tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50643302932266082972024-03-12T17:25:26.920-07:00Gabriele RussoLucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-79923503503426651282020-06-05T12:53:00.002-07:002020-06-05T12:53:54.999-07:00The Meeting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A tense spring in her step,
Loviatar got out of the elevator and made her way to the CEO’s office. As
usual, walking down this corridor seemed to cause her ribcage to shrink and squeeze
her lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Oh, how she missed the Halls
of Asgard: so vast, so dark, the only light the glow of the lovely bleached
human bones sticking out of the pillars holding the roof. Infinitely better
than these close walls in bright neon colors, if you asked her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No one had. And anxious or
not, this meeting was imperative, both for her own well-being, and that of the
company. The fact that the new CEO was her daughter didn’t change anything,
although it did increase her malaise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To regain countenance, Loviatar
paused underneath one of the angled skylights to watch the shenanigans of a daredevil
on a flying carpet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her daughter. How could she
have given birth to such an aberration? What morbid curiosity had pushed her to
breed with a mortal? What had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> been
doing on her cold and deserted moor? And why, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why</i>, had she not devoured the child as she did with every other
human that crossed her path back then?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Enough! Thoughts such as
these woke her appetite. Her daughter would be hard enough to convince without
Loviatar making a meal of her secretary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Back to the essential
question: how to get her little prodigy to help? The problems of the Department
of Population Control were bound to leave her brushing her belly button in
indifference. She rarely missed an occasion to express her scorn toward Dealers
of Death and their eating habits, and never spared family members.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It was Loviatar’s own fault,
and the knowledge hurt her maternal heart. Not that she had any illusions about
her talents as a mother, but to have transmitted none of her values to her
daughter struck her today as a miscalculation of inestimable proportions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She threw a last glance at
the madman on his carpet. That loop should have sent him plummeting to the
earth. Were the gods of gravity offering such protection nowadays? It must have
cost a fortune. Or maybe Gaïa didn’t wish to see him, repelled him somehow. A
spurned lover, perhaps? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Loviatar shrugged and went
on her gloomy way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No, convincing her daughter
to divert human resources to fill vacancies in the Department would not be
easy. But employees were disappearing faster than they could be replaced, and
the rumor that some had served as a snack to hungry gods did not improve
recruitment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Loviatar’s step faltered,
her cheeks warmed. She had erased all traces of her misdeeds, she was certain.
Yet, the persistence of the stories indicated her colleagues had probably also
dipped their hands in the cookie jar, and with less discretion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She sighed, let her hand
trail along the wall. If only that were their only problem: hiring half-gods or
people on death-row would be an easy fix. Her daughter could be persuaded on
the latter – she so hated waste. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Much worse were the
defections. In the last century, almost twenty Dealers of Death had gone
through recycling. The remaining ones had been unable to pick up the slack, and
the consequences were becoming obvious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Just last week, her superior
had quit to become, of all things, a yogurt god. It was why Loviatar, minor
deity of an unknown pantheon, was in charge of this mission. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A sharp pain in her hand
shook her out of her reverie. When had she stopped? And, more to the point:
when had she punched a hole in the wall that separated the hallway and the
CEO’s office? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her daughter tilted her head
to look through the hole. Their eyes met, then she rolled hers toward the
ceiling. The meeting was off to a bad start.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-65880381207364237862019-10-03T16:08:00.001-07:002019-10-03T16:08:39.839-07:00
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My Father’s War Journal – D-Day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmw42cbbP6eAWZ1d9_LkZXLEC8BmeinEsKqZd7jz76yaBiDwM93C1SMwARqbl3svVOjiAEVkOmauQUICPvtKoHA_wtJmKU89eOwc-4PC19cTjVWyIDtrYXhDwofFAHEBDqgzzJaNlJEw/s1600/papa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1053" data-original-width="1600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmw42cbbP6eAWZ1d9_LkZXLEC8BmeinEsKqZd7jz76yaBiDwM93C1SMwARqbl3svVOjiAEVkOmauQUICPvtKoHA_wtJmKU89eOwc-4PC19cTjVWyIDtrYXhDwofFAHEBDqgzzJaNlJEw/s320/papa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Be brave. Remember, you are a soldier
first, a surgeon second.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’ll be sure to remember that if I ever
come across you on my operating table.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My Colonel growls. I am the youngest
surgeon, the only unmarried man, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">must</i>
volunteer for the ambulatory medical units.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I wish I had the courage to say no… but I have
exhausted what little I possess with that flippant remark. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On June 1<sup>st</sup> 1944, I embark on a
ship in Tilbury. Voluntarily, yes, but ten minutes late, and without my cap. My
Colonel is furious, but if I’m about to die, I might as well do so with noble
insouciance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The LST 258 is part of the American fleet,
and its commander is a young cowboy who lets me break the rules and take
photographs from his cabin as we await the fateful day in Southend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On the fifth, thanks be to God, the
invasion is cancelled. On the sixth, it’s back on: we get moving. We cross the
channel, and arrive in sight of the beaches of Normandy. Our ship, a whale-like
barge with a flat bed, slides up the sands in front of Courseulles, and we set
up our makeshift hospital. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Bursts of gunfire sound on all sides, a cloud
of smoke envelops us, sinister shroud that chokes the hope out of me. For a
while, all is silent… Until fireworks illuminate the gloom, courtesy of the
Luftwaffe. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We wait for the wounded. Only ten, then
nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In front of me, France awaits. All my life
I have dreamed of the mother country. I must set foot on land. I ignore orders
and disembark; my cowboy commandant turns a blind eye. In my euphoria, I forget
everything, except my camera. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Uniform akimbo, I run on the sand, visit the
village, get chased off by soldiers warning me there are leftover German
snipers in the church tower, and take photographs of everything. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On my way back to the beach, I find myself
in the middle of a misunderstanding between the British soldiers and the people
of Courseulles. I heroically become translator/mediator, even though my English
is rather dreadful and the villagers have trouble understanding my
French-Canadian accent. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And when my big head and I get back down to
earth, my ship has sailed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I ask around, trying to find another boat
to get to mine. Severe officer faces greet my request. The Admiral of the
British Navy, his sumptuous beard bristling, finally answers my request: “Not a
one. Not even a raft… If you do find a raft, send it to us, we need it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m stuck on the beach. I take more
pictures and give a hand to some medical personnel. They notice I know what I’m
doing (my vest could have told them I was medical corps, but I seem to have
lost it somewhere). When fifty wounded are brought onto a vessel without a
doctor on board, I see a way out of my predicament. I volunteer to accompany
them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Whatever sea legs my body had made during
the long wait, they had deserted me on the beach. As I climb up the rope ladder
to my ship, I lose my footing and fall headfirst into the sea. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wet and cold, I can’t help but think this
does not bode well. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I find a dispensary woefully lacking in
supplies, and get saddled with two assistants, American “Pharmacists”, who seem
to know very little about medicine, or drugs for that matter. My heart sinks,
but I must hide my discouragement. I find a reserve of overlooked chloroform
(deemed too old-fashioned by my new team), and get to work. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I do my best, but it’s not enough. What’s
more, this boat is under orders to stay where it is. Out on deck for a breath
of fresh air, I spot a ship I suspect is better equipped with medical supplies.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It is: on deck is a doctor, nurses,
reserves of blood, and what’s more, it’s leaving for Southampton within the
hour.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, the miracle of the American Navy. No
bureaucratic dilly-dallying, no evasive pretenses. The commandant agrees with
my plan: in less time than it would take me to describe, fifty moribund
patients are carried from one boat to the next, and we are off to England.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My first minutes on English soil are like a
dream. I am the feted surgeon-hero who has saved fifty valorous soldiers. Generals
congratulate me for my initiative; the press surrounds me for interviews… Then suddenly,
I find myself flanked by two military policemen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My papers, all matters of identification
are either on the LST 258 that left without me, or in my vest somewhere on the
French sand. I recite my rank and file, but this just makes it worse: my English
is so bad they come to the conclusion I am a Vichy spy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I protest, in my name, in the name of
Canada, of my sovereign… to no avail. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally, my last interrogator, a British
lord who finds humor in everything, deigns to call my Colonel. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is it possible that Captain J got lost
during the invasion?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Him? With him everything is possible.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Just like that, I’ve become Someone Else’s
Problem. I am released at the first light of dawn. I haven’t shaved in eight
days; my clothes are tattered and stained. I feel a right fool as I make my way
back to London.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">First stop: the post office. To my family,
who thinks I am still on that beach, dead or prisoner, I send a telegram: “Not
missing, just traveling.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-37605283423688764152018-12-02T11:39:00.002-08:002018-12-02T11:45:14.249-08:00An Excerpt From Incoherent Gods<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<h4 style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,bold"; font-size: 12.0pt;">CIRCLES AND ROUNDABOUTS </span></h4>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIdzqXKXMQQx0ttXrP008MTd5SclZu4Egp1-tebxD5p_9p_zfIK86CZXeZOa4GjwMH8rYI8p1RRij3Og5ZvE4pBtK9A3213316yB55SyTP7k0zI9QJXnotuBknusHXPuo_qn6eBRadWs/s1600/Yggdrasil+is+going+insaneThe+fabric+of+reality+is+crumblingWill+the+gods+actually+manage+to+do+something+about+it_Discover+the+third+book+of+the+Gods+Inc.+Series.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIdzqXKXMQQx0ttXrP008MTd5SclZu4Egp1-tebxD5p_9p_zfIK86CZXeZOa4GjwMH8rYI8p1RRij3Og5ZvE4pBtK9A3213316yB55SyTP7k0zI9QJXnotuBknusHXPuo_qn6eBRadWs/s320/Yggdrasil+is+going+insaneThe+fabric+of+reality+is+crumblingWill+the+gods+actually+manage+to+do+something+about+it_Discover+the+third+book+of+the+Gods+Inc.+Series.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Athena and John
listened to the new directions, and the abuse, attentively. When the bureaucrat
reached an end to both, she thanked him/her profusely and shut the door. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I told you that
water fountain was the –” He hated the quote gesture, but sometimes it was
necessary, ““drinks station”.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Their search for
the Burelaine was not going well. First, they had encountered a fork, which had
made it impossible to “walk straight down”. With his compass, John had
determined that one of the passages was less divergent than the other, making
it the obvious choice. Of course, it had also been the wrong one. A fact made
abundantly clear by the bureaucrat they had surprised in the shower (a
disturbing sight to say the least). Apparently, they needed to learn how to
read the corridor nomenclature; this would have told them which was the first
one’s continuation. John was more than ready to do this; problem was, he
couldn’t figure out where they hid said names. He’d found one so far, when he’d
tripped on a loose floor tile: underneath the tile. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He’d tried
looking for other loose tiles elsewhere, with no success. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They had turned
around, but hadn’t been able to find their way back to the fork. In
desperation, they had followed a short blond mustachioed man and his enormous
redheaded sidekick looking for an A-37 permit,</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "symbol"; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 200%; position: relative; top: -6.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">which eventually led them back to their starting
point. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Then the “third
corridor on the left” had turned out to be the fourth. There had not been any
“drinks station” of any kind. The corridor just led straight into a funky
smelling hangar that contained a river, a bridge, a troll, and a goat, all four
busy arguing the best method to collect excise taxes. When at last Athena had
managed to knock out the troll and grab the goat’s beard,</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,bold"; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 200%; position: relative; top: -3.0pt;">‡ </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">they had found out that the second passageway on the
left was sometimes walled off because it led to the wing outsourced to the
Teleport Inc. reward miles’ industry, and even bureaucrats find some things
repulsive. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They had finally
taken the right corridor, but had walked along its bendy ways for a good
half-hour without seeing a “drinks station”. Then, once they’d given up, they
had gotten lost trying to retrace their steps, in defiance of John’s deeply
held conviction that it was impossible to get lost following a corridor that
didn’t branch out. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was now well
after five, at which time the bureaucrats, while tolerating people who had
gotten in before four, did not see why they should be helpful in any way
whatsoever. The lights were dim, and the entire place felt empty. When by some
incredible chance they ran into a rare straggler, their pleas for help were met
with vague excuses before the bureaucrat would scuttle away and disappear in an
elbow of the corridor. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Finally, despite
their apprehension, they had decided to knock on an office door where they
could hear the clacking of computer keys. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It hadn’t been
computer keys. It had been the creaking sounds of a swing’s chains. They had
walked into a strange photo shoot. The bureaucrat had been holding a long stick
from which dangled a new kind of camera and taking (sultry? seductive? macho?)
poses on the swing. While apparently this was very important, as the obvious
annoyance of the bureaucrat had made clear, s/he had agreed to help them find
their way to the Reception and Dispatch Burelaine, because to quote him/her:
“The least that promotion stealer deserves is being annoyed after hours by
bumbling idiots such as you.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And now, at last,
they found the “water fountain”.<br />
John stopped. “Wait, did the bureaucrat tell us it was the </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">office to the </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">right </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">before reaching
the water fountain?” “Yes.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But didn’t the
Information Attendant tell us it would be the office to the right </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">after </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">the drinks
station?” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Then it should
be the office to the </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">left </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">before we reach the water fountain, no?” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Athena shrugged.
“Let’s just knock on both doors.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They did. Or, at
least, they tried to. Their fists hit the doors, but no knock could be heard,
no vibration felt. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They tried again.
