* * *
Joseph had abandoned his schooner to bring in the hay at Pointe-de-Roche, where three rocks stood like sentinels beside the oyster flats. Angélique was there as well. She was particularly proud of her pumpkins; she had followed the native tradition of soaking the seeds in water before sowing them in birchbark boxes that she kept for a while in a warm spot. Transplanted into the vegetable garden, the orange pumpkins stood out against the backdrop of wild hay. Membertou chased after the wild rabbits for fun. Little Geneviève babbled in her hammock, while her mother, wearing a conical rainhat made of woven pine branches, hummed native lullabies as she sewed a red and blue fabric cross on her child’s blanket to place her under heaven’s protection.
“What’s all this about?” Joseph asked, surprised.
“Maybe the missionaries are right. My happiness with you has helped me find forgiveness for the ones who hurt my father. I don’t want to feel hatred and bitterness anymore.”
Joseph, happy and at peace with himself, with nature, and with God, led her by the hand. The tide was low. The oysters lay soaking up the sun. Their delicious flesh-filled shells stretched as far as the eye could see.
“One day, when the French are firmly established in America, our grandchildren will trade with the motherland. They’ll take crates of oysters to La Rochelle and bring back fine wine.”
Angélique saw things differently. “I’m afraid our children will be faced with wars and occupation, just as Jean-Baptiste said the other day. France is neglecting our country too much. What will become of us?” she worried.
Joseph took her into his arms; his comforting warmth calmed her fears. Rocked by the scent of freshly cut hay and by the sea air, they stretched out at the foot of a small golden haystack. That was very likely the day that little Marie-Joseph, nicknamed Josette, was conceived.
1. Algonquin.
2. Which means “Father of Waters.”
3. Todays Detroit.
4. Old French currency.
5. At that time, the hundredweight equalled one hundred pounds in weight.
6. In Port-Royal, the writer Marc Lescarbot spoke of the scaffold “that rose above the shore, like a theatre for comedy.”
Chapter 6
…Saying that the Sun, which they always recognized and adored as a God, created the whole of this wonderful Universe. The Sun immediately divided the Earth into several parts, each separated from the other by great lakes; in each part the Sun made a man and a woman to be born: they multiplied and lived for a very long time; but having grown cruel with their children, who set to killing each other, the Sun cried tears of grief, and the rain fell from the sky in such abundance that the water reached the summits of the highest, tallest rocks and mountains. The flood, which they say spread over all the earth, forced them to take to their birch canoes to save themselves from the furious depths of the general deluge; their effort was in vain, however, because a raging wind tumbled them over into the horrible abyss in which they were buried, all except a few old people and a few women who were the most virtuous and the best of all. God then came to comfort them for the loss of their relatives and friends, after which he let them live on earth in great, contented tranquility, giving them by the same token all the skill and ingenuity required to capture as many beaver and moose as they needed for their subsistence.
– Ancient legend of Canada, told in Honguedo
Sometimes Membertou accompanied his grandfather on his trips to lle Caraquet. On those occasions, he slept up in the lookout in the tall trees. One such night he could not get to sleep. On top of his excitement over his coming journey to Quebec with Joseph, the geese and ducks flying overhead made a terrific noise. He climbed down from his perch as dawn was breaking over the point of the island and as the first rays of sunlight traced winged angels in the sky. At least that is what Membertou thought he saw. Enchanted by the images and distracted from daydreams about Quebec, he trotted off in the direction of the sun and almost disappeared in the tall grass. His grandfather had told him about evil Gougou, who lived in a cave on the northeast side of the island, on the side of a small hill covered in sea grass. This part of the island seemed strange to him. The colour of the soil was not the same. The vegetation, too, was different. He stopped short, noting with alarm that he was on Gougou’s territory. He was panic-stricken. He could not budge. The winged angels had fled long before him. Maybe Gougou’s evil breath is what changes the colour of the soil, he thought.
He gave a start when a pack of hares pursued by a silver fox ran by not far from him. Their antics captivated him and restored his calm. Suddenly, the hares vanished as though by magic. Membertou ran to the place where they seemed to have disappeared. Behind a grove of shrubs, he found an opening carved into the side of the hill. Curiosity got the better of him and he stepped inside. A weak light shone in the distance. On the shore side, the passage widened. Membertou penetrated into a grotto shining with a thousand fires. He wondered if he was dreaming. He glimpsed cave drawings that looked, with their yellow, brown, and red ochre, to be very ancient. To his left, a fresco showed a creature surrounded by light who looked like the Great Creator as depicted by the shaman. From the creature’s breath grew a planet with vegetation unfamiliar to Membertou. He could make out strange animals and birds. He was stupefied, struck dumb with wonder. A second fresco showed a naked man and woman contemplating a garden of trees and flowers that Membertou did not recognize. This one reminded him of the stories the missionary told about the Garden of Eden. Farther on, he could make out a large canoe on which perched a bird, holding in its talons a tuft of grass. A gentle-looking animal, with one single horn growing out of its forehead, stood on a small promontory, almost submerged by the waves. Membertou stood for a long time gazing at the drawing. He would have liked to tame such a beautiful animal despite its haughty air as it defied the flood with its single horn as straight as an arrow. To his right, a painting represented a large ship with a carving of the god Odin on its prow. That looks like the shipwreck on Ile Miscou, Membertou thought. The Mi’kmaq painted the Viking ship!
He was reminded of his mother’s blonde hair, a sign of the mingling of Mi’kmaq and Viking blood. He never tired of gazing on and stroking her wheat-coloured hair. He was not sure what to think anymore. He looked closely at the symbols painted beside the ship: twenty-four signs unlike the ones in the Eden paintings.
He kept exploring, discovering other, what seemed more recent, paintings. One scene struck him: a family, with a child in a birchbark cradle. He thought of Joseph, his new father, and Geneviève, the little sister he was learning to love. It hadn’t