Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [83]
Terry was introduced by Professor Lucas Bellamy, author of Northern Rites: Essays on Culture and Place in Post-Colonial Canada, who began his halting, ten-minute panegyric by saying Terry McIver needed no introduction. Terry’s prizes were cited. The Governor General’s Award for Literature. The Canadian Authors’ Association Medal of Merit. His Order of Canada. “And,” the professor concluded, “if there is any justice, the Nobel Prize in the not-too-distant future. For the truth is, if Terry McIver weren’t a Canadian he would be internationally celebrated instead of overlooked by the cultural imperialists in New York and the snobs who rule the London literary roost.”
Before launching into the reading, Terry announced that he had, along with a number of other writers, endorsed a statement opposing the use of clear-cutting and supporting the protection of British Columbia’s Clayoquot Sound. Clear-cut logging, he said, led to species loss. It was estimated that one hundred species a day go extinct because of human impact on the environment, which also contributes to global warming — a prospect I would have thought was to be welcomed as a blessing in our country. “Biodiversity is our living legacy,” he proclaimed to applause, and then he asked everybody to sign a petition that the ushers would pass around. I had come with Solange, my regular companion now, who would soon be joining me in the pensioners’ ranks, but continued to wear short dresses more appropriate to a woman of Chantal’s age. I feared they made her look foolish, which grieved me, as I held her in such high regard, but I didn’t dare say a word. Solange had done me proud as a TV director, but still longed to be on camera, playing romantic leads. I didn’t allow her to stay on for the book signing, hurrying her out of the hall and taking her to dinner at L’Express. “Why did you sign that dumb petition they were passing around?” I asked.
“It wasn’t dumb. Animal life is threatened everywhere.”
“Yours and mine, too. But you know something? You’re right. I worry, in particular, about the possible loss of hyenas, jackals, cockroaches, deadly snakes, and sewer rats.”
“Couldn’t you wait until I finished my dinner?”
“What if, due to our negligence, they all went the way of the dinosaurs?”
“Like you?” she asked, and then I began to drift, fighting tears. I used to come here with Miriam. Miriam, my heart’s desire. What was troubling her this morning? Maybe Kate had reproached her on the phone for leaving me? How dare Kate. Oh yeah? Go for it, my darling. Remind her of what she’s missing. No, don’t.
“Hello, hello, I’m still here,” said Solange, waving her hand in front of my face.
“Are you going to buy his book?”
“Yes.”
“But Solange, my dear, there are no pictures.”
“If this is going to be one of your endearing all-actresses-are-idiots nights, go ahead, be my guest.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You see, I knew McIver in Paris and have seen something of him since.”
“But you’ve already told me that more than once,” she said, troubled.
“We don’t like each other.”
“What are you most jealous of, Barney, his talent or his good looks?”
“Oh, you are clever. But that will require some thought. Now, tell me, speaking as a bona fide pepper, a pure laine frog, probably descended from les filles du roi, how are you going to vote in the referendum?”
“I’m seriously thinking of voting Yes this time. There are some in the PQ who are really racist, which is abhorrent to me, but for more than a hundred years this country has exhausted itself, and been held back trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Of course it’s risky, and it won’t be easy, but why shouldn’t we have our own country?”
“Because it would destroy mine. Your ancestors were stupid. They should have sold Quebec and kept Louisiana.”