They switched doors. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I get it,” said
John. It’s like a computer application form. You can’t get to the next step
before completing the previous one. Apparently, we need to make a choice.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If Athena had had
the fiery eyes in her divine abilities package, the door in front of her would
surely have been reduced to a pile of ash. Instead, the goddess narrowed her
eyes and her fists, then took a deep breath and slowly released the tension. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Fine. How? Which
right is the right right? Clergy! I wish these doors had numbers.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Wouldn’t help,
the Attendant didn’t give us one. I do think you might be on to something, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">right </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">is probably the
important factor here. Let’s go to the next elbow in the corridor, come back,
and knock on the door to the right.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He was about to
join action to word, but Athena held him in place. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Wait. Toward
which should we go? To the elbow where the office would be on the right </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">after </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">the ‘drinks
station’, or the one where it would be on the right </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">before </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">the ‘water
fountain’? And which way is which?” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<h4 style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cambria,bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p>For all the myriads of ways you may buy Incoherent Gods and the other books of the Gods Inc. Series click<span style="background-color: black;"> <a href="https://www.russogabriele.com/buy-the-books" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffd966;">here</span></a><span style="color: #f1c232;"> </span></span></o:p></span></h4>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-29767764504322770872018-11-07T09:46:00.000-08:002018-11-07T09:47:57.941-08:00FATE<h3>
A short story from the Gods Inc. Universe</h3>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlDVGPy-4Zeg9fRBMy_ecpKr6xPfeXUBzCStzuLax1klUoJnzod3VgvSXriIPpd8D5dDp-lKwI1oV7mFxBfQzRYRXX2WilteANjBgVsrp3E8hHzhQizughyBf4MzrPwRBk5l6XSGycF4/s1600/AdobeStock_68956669.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlDVGPy-4Zeg9fRBMy_ecpKr6xPfeXUBzCStzuLax1klUoJnzod3VgvSXriIPpd8D5dDp-lKwI1oV7mFxBfQzRYRXX2WilteANjBgVsrp3E8hHzhQizughyBf4MzrPwRBk5l6XSGycF4/s320/AdobeStock_68956669.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With a trembling hand,
Lika traced the letters engraved in the door: “BACCH’S”. At long last, he had
arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">His birth, his sickness,
his pain, the tortuous treatment, the ostracism from his peers, all had
conspired to bring him here. To amass the necessary funds for the astronomical
teleportation fee, he had spent ten horrible years of arduous toil punctuated
by the sporadic kicks of elephants in the granite quarries of Siruvalai.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Two hours earlier, he
had finally set foot in the wondrous city that was Atlantis. He hadn’t taken
the time to admire its marvels. He had gone directly to his seedy hotel to
change into his best suit, also seedy, before running here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He pushed the door. The
low-ceilinged room was jam-packed, hazy with smoke, the noise deafening. He
made his way to the bar, where he found a free stool. He sat down and looked
around. He was miffed that this legendary establishment, of which he had heard
so many tales, looked like any other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not that he had
frequented such places often, but apart from the maelstrom of colors created by
the enameled brick walls, the shimmering fabrics and the miniature altars
disseminated all around, the rest seemed ordinary. Small tables, wobbly chairs,
and an elongated bar that protruded from the back and divided the space in two.
Inside the gleaming wood fortress, good-looking girls were busily serving
drinks under the watchful eyes of Bacchus; around its periphery, clients were
getting steadily drunker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At least <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they</i> were peculiar. One wore a plumed
helmet and brandished a huge hammer at regular intervals. Another was relaxing,
floating a meter above the counter. In front of Lika, a monstrous woman (it was
hard to be sure, what with the elephant skin and the tortoise-like face, but
the enormous breasts trying to escape the décolleté were a clue) winked at him
sexily. He ordered a whisky to regain his composure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He drank and saw <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> through the bottom of the glass. Her
blue skin, her six arms, her golden ornaments and her nudity defied the
thickness of the crystal. His country’s statues hadn’t lied. He had found his
patron, the goddess that had presided over his birth, Kali.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He took a last sip of
courage and got up. A few feet from her, the alcohol evaporated and he lost his
resolve. Two clients were playing a game of dice at a table beside him. He
dropped into the third chair and asked if he could join the game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“We’ve already started
this one,” answered the kindly old man. “But you can play the next round.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">His thick beard, as
white as the aureole of his hair, didn’t hide his smile. Only the fact that he
was wearing a long white nightgown, adorned with what seemed to be small pink
flowers, suggested that he wasn’t your run-of-the-mill patriarch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">His opponent was
weirder. His skin was red, bright enough to compete with a wedding sari. A thin
goatee elongated his chin. His black hair, greased back, revealed two small
horns growing on his forehead, and the furry end of his tail would smooth it
back from time to time. His clothing was just as incongruous: his tight shirt
was covered in purple sequins and his assorted pants seemed to be made out of
cellophane (luckily opaque). A long cape, black as night, completed the
ensemble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lika thought he had
heard about these two immortals, but to avoid any faux pas, he tried to start a
round of introductions: “My name is Lika.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“We know,” replied the
red one without reciprocating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He threw a six, a three
and a five.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What are the rules?”
asked Lika.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You must throw
triples,” explained the Old Man. “The highest one wins, but the other has
another throw to nullify or beat it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He threw two threes and
a two. The other one threw two fours and a five.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Blue hands laid
themselves on Lika’s shoulders. He turned slowly, dumbstruck. Kali, radiant
with beauty, had approached him from behind. To give himself time to regain the
use of his speech, he handed her a pen and a pad in that universal gesture of
submission meaning: “Give me your autograph, PLEASE.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Keeping one hand on his
shoulder, Kali smiled, took the pad and signed. He read what she had written
under her signature: “Be careful, these two have taken you in charge.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Confused, he looked back
at her. She sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“If you had come to me
first,” she said in a gentle voice, “I could have helped you. But you sat with
them, and now they are playing for your soul. If the old man wins, your
suffering will be… shortened, and you will go to heaven. If the other one wins,
you will be cured and live for a long time, but there will be a price…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She left him in
suspense, returning to her table at the back of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The old man threw two
fives and a six.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The other one,
predictably, threw a triple six. Lika felt a surge of joy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Hou! I won!” exclaimed
the red being, jumping out of his chair. “I won! Gna-gnan!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He pulled out his
tongue, which stopped one centimeter away from the old man’s nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lika felt a shiver run
down his spine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The red being started to
gyrate in a bizarre dance: he slid while going backwards; he made his tail spin
with one hand while grabbing his crotch with the other. And finally, he
squeaked a little cry and lifted his hand, now covered by a sparkling white
glove, high up in the air. The old man shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I still have a turn
left, stupid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The other froze for a
moment, then exhaled loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Crap!” he said, sitting
back down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The old man plunged his
blue eyes into Lika’s, right down to the soul. The moment stretched into an
eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He threw three eights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-43094933649130557052018-11-03T06:19:00.001-07:002018-11-03T06:19:04.114-07:00<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/19664007/?claim=chezj4yxgve">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-31082209360793158542018-09-01T05:48:00.000-07:002018-09-01T05:48:19.408-07:00Incoherent Gods - now available for pre-order<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">Hercules, guardian of the Lemuria Zoo, has a big problem: the Zoo’s divine animals have been going crazy. To make things worse, Queen Louhi, the CEO of Gods Incorporated, has just arrived for her yearly visit… with a new fiancé in tow (along with his yenta-minded grandfather Jupiter). Of course, the fact that Hercules is desperately in love with her doesn’t help his plight in any way whatsoever.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">His attempt to cover up the situation quickly blows up in his face and they finally realize the animals’ madness is caused by artificial means. Cue in the bodiless god Mimir, who reveals that the real target of the mind-altering poison is Yggdrasil, the World Tree.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;"></span><br />
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And if the Tree loses its cohesion, then so will the barriers between the worlds, crumbling the foundations of reality. Who in gods’ names could be crazy enough to want to do something like that?</div>
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https://www.russogabriele.com/buy-the-books</div>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-37219998349879684022018-08-02T07:57:00.000-07:002018-08-02T11:04:48.044-07:00WHAT THE *&?%$#@ IS SATIRICAL FANTASY? <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
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<span lang="EN-US">Whenever I tell someone (be it excitedly or with false
modesty) that I am now a published author, that my third book is coming out this
fall (save the date folks – great Christmas present for everyone in the family),
always comes that question:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“What kind of books do you write?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">It comes even before “What is the title of your book?” In
a way, that’s perfectly all right, there’s only so much you can deduce from a
title. I mean, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Incompetent Gods</i> could
be about anything, fiction or non-fiction: a tsunami in India, the tribulations
of an animist priest in Africa, the banking fiasco in Iceland… Name it, I’m
sure there’s a way to blame the gods for it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">I answer, and there it is: the blank stare, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Huh?</i>, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what the *&?%$#@ is Satirical Fantasy?</i> I guess I could be
condescending and say that it’s Fantasy mixed with Satire, but most of the time,
the person I’m talking to is smart enough to have gotten <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>. No, I think they just don’t quite understand how the two
genres can blend together. So I give the Terry Pratchett/Douglas Adams
reference, but sadly, in the United States and Canada, they are not the literary
idols they should be. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">If I have more time, I try to explain: “It takes place
in a world that is different than ours, and in poking fun at its society’s
quirks, actually points out the absurdities of our own.” I personally feel it’s
a pretty good explanation, but it doesn’t seem to help, the blank stare is
still there (despite the ardent nodding accompanying the fixed smile).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">And I have to ask myself: why is that? In a way, this mix
is almost as old as the written word. If we remember the Ancient Greeks more
for their tragedies, they wrote just as many comedies, and the most constant
thing you can say about their plays is that the fantastic was always involved
somehow. Even at the birth of European literature we find examples of it: Aesop’s
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fables</i> led to the stories of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Reynard</i> (a multilingual corpus of fables
that pits a malicious talking fox against medieval society). Later Rabelais shook
the world with his giants <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gargantua </i>and
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pantagruel</i>. In modern times, the
genre crossed the channel and gave us <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gulliver’s
Travels</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Animal Farm</i>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">These books are all well known, great classics of
literature even, so what is it about Satirical Fantasy that bothers people to
the point of having difficulty acknowledging its existence? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">First, let me specify that none of the aforementioned novels
was ever classified as such. Usually, they were stuffed in an uncomfortable
category, like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gulliver’s Travels</i> –
and its almost savage satire of British contemporary society – finding itself
in children’s literature…<sup> </sup>And yet, they all make use of the
fantastic (gods, monsters, sorcerers, talking beasts, magic, giants,
Lilliputians, fairies, and so on), they all make you laugh, and, most
importantly, they can all make you think (if you feel so inclined).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Of course, it doesn’t help that the term Satirical
Fantasy is not official. Most Satirical Fantasy novels are classified in
opposition to heroic High Fantasy (which is inherently hostile to laughter),
and so dubbed Low Fantasy – a derogatory term if I ever heard one – or Humorous
Fantasy. This last actually works quite well as a classification (maybe I
should use it – make my life simpler), but feels a little too large and vague. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Satire is not quite comedy. While it is often confused
with parody or pastiche, it is fundamentally different: if they are meant as
funny imitations of a (usually) more serious work, satire aims to be an ironic
parody of society itself. It exposes the difference between <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">man as he is</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">man as he should be</i>, and can be tragic in its humor. This brings us
back to our main issue: if satire is meant to laugh at <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">our</b> society, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">our</b>
institutions, how can it be layered onto Fantasy?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">The problem stems from the many misconceptions that
plague Fantasy and Science Fiction. Both genres are usually considered with
disdain as paraliterature, or mere fluff, and while sometimes this reputation
is fully deserved (there is plenty of mind-bogglingly bad fantasy out there),
many authors have managed to rise above it to give us thought provoking,
beautifully written prose. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">However, the most important thing people forget about
Science Fiction and Fantasy is that the worlds they present are meant to be
transcendent images of our own. They can help apprehend reality, pierce through
its illusions. Like Tolkien posited, Fantasy is in fact about simple,
fundamental things, but these banalities are valorized by their environment. Another
advantage is that if the inhabitants of these other dimensions have the same
moral and spiritual concerns as we do, these can be more clearly defined,
making the necessity for a solution more vital. In building a world, writers of
fantasy study questions that have preoccupied political philosophers since the dawn
of organized society. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Think of the incredibly complex universe of the Dune
series (to my taste, the best mix of Fantasy and Science Fiction ever written).
Jumping across large spans of time, Frank Herbert explores one salvation after
the other (creating systems that are often eerily familiar), then debunks each
one, extrapolating its end or eventual limit. He shows us that maybe there is
no single or simple solution; that we are doomed to always be searching for
what will inevitably become a temporary fix-up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">When you think about Fantasy that way, then adding Satire
to it doesn’t seem as far-fetched. What’s more, irony, far from invalidating
Fantasy, adds dimension to the often over-simplistic ethical commentary of the
genre, bringing it closer to real human preoccupations.<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"> </span>And in return, Fantasy, with its intense
moral aspects, allows the critic to address issues at a more profound level.<sup><o:p></o:p></sup></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Satire coupled with Fantasy brings us to the realization
that no matter what world a sapient being inhabits, life remains a constant
source of frustration, tragic ridicule, and comic absurdity. Through that Other’s
eyes, you can turn preconceptions around: the impossible becomes logical, logic
reveals its absurdity, and the absurd suddenly seems familiar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Turn evil into ridicule, and it disappears; evil has its
pride. Laughter destroys fear and veneration, but it needs, and creates,
familiarity. To make you laugh, the writer of Satiric Fantasy must anchor the
imaginary in reality. And herein, perhaps, lies the problem: is Satirical
Fantasy too real? Realer even than reality? Does it touch a nerve? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Fantasy is free-form, and in that mirror image of
infinite possibilities, the reflection Satire shows us can be difficult to
accept.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Brave enough to peek? Here are a few suggestions:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Terry
Pratchett – All the novels of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Discworld</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tom
Holt – Pretty much everything</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Douglas
Adams – the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dirk Gently</i> books </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 35.4pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 35.4pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">(The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hitchhiker</i> series is wonderful too, but
more Sci-fi than Fantasy) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 40.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And,
of course, Yours Truly – The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gods Inc.</i>
series.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 40.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 40.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">BIBLIOGRAPHY</span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Mikhaïl Bakhtine, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Esthétique et théorie du roman</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 40.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">John M. Bullit, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jonathan Swift and the Anatomy of Satire</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Andrew Butler, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Theories of Humor</i>, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Terry Pratchett: Guilty of Litterature. 2<sup>nd</sup>
Edition</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; tab-stops: 40.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jean R. Sheidegger,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Le Roman de Renart ou le texte de la derision</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ann Swinfen, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In Defense of Fantasy. A study of the genre
in English and American litterature since 1945</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">J.R.R. Tolkien, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tree and Leaf. Including the poem Mythopoeia</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-29503388748398238982018-05-04T12:48:00.000-07:002018-11-07T09:49:32.162-08:00An Excerpt from Inclement Gods<div class="page" title="Page 8">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-transform: uppercase;">Olympus<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-transform: uppercase;">Two thousand years ago<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-transform: uppercase;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-transform: uppercase;"> </span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Minutes from the meeting affectionately dubbed:<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Oh Us! Will it ever end?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Let’s
kill’em all!” yelled Mars, presiding in lieu of Jupiter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ahura-Mazda sighed wearily. These young gods were exasperating, and now that the meeting
was in its fiftieth year, there were always a few standing in for their elders.
