Black Bird Read Online Free PDF Page A

and “intellectual” are insults, and metaphors are clouds of smoke and halls of mirrors.
    Angus had been proud of serving in the army, although he’d been drafted and then discharged as soon as the war was over—as soon as they were done with him. He was fond of such abstract concepts as Duty and Honour. To him the abstract was that to which he couldn’t explain his sentimental attraction. But it left him with lifelong respiratory problems: he’d been gassed in those trenches. Which taught him something you can’t learn in school. Which left him teary-eyed still, whenever he heard “God Save the Queen.”
    Mother kept thinking to herself, “I’m an orphan now … I’m an orphan now …” She remembered those things about him that he’d never shown to the others. His sudden changes of heart when he switched from chastising her to forgiving her: “Ah well. You’re still my girl, aren’t you? I guess you’ll just have to take me as I am.” His habit of paying their debt at the corner grocery without telling them. The way there was always more food in the house after he’d been invited to dinner than before. How he used to take the children down to the harbour to see the boats.
    Now there would be the problem of dealing with his things. His apartment. His funeral. Now there would be a dreamlike week, during which everything would be centred on the absence of him. And whyhad he suddenly been taken in the middle of the night with the desire for a smoked meat sandwich, anyway?
    Mother couldn’t stifle a burst of abuse against “those bastard felquiste swine,” meaning the FLQ; meaning, if the family’d only known, Marie. And then she dissolved again in her own tears. Marie, pale, accepted it silently. She was overwhelmed; her world had changed unexpectedly. It would take her weeks of sullen silence to digest it. It had never occurred to her that anyone she knew personally would be affected by her terrorist acts. Everything had always been aimed against an ill-defined “them” and not an all-too-familiar “us.”
    When they went up to Angus’s apartment they were surprised to find everything already packed. Only the most essential items were unboxed: a single towel, a couple of mugs, his toothbrush and comb. It was precisely as they’d left it when helping him move in years ago after his wife died. The hall was lined with boxes and bags, furniture was stacked upside down and the dresser was empty of its drawers.
    He’d been fond of saying, “Properly used, a single spoon can last a man a lifetime.” Now Mother realized what he’d meant. He left no insurance. He’d always waved his bankbook and said, “Here’s my insurance. Why give money to those crooks?” But Mother wasn’t allowed to draw from his account. Until the estate was settled, the Desouches were forced to pay the outstanding bills and the burial expenses. That was bad news for their already frustrated creditors.
    The services were arranged with the undertakers who occupied the adjoining building on the south side of the Desouches’ own house. They were given a special rate because for one thing they were neighbours, and for another, since he’d been so close to the blast, there just wasn’t much left of Angus to embalm.
    For years, they’d watched others dressed in black filing in and out of the parlour next door. They played a game of counting the limousines and hearses they’d see in a week, or run to keep Uncle’s dog from wandering in to join the bereaved. In summer, Uncle sat on the porch in his undershirt, beer in hand, as mourners slouched on the sidewalk, hot in their suits and dresses, self-conscious beneath his unfriendly stare.
    Now the Desouches all donned their formal clothes. Stiff and not much used, they were long out of fashion and obviously unsuited to their lives.
    When they entered the funeral home for the first time, Grandfather cased the joint like a professional housebreaker. How much easier would it be to