加布里艾尔·罗伊 /GabrielleRoy
Whydidthememoryofthatdeadchildseekmeoutonthisbeautifulday? Tillthen, nointimationofsorrowhadcometomethroughthedazzlingrevelationsofasummerthatsang.
, Canada, tofinishtheschoolyearasreplacementforateacherwhohadfallenillorsimply, forallIknew, becomediscouraged.
“Whenthetimecomesforyoutoapplyforapermanentposition,”theprincipalofthenormalschoolhadtoldme, “You'llbeabletosaythatyou'vehadexperience.”
AndsoIfoundmyselfinspringinthatverypoorvillage - justafewshacks, withnothingaroundbutspindlingsprucetrees.“Amonth,” Iaskedmyself, “willthatbelongenoughtobecomeattachedtothechildren? Willamonthbeworththeeffort?”
Perhapsthesamecalculationwasinthemindsofthechildren, forIhadneverseenfacessodejected, .
Nineo'.
Scarcelyknowingwhereorhowtobegin, , andtodaytheystillreturntomymemory, likethis, fornoreason: MadeleineBerube, JosephatBrisset, EmilienDumont, CecileLepine...
Butmostofthechildrenwhoroseandanswered “Present, mamzelle”, whentheirnameswerecalledhadtheslightlynarrowedeyes, warmcoloringandjet-blackhairthattoldofmetisblood.
Theywerebeautifulandexquisitelypolite; .“Isthiswhatchildrenarelike, then,” Iaskedmyselfwithanguish, “untouchable, barricadedinsomeregionwhereyoucan'treachthem?”
IcametothenameYolandeChartrand.
, whentherewasstillnoanswer, Ilookedupatfacesthatseemedtomecompletelyindifferent.
Thenfromthebackoftheclassroom, abovethebuzzingofflies, aroseavoiceIcouldn'tplaceatfirst.“She'sdead, .”
Perhapsevenmoredistressingthanthenewswasthecalm, leveltoneofthechild'svoice.