M<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5064330293226608297" name="_GoBack"></a>ars, always hot under the helmet, was one of the worst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He
smoothed his long curly beard, rose and rearranged his silken robes. “How many
times must we explain this? We tried that before. Does the Deluge ring a bell?
And now we’re back to square one. There has got to be a better way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not
to mention how much work it was,” said Vishnu, playing with his nose ring.
“Exhausting! All that rain… and then having to recreate everything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Well,
I for one wouldn’t mind getting a good storm on,” said Thor. “It would be more
interesting than this meeting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You
gods do what you want with your humans.” Inti’s sun-disk crown of feathers was disarrayed
from shaking his head so much. “<i>My</i>
believers are still faithful, and no one is dumping a shitload of water on
their heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“How
long do you think that’s going to last?” asked Mwari kindly. “We’re well
isolated, both of us, but sooner or later this plague of disbelief will
spread.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not
to mention that Yahweh fellow,” said Amun with aristocratic disgust. “Telling
people he’s the only real one and that they should renounce us. The gall!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Says
the god who tried it a thousand years ago,” retorted Vishnu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Hey,
that was a disagreement with my pantheon. I never tried to encroach on any of
yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What
about that Science gal I keep hearing about?” wondered Thor. “Who is she?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
don’t think she’s a goddess,” said Ahura-Mazda, unable to repress a frown of doubt. “It’s rather a way of explaining things that doesn’t give us any credit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Like
those humans who says the sun would come up no matter what since the earth is
round,” said Athena.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Everyone
turned to look at the tall young woman in armor. She stopped playing with her
long auburn braid and blushed, partly with embarrassment but also with pride (the humans in question were her worshippers).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What?
Who let them find that out?” said Inti, leaning in and staring up at her with
suspicious eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“So,
what you’re saying is that some humans are studying phenomena and then giving
us the finger?” asked Thor. “A good thunderbolt always puts that to right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“It’s
more complicated than that,” said Ahura-Mazda. “They are questioning our power
and so their belief wanes. This in turn weakens us and so reduces our
influence.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“So
we’ll kill’em all!” repeated Mars. “They’ll believe in us then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Who?”
Athena’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “The dead ones?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Amun
stood up before Mars could reply. “Talking of death, what about Anubis’s
proposition the other day? That thing about us going back to earth to live with
the humans.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Might
not these <i>scientists</i> interpret this
move as one of weakness?” asked Inti.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Not
if we kill them all!” shrilled Mars with mounting anguish, cheeks now red under
his strawberry blond peach fuzz of a beard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Ah
yes, good idea,” said Athena. “Live with humans and piss them off so they
revolt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thor
twirled his hammer. “How can they revolt? We’re gods.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Perhaps,”
said Ahura-Mazda. “But we are few and they are many. Personally, I preferred
Mwari’s idea about creating a new dimension, even if it does mean leaving
what’s left of my believers without guidance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Both
ideas have merit,” said Athena, “and their faults: I think the disbelief runs
too deep here for our presence to do any good. What if we tried a combination
of the two?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You
mean create a new world AND live with the humans?” Vishnu’s voice became pensive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No!” Mars’s
whole face turned vermillion. “Killing them is the solution! A nice little
blood bath… Ah! Come on!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
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Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-40683699162094251642018-04-26T14:25:00.000-07:002018-11-07T09:49:46.674-08:00An Excerpt from Incompetent Gods<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYw0I9-lflFPh3FyFvB2q-Mz0GJXKe0NqzXDZ6vTlFpWx5LosCf4d71kgpZRa05JXs5dabKAFiM2tjruhyphenhyphenvLw519zbE0q-rXSCkUOoHrWfNTY3OEV4fcdyY_2p6d2Pu_qh12NbN9XauTE/s1600/b72ae5_f8b45567478b4d21b6152a162a715e2a%257Emv2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="253" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYw0I9-lflFPh3FyFvB2q-Mz0GJXKe0NqzXDZ6vTlFpWx5LosCf4d71kgpZRa05JXs5dabKAFiM2tjruhyphenhyphenvLw519zbE0q-rXSCkUOoHrWfNTY3OEV4fcdyY_2p6d2Pu_qh12NbN9XauTE/s320/b72ae5_f8b45567478b4d21b6152a162a715e2a%257Emv2.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> Chapter 2 : Vexations of Monarchy</span><br />
<br />
<br />
In the Summer Palace near Karta, the two robed figures stood on the rim of the glowing abyss.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Well, that worked… not at all. What did you do, you… your Highness?” asked Goblin, with what he considered admirable restraint.<br />
<br />
<br />
Three times, the king had shouted Ba’al’s summons. Three times, nothing but silence had answered. They couldn’t try for a fourth without a new goat, and gods knew it smelled bad enough in here.<br />
<br />
<br />
It wasn’t a BIG surprise; His Lameness King Japhet was renowned for failing at most things. This being said, he did look the part. He was, to put it simply, majestic. Exceptionally fit, with ebony skin and a great white smile, he towered over everyone. He also had big broad shoulders, ideal for taking the blame if things went wrong.<br />
<br />
<br />
Right now, His Uselessness was leaning on the altar and pouting.<br />
<br />
<br />
“I did everything you told me to. It’s your fault it didn’t work. Why didn’t you stay with me instead of hiding in the next room?” <br />
<br />
<br />
“I told you, Your Worthiness,” said Goblin with all the patience he could muster. “If you want the titan to be YOUR servant, you must conjure him alone.”<br />
<br />
<br />
That was a lie: a summoned divinity only ever obeyed his invoker, but Goblin preferred not to be seen by Ba’al. Not to mention that if there was a fault in the summons, if he had missed the aforementioned dot for example, divinities could get quite rude about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
Alone, Goblin would have punched the wall. They had to postpone everything. There were many possible reasons for tonight’s failure, but none could be remedied now. Prince Asset would arrive soon and he could not find out about the plan.<br />
<br />
<br />
Goblin glared at the King, thought for a second about replacing one goat with another, different kind of goat, then got a hold of himself. Even if His Odiousness was not strictly necessary, Goblin didn’t enjoy wearing KICK ME signs. He preferred to work from the shadows. He pulled the hidden lever and the two panels slid into place, closing the abyss.<br />
<br />
<br />
“It’s all right, Your Industriousness.” Goblin bowed obsequiously. “Go and rest, I’ll clean up in here and find out why the summons didn’t work.”<br />
<br />
<br />
“But Goblin!” The king was petulant. “I was supposed to be the world’s most powerful ruler in less than a week. We need my brother, he’s good with the gods…”<br />
<br />
<br />
“And the other rulers,” said Goblin. “Do you really trust his lack of ambition? Especially when you’ll have so much power?”<br />
<br />
<br />
The king frowned in puzzlement before stomping his foot. “Oh, Poo! Just hurry it up, will you! I want the world; I need new concubines, and fast!”<br />
<br />
<br />
His Pompousness left in a huff, in the timeless manner of dim-witted kings, and slammed the door, leaving a bemused Goblin staring at it.<br />
<br />
<br />
He shook his head. He had chosen Japhet because of his stupidity and childish behavior. Now was not the moment to be surprised by the extent of both.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-75090541335568322602017-11-15T09:06:00.002-08:002017-11-15T09:06:58.858-08:00PLAYING GOD: The creation of a Fantasy world.<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Ah, writing a new world: drawing strange landscapes,
giving life to fantastic creatures, constructing societies… Sounds fun, right? Liberating?
Heady even? It is, but it comes with a price. Lack of constraints can easily trip
the unwary fabulist and the derived enjoyment has given speculative fiction a
bad reputation: it’s escapism, fluff, too much fun to be of any real
consequence…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Well pffft! Let me tell you the dark little secret: even
the most grounded and realist writer of fiction (and a lot of so-called
non-fiction) creates a world that is, be it ever so slightly, different from
reality. ALL fiction is fictional, it’s only a question of degrees.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">What’s more, inventing other worlds is a fundamental
aspect of human intelligence. Margaret Atwood posits that the ability is within
us from infancy, that the limited confines of the crib make us imagine an
elsewhere, that then our first encounter with death forces us to confront the
idea of an after-world. Then we grow up, we forget… but we keep doing it
unconsciously, for framing reality with our values often distorts it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Let’s get back to writing a Fantasy world. Not all
writers of Fantasy feel the need to do this. The basic tenet of the genre only
asks that we naturalize the supernatural, and this reality has proven most
accommodating: over the centuries, authors have dropped in hordes of wizards,
vampires, werewolves, witches, gods, aliens, and so on, without readers batting
an eyelash.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">So how does a new world come into being? It’s a well-known
fact that there are two sorts of writers: the ones who plan their story in
advance (planners) and the ones who let the story write itself (pantsers). Typically,
a planner has outlined all the parameters of their universe before writing the
first sentence. Me, I’m the other type. I didn’t realize I was setting up an Elsewhere
until I was quite far into the story, it just kinda… happened. Who’s right? Who
knows? The Church likes to profess that God has a plan, but if you ask me, it
all makes a lot more sense if you think of God as the create-as-you-write sort.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Jokes aside, whatever kind of world creator you turn out
to be, there will come a point when you need to stop and think about your creation,
define its rules. This is when you must start taking your readers into
consideration, for a fictional universe cannot be anything but incomplete: if
it is born in the writer’s imagination, it is fulfilled in the reader’s. The
latter has to be able to penetrate it, believe it. In the name of what some
call “suspension of disbelief” or “impression of reality”, this world will need
to possess a structure somewhat similar to the primary reality and a coherent
equation of cause and effect. And while these concepts are important for any
work of fiction, they are absolutely essential to any work touching on the
supernatural. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Then you will need to think about your aims as an
author, and if you don’t know what these are, it might mean digging deep into
your unconscious. Fantasy has the potential to be didactic and moralizing: it
simplifies life and by doing so, allows an author to enlarge society’s defects
and draw the reader’s attention to real problems by changing their setting and
magnifying them in contrast. Moreover, the removed standpoint permits the
subtle handling of difficult, often delicate subjects. By using echoes or
flipping the reader’s perspective, it becomes possible to reveal absurdities
while sparing sensibilities… And they call it fluff ;)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">This being said, always remember that the more you
diverge from the primary reality, the harder it will be to debate concrete
notions and critique society. Sadly, this means that most imaginary worlds will
be parasites of our own, but how? Will your creation be linked, or completely
independent? What will be its mechanics? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">You can choose the oldest trick in the book: the geography
or spatial angle (think Jules Vernes, Gulliver’s Travels, or the Hitchhiker’s
Guide to the Galaxy), in which the distance traveled by the hero explains
differences and where comparison with the primary society is built in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Or you can reverse the Science Fiction thing, make your
world a blast from the past, or something that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feels</i> like it could be our past (even if you set it in our future).
Tolkien’s Middle-Earth, along with our fascination for Arthurian romances, has
made this the conventional choice of High Fantasy. In these realities, traditional
and heroic values of days yore are often imbued with a nostalgic glow to
denounce the evils of our modern societies.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">You can go Quantum, create a parallel dimension. This
sort of world will usually be linked to ours, be it by a rabbit hole (Alice’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wonderland</i>) or a wardrobe (C.S. Lewis’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Narnia</i>), thus permitting comparisons. There
are exceptions, especially in realities only slightly different than ours, although
this means you cannot define it as a parallel dimension in the story itself.
You can do a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Harry Potter</i> and use a
pocket dimension existing within our own. Of course, you may find a wholly new
way – Bravo! – or you can mix everything up and create something in the lines
of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld. You may want to explain your world, or not, or
just leave tantalizing clues. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">At page thirty of Incompetent Gods, I realized I had created
a parallel dimension. I opted to explain it, for its genesis was directly
responsible for its society. My world split from ours two thousand years ago,
when the ancient pagan gods, sickened by the spread of atheism (and perhaps the
arrival of new competition), decided to rip the fabric of time and space, and
leave this reality for a new one. This time, they said, we will live amongst
the humans, so they will never stop believing. They didn’t realized that
knowledge is not faith… Forward two thousand years, a couple of centuries after
the end of an era marked by global warfare where gods had become the equivalent
of atomic bombs, and they are now safely ensconced in Gods Incorporated, a huge
multinational that regiments the relations between mortals and immortals. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Mine became an exercise in extrapolation (or
retrogression for some parameters – remember I was already on page thirty),
perhaps closer to Science Fiction than Fantasy: change a variable, and see
where it takes you. Divine beings exuding it like we expel carbon dioxide
explained the omnipresence of magic (while its unreliability dictated the need
for technology). The combined existence of pagan gods, by definition
promiscuous and weirdly shaped, and breaches in the space-time continuum that
permit teleportation (and resulting splicing accidents), justified the presence
of mythical creatures. And in a society where divine intervention is expected,
miracles and acts of gods became bought and paid for commodities. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">Whatever your model of choice, whether you choose to
explain it or not, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> will need to
know how your world works, what is possible and what isn’t, for the smallest inconsistencies
can shatter the illusion you have worked so hard to create. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">References & suggestions for further reading<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret Atwood, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In Other Worlds. SF and the Human
Imagination.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephen King, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On Writing.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ann Swinfen, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In Defense of Fantasy. A study of the genre
in English and American litterature since 1945.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">J.R.R. Tolkien, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tree and Leaf. Including the poem Mythopoeia.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-8069761693543136612017-10-22T08:19:00.003-07:002017-10-22T08:43:37.269-07:00How do gods blaspheme?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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"When you hit your thumb with an eight-pound hammer, it's nice to be able to blaspheme. It takes a very special and strong-minded kind of atheist to jump up and down with their hand clasped under their other armpit and shout, "Oh, random-fluctuations-in-the-space-time-continuum!" or "Aaargh, primitive-and-outmoded-concept on a crutch!"</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Terry
Pratchett - </span><i>Men at Arms</i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US">As a reader,
there’s nothing that brings me as much pleasure as discovering a new way of
cursing. Disclaimer: this might be a French-Canadian thing. People in Québec,
oppressed by the Catholic clergy until the Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, have
developed a unique way of venting their anger: almost every sacrament (even the
word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sacrement</i>), every implement of
the mass, has become an expletive – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Baptème</i>!
(my father’s favorite – baptism), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tabarnak</i>!
