A Fine Passage by France Daigle

A FINE PASSAGE
    FRANCE DAIGLE
    a novel
    Translated by Robert Majzels

    Copyright © 2001 Les Éditions du Boréal
English translation copyright © 2002 House of Anansi Press Inc.
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    First published as
Un Fin Passage
in 2001 by Les Éditions du Boréal
    This edition published in 2012 by
House of Anansi Press Inc.
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Avenue, Suite 801
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    National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication
    Daigle, France
[Fin passage. English]
A fine passage / France Daigle. — 1st ed.
    Translation of: Un fin passage.
ISBN 978-1-77089-130-2 (ePub)
    I. Title. II. Title: Fin passage. English.
    PS8557.A423F5613 2002        C843’.54        C2002-904128-7
PQ3919.2.D225F5613 2002

    We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing
program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the
Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.
    THURSDAY Organization
    CLAUDIA GAZES OUT the airplane’s window at the sea of undulating white clouds below. The entire mechanism of the world seems, at this moment, smooth to her. The sun shines unimpeded over a brilliant white ocean, and the sky is nothing but the pure expression of its essential immensity.
    A priest of sorts is seated next to Claudia. He rummages, for the hundredth time, through his worn travelling bag, produces a chocolate bar. He peels back the wrapping and waves the bar beneath Claudia’s nose.
    â€œWould you care for some?”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    The large and abundantly bearded man pulls the bar away and snaps off a small piece.
    â€œSixteen?”
    â€œFifteen.”
    The generic priest, a Greek pope with a touch of something rabbinical — or is it the other way around? — bites into the chocolate. He breathes deeply as he chews. Grey hairs protrude from his small, squarish round hat. His black suit is equally grey with age.
    â€œMy name is Shimon. How about you?”
    Though she would have preferred to stare out at the clouds and daydream, Claudia resigns herself to conversation.
    â€œClaudia.”
    Again, the pope-rabbi offers her the bared square of chocolate.
    â€œYou’re sure you don’t want any, Claudia?”
    â€œI’m sure, thank you.”
    He pulls the bar away and breaks off another piece.
    â€œI certainly didn’t travel alone at your age.”
    He ruminates, chewing.
    â€œAlthough my parents and grandparents travelled quite a bit.”
    He leans closer, confiding: “You see, I’m Jewish.”
    And leaning closer, whispers: “I bear a secret.”
    Claudia nods politely, but she has no desire to continue this conversation. Discreetly, she shifts her head back towards the porthole.
    â€œHe is called Yahweh.”
    The pope-rabbi pronounces God’s name as though his lungs were collapsing. Claudia, thinking perhaps he’s taken ill, turns her head to look.
    Shimon, content with his exhalation, continues.
    â€œHe is our God. Do you believe in God?”
    Claudia shrugs. She doesn’t know.
    â€œYahweh. You have to breathe it.”
    The pope-rabbi exhales the name of Yahweh a third time.
    â€œBecause God is breath. Almost nothing more than that. This is your first time on an airplane, maybe?”
    â€œNo.”
    The man folds the