characters, I have taken the liberty to borrow personalities of people I know, but their role in the story is purely fictional. I also took the right to locate the story in places that exist and that I know.

Chapter 1

The great white pine refuses to fall as if he has a mind of its own. As if he knows that the Acadian's life as a lumberjack is terminated.

Adrien has always loved the forest. He sees himself doing no other job than that of a lumberjack. Leaving the house at dawn, alone, his saw, the godendard[1], bacon in a tin can for lunch, it’s his life, the life he has chosen. At 19, he has not yet known the love of a woman, and he has put all his heart into the woodland, in his job as a lumberjack.

"

Adrien was a titan, a giant. A gentle giant. He was very shy and had never had any real friends. Lonely, antisocial, he preferred the company of trees and birds more than that of men. He was at home in the woods. He never found his place in society. Even as a schoolboy, he, the tall one, always at the back of the classroom, last in the row, when the teacher, Madame Morand, the beautiful Madame Morand, asked a question to the class, he never raised his hand even though he knew the answer. His embarrassment handicapped him, so they said he was an idiot. Even at recess he didn't mingle with other children, he stayed away with his back leaning against the school wall. And if one approached him, to seem even taller, he would straighten up, and stare at him with a look that inspired fear. But deep down, he was the one who was afraid.

Then people walked away from him saying some unpleasant moniker. He was only happy being alone. Uncomfortable in this mini society that was school, he decided to cut short his studies after his sixth year. His teacher disapproved, because she knew that the great Arseno was not the donkey they said. She knew that the giant, who was called a villain and an idiot, was a boy filled with profound kindliness. And as an idiot, he had only the reputation. She would have liked to help him, support him and protect him, but he would never have accepted or even understood why. So, as a last resort, she dared to go and meet with his father.

Her faint knock on the door brought out a tall dark-haired man, unshaven, wearing dirty overalls. He said nothing.

Your son wants to drop out of school, Mr. Arseno, she said in a trembling voice, and I sincerely believe it would a big mistake. I really think he should at least finish his primary schooling. He only has one year left and this year can make a big difference, the woman pleaded to Adrien's father.

If my boy wants to drop out of school it's his business and none of yours. I haven't finished my third year of schooling and I’ve never missed it. was the man's response.

And it was with a sad heart that the teacher went back to school. She had risked a lot by going to a student's parent and knew that insisting more could have been bad for her future as a schoolteacher. A complaint to the representatives of the school district and the beautiful Mrs. Morand is out of a job. And the lady knows very well that these gentlemen, who ensure the proper functioning of the schools, have no more education than Adrien's father. Schools are daycare centers for children too young to work or, for older children, a place to park them between intensive periods of work in the fields. Indeed, it is quite normal to remove the children from school to help with ploughing, harvesting or even, for the girls, help the mother at home. The teachers abhorred this situation but could not speak about it for fear of being fired.

It was in his teens that his massive body made him a legend. He was rarely seen in the village. Always dressed in his plaid shirt, his big boots, his abundant hair hidden under his grey wool hat, each of his movements was conducive to gossip.

He never participated in community activities. You never saw the giant at the dances, at the frolics¹¹, at the Richibuctoo cinema, the parties. Even the biggest annual event in St. Ignatius, the great fair²² the autumnal picnic with its rides, its sideshows, its games of chance, was sulked by Adrien. Actually, no, he'd attended once. He was 8 years old, he wanted, in a game of skill, to win a trinket to offer to his mother-in-law. The game was rigged, and he had lost all his money. Seeing his dismay, his eyes wet, the owner of the kiosk, to console him, had given him a small glass ashtray. He ran to give it to Zinon who seeing the gift said, I hope you didn't pay for this piece of junk because it's not worth a penny!

This was his last participation in the fair and his last gift to his mother in law.

People started telling stories about him, fabulations. They built around him a reputation as a strongman, a new Hercules, an Acadian Louis Cyr.

It was said that he had killed a bear with his bare hands, that he could cut twelve cords of wood in a single day, that a band of thugs who had come from Bouctouche to attack him, fourteen they were, had all had to be hospitalized while the colossus had not even been scratched. Even Poirier said that Adrien had lifted his car so that he could change a flat tire.

All these lies had ended up weighing heavily on the young man's shoulders. Strong men from other villages came to St. Ignatius to challenge him. But Adrien didn't want to fight. So, he’d hide in the forest. He would only come out after dawn and often not until nightfall. Some even thought that he lived there permanently, which further amplified his legend.