(Tabernacle), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ostie</i>! (Host), and so
on, which you can link in an endless chain with a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">de</i>: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tabarnak de caliss
d’ostie de ciboire de marde</i>! </span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-fareast-language: FR; mso-no-proof: yes;">If not</span><span lang="EN-US"> innate,
my affection for swearing started at a very young age (before I even knew what it
was, and long before anyone would tell me the words), with the discovery of
comic books, which I read without knowing how to read. Most of these were, if
not aimed at children, then at least kid-friendly, so the authors had to convey
the anger and frustration inherent to a satisfying curse fest in creative ways.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZMB1ZJq1Q5zIjL_uB6KzTlddPWDCm-bvz5bdupBqcnfzr6ozRty7RHPX390poh452vXlfSK7IKX6qrXCo2xQgMQ_-q3MtC6qOeTND9dWQlBK__5CdWe7xssGPNso_4eC_oniMJxcGA4/s1600/mr04_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="135" data-original-width="180" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZMB1ZJq1Q5zIjL_uB6KzTlddPWDCm-bvz5bdupBqcnfzr6ozRty7RHPX390poh452vXlfSK7IKX6qrXCo2xQgMQ_-q3MtC6qOeTND9dWQlBK__5CdWe7xssGPNso_4eC_oniMJxcGA4/s320/mr04_006.jpg" width="320" /></a>There was the good old number’s-uppercase-line, but the best added to it with symbols and drawings – and the character’s expression was often quite telling, as in this lovely one from Greg’s Achille Talon.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">In the next one
from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Astérix et les Goths</i>, Goscinny
and Uderzo pushed the irony a little further by translating the picturesque
oaths.</span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">Some found more
original ways. In <i>Gaston Lagaffe</i>,
Franquin would write out the sounds – meaningless on paper, they would regain
their full sense once said aloud. And you gotta love the red face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<!--EndFragment-->I grew up, sorely feeling
the lack of older siblings (those treasure troves of the best profanities). I
had two older brothers, but they were well into adulthood, and they couldn’t be
persuaded to teach bad language to their little sister. On the other hand, they
taught me that the words themselves don’t matter that much: with the right
intonation, you can make up your own.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhYEap98KnGHI6yIP46sZvSYLuXLAHs426jnok615ieGU_qr8T_AQFO7j5WgSTdeE4TJfd4kSqCoJQAqkJYdbru8lTZa0SSOZHsPLMTZ103PdmtY0C0EGQ0beqCSuQh7_qlXcNfqzCPE/s1600/Haddock-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhYEap98KnGHI6yIP46sZvSYLuXLAHs426jnok615ieGU_qr8T_AQFO7j5WgSTdeE4TJfd4kSqCoJQAqkJYdbru8lTZa0SSOZHsPLMTZ103PdmtY0C0EGQ0beqCSuQh7_qlXcNfqzCPE/s1600/Haddock-1.jpg" /></a>I remember my
brother being cut by a bad driver when I was nine and him thundering “Cornichon
à Roulettes” (pickle on wheels). My friend and I laughed for hours. And just
like that, I saw the genius in Capitaine Haddock’s strings of literate insults
(<i>Tintin</i> by Hergé). Here – Bighead,
Cukold, a sort of inedible leek, Slime, Pest that attacks grapevines, and
Cannibal.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">When I reached my
teens, I was shipped to an English speaking boarding school in Southern Québec
(possibly because my language was deemed unfit by the nuns at my Catholic
school). Lo and behold! A fresh new world of profanities opened itself to me.
Sadly, the school library was poor in such things and my swearing vocabulary
did not expand much further than what I could catch on American television. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Upon reaching
adulthood, the singing ribaldries of 90s French comic cinema attracted me to
the other side of the pond. Perhaps unsurprisingly, French cursing is mostly
about sex, but whereas it feels puritanical in the US, the French revel in it
and are not the least bit apologetic. What’s more, many French oaths also have
a mundane meaning. And so a Frenchman can yell out Bordel! then look you straight
in the eyes and say that no, he didn’t say whorehouse, he was just commenting
on the mess. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Three years later,
an incidental bachelor’s degree in my pocket, I was swearing like a native and
ready to go back home, but my Great Epiphany was laying in wait. Stuck in a
dreary London hotel, I discovered British humor. The sky opened up, the sun
came out as I finally heard real British cursing. Colorful, irreverent, bouncy,
fun to say… I fell in love instantly. It might even be the main reason I write
in English instead of French. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US">How a person
swears, the words he chooses to do it with, is revealing of his personality,
but it’s also revealing at a cultural level. For a writer, it can be valuable
tool that hints at a character’s nationality, and develops his personality. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US">My Gods Inc.
series is, you guessed it, about gods. I wasn’t far into writing Incompetent
Gods that the question presented itself: how in gods’ names would gods blaspheme?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US">But I’m not
telling. You’ll just have to read the books to find out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-80894856068721462132017-07-18T11:13:00.000-07:002017-07-18T11:13:04.124-07:00<h5 class="font_5" style="border: 0px; font-family: Spinnaker, sans-serif; font-size: 33px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 0.5em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: white;"> </span></h5>
<h5 class="font_5" style="border: 0px; font-family: Spinnaker, sans-serif; font-size: 74px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 0.9em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.4) 0px 4px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: corben, serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white;">Inclement Gods</span></span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="font_5" style="border: 0px; font-family: Spinnaker, sans-serif; font-size: 33px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: corben, serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white;">GODS INC. Series BOOK 2</span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="font_5" style="border: 0px; font-family: Spinnaker, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: corben, serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white;"></span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="font_5" style="border: 0px; font-family: Spinnaker, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: corben, serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white;">When you live in a world pullulating with gods, can you truly be an atheist? Well, yes…if you know a way to get rid of them. Mysantheos, a fanatic atheist at the head of a powerful lobby/terrorist organization, has created a weapon able to kill gods and his kamikaze army is ready to attack.<br /><br />As the divine bodies pile up, resentment builds at Gods Incorporated and violent factions start pushing for the extermination of the human race, and the CEO/Queen Louhi is running out of ideas to calm them down. Hopefully, her black ops teams are doing better. But will the Nerds and Richard (a down-on-his-luck private eye), saddled as they are with a group of angry gods, manage to find </span></span></span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: corben, serif;">Mysantheos before all hell breaks loose?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvt8OGuukjJa1OOjCjjDVx6AAogRUSKc1JJk_5np50SUq-nopUbsd1bRcl29bkDOGyyTDKourIJDX9DBCCiriP3YLjutcvyZITnL67KcqPdfsztfWlhtqNNyVHINFAdOJYVvJgOo5Uco/s1600/3d-inclement-gods.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="501" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvt8OGuukjJa1OOjCjjDVx6AAogRUSKc1JJk_5np50SUq-nopUbsd1bRcl29bkDOGyyTDKourIJDX9DBCCiriP3YLjutcvyZITnL67KcqPdfsztfWlhtqNNyVHINFAdOJYVvJgOo5Uco/s320/3d-inclement-gods.png" width="243" /></a></div>
</span></h5>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-33225172679343620462016-07-31T12:38:00.003-07:002016-07-31T12:49:41.188-07:00<h2>
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: cyan; font-family: "enriqueta" , serif; font-size: x-large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">INCOMPETENT GODS</span></span></h2>
<h3>
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: cyan; font-family: "enriqueta" , serif; font-size: large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">GODS INC. SERIES - BOOK 1</span></span></h3>
<div>
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: cyan; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="font_8" style="border: 0px; line-height: normal; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In a dimension created by the ancient gods, most are now stuck working at Gods Incorporated. CEO Queen Louhi Pohjola, a mortal demigoddess turned vampire (on a diet), holds the planet in the palm of her hand and while she cannot by any stretch of the imagination be called a nice person, there’s worse lurking in her shadow.</span></span></div>
<div class="font_8" style="border: 0px; line-height: normal; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="font_8" style="border: 0px; line-height: normal; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Goblin, a bitter hybrid with childhood issues and shape-shifting abilities, has a grudge against the world. First on his to-do list is getting rid of the Queen and take her place by forcing the titan Ba’al to devour her.</span></span></div>
<div class="font_8" style="border: 0px; line-height: normal; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="font_8" style="border: 0px; line-height: normal; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">As her friends and allies fall one-by-one into Goblin’s traps, the Queen’s fate seems inevitable. With no one left to fight, will Ba’al’s friends, a bunch of over-the-hill incompetent gods, be enough to stop Goblin from turning the world into hell?</span></span></div>
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<h2>
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: cyan; font-family: "enriqueta" , serif; font-size: x-large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; color: cyan; font-family: "enriqueta" , serif; font-size: x-large; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Available in December 2016!</span></span></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0mC06lMvvAamZCTA0EGOVP_Kq4U6us0CzdxdTBY386TaRFKnohdZBTpB_H5v8QShgcgh6uduN67PWipp-P_f9crOsLbGraDEcsAcW8GMNFOv_u2EiMRK7WyZPPq65Bh0tsix_p9C3KB8/s1600/b72ae5_f8b45567478b4d21b6152a162a715e2a%257Emv2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0mC06lMvvAamZCTA0EGOVP_Kq4U6us0CzdxdTBY386TaRFKnohdZBTpB_H5v8QShgcgh6uduN67PWipp-P_f9crOsLbGraDEcsAcW8GMNFOv_u2EiMRK7WyZPPq65Bh0tsix_p9C3KB8/s320/b72ae5_f8b45567478b4d21b6152a162a715e2a%257Emv2.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: "enriqueta" , serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-1408053460325548242016-01-28T12:49:00.000-08:002016-01-28T12:57:34.623-08:00POUR LE MEILLEUR ET POUR LE PIRE<br />
La journée n’avait pas commencé que je m’en doutais déjà qu’elle serait terrible. <br />
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En réalité, tout a commencé la veille, pendant la soirée. Depuis un mois, tous les soirs ou presque, je trie le contenu des boîtes que j’ai dû sortir de chez ma Marraine.<br />
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Marraine (elle a toujours insisté pour que je l’appelle ainsi), c’était la seconde épouse de mon oncle. Elle n’a pas eu d’enfants, mais elle m’a accueillie sous son aile suite au décès de ma mère. Elle a été une maman adoptive formidable ! Le mois dernier, elle est morte d’un cancer du poumon compliqué par un AVC massif qui l’avait laissée à moitié paralysée. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoigURnDqVK_4ak3zaSQrrApR9NamxlsFqfLttkoIqaSDth6-a82_ehuhBE0t6hhd7fndPw7mnI_zO5UcPEgWxW6YwCpYd0tJajnO0x15SFAO66yGhXGeR06_6ASrg1MuSi03VLW7PJ7E/s1600/Marraine.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoigURnDqVK_4ak3zaSQrrApR9NamxlsFqfLttkoIqaSDth6-a82_ehuhBE0t6hhd7fndPw7mnI_zO5UcPEgWxW6YwCpYd0tJajnO0x15SFAO66yGhXGeR06_6ASrg1MuSi03VLW7PJ7E/s320/Marraine.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 12.0pt;">MOI, MAMAN et MARRAINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Bref, ce boulot qui me chiffonne le nez (il y a des papiers là-dedans qui doivent avoir plus de cent ans) suscite une gamme complète d’émotions. Ça aide d’avoir un mari à ses côtés et un verre de vin à la main.<br />
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À onze heures, on avait bu trois bouteilles. Ma gorge et mes yeux n’en pouvaient plus de la poussière. On a tout placé dans les chemises idoines et on a remis les boîtes au sous-sol. Incroyable comme ça pue du vieux papier ! <br />
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Et pour bien terminer la soirée, on a pris un petit digestif avant d’aller dormir. Le verre de trop, quoi.<br />
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Minuit venait à peine de sonner quand mon mari a commencé à ronfler. Son ronflement de Calvados : rond comme une pomme, aussi subtil qu’un troupeau de Normands qui chargent. L’enfer!<br />
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Comme de fait, Satan n’a pas tardé à apparaître. En échange de mon âme, il m’a offert de rendre Achille (le nom a été modifié pour protéger l'innocent) silencieux pour le reste de ses nuits. D’habitude, Satan, il trouve des trucs beaucoup plus chouettes pour m’allécher : la jeunesse éternelle, des milliards de dollars, vingt livres en moins, la publication de mes romans, des pouvoirs magiques… N’empêche que je n’ai jamais été aussi proche de céder.<br />
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Connaissant Satan, je me serais probablement réveillée avec un mari muet.<br />
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Je lui ai dit d’aller voir au paradis si j’y étais et j’ai donné un coup de pied à Achille. Je me suis enfouie dans mes oreillers en remerciant Dieu pour la finesse de leur duvet et la douceur de mes draps (coton égyptien, huit cents fils au pouce, fini percale, hautement recommandés en cas d’infestation démoniaque).<br />
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Vers huit heures, mon mari s’est levé. Enfin, je pouvais arrêter de suffoquer dans mes oreillers et peut-être dormir.<br />
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Pas pour longtemps. J’avais oublié qu’on était dimanche. Pourquoi faut-il toujours que je prenne un coup le samedi ? On dirait que ça ne me rentre pas dans le crâne que le dimanche, la messe est à neuf heures et quart. Et pourtant, j’y allais, avant, pour accompagner Marraine. <br />
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En plus, ne me demandez pas comment, mais il le sait toujours, le bedeau, quand j’ai la tête dans le c… Je suis certaine qu’il le fait exprès. La semaine dernière, les cloches ont sonné à peine deux minutes. Ce matin, il a commencé à neuf heures moins cinq! Et il était en forme, le bedeau. Je l’imagine, tout rond, en robe de bure, chauve, pendu après sa corde en train de se balancer d’un mur à l’autre du campanile, un grand sourire aux lèvres. Le salaud…<br />
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Il faut déménager.<br />
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Mon cerveau était traversé de spasmes tranchants, mais je n’avais plus sommeil. J’ai avalé trois Aspirines et je me suis traînée hors du lit de peine et misère.<br />
