The Years of Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

but staring firmly at the audience nonetheless. When he had walked onto the stage his courage had failed him momentarily, and he had dropped his paper bag in the wings.
    “As many of you may know, our friend Thibodeau here has a certain facility for language – even, at times, impolite language. But still, in order to help him improve his vocabulary, I have asked him to learn a great number of new words by heart – all of them polite words – in the hope that in the future, such as the next time he is addressing a figure of authority, he’ll have a better pool of polite words to draw from and will not have to rely on coarse language. Our friend Thibodeau is therefore going to recite from memory the first three hundred lines of a very beautiful and very old play. That is to say, from Corneille’s play
Le Cid.”
    “What’s a ‘cid’?” some wag called out. “You mean, like in Sydney, Nova Scotia?”
    “Or acid indigestion?” replied a rival.
    Ripples of laughter ran through the assembly. A student made a loud farting sound with his lips. Another began singing “Only You” in the voice of a young male in full rut. Steve Lachapelle contorted his body so violently that he jabbed an elbow into one of the teachers and had to say “Excuse me.” Ordinarily punctilious in matters of protocol, Doyon merelysmiled, arms crossed on his chest, while Charles, obviously terrified, hung his head like a felon awaiting execution.
    “You will notice,” continued the principal, “that the characters in the play always express themselves in an extremely polite fashion, even when they disagree with one another. I hope that will serve as an example to certain people. All right, Thibodeau, you may begin.”
    He left the stage and took a seat directly in front of Charles, in the first row.
    Elvire, is what you’ve told me now th’entire truth?
Have you kept back nothing of what my father said?
    “Louder!” came a cry from the audience.
    “We can’t hear!”
    Charles shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and, seeing that he had nothing further to lose, decided to throw himself into the text like a swimmer caught in a riptide that was trying to drag him out into the ocean. He recited for two minutes. Calmness was slowly restored to the room. The students were amazed at the confidence with which their comrade delivered lines that might as well have been in Chinese as far as they were concerned. They looked at one another and nodded in admiration.
    A frown began to spread across Doyon’s lips. This little upstart was acquitting himself with distinction. This wasn’t punishment. He suddenly saw himself having to get up on the stage to congratulate the little bugger in public. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
    “You’re wanted on the phone, sir,” his secretary whispered. “It’s urgent.”
    When Charles saw the principal leave the room, he stopped reciting, suddenly overcome with a wild joy.
    “Just a minute!” he called to the audience.
    He ran to the wings, retrieved his bag, and returned with a huge, plumed, felt hat left over from an old Hallowe’en costume, which he placed on his head. It had been Henri’s idea, a way to get the scoffers on Charles’s side.
    Charles had come to his favourite passage: the altercation between Count Gormas and Don Diego, the central exchange of the whole drama.
    COUNT
    Everything I deserved, you have taken from me.
    DON DIEGO
    If that is so, I am the more deserving one.
    COUNT
    He who puts it to best use is worthier still.
    DON DIEGO
    Not to have taken it would have boded ill.
    He jumped to the left, then to the right, changing positions and voice with each line, taking off and replacing his hat to give the illusion that there were two actors on the stage. A profound silence ruled the auditorium. Even little Lamouche, usually incapable of staying still and quiet for more than thirty seconds at a time, as though coffee ran through his veins instead of blood, sat staring at Charles with