Adrien was a kind, gentle man. He could cry at the sight of a dead bird. He would never have harmed anyone, but the young people of the village continued to glorify him, to amplify his strength and, worst of all, to make of him a dangerous man. Even in St. Louis, people changed sidewalks so they wouldn't run into him. This myth, these made up stories, made him very unhappy. He, the great loner, the man of the woods, no longer felt at home in his village. Even worst, he felt he would never fit anywhere.

Chapter 2

Adrien has great respect for the forest and the wildlife. For him, cutting down a tree is not a free gesture. It is a communion with nature. As the Inuit only kills an animal for food and clothing, Adrien fells a tree only out of necessity. He would never leave a dead tree lying around to rot. Everything must be used.

Every night he chooses the tree that will be chopped the next day. A mature white pine tree, at least 100 feet in height.

Nothing is left to chance. The tree is carefully selected. Never clear-cut, wild cut. Never! Pine is sacrificed to allow other species to grow. First, a few puny hardwoods would take its place for a few years. Trembling aspens, willows, birch trees, cherry trees would create a natural nursery for more noble species; maples, oaks, pines, walnut trees which, in turn, would become rulers of this forest. And Adrien knows all about this, this renewal would permit, for future generations, to have the pleasure of enjoying the forest. Mother nature knows how to do it, man must understand and work with her.

One day, naively, he asked his father: What if we didn’t cut down the trees? Why don't we let them live?

Then, replied Edward, mother nature would take care of it herself. She would wait for a dry summer and one evening, without warning, a thunderbolt, lightning that hits a large oak tree and then the forest catches fire. Then ferns and small fruit trees grow in the ashes and the cycle starts all over again, puny shrubs followed by noble species.

"

Before dawn, after a good breakfast of pancakes and bacon, bread and lard boiled in the tin can, warmly dressed, the horse fed and curated, he leaves for the forest, his forest. Fortunately, since it is night, the horse knows which way to go. Only the yellow lights shining through the small barn windows show that others are at work. Adrien imagines the men sitting on their little wooden tripods, eyes half closed, milking the cows in the warmth produced by the breath of the animals.

He always slows down in front of the Corbin house. He knows that Mrs. Corbin, who has been widowed for a year, is toiling in the stable while her young children are fast asleep. Adrien's delicacy dictates him to make as little noise as possible when passing her house so she can finish her chores before having to take care of her family. Poor Madame Corbin, he thinks, no man, three young children, and to top it all, she is skinny as a stilt. There's not a man in the county who's going to want to marry her.

At the co-op, on the stairs leading to the attic, the men who gather there to smoke and chat have long dictated the criteria of a good woman to marry.

Big and strong to work in the fields, they claim, big breasts full of milk to feed the youngest and big buttocks so that her man can cling on to them when the urge takes him. This definition repeated at least once a month in the general store by Poirier has been shared and laughed by all for years. Except once. It was in the winter, a Wednesday, Poirier, the only one who had not seen the priest walk in the store, in a loud voice, told the joke for all to hear, but, to his surprise, no one laughed. Faced with this unexpected reaction, the prankster turned around and at the sight of the priest, almost fainted. The pastor eyed him scornfully, walked up to him and said in a thunderous voice so that everyone could hear: Exceptionally, Mr. Poirier, my confessional will be open tonight between seven and seven past five. If God lends you life until then, it will be my pleasure to deliver you from your sin with a penance equal to your stupidity.

Nobody said a word. The parish priest paid for his purchases and left the establishment. The store immediately emptied of its onlookers.

Following this episode, no citizen of St. Ignatius dared to repeat this description of a good woman to marry in a louder voice than that of a whisper while taking care to look around to ensure that neither parish priest nor woman was around.

As Adrien and Buck move on, the houses are set further apart. Finally, a few miles from the last dwelling of the village, the horse, instinctively, turns to the right and follows a small path barely wide enough to let the sled through. Fortunately, the dawn has begun to light up the sky which allows Adrien to find his resting point. He stops a hundred and fifty feet from the tree chosen yesterday and ties the horse. He gives it a hay cake, grabs his snowshoes, his axe and walks on the snow in dead silence, head down. Sometimes, out of curiosity, he would take off a snowshoe to check if the snow supported him, and each time, falling flat on his face, he laughed. He was a happy man.

He keeps walking silently, but the birds, even if he was here yesterday, see him coming and are afraid at the sight of this strange creature entering their domain. Offering them breadcrumbs taken from the bottom of his overalls pocket, Adrien says to them: "Come on little ones, it's me, Adrien. You know me, I came yesterday. You know I would never hurt you. Bunch