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En bas, mon mari semblait en pleine forme. Il fait chier. Je lui ai grogné bonjour et on a joué à Pepe le Pew pendant deux minutes. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEdBndu0YUM"><span style="color: red;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEdBndu0YUM</span></a><br />
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Il a vite compris qu’après avoir enduré son imitation de siffleux toute la nuit, j’en avais ma claque, non mais flûte !<br />
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Verre d’eau à la main, je me suis installée à l’ordinateur. À tous les jours, en me levant, j’essaie d’écrire un chapitre de roman, mais ce matin, les annonces immobilières possédaient un charme irrésistible.<br />
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L’ordinateur a décidé pour moi : vingt courriels !<br />
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Comment ça, vingt courriels ? Appréhensive, j’ai ouvert ma boîte de réception. À travers la réclame et les inanités de Facebook, le nom redouté crevait l’écran. Pendant que j’épluchais des souvenirs de famille, mon cousin a encore piqué une crise.<br />
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Mon cousin (appelons-le Lefuneste - là, c'est pour ME protéger du déplaisant), c’est le fils de mon oncle, le beau-fils de Marraine. Il n’est pas content. Marraine l’a déshérité.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp918FE6zdBhs1jAodDAldYTP2a3fTE9u2yvXIsEOB9Q5RnK7q8vl85-q1Y4fNpgKarN-ns_aAOlCHO-E2KPIb8hudXkYIm_TemI6yw8uzutls4a6IdUT9PLa1AiNemvCXGLJxHcKixg/s1600/Lefuneste-cuistre.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp918FE6zdBhs1jAodDAldYTP2a3fTE9u2yvXIsEOB9Q5RnK7q8vl85-q1Y4fNpgKarN-ns_aAOlCHO-E2KPIb8hudXkYIm_TemI6yw8uzutls4a6IdUT9PLa1AiNemvCXGLJxHcKixg/s320/Lefuneste-cuistre.png" width="320" /></a><br />
Lefuneste ne semble pas comprendre que les gens n’aiment pas être traités avec mépris. Marraine, écœurée de son dédain et blessée par celui de ses enfants, a donc préférer léguer ses biens à trois de mes cousins et à moi. Ça, ça ne lui a vraiment pas plu, à Lefuneste.<br />
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J’ai ouvert son premier courriel. J’y ai trouvé la rengaine habituelle : qu’il est triste, si triste, que c’est pas juste, que s’il a raté sa vie c’est à cause de son enfance malheureuse, blablabla… Difficile à croire qu’il a maintenant soixante ans, qu’il va bientôt être grand-père. <br />
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Le deuxième, plus virulent, s’adresse aux héritiers (avec toute la famille en copie). Il nous compare à des vautours sauvages et nous ordonne de lui céder notre héritage. Il est fou, ma foi.<br />
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Dans le troisième, après la réponse de ma cousine qui lui dit « Tu es fou, ma foi », il nous traite tous de chiens sales et nous annonce qu’il a engagé un avocat. Il va poursuivre tout le monde! Oui, même la matriarche de la famille, âgée de 90 ans. Rien pour aider ma migraine.<br />
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Sourcil froncé, j’ai tourné la tête pour regarder le mini diable perché sur mon épaule gauche. Comme son patron, c’est un satyre à la peau rouge et aux cheveux noirs qui porte une petite barbichette pointue, sauf qu’il ressemble étrangement à mon ex petit ami (celui qui est passé du côté obscur de la force).<br />
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Mon diable avait un air fanfaron. J’ai pointé l’écran du pouce.<br />
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- C’est vous ça ?<br />
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Il s’est embué les ongles et les a frottés sur sa redingote de soie noire (j’ai oublié de mentionner qu’il est toujours bien sapé, comme mon ex, d’ailleurs).<br />
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- Un chef-d’œuvre, on en est très fiers, en bas.<br />
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J’aurais dû m’en douter.<br />
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J’ai appelé mon mari pour qu’il vienne lire. J’aime bien avoir son opinion et un jour il pourrait être obligé de défendre mon honneur.<br />
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De toute façon, mon verre d’eau était vide. Sur le chemin de la cuisine, le flacon de Tylenol m’a fait un clin d’œil.<br />
<br />
- Tut tut, a dit une voix de mon épaule droite.<br />
<br />
Ça, c’est mon ange. Il m’énerve. Il a une tête de socialiste et une gueule d’animateur de jeux télévisés. Il porte une longue jaquette blanche et des sandales Birkenstock. Et, au lieu de jouer de la lyre, il joue de la cornemuse. Mal.<br />
<br />
- Tu viens de prendre trois Aspirines. C’est pas bon ce genre de mélange.<br />
<br />
- Mais c’est la faute de vos foutues cloches…<br />
<br />
Il a haussé les épaules.<br />
<br />
- Le Seigneur donne, le Seigneur reprend (Job, I, 21). Tu ferais mieux de boire une tasse de café.<br />
<br />
Ça semblait raisonnable, mais j’ai appris à me méfier. Je me suis servie une tasse (trois Splenda, un sucre) et j’y ai trempé les lèvres.<br />
<br />
Beuark ! Je le savais ! C’est toujours dégueulasse, du café, un lendemain de veille. Parfois, mon ange, il mérite des baffes. En plus, il rit comme Charlemagne. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMk63SOkdms"><span style="color: red;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMk63SOkdms</span></a> <br />
<br />
Mais j’avais trop besoin de stimulant. J’ai ajouté du lait et du sucre; le sirop a passé.<br />
<br />
J’ai regagné le bureau. Mon mari avait les yeux gros comme des assiettes à soupe. Il s’est tourné vers moi en faisant son Obélix.<br />
<br />
- Il est fou, ce cousin.<br />
<br />
J’ai repris ma place. Que faire ? Mon roman ne m’intéressait plus. J’avais juste envie d’écrire à Lefuneste, de lui dire qu’à son âge, il serait peut-être temps qu’il arrête de faire le guignol. Mais je sais que ce n’est pas la solution : quand on lui répond, on l’encourage, il aime ça. Non, la seule chose à faire, c’est l’ignorer.<br />
<br />
De retour au roman, alors…<br />
<br />
Et là, l’ordinateur a planté. Je tapais incompétent, et sur l’écran ça devenait <i>hyvizôcecye</i>, je tapais dieux et le mot <i>mhcgu</i> apparaissait. Puis, la loi de Murphy a décidé de s’en mêler : le correcteur automatique est passé en mode finlandais.<br />
<br />
J’ai expiré un bon coup par le nez en me disant que c’était probablement un code 18. J’ai abandonné le roman pour aller sur Internet. Pas moyen, l’ordinateur était gelé gelé.<br />
<br />
Je hais ces machines. On passe plus de temps à les faire fonctionner qu’à s’en servir. Mes rêves de richesse instantanée se bornent habituellement à une chose : pouvoir lancer mes ordinateurs par la fenêtre quand ça me chante!<br />
<br />
- Tut, tut, a grondé mon ange. C’est pas génial pour l’environnement, ça. Il faut que tu apprennes la patience.<br />
<br />
Il a soufflé une note dans son infâme cornemuse. Tout à coup, j’avais diablement envie de jouer au base-ball, moi – avec une cornemuse et une tête d’ange.<br />
<br />
J’ai cligné des yeux, il a disparu. J’ai crié à Achille de venir m’aider. Le temps qu’il arrive, j’avais décidé que c’était de sa faute. L’ordinateur marchait très bien avant qu’il ne lise les courriels du vilain…<br />
<br />
Et l’engueulade fut.<br />
<br />
Mais j’avais oublié mon mal de bloc. Après deux minutes, je me suis recroquevillée sur un fauteuil en pleurant. Achille m’a embrassé les cheveux. Il m’a suggéré de lire le journal d’hier à la place, pendant qu’il s’occuperait de l’ordinateur. Et peut-être que je devrais manger quelque chose, il ne restait plus beaucoup de temps avant le tennis.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Deux heures plus tard, j’avais repris forme humaine et je m’étais convaincue que je VOULAIS aller jouer au tennis.<br />
<br />
Le problème, c’est que les clés de la voiture avaient disparu. Les deux trousseaux, pfft, volatilisés.<br />
<br />
J’ai eu une vision : n’avais-je pas eu une rage de fumer, la veille ? J’ai demandé à mon mari s’il n’avait pas caché les clés, pour éviter que j’aille m’acheter des cigarettes. Il a répondu que non et on a commencé à chercher.<br />
<br />
Trois quarts d’heure plus tard, on cherchait encore. Pour le tennis, c’était foutu, et Achille s’inquiétait de plus en plus. Quelqu’un (du genre cousin funeste) se serait-il introduit dans la maison ? Aurait-il volé les clés pour revenir plus tard en toute quiétude ?<br />
<br />
Mais pourquoi les deux trousseaux ?<br />
<br />
Moi, j’étais convaincue que mon hypothèse était la bonne. Achille s’est choqué : il s’en souviendrait, merde!<br />
<br />
Mais là, je n’avais plus du tout envie de rigoler.<br />
<br />
- Disons que tu les aurais cachées, fais semblant. Où les aurais-tu mises ?<br />
<br />
Mon mari m’a fait une drôle de tête puis il a marché vers la bibliothèque. D’un geste hésitant il en a tâtonné le dessus. Cling !<br />
<br />
Je me suis laissée tomber sur une marche. Je me suis tournée vers mon diable. Il semblait ébahi.<br />
<br />
- Ah, non. Je te jure, il le fait tout seul. Il est phénoménal! On devrait l’engager, il serait vite le chouchou du patron.<br />
<br />
J’ai senti la rage me monter au nez. Il fallait que je me calme. Mon ange n’avait rien vu aller, le con. Il était assis en tailleur en train de se faire une pédicure en mordant sa Birkenstock. Les pieds d’ange n’ont peut-être pas d’odeur, mais c’est quand même dégoûtant. Il a levé la tête et analysé la situation. Il a craché sa sandale.<br />
<br />
- Désolé. Je suis aussi pantois que l’autre.<br />
<br />
Mon diable, de son côté, a commencé à se battre avec un pot de moutarde. Je lui ai envoyé une pichenotte. J’ai fermé les yeux, j’ai compté. Je devais lutter contre ma génétique : je ne veux pas être comme mon père, je me défends de faire les mêmes colères dévastatrices…<br />
<br />
Marraine, aide-moi !<br />
<br />
Quand j’ai relevé la tête, mon mari était assis deux marches plus bas. Il m’a fait un petit sourire penaud.<br />
<br />
- On fait ce que tu veux. N’importe quoi. Je suis désolé, je t’aime, ma chérie.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mais moi, j’en avais vraiment trop marre de cette journée. Tout ce dont j’avais envie, c’était de prendre un long bain chaud puis m’envelopper dans des cotons ouatés. Me blottir dans un fauteuil devant un bon feu et lire un <i>Petit Nicolas</i>, histoire de me consoler d’avoir épousé <i>Gaston Lagaffe</i>.<br />
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Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-72686696606200849612015-07-28T08:57:00.003-07:002015-07-28T08:57:28.987-07:00HELL IS OTHER GODS<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
lawyer’s arguments danced a merry gig on the document. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis,
Jackal-god, Ultimate Guide of Mortal Souls, Vice-President in charge of the
Afterlife Department, was well aware of the overcrowding in the purgatories.
But to let a fiend of this magnitude reincarnate after only two thirds of his
penance rubbed him the wrong way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He let
his gaze wander over the sandy walls of the room while playing a tattoo on his
alabaster desk. At least the swine would be reborn as a platypus. Anubis signed
the release.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">His
door crashed open. If he’d had a heart, it would have stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then
it got worse: the Sheela-Na-Gig walked in. A small moan escaped his lips and he
fought the urge to hide under the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As
always, the short fertility goddess appeared to have been moulded in bad clay
by a clumsy Neanderthal, but today she looked even more dreadful than usual.
Tears from her sunken black eyes sullied her elephant skin and her dress… the
only qualifier that came to mind was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tarpish</i>,
yet it still managed to emphasize some of her curves when she sobbed. Hidden
behind her was Jupiter, looking sombre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
found his voice. “Can I help you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Ah-Peku
is in hell,” said Jupiter. “We want to get him out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">With
relief, Anubis tore his fascinated eyes from the distressed goddess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
shouldn’t have shaved his beard and he certainly shouldn’t have streaked his
hair. Maybe the blond surfer look worked with the ladies, but it had stripped
him of his majesty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Ah-Peku?”
wondered Anubis. “The storm god? What’s he doing in hell?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“He’s
dead!” wailed Sheela. “Some humans killed him!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“He
was the victim of an enchantment… and a bazooka,” said Jupiter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
scratched the tuft of hair between his ears. “It’s not that I don’t believe
you, but if it were that easy, humans would have gotten rid of us a long time
ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“There’s
a new sorcerer in town.” Jupiter’s tone became irate. “The bazooka thing works
because the enchantment makes the god forget everything, including that he is
one. And so, thinking he’s human, bam! Straight to Hell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“We
have to get him out,” said Sheela, chops trembling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She
foghorned into a huge handkerchief and approached him. He pulled back so fast,
the legs of his chair screeched in protest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Fine,
fine. But you can’t just go waltzing in Hades…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
snorted. “That’s not what my brother says.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sheela
kicked him. “That’s why we came to you. Can you help us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
nodded quickly, before Sheela could start cajoling him again. “But I have to
warn you, finding someone in the Afterlife is tough. I mean, the place is BIG:
there are I don’t know how many hells, at least twenty heavens and then there’s
the purgatories, usually customized and so, innumerable. It won’t be easy. He
might not even be in there yet; the queues for the judgment chambers are always
bad. Which reminds me, if a wizard up there has found a way to kill immortals, I
better send a memo…” He typed a few words on a small screen embedded in his
desk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Do
you really think he might still be waiting in line somewhere?” asked Sheela,
her lunar face filling with hope. “It’s been close to twenty-four hours.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No,”
he breathed, “he’s in there, but where?” He rubbed his muzzle, lost in thought.
“Ah-Peku is a Mayan god, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yes,”
said Sheela.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“And…
was he somewhat of a wicked god?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“He
was a great god!” exclaimed Jupiter. “A great friend!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“So <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> didn’t trick women into sleeping with
him or go around dosing unsuspecting men with love philtres?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Both
gods reddened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sheela
recovered first. “He was one of the nicest. His only vices were playing with
clouds and drinking with friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
was certain there were more skeletons than that, but there was no point in
questioning further. “He’ll probably be in Mictlan somewhere. It’s the most
popular Azteco-Mayan Underworld.” He pressed a button on his telephone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Welcome
to the Infernal Depths Telecommunication Centre,” droned a mechanical voice.
