Fish Change Direction in Cold Weather by Pierre Szalowski Page A
Authors: Pierre Szalowski
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me!’
Wednesday, 7 January 1998
‘Contrary to all expectations, the storm has begun to lessen in intensity. Hundreds of Hydro-Québec team workers have been busy repairing and replacing poles,
power lines and damaged pylons. Three hundred thousand users have already been reconnected to the grid. Everything would seem to indicate that the situation will soon be under
control.’
BUSINESS IS BUSINESS
The first thing Julie saw when she woke up was the Hydro-Québec trucks doing a waltz. It was nine o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t woken up this early in
ages. She went into the sitting room: there was absolutely no doubt about it, this was no ordinary man. Every morning he came up with something new.
Boris was lying face down on the sofa, with one hand on the big sheet of cardboard covering the aquarium, which he had placed right next to him on the coffee table. The two cats, who’d
grudgingly given up their usual spot, were sitting on the coffee table, their noses up against the glass. Tails twitching, they watched attentively as the fish twisted and turned. Their obvious
intention, if Boris let his vigilance slip for so much as a nanosecond, was to revise his entire mathematical theory, to simplify his calculations by two units. Only Brutus, as loyal as can be, lay
purring on Boris’s back.
Julie went into the kitchen on tiptoes. She switched on her little radio. Not loudly, just enough to find out if, by some miracle, this might all continue.
‘Contrary to all expectations, the ice storm that has been raging for the last two days seems to be lessening in intensity. Hundreds of Hydro-Québec team workers are hard at it,
restoring power to as many households as possible. They estimate they will be able to reconnect close to three hundred thousand today.’
She just muttered, through clenched teeth, ‘Isn’t that typical Hydro-Québec? When you call them, they take forever to come, and when you don’t call them, they come
before they ought to.’
Julie sincerely hoped that every apartment in Quebec would soon have comfort and electricity . . . with one exception.
You don’t quit a job where you’re making five hundred dollars a night only to find yourself, the next morning, living with the fear that someone is going to leave.
Just then, Boris walked into the kitchen.
‘Morning!’
‘Morning.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no, everything’s fine . . .’
‘No, there’s something wrong, I can tell!’
When his fish were swimming happily around the tank, Boris’s life went swimmingly, too. There had been something handsome about him when he’d been sad and afraid. And now that he was
joyful, he was even more handsome. Yesterday he had told her about how he first came to Quebec, his short career in the junior hockey league. She thought it was terrible that he’d been let go
after his first inter-team match, after scoring four goals, three of which were during short-handed play. But Julie knew that Boris must be lying about his talent. She’d seen dozens of hockey
players at Sex Paradisio, and they always came in threes. Apparently it relaxed them, after a match, to go to a strip club, especially when they were in the NHL. She saw right away that Boris had
neither the build nor the eagle eye of a great champion.
‘I thought of something, this morning . . .’
‘Yes, Boris.’
‘Here, you have power, which is great. But it could stop at any time . . .’
‘Anything can stop at any time, you’re so right, Boris . . .’
‘Hold my arm, please.’
Some people view male chivalry as nothing more than a condescending attitude towards the weaker sex. Julie liked chivalry not only because she was fed up with slaps on the bum but above all
because there was a lot of ice and it really was slippery. From the moment they left the house, she did not let go of her knight’s arm. What astonished her was the way other men were looking
at them: in their eyes it was no
Wednesday, 7 January 1998
‘Contrary to all expectations, the storm has begun to lessen in intensity. Hundreds of Hydro-Québec team workers have been busy repairing and replacing poles,
power lines and damaged pylons. Three hundred thousand users have already been reconnected to the grid. Everything would seem to indicate that the situation will soon be under
control.’
BUSINESS IS BUSINESS
The first thing Julie saw when she woke up was the Hydro-Québec trucks doing a waltz. It was nine o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t woken up this early in
ages. She went into the sitting room: there was absolutely no doubt about it, this was no ordinary man. Every morning he came up with something new.
Boris was lying face down on the sofa, with one hand on the big sheet of cardboard covering the aquarium, which he had placed right next to him on the coffee table. The two cats, who’d
grudgingly given up their usual spot, were sitting on the coffee table, their noses up against the glass. Tails twitching, they watched attentively as the fish twisted and turned. Their obvious
intention, if Boris let his vigilance slip for so much as a nanosecond, was to revise his entire mathematical theory, to simplify his calculations by two units. Only Brutus, as loyal as can be, lay
purring on Boris’s back.
Julie went into the kitchen on tiptoes. She switched on her little radio. Not loudly, just enough to find out if, by some miracle, this might all continue.
‘Contrary to all expectations, the ice storm that has been raging for the last two days seems to be lessening in intensity. Hundreds of Hydro-Québec team workers are hard at it,
restoring power to as many households as possible. They estimate they will be able to reconnect close to three hundred thousand today.’
She just muttered, through clenched teeth, ‘Isn’t that typical Hydro-Québec? When you call them, they take forever to come, and when you don’t call them, they come
before they ought to.’
Julie sincerely hoped that every apartment in Quebec would soon have comfort and electricity . . . with one exception.
You don’t quit a job where you’re making five hundred dollars a night only to find yourself, the next morning, living with the fear that someone is going to leave.
Just then, Boris walked into the kitchen.
‘Morning!’
‘Morning.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no, everything’s fine . . .’
‘No, there’s something wrong, I can tell!’
When his fish were swimming happily around the tank, Boris’s life went swimmingly, too. There had been something handsome about him when he’d been sad and afraid. And now that he was
joyful, he was even more handsome. Yesterday he had told her about how he first came to Quebec, his short career in the junior hockey league. She thought it was terrible that he’d been let go
after his first inter-team match, after scoring four goals, three of which were during short-handed play. But Julie knew that Boris must be lying about his talent. She’d seen dozens of hockey
players at Sex Paradisio, and they always came in threes. Apparently it relaxed them, after a match, to go to a strip club, especially when they were in the NHL. She saw right away that Boris had
neither the build nor the eagle eye of a great champion.
‘I thought of something, this morning . . .’
‘Yes, Boris.’
‘Here, you have power, which is great. But it could stop at any time . . .’
‘Anything can stop at any time, you’re so right, Boris . . .’
‘Hold my arm, please.’
Some people view male chivalry as nothing more than a condescending attitude towards the weaker sex. Julie liked chivalry not only because she was fed up with slaps on the bum but above all
because there was a lot of ice and it really was slippery. From the moment they left the house, she did not let go of her knight’s arm. What astonished her was the way other men were looking
at them: in their eyes it was no
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