twenty feet away. Maybe a mouse or a snake. Better shut her up, though, even though no one was in sight.
“ Tais–toi, Fleur, qu’as–tu là?”
Beside her now, he saw the big paws scrabbling furiously, and he heard the clacking sound of nails meeting metal. He shivered and grabbed the cowboy–style bandanna Jocelyne tricked her out in, dragging her away so he could see.
Crisse de crisse de crisse!
He would know that belt buckle anywhere! It was plainly visible now, and a few inches of blue jeans beside and a square of white hairy skin where the T–shirt had rucked up and–
Gilles crossed himself with wild imprecision, turned and retched violently onto the grass. Nothing but coffee and bile came up. He retched again and again, he thought he would never stop. Christi! He sank to his knees, weakness spreading everywhere in his body, and started to cry. Fleur whined softly, licking frantically at his face. He pushed her away with a trembling arm and tried to think.
Think, think, think. O shit, o shit. Who? Maybe Benoit? They must have fought over what to do. Or Michel? O God, the way he looked yesterday. If it’s Benoit, I’m fucked, he’ll tell on me, or say it was me, I can’t prove it wasn’t, or if it was Michel, I got to do something, blood is thicker…or Jocelyne? No, a girl could never…and how? O God, now I have to find out how, I have to see. I have to touch him…
He retched again and he was still shaking as he gingerly shovelled the sand away, up the T–shirt and there was that goddam Tufts sweatshirt he always wore, and up some more, the hands all white and somehow inhuman, rubbery, pressed against his chest and then–o S eigneur , strangled with wire still wrapped around, the thin wire they used on the fence posts and everywhere , I use it more than anyone, the face all bluish, tongue just sticking out a little, swollen, eyes half open and staring–and so–so dry–looking, like wood or plastic…
“ Fleur! Non! Touche pas…”
Think. Think. Think. To leave him here? They’ll find him on Monday when the men come to…but how can I pretend til then? Okay, and if it was Benoit, that’s the most–because Liam kept pushing him, and then if Benoit tells on me, says I was in on the whole thing, why should they think it was only Benoit…if I quit and go home and they find him, then I’m fucked for sure, they’ll say for sure it was me… and if it was Michel, and what if it was true what Liam said, and then Michel would have to say why he was so angry…. oh God, Uncle Roch would die, just die, he thinks Michel is out every night with a different girl, it’s so important to him…I got to protect my cousin, I know he doesn’t even know I’m alive, but it’s blood, it’s family…I can’t stand it…to know he’s here and keep on working as if…I got to get him out of here…I can’t stand it…
He thought it must be seven o’clock already, it felt like hours had passed, but he looked at his watch, and no, it was only five–thirty. And then he closed his eyes a minute to think, and then he opened them to see under the protective roof of the VIP section of the stadium bleachers a thick pile of cotton material, it must have been a metre high, all the bunting for the show, loosely wrapped in a huge rectangle of shiny paper, heavy store wrapping paper that he knew like he knew the bottom of his own pocket, and a plan unscrolled itself in his mind.
First he had to do what his whole body was screaming at him not to. He pulled the body out by the legs and laid it on the grass. Don’t think about it. Just do it. He leaned into the back of the truck for the toolbox and found the wire cutters. He cut the coiled wire carefully without breaking any skin, picked it away with the tips of the cutters and dumped it into the big garbage drum beside the stadium. Once a week the garbage was collected. It was pretty full now and he pushed the wire down amongst the debris.
Still using the wire
“ Tais–toi, Fleur, qu’as–tu là?”
Beside her now, he saw the big paws scrabbling furiously, and he heard the clacking sound of nails meeting metal. He shivered and grabbed the cowboy–style bandanna Jocelyne tricked her out in, dragging her away so he could see.
Crisse de crisse de crisse!
He would know that belt buckle anywhere! It was plainly visible now, and a few inches of blue jeans beside and a square of white hairy skin where the T–shirt had rucked up and–
Gilles crossed himself with wild imprecision, turned and retched violently onto the grass. Nothing but coffee and bile came up. He retched again and again, he thought he would never stop. Christi! He sank to his knees, weakness spreading everywhere in his body, and started to cry. Fleur whined softly, licking frantically at his face. He pushed her away with a trembling arm and tried to think.
Think, think, think. O shit, o shit. Who? Maybe Benoit? They must have fought over what to do. Or Michel? O God, the way he looked yesterday. If it’s Benoit, I’m fucked, he’ll tell on me, or say it was me, I can’t prove it wasn’t, or if it was Michel, I got to do something, blood is thicker…or Jocelyne? No, a girl could never…and how? O God, now I have to find out how, I have to see. I have to touch him…
He retched again and he was still shaking as he gingerly shovelled the sand away, up the T–shirt and there was that goddam Tufts sweatshirt he always wore, and up some more, the hands all white and somehow inhuman, rubbery, pressed against his chest and then–o S eigneur , strangled with wire still wrapped around, the thin wire they used on the fence posts and everywhere , I use it more than anyone, the face all bluish, tongue just sticking out a little, swollen, eyes half open and staring–and so–so dry–looking, like wood or plastic…
“ Fleur! Non! Touche pas…”
Think. Think. Think. To leave him here? They’ll find him on Monday when the men come to…but how can I pretend til then? Okay, and if it was Benoit, that’s the most–because Liam kept pushing him, and then if Benoit tells on me, says I was in on the whole thing, why should they think it was only Benoit…if I quit and go home and they find him, then I’m fucked for sure, they’ll say for sure it was me… and if it was Michel, and what if it was true what Liam said, and then Michel would have to say why he was so angry…. oh God, Uncle Roch would die, just die, he thinks Michel is out every night with a different girl, it’s so important to him…I got to protect my cousin, I know he doesn’t even know I’m alive, but it’s blood, it’s family…I can’t stand it…to know he’s here and keep on working as if…I got to get him out of here…I can’t stand it…
He thought it must be seven o’clock already, it felt like hours had passed, but he looked at his watch, and no, it was only five–thirty. And then he closed his eyes a minute to think, and then he opened them to see under the protective roof of the VIP section of the stadium bleachers a thick pile of cotton material, it must have been a metre high, all the bunting for the show, loosely wrapped in a huge rectangle of shiny paper, heavy store wrapping paper that he knew like he knew the bottom of his own pocket, and a plan unscrolled itself in his mind.
First he had to do what his whole body was screaming at him not to. He pulled the body out by the legs and laid it on the grass. Don’t think about it. Just do it. He leaned into the back of the truck for the toolbox and found the wire cutters. He cut the coiled wire carefully without breaking any skin, picked it away with the tips of the cutters and dumped it into the big garbage drum beside the stadium. Once a week the garbage was collected. It was pretty full now and he pushed the wire down amongst the debris.
Still using the wire
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