“Please say the name of the person or division you wish to reach.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Mictlan,”
enunciated Anubis forcefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“If
you wish to reach Mickeyland, say yes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“No,
Mictlan!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“If
you wish to reach Voltaire, say yes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis’s
pointy ears quivered. Very, very calmly, he pressed the diabolical instrument’s
off key. He got up with a sigh and went to stand between the two lotus columns
decorating the left wall of his office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I
think it will be easier to go down there.” He raised an admonitory finger. “BUT
there are rules! First: you must not, under no circumstances, eat or drink
anything. If you do, you will be trapped in the Afterlife forever. Second:
never, ever, look behind you. You won’t like what might be lurking in your
peripheral vision. If absolutely necessary, do a complete body rotation.” He
rotated three hundred and sixty degrees, never moving his head. “Thirdly…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
looked at his audience and realized two rules were already one too many. “Oh,
hell, let’s just go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
closed his eyes and, humming, laid his hands on the wall. It became
transparent, then disappeared, revealing a long sandy valley leading to two
identical columns on the horizon. After making sure the others were following,
Anubis stepped out of his office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">They
hadn’t walked five seconds when a chorus of barks sounded and a ball of fur
dropped on Jupiter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Cerberus!
Heel!” yelled Anubis, to the complete indifference of the three-headed bulldog.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter,
sitting on the ground, wiped a bit of drool from his face. “It’s all right,
Nub. We’re old friends, aren’t we Berus?” He tried to pat all three heads at
once. “You’re a good doggie, yes you are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Cerberus
yipped with joy and the saliva bath resumed. Perhaps realizing he was in danger
of drowning, Jupiter got up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Down
boy, down.” He lifted his eyes to his companions. “I won him from his dad when
he was just a pup. We had lots of fun, but he was making the other gods in
Olympus nervous, Juno in particular, so I gave him to my brother. But he
remembers me, right buddy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
god and the dog fell into another tumble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Hem,
Jup?” said Anubis. “What about Ah-Peku?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
came up for air. “Right, sorry… Can we bring Berus with us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sure, why not?” said Anubis. “With him
around, danger should avoid us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Bring
that monster along?” squeaked Sheela from behind him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Cerberus,
intrigued by Sheela’s particular voice and smell, approached her with a low
growl in the back of his throats. Six eyes widened then lost focus. He whined
and ran back to his old master, heads trembling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What’s
wrong with him?” asked Sheela, her unibrow bristling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
looked up at the sky, whistling, while Anubis rubbed his nose to hide his
amusement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sheela
came out from behind him and patted her knees in an effort to coax the dog.
“Good doggie, you can’t be afraid of aunty Sheela…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This
charm operation would need an eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“We
have to get going,” said Anubis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Is
Mictlan far?” asked Sheela, standing straighter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Near,
far, time… None of that has any real meaning down here. Still, it’s better not
to linger in the same place, we might attract unwanted attention.” He sniffed
the air and pointed in a direction perpendicular to the columns. “That way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">They
walked slowly, crossing the paths of dead souls intent on making their way to
the end of the valley. After a while the sand became grass, then mist. Every
hundred or so steps, the landscape would change. Some of the valleys led to a
form of gate shaped by columns, interlocking trees or ornate metallic arches. A
few were blocked by an obstacle, a river or a cliff, others seemed to go on
forever. And everywhere, the souls marched, oblivious to the group of
trespassers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Finally,
they reached an endless valley whose rocky ground felt like that of a mountain
pass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
tested the air again. “Ah, this is it, the path to Mictlan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“This
doesn’t look like Mayan country,” said Jupiter, pulling at the collar of his
aviator jacket. “It’s freezing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Actually,
sweetie,” said Sheela, “it does if you look further than the beach bars.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“The
path of Mictlan is one of reflection and hardships, it is an ordeal meant to
test the valour of a soul. To Mayans, cold is a hardship: their hells are often
glacial.” Anubis dropped the lecturing tone. “I’ve had an idea. Does one of you
have something of Ah-Peku’s? Cerberus could follow the smell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Of
course!” said Jupiter. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’m sure I’ve got something
in here somewhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
rummaged through his jacket’s many pockets, taking out an incongruous medley of
objects and handing them to Sheela. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yeech!”
said the goddess as a glutinous ball of string fell into her hand. “What in my
name is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“It’s
a ball of spider webs,” answered Jupiter. “Anansi gave it to me when we left.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Anansi?”
said Sheela with a disappointed frown. “Wasn’t he supposed to come with</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Symbol;">¾</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“That
deceitful spider god is not welcomed anywhere in the infernal depths,” spitted
Anubis, ramrod stiff with rage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yeah,
that’s what he said. Didn’t seem too broken up about it… Anyway, he thought the
ball might come in useful if we encounter something nasty. Ah! Here it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
handed a small pipe to Anubis, who sniffed it suspiciously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Poor
dog,” he said with a sigh as he handed the pipe back. “Have him smell it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
put it under the three noses in turn. Cerberus seemed confused for a second,
then all three heads yipped and pointed toward the pass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“He’s
got it!” exclaimed Jupiter. “Ah-Peku, here we come!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As
soon as they stepped on the well-worn path</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">, a small winged
man wearing a lion’s pelt for a headdress appeared in the air beside them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Good
day kind visitors! My name is Qrapchipotl and I will be your guide today!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“We
don’t need a guide,” said Jupiter. “We have him.” He pointed at Cerberus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Cerberus
barked at Qrapchipotl, who smiled nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I am
certain he is a wonderful guide… nice doggie. But without me, you might miss
amazing landmarks such as the Panorama of Misdeeds, the Echoing Mountains of
Complaints, the</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Symbol;">¾</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
stepped forward. “Qrapchipotl, my good guide, we’re not dead, we’re gods. Don’t
you recognize me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Yes,
Anubis,” said Qrapchipotl with a respectful bow. “I assumed it was a case of
dual beliefs. We get more and more with all that globalization going on up
there.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The guide’s mouth twisted in disgust even as his eyes
glittered with envy.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> “May I ask what gods are doing down here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“We
are looking for another god, Ah-Peku, sent here by mistake. Have you seen him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Qrapchipotl
shook his head subserviently. “I’m sorry, no. I assume you have the A37 permit?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Of
course,” lied Anubis with aplomb, tapping the fold of his loincloth. “As you
can see, we have no need of your services. I’m sure you would be more useful
elsewhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Still,
without me, you could fall in the Pit of Excessive Kindnesses or get trapped in
the Vicious Circle of Good Intentions…” Qrapchipotl realized Cerberus was
circling him and growling. “Hem, good doggie?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Cerberus!
Desist!” snapped Anubis. “He’s just doing his job.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“And
perhaps he could help,” said Sheela, approaching the guide with a gargantuan
smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Qrapchipotl’s
eyes widened and he grimaced. Anubis could see the words <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nice girlie</i> start to form on his lips. Then the guide shuddered all
the way to his wings and regained his composure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“All
right. I’ll help… Since you have the A37 permit. But please ask your dog to
stop looking at my posterior, I am not a mailman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I bet
he thinks you’re lunch,” said Jupiter. “It’s the feathers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">They
walked in silence for a few minutes, Anubis trying to accelerate the guide’s
placid float, when Qrapchipotl stopped abruptly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Ladies
and gentlemen,” he burst out in a singsong voice. “Laid out before you is the
incomparable Walk of Remembrance, where day by day you relive the actions of
your life… What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
sighed and slid his hand from muzzle to tuft. “How do I put this? We’re gods,
we have lived for thousands of years, and we’re in a hurry. Can you find us a
shortcut?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“But
it’s the best part,” whined Qrapchipotl before noticing the gods’ glares and
raising his hands in submission. “Fine! Fine! I’ll break the spell. I just need
to press my thumb between your eyes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Still
sulking, he went to each in turn, hesitating a bit before touching Cerberus and
Sheela. “The dog seems to know the way.” He said, gesturing toward Cerberus who
was already following the scent. Anubis and Sheela passed him as he kicked the
air and hung close to Jupiter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After
a dozen paces, Anubis did a quick spin. Qrapchipotl was searching his satchel.
Was he planning something? His spiteful expression didn’t augur well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
whirled around once more, just in time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Jupiter,
No!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
was about to drink from a small flask. Anubis rushed to him and knocked it out
of his hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You
berk! I told you not to drink anything down here!” He switched his rage to the
guide. “And you! Why would… Never mind, it’s always the same reasons. Go away,
we’ll manage without you.” He pointed back the way they had come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“But
without me…” started Qrapchipotl without enthusiasm. Then he shrugged and took
a miniature sombrero out from his sack. “Can I interest you in a souvenir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Go!”
yelled the gods in unison.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Poor
little guy,” said Sheela as they watched him drift away. “Why would he do
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Most
denizens of the Underworld don’t like to see people leave,” said Anubis. “I
would have preferred to keep him with us, there are many pitfalls here, not to
mention what he might send us in retaliation. But it’s better if we find
Ah-Peku without him around: that infernal permit is actually a piece of the
murderer’s kidney, or a tooth, if he’s a serial killer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
took Jupiter by the shoulders. “Jup, repeat the rules for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Hey,
it’s okay, I’m not completely stupid. I just forgot for a second. Don’t drink,
don’t eat, don’t look behind… Sheela?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sheela
was frozen, head turned over her shoulder, her eyes wide and glassy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Why
can’t anyone remember those damned rules?” muttered Anubis, exasperated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wishing
he had worn gloves, he seized her face with both hand and wrenched it back
forward. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes a few times, then slapped
her hard on the cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Ooooh!
It was awful!” moaned Sheela. “Big and scaly, with feathers all over. And it’s
mouth! Its huge, gaping, toothy mouth!” She shivered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Quetzalcoatl,”
breathed Anubis. “Now we’re in for it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Where?”
said Jupiter “I don’t see anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“He’s
hiding, Sheela must have glimpsed him in the edges of her sight.” Anubis closed
his eyes; an idea was lurking. “I know! Anansi’s ball! Do you still have it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
nodded and took it out of his coat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
grabbed it. “Now go! Run, and stay close to Cerberus. I’ll try and stop
Quetzalcoatl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
and Sheela fled, catching up to Cerberus. Anubis spun back and grimly waited
for the Ruler of Mictlan to arrive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Suddenly,
the huge feathered serpent sprouted from the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What
are you doing here, Anubis? Why did you hurt my dear Qrapchipotl?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
plunged into a deep reverence. “Oh, Quetzalcoatl! Pardon us, we are looking for
a friend sent here by mistake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Mistakes
are final in Mictlan, as you will soon learn, along with your friends…” The
snake hissed a giggle. “They think they can run from me here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“But
I’m also a god of the dead,” said Anubis. “I have the right of passage.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Only
on my countenance, which you lost by insulting my guide. I am going to eat your
friends and send back your remains in a doggie-bag.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anubis
didn’t answer. Instead he stepped backwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What
are you doing?” asked Quetzalcoatl, reaching to grab him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But
the ball of webs Anubis had dropped during his reverence had unfolded and
wrapped the body and wings of the serpent in a glutinous cocoon. Quetzalcoatl
screeched in rage and attacked the webs with his sharp teeth. Anubis jumped one
hundred and eighty degrees and sprinted away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
found the others near a well. Ah-Peku, eyes vacant, was sitting on the ground
beside it and drinking a glass of water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Hells
on fire! Oh well, let’s grab him and run for it. We’ll see about the rest
later.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jupiter
tapped him on the shoulder. Quetzalcoatl was approaching rapidly, followed distantly
by Qrapchipotl, holding a huge pair of scissors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Just
as the winged serpent was about to attack the group, Cerberus leaped in
between, barking, snarling and growling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Quetzalcoatl
froze. “Hem… Good doggie? Qrapchipotl? Hand me the scissors,” he said, keeping
his eyes on the dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I
can’t, Oh Monstrous One, I put them down. I thought it could be dangerous.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“As
you can see, my little Qrapchit, there are worst dangers than floating with
scissors.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I
realize that now, Oh Malformed One.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“You
can’t fight this dog,” said Anubis with renewed calm. “We both know it. Anyway,
we found what we were looking for, so we’ll just go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Quetzalcoatl
looked at Ah-Peku.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Hey!
That’s Ah-Peku. What the Eden is he doing down here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sheela
took a cautious step forward. “He’s been cursed by a human magician. Please let
us go, so we can save him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Quetzalcoatl,
astonished, slithered backwards. “Oh, Lunar Beauty!” he crooned, fluttering his
feathers. “To please you, I would move the hells and the heavens! In exchange
for your love, Ah-Peku can…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“It’s
impossible, Oh Dazed and Confused One,” said Qrapchipotl, picking up the empty
glass. “He has drunk from the well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Quetzalcoatl
seemed dejected for a moment. Then he straightened and grabbed Ah-Peku by the
legs under the bewildered eyes of the other gods. He shook him, head down,
until Ah-Peku had thrown up all the water he had drunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Here
you are, Oh Voluptuous Enchantress.” Still holding Ah-Peku by one leg,
Quetzalcoatl bowed and held him out to a radiant Sheela, as if the god was the
most magnificent of roses. “On your promise to return, you may leave Mictlan…
If you have the A37 permit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 13.2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
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<br /></div>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-68552127830211818262014-12-11T08:39:00.000-08:002014-12-11T08:39:20.282-08:00NOËL D'ENFANCE<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Maman a dit oui. Cette nuit,
je dors dans le salon. Je vais attendre le Père Noël.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Papa m’a fait un feu dans la
cheminée. Moi, j’ai eu peur. Ce n’est pas en mettant le feu au Père Noël que je
vais me faire pardonner toutes mes bêtises ! Papa s’est moqué de moi, il
m’a dit de ne pas m’en faire, que le Père Noël était ininfl… qu’il ne brûlait
pas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">J’ai mis ma plus belle
jaquette, la blanche avec des dentelles, la même que celle de Clara dans le
Casse-Noisette. Sur le divan, Maman m’a arrangé un lit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Elle m’enveloppe dans le gros
édredon qu’elle a ramené de chez Opa en Allemagne. Il paraît qu’il y a des
plumes à l’intérieur. Je pince, mais je ne les sens pas. Maman m’explique que
c’est parce que c’est des canards poilus. Elle est drôle Maman, surtout quand
elle essaie de me raconter des trucs en français.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Ils m’embrassent, me
conseillent d’essayer de dormir un peu quand même, et éteignent la lampe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Ce n’est pas grave. Il ne fait
pas noir. Le feu danse; il est rouge, orange, jaune, avec un cœur bleuté. Les
grandes fenêtres laissent passer la lueur de la lune. Dehors, les légers
flocons qui tourbillonnent m’éclairent comme un millier de fées clochettes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Mais la vedette, c’est le
sapin, tout plein de lumières multicolores. Ses boules jettent des tas de
reflets, les glaçons brillent. L’ange, entouré de son auréole illuminée, me
surveille du haut de l’arbre. Le petit bébé Jésus dort dans son berceau au
centre de la crèche.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Emmitouflée dans l’édredon, je
me blottis dans les profondeurs du divan. C’est si doux, j’ai l’impression de
flotter dans de la crème fouettée. Le feu me chante une berceuse : cric,
psht, pop, tic, crac, fizz… Papa a mis une branche de sapin dans le feu; ça
sent… ça sent Noël.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Je serre le
petit cadeau que j’ai préparé tout à l’heure. C’est une boîte d’After-Eight,
les chocolats préférés de Papa, j’espère que le Père Noël va les aimer aussi.
