Godfrey: Book One

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  It was after supper that evening, as Godfrey was filling the horses’ troughs, that he heard the sounds of voices coming from inside the barn. Setting down the heavy bucket, he crossed the yard and stopped outside the door. It was slightly ajar and the young man crouched down behind an old milk canister in order to listen.

  “I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses, Léandre.”

  It was his mother and she sounded upset.

  “But, Julie. I swear - “

  “No! You and that salope from Chateauguay can have your fun! Just don’t expect any more love from me.”

  “Julie! I swear! I didn’t go to see her!”

  “Please. You actually expect me to believe you went to your sister’s? How about I write her and ask?”

  “Now, Julie - ”

  “Ah. No, Léandre. You see. You’ve never been a very good liar.”

  “Fine, I went to see her,” Godfrey heard his father reply, his tone brusque.. “But we didn’t - “

  There came the sound of a stinging slap. Then, silence.

  Did she really just slap him?

  A minute passed, Godfrey holding his breath and straining his ears and wondering whether his parents were no longer speaking or whether he simply couldn’t hear them. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there came the sound of footsteps. Crouching down lower so that he wouldn’t be seen, Godfrey watched as his father emerged from the barn and strode slowly across the yard towards the garage, no doubt planning to sleep in the small bed he kept there for whenever he and Julie were on bad terms.

  Several minutes must have passed in which Godfrey sat there, his back against the barn wall, wondering why in the world his father would have an affair. However, without warning, there suddenly came a great clanging and banging and clattering from inside the barn and thinking his mother in trouble - he raced into the barn.

  Standing in the middle of the small edifice was Julie. Her hair unkempt. Straw stuck to her clothes. And most noticeably, she was holding a pitchfork.

  “Maman…”

  “Godfrey! What are you doing in here!?”

  “I heard banging. I thought you might be hurt or something.”

  Julie sighed and lay the pitchfork on the work bench beside her.

  “Your father and I…we just had a fight.”

  “I know.”

  Julie looked at her son, her eyes probing his, trying to determine whether or not he’d heard anything.

  “So you know about…?”

  “The woman from Chateauguay?”

  Julie nodded, her eyes growing hard at upon his mention of the adulteress.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” she said finally.

  “Maman, don’t apologize for him. He’s the one in the wrong. He’s betrayed us.”

  The woman sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  Julie shrugged and re-tied the apron she was wearing. Godfrey guessed it had come loose when she’d been swinging the pitchfork like a crazy person, the wood splinters and broken wash basin at her feet being evidence of this.

  “Your father is a complicated man, Godfrey.”

  “He’s a liar and a cheat, maman. How can you talk about him like he’s some kind of saint?”

  “Because he’s still my husband, Godfrey. He puts food on the table. He’s never hit me. There’s much worse out there, you know.”

  “But - “

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s getting late and we have Mass in the morning. Best you get to bed.”

  Godfrey didn’t want to argue, considering the fragile state his mother was in, and he nodded his head obediently. “Alright, maman.”

  “See you in the morning,” she said, resting her hands on her hips and motioning towards the barn door.

  “See you in the morning.”

  “And don’t speak to any of your brothers or sisters about what you know.”

  “I won’t.”