Papa m’a promis que oui, et il ne ment jamais…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Dzing ! Une boule est
tombée ! J’ouvre mes yeux, ils sont tout collés.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Oh ! Là devant moi, un
gros bonhomme habillé en rouge avec un énorme sac sur le dos est agenouillé
devant le sapin. Est-ce que je rêve ? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Le Père Noël se retourne et
m’embrasse sur le front. Je lui tends le cadeau, il me donne un autre bisou, sa
barbe me chatouille.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">-</span> Dors, petit
ange, dors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Sa voix est
douce, comme celle de Papa…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Le soleil est chaud sur mes
paupières. Je baille. Je m’étire. Je… C’est Noël !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Je bondis hors du divan. Les
cadeaux forment un grand, grand cercle autour du sapin. C’est un arc-en-ciel de
papier, de rubans brillants, d’énormes choux. Il y a des grosses boîtes, des
petites, des plates, des paquets difformes. Mon bas de Noël à l’air de vouloir
éclater. Il y a même un énorme ours en peluche portant une guirlande comme
foulard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">J’ai envie de tout déballer.
Mais je ne peux pas, j’ai promis d’attendre. Cette année, je dois partager le
trésor avec ma petite sœur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Je m’assieds par terre, prête
à patienter un peu avant d’aller réveiller Papa et Maman. Moi, cette nuit, j’ai
vu le Père Noël !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-90099812579723157142014-02-26T09:11:00.000-08:002014-02-26T09:11:41.149-08:00LE RETOUR<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: -14.2pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Je m’arrête sur la dernière marche de l’escalier, hésitante, laissant mon
regard me précéder dans la bibliothèque. L’endroit n’a pas changé; la vaste
pièce est tellement encombrée de meubles et d’objets hétéroclites qu’elle
semble se contracter. Son chaos baigne paisiblement dans la lumière diffuse de
l’aurore, rougie par les rideaux vermeils qui encadrent la grande fenêtre. De
fines particules de poussière dorée y dansent un ballet silencieux.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Ma main glisse sur le cadre pivotant de la peinture à deux faces qui
empêche la bibliothèque de s’ouvrir sur le rez-de-chaussée. L’œuvre de Mill est
simple, un modèle d’abstraction, un agencement de lignes noires, bleues et
blanches sur fond gris. Je ne vois pas son verso, mais l’image est là, à portée
de mémoire. Mill y a organisé un festival de blanc : fond mat, formes
géométriques luisantes, lignes texturées… que du blanc. La toile a souvent
servi d’écran aux interminables projections de diapositives, qui, je le sais,
engorgent une armoire que je ne peux qu’entrevoir.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Des étagères de bois clair où s’entasse une multitude de livres habillés
de cuir fin tapissent le mur de la fenêtre et son voisin. L’ordre alphabétique
et les diverses collections bousculent les genres, les langues et les auteurs.
Le traité de philosophie obscure côtoie ainsi, avec désarroi, le roman d’amour
sublime et la saga d’héroïsme belliqueux. Ces grands écrivains, Hugo, Stendhal,
Homère, De Nouy, Perrault, se sont souvent chamaillés, dans mon imagination de
petite fille, pour attirer mon attention.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Les reliures brunes alternent avec les rouges, les bleues et même les
vertes. Les fines écritures dorées qui les ornent leur donnent un point de
ralliement face à l’assaut des bibelots gênants qui envahissent leur espace
sacré. Ceux-ci, souvenirs de voyage ou daguerréotypes encadrés d’une autre
époque, détournent trop souvent l’attention du lecteur peu motivé. Ils enragent
aussi la bonne, alliée des livres sans les avoir lus. Armée de son plumeau,
elle essaie d’en casser au moins un par semaine. Mais Papa adore les puzzles et
il possède une grande réserve de tubes de crazy-glue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Adossée sur le dernier mur, une immense armoire de verre, antiquité d’un
autre siècle, protège les ouvrages plus précieux. Sa fine armature de bois,
sombre, presque chocolat, luit richement. Ses vitres ambrées par l’âge
miroitent les rayons du soleil. Les ombres diverses exposent ses charges :
des incunables chéris, jamais ouverts, dorlotés, ainsi que des premières
éditions qui cachent en leur cœur la signature de leur géniteur. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
La lutte entre livres et objets divers se perpétue jusque sur le sol,
accueillie avec indulgence par le tapis persan. Couché sur le sol gris, bigarré
de rouge et de noir, ce dernier facilite les opérations de camouflage de
certaines éditions anciennes. Il porte fièrement les marques d’usure qui
prouvent le statut privilégié de la pièce, et conserve sa dignité malgré
l’occasionnelle traînerie incongrue qui gâche sa beauté.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Disséminées au hasard, quatre tables croulent sous un désordre, probablement
logique, de bouquins, photos, papiers et journaux. Deux d’entre elles forment
une paire. Construites de bois clair et de fer forgé, creuses comme des
coffres, elles accommodent des montagnes d’albums et de livres aux dimensions
embarrassantes, impossibles à atteindre sans excavation. Les deux autres, sur
un modèle plus conventionnel, sont nappées d’un jaune criard, ajout récent d’un
homme parfois daltonien, transformant ainsi les amoncellements épars en
soulagement visuel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Des fauteuils disparates montent la garde aux trois coins. Un seul se
fond dans le décor; possédant la même armature de bois et de fer forgé que les
tables, il marie le rouge de ses coussins avec celui du tapis et des rideaux.
Les deux autres ont dû être abandonnés là par une fée des horreurs. Modernes et
laids, à l’usage ils se révèlent, paraît-il, très confortables.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Le plus massif, et le mieux éclairé, me tourne le dos. Au faîte de son
dossier trône la couronne blanche des cheveux ébouriffés du roi de cet univers,
mon Papa. L’odeur de son thé refroidissant se mélange à celle de vieux cuir et
de papier qui embaume la pièce… Son odeur.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Le sursaut de joie qui m’étouffe se teinte d'appréhension. Si la
bibliothèque n’a pas changé, moi, en revanche, je ne suis plus tout à fait la
même.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Oh, les premiers moments seront agréables, comme toujours. Je me
pencherai pour l’embrasser et le tenir dans mes bras, larme à l’œil à cause de
sa maigreur à chaque fois plus accentuée. Puis il se gonflera de fierté, se
félicitant que sa fille soit partie si loin faire de l’aide humanitaire, et me
demandera des détails sur mon expérience. Détails que son cerveau fébrile
emmagasinera pour ses rêveries et nos discussions futures.</div>
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Mais petit à petit, des reproches feront leur apparition. Je n’ai pas
beaucoup écrit. Oui, oui, j’ai téléphoné, mais cela ne compte pas. Papa
dédaigne le téléphone, il me raccroche au nez quand la conversation a le culot
de durer plus de deux minutes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Peut-être la question de mes dépenses sera-t-elle mise sur le tapis.
Après tout, partir à l’aventure, Papa l’a fait souvent. Il n’y a que les
dépenses de la Femme qu’il accepte sans broncher (il n’y comprend rien et ne
veut surtout pas s’en mêler). Le reste est toujours trop cher.</div>
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Et, comble de malheur, j’ai pris du poids. Combien de temps avant qu’il
ne s’en aperçoive ? Ou, plus précisément, combien de temps va-t-il pouvoir
se retenir d’en parler ? J’aurai beau lui expliquer que je n’ai pas trouvé
d’endroit pour danser, que la nourriture du Paraguay est lourde, que mes
collègues, elles, n’ont pas pris cinq kilos mais plutôt dix, il balaiera tout
cela de sa main effilée de plasticien. Si au moins j’avais arrêté de fumer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Ainsi ses inquiétudes plus profondes se pointeront le bout du nez.
Qu’est-ce que je fais de ma santé ? Comment puis-je oublier le cancer de
ma mère ? Est-ce que de travailler avec des enfants ne m’a pas donné le
goût d’en avoir ? Mais pour cela il faut bien sûr que je me trouve un
mari…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Je tergiverse depuis déjà trop longtemps. Je prends une grande
inspiration. Tout à coup, la pièce devient sombre. Un nuage, un arbre poussé
par le vent ?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
La tache de blanc au-dessus du fauteuil a disparu. Ce n’était qu’un
reflet. Ma mémoire olfactive a inventé l’odeur du thé. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Papa n’est plus là pour m’accueillir. Pendant mon périple, il s’est éteint.
J’ai manqué son dernier adieu. Ma tante m’avait averti, mais lui m’avait
rassurée. Mes remords se disputent avec mon impression qu’il ne voulait pas que
je le regarde mourir. Que jusqu’à la fin, il a refusé de me voir pleurer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Aujourd’hui, nous vendons la maison où se trouve la bibliothèque. Si il y
a un lieu que mon Papa voudrait hanter… Il n’aimait rien plus que de s’y
asseoir et lire ses philosophes incompréhensibles. Pas trop dérangeant comme
fantôme.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Peut-être qu’aux nouveaux occupants, comme à moi, il donnera le goût de
la lecture, des voyages, du savoir, et de la beauté. </div>
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Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-14579027429750583682013-01-19T08:26:00.000-08:002013-01-19T08:26:02.160-08:00LE CERF-VOLANT
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<h4>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-weight: normal;">Lettre fictive d’un petit garçon
(hommage à Goscinny et à Trotsky)</span></h4>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right;">
Mexico,
16 juin 1940</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Mama querida</span></i>,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
J’espère que
vous allez bien, papa et toi. Moi, j’ai des nouvelles formidables !
Aujourd’hui, j’ai rencontré votre héros !</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
La lettre, c’est
l’idée de M. Bedeau, mon professeur de français (incroyable : venir
jusqu’à l’École Nationale de Musique et apprendre une langue que je parle
déjà). Il a su que tu es française et il a décidé que ce serait un bon
exercice. Tu vas devoir traduire pour papa.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Sérieusement, on
l’aime bien M. Bedeau. C’est pour ça qu’on l’écoute et qu’on l’appelle M. Bedon
que quand il n’est pas là (il a un gros ventre épatant, tout rebondi, qui
gigote quand on le fait rigoler).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Bon, ce matin il
faisait un soleil terrible alors j’ai décidé d’aller à la Fragata (un parc à
côté de l’école, dans le Coyoacan) pour essayer le cerf-volant que vous m’avez
envoyé. <i>G</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">racias, es maravilloso</span></i>.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
C’était
génial ! Le cerf-volant, il est monté si haut qu’on aurait cru que c’était
un petit avion rouge. Mais là, Fernando, qui m’avait suivi, a voulu essayer
(Fernando, tu le connais, c’est le petit doué de huit ans). Moi, j’ai refusé,
mais il a commencé à pleurer et à se rouler par terre. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Alors j’ai
descendu le cerf-volant et je lui ai donné la pelote. Il a arrêté de pleurer
tout net, il était si content.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Là, pas de
chance, le point rouge s’est mis à chuter, puis il s’est écrasé un peu plus
loin. Je lui aurait bien donné un coup de poing sur le nez, à Fernando (c’est
vrai quoi, il fait toujours le guignol), mais il est petit et ça cause des
histoires. De toute façon, il s’est sauvé.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
J’ai couru
chercher mon cerf-volant. Un vieux monsieur l’avait ramassé et l’examinait
pensivement. C’est mon cerf-volant, que je lui ai dit. On s’est regardé un
instant. Il était habillé comme un ouvrier et portait des petites lunettes
rondes sur son visage triangulaire. Ses cheveux, sa barbichette et sa moustache
étaient presque blancs, mais sinon c’était l’homme de la photo que Papa a dans
son bureau. Trotski !</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
J’ai murmuré son
nom et là, il m’a semblé… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no sé como
decirlo, enojado ?</i> Puis il a secoué la tête en faisant un petit geste
à un grand costaud en lunettes noires assis sur le banc à côté, et il m’a
souri.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Bonjour petit,
il a commencé, seulement je l’ai coupé (je sais, je n’aurais pas dû, ce n’est
pas poli) et je lui ai dit que j’avais treize ans, non mais sans blague, et que
ça faisait au moins six ans que je n’étais plus petit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Son sourire
s’est agrandi et dans un espagnol un peu bizarre, il m’a dit qu’il fallait
faire attention aux cerfs-volants, surtout quand on en a un si beau, et que le
mien, il était cassé. J’avais une boule dans la gorge, mais je lui ai expliqué
le coup de Fernando.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Alors il a dit
que j’étais un jeune homme formidable, que les plus grands doivent toujours
être généreux avec les plus petits. J’ai répondu, peut-être, mais c’est pas
toujours chouette, surtout quand ils nous cassent nos trucs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Il a éclaté de
rire et il s’est assis sur le banc du gros monsieur en complet. Ça n’a pas eu
l’air de lui faire plaisir, au gros, qui a grogné. Il doit être américain. Là,
M. Trotski a sorti un tube de colle de sa poche et il m’a dit qu’on allait le
réparer mon cerf-volant. Moi j’étais tout étonné, c’est vrai que je n’en vois
pas souvent, des grands qui se promènent avec des tubes de colle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Il a dû deviner
pourquoi je le fixais comme ça, parce que, pendant qu’il recollait la branche,
il m’a expliqué qu’il cassait souvent ses lunettes et que, comme il n’était pas
riche, il devait les réparer lui-même. Moi j’ai tout de suite compris. Il y a
un type comme ça à l’école, il a toujours du ruban adhésif sur les siennes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Enfin, la langue
tirée, il a assemblé les morceaux, puis il m’a montré comment les tenir bien
fort pour que la colle prenne. Je me suis assis à côté de lui et là, le gorille
moustachu a dit un gros mot et il s’est levé. Mais il est resté tout près.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Alors M. Trotski
m’a demandé comment je l’avais reconnu. Je lui ai expliqué pour la photo, que
Papa avait travaillé avec Président Cardenas chez nous, au Michoacán, et que
toi en France, tu étais souvent allée dans des réunions internationales. Il m’a
demandé si je savais ce que c’était que l’internationale et j’ai secoué la
tête. Là, il a fait un petit discours, un peu comme Papa fait parfois, et moi,
comme d’habitude, je n’ai pas trop saisi. Quelque chose à propos de la
révolution permanente, de l’importance de l’égalité de l’homme et des droits de
la masse ouvrière. Et comme toi, il pense que Président Cardenas est sur la
bonne voie, mais qu’il va trop doucement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Après, il est
devenu songeur. Moi je lui ai demandé à quoi il réfléchissait comme ça et il
m’a répondu qu’il était fatigué de se battre, qu’il n’était pas sûr que ça
valait la peine si c’était toujours la bureaucratie qui gagnait. Il a soupiré,
puis il a murmuré, comme s’il aurait aimé le crier : « <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">que glotona que la burocracia </span></i>»</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Moi je ne
comprenais plus et il l’a compris. Il m’a ébouriffé les cheveux en m’assurant
qu’un jour je comprendrais. Qu’un jour peut-être, sa révolution triompherait du
monstre bureaucratique et que les hommes vivraient dans l’égalité.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
J’ai réfléchi
une seconde, puis j’ai voulu aller faire voler mon cerf-volant. Il m’a empêché,
il paraît que c’est mieux de laisser la colle durcir quelques heures. Ce qui
était dommage parce que dimanche après-midi, c’est la pratique de piano. Il
était intéressé alors je lui ai parlé de l’école spéciale et que tu étais bien
triste de me voir partir de la maison et que moi aussi je m’ennuyais drôlement.
Après, je lui ai raconté ton anecdote, tu sais, celle où tu as failli le
rencontrer en Norvège mais que tu as loupé ton autobus ?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Il a rigolé puis
il a regretté de ne pas connaître une maman aussi gentille. Ses yeux sont
devenus tristes et il m’a dit qu’il y a bien longtemps il connaissait un autre
petit garçon qui avait lui aussi une très chouette maman et que je lui
ressemblais un peu.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Là, le costaud à
lunettes lui a chuchoté quelque chose à propos d’un certain Diego. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
M. Trotski a
fait oui avec sa tête, puis il m’a recommandé d’attendre à demain pour faire
voler mon cerf-volant. Moi j’étais rudement déçu, demain, c’est lundi et
vendredi on part pour les vacances. C’est que j’aurais bien aimé qu’il soit là
pour le voir voler, mon cerf-volant qu’il avait sauvé. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Il m’a dit que
les vacances, c’était le meilleur moment pour faire voler un cerf-volant, mais
que lui aussi il était un peu peiné de ne pas voir le résultat de sa chirurgie.
Alors il m’a donné rendez-vous, le 8 septembre, sur le même banc. Il m’a promis
d’amener son cerf-volant à lui et qu’il me le ferait essayer. J’ai bien hâte,
c’est un copain terrible, M. Trotski.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Te abraso Mama, y Papa también,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Tu hijo<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Nico </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Handwriting - Dakota";">Note de l’historien : Nico n’a
jamais revu Trotski. Le grand homme fut assassiné le 21 août, moins de trois
semaines avant leur rendez-vous. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Handwriting - Dakota";">Depuis, à chaque année, le 8
septembre, Nico se rend à Mexico dans le quartier de Coyoacan et fait voler un
cerf-volant rouge au-dessus de la Fragata.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-25974345506449049222012-12-20T09:21:00.000-08:002012-12-20T09:22:36.409-08:00CHASSÉS-CROISÉS AVEC LA MORT<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<h3>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal; line-height: 24px;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Sylvia…</span></i></span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Tu es nue, allongée sur le
matelas vert à coté de la piscine. Soutenue sur un coude, tu joues avec ton
reflet dans l’eau. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Une fleur tropicale décore ta
lourde chevelure brune emprisonnée dans un chignon. Quelques mèches rebelles
descendent chatouiller un mamelon rosé. Le hâle de tes pommettes et du bout de
ton nez fin témoignent de l’ardeur du soleil de Floride. Ta jambe repliée
prouve le pouvoir de la suggestion, accentue la courbe de ta fesse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Je soulève l’appareil photo.
Un sourire effleure tes lèvres, ton regard noisette se perd au loin. Je joue
avec l’objectif, je cherche le meilleur angle. Tu gardes la pose. Tu as
l’habitude ; ton premier mari était peintre et tu as posé pour tant
d’autres, sans compter les sculpteurs… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Clic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Nous sommes à Boca-Raton. Mon
amie Zara nous a prêté sa villa pour l’hiver. Les filles pensent que nous
sommes en vacances. Elles ne réalisent pas que tu passes la majeure partie de
tes journées à l’Institut Lynn. La maladie qui dort dans ton sein n’a pas
encore laissé ses traces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Tandis que je remonte la
pellicule, une explosion sonore éclate dans la maison. Marie rentre de la plage
avec les enfants. Je saisis une serviette, j’attends, interdit. La porte de la
baie vitrée glisse, laisse place aux filles. Marie, avec sa discrétion
habituelle, s’est rendue directement à ses quartiers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">La petite Ariane, qui a aperçu
les nouvelles fleurs de l’hibiscus, se rue dans la plate-bande sans nous porter
attention. Lugabi s’approche. Sourcils froncés, elle note ta nudité et
l’appareil photo. Elle fait une moue dégoûtée.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;">-</span> Papa, t’es
rien qu’un vieux cochon !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">D’un geste vif, elle se
retourne et s’enfuit dans la maison. Ariane, couverte de terre et pistil à la
bouche, court à sa suite, tenant une fleur en offrande à l’Idole. Un cri
d’horreur accueille son entrée.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Nous échangeons un regard
amusé. Comme d’habitude, je m’étonne que toi, si libre, si moderne, tu aies pu
mettre au monde une fille aussi prude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;">-</span> C’est comme
ça dans ma famille, m’expliques-tu de ta voix toujours marquée par l’accent
germanique. J’ai voulu être une femme libérée pour emmerder ma mère, et Maman
était sage et économe pour embêter la sienne.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Tout à coup, tu sembles
fatiguée, triste. Une vague de colère monte en moi. Mais je suis impuissant devant
ce crabe qui t’a volé ta mère deux ans auparavant, qui bientôt t’enlèvera à
nous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Et pourtant, c’est grâce à lui
si nous sommes ici, ensemble. L’an dernier, notre mariage se terminait. Sans
tambour ni trompette, la vie en avait eu raison. Puis les résultats sont
arrivés…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Aujourd’hui, je retrouve la
femme que j’ai connue il y a douze ans. Celle qui, vêtue d’un bikini blanc,
dansait pour moi dans les champs fleuris de l’Ile d’Orléans. Celle qui m’avait
traîné sur le Tracel de Cap Rouge pour que j’y fume mon premier joint, en riant
du fait que j’avais cinquante-cinq ans. Celle qui m’avait enfin initié aux
bonheurs de l’Amour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">C’est comme si le Bal des
Divorces et la Valse des Contrats n’avaient jamais eu lieu. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">À présent, c’est moi qui
regrette les années entre ton divorce et le mien. Quatre ans de perdus à cause
de mes tergiversations de vieux catholique. Heureusement, tu m’as pardonné ces
petites humiliations de l’adultère que je t’ai fait subir par
inconscience : l’appartement sur une rue à l’écart, les cabines séparées
sur les paquebots, les itinéraires de voyages divergents… Tu as aussi oublié
mes couardises devant mes fils, mes faiblesses face aux fureurs du plus vieux.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">J’ai maintenant compris que ce
contrat de mariage auquel tu tenais tant, c’était pour apaiser ton insécurité,
certainement exacerbée par ma faute. Je réalise que tes incessantes parties de
bridge avaient remplacé le travail que je t’avais forcé à quitter. Et ce que
j’avais perçu comme de la négligence envers les enfants, c’était plutôt du
désarroi, peut-être même de la terreur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Tranquillement, notre amour
renaît des cendres de ces ressentiments qui empoisonnent notre vie depuis si
longtemps. Nous ne savions pas qu’il fallait que la passion se change en amour,
en amitié. Nos cœurs meurtris, apeurés par la mort qui te guette, ont fini par
apprendre la leçon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Sylvia…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Une larme est tombée sur la
photo. Je l’éponge délicatement avec mon mouchoir puis je m’essuie les yeux.
Mon bureau est couvert de photos. De photos de toi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Quinze ans de photos… Tout ce
qui me reste de mon Grand Amour. Mais je me souviens alors que j’ai peur que
tes filles t’oublient. Trois ans déjà que j’essaie de faire cet album. Trois
ans que tu es partie. Comme j’aimerais que tu sois là, à mes côtés. Je m’ennuie
même de ton accent allemand, qui agaçait tant ma fibre de vieux soldat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">J’ai besoin de l’œil et du
jugement de la grande décoratrice formée au Bauhaus. Tu saurais quelles photos
garder, lesquelles jeter. Pour moi, ce sont toutes des chefs-d’œuvre, sujet
oblige.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Ma vision s’embue de
nouveau ; je ressors mon mouchoir. Je laisse tomber mes paupières, je
répète la litanie : tu es mieux là-haut, tu ne souffres plus, tu es en
paix et tu veilles sur nous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">J’ouvre les yeux. Lucie est
entrée dans la bibliothèque sans faire de bruit. Elle a douze ans maintenant,
je n’ai plus le droit de l’appeler Lugabi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Une main sur mon épaule, elle
examine le tapis d’images qui recouvre mon bureau. Elle te ressemble, mais de
moins en moins. Elle a tes cheveux, ta bouche et, Dieu soit loué, ton nez. Pour
le reste, elle devient chaque jour plus Jolicœur. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Elle se tourne vers moi. À la
vue de la photo que je tiens, elle rougit. Un éclair traverse ses grands yeux
verts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;">-</span> Papa, tu
n’es qu’un vieux cochon !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Mais sa voix est douce,
taquine. Avant de s’envoler, elle dépose un baiser et une larme sur ma joue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Ce ne sera pas pour
aujourd’hui. Une à une, je reclasse les photos, je les remets dans l’enveloppe.
Chaque portait amène son souvenir, chaque image tire sa flèche.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Le passé
m’attire de son chant de sirène.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Sylvia… Sylvia…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Les filles prennent la pose
sous les fleurs orange de l’hibiscus. Ce dernier ne semble pas trop avoir
souffert de l’omnivoracité d’Ariane ; en deux ans, il est devenu
gigantesque. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Ariane est enchantée de
s’installer sur les genoux de sa Grande Sœur. Lugabi, raide et sévère, endure
l’adoration ; j’ai interrompu la séance de mathématique pour la photo. Je
lui demande un sourire… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Clic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Il s’évapore. Lugabi se lève
en repoussant Ariane. Je ne dis rien, c’est à peine si je m’en aperçois. Cette
photo me rappelle que tu ne veux plus que j’en prenne de toi. La porte-patio de
notre chambre m’hypnotise. Elle est ouverte, mais tu ne sors plus, sauf pour
aller à l’Institut. Tu te caches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">On dirait que je sens ta
douleur, ta jalousie envers nous les bien-portant. Je remets les mathématiques
à demain et j’ordonne à Lugabi de surveiller sa petite sœur. J’ignore les
protestations et j’entre dans ton repaire obscur et frais. Assise sur le lit,
devant le grand miroir, tu pleures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Le traitement expérimental, la
chimio, la radio, te détruisent lentement. Tes traits sont creusés, tu as perdu
tes cheveux et tes seins. Je n’ai jamais été aussi content d’être plasticien.
De pouvoir te jurer, sans mentir, que je suis capable de tout arranger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Mais avant, tu dois
guérir ; tu dois terminer ce traitement. Ce traitement immonde qui
ressemble à de la torture. Ce traitement qui te tue en tuant le cancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Jour après jour, je m’aperçois
davantage que les chances ne sont pas de ton côté. Tu es jeune, mais les privations
que tu as subies lors de ton enfance dans l’Allemagne d’après-guerre ont miné
ta santé. Et, à chaque rencontre, le regard du Docteur Lynn s’assombrit un peu
plus.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Je te prends dans mes bras,
j’embrasse tes joues humides. Mes yeux sondent le coin de la pièce. Comme
toujours, elle est là, dans l’ombre. Elle t’attend. Silencieusement, je la
supplie : pas encore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Elle disparaît. Mais dans ma
tête j’ai entendu son salut, son avertissement.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Bientôt… <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-91021964188217891542012-12-16T05:53:00.003-08:002012-12-16T05:53:56.993-08:00Quelques petits liensÇa m'arrive de publier dans La Presse des petits textes d'opinion, voici donc quelques liens. C'est drôle de voir comment certains sont encore d'actualité.<br />
<br />
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<span lang="FR">Sur les élections en Égypte :<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: black;">http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-441 </span></span></span></div>
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Sur la grève étudiante : <a href="http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-488"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-488</span></a> </div>
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Sur les médias et les élections au Mexique : <a href="http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-520"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-520</span></a></div>
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Sur l'argent en politique : <a href="http://www.lapresse.ca/debats/le-cercle-la-presse/actualites/201206/19/48-547-le-poids-de-largent.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">http://www.lapresse.ca/debats/le-cercle-la-presse/actualites/201206/19/48-547-le-poids-de-largent.php</span></a></div>
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<span lang="FR">Sur le néolibéralisme :<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span><a href="http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-821"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">http://www.lapresse.ca/_purl/48-821</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br /></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment-->Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064330293226608297.post-64318528419539248822012-11-28T13:37:00.001-08:002012-11-28T13:37:40.010-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
Bienvenue</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Je vous présente mes écrits et je vous souhaite de beaux moments de lecture </div>
Lucie-Gabrielle Jolicoeurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08471702761186320024noreply@blogger.com0