Jean = Québec
Vincent = Ontario
Every French sentence is followed by its translation in Italic.
New colors
Vincent walked inside his apartment at full speed, cursing his bad luck for being so busy on such an important day. He had felt the changes in his own body as the hours passed, but he could not tell what happened precisely.
Finally finding the remote, he sat on a couch, ready to know how the elections had turned out.
«I wonder if the Liberals gained the power they wanted… » he thought.
A veins popped on his forehead. Of course, it wouldn't be Jean's province that would help with that. This… self-centered idiot's people were always voting for the Bloc and perpetuating a tradition of obstructing everything without ever trying to help.
Now mad, he turned on his TV.
And got one heck of a surprise.
«What? But… that's… !»
Dumbstruck, Vincent stared at the screen for a good five minutes before snapping out of it. That had to be a mistake!
With a shaking hand, he composed a very familiar number.
«Dad? Have you seen the results of the election? »
«Do you really think we needed to come here? I feel like I'm going to be stabbed in the back any seconds now! » Vincent whined, looking nervously through the window of the car.
«Oh come on, Quebeckers may not really like Ontarians, but not to the point of murder. » a man with a red sweatshirt replied. «Your brother wouldn't let it happen, you know? »
An uneasy smile on his face, Vincent gulped, got out of the car and walked to the house they had stopped in front of. If you weren't looking closely, you wouldn't notice his shaking. His father caught up to him in seconds.
«Besides, weren't you the one that wanted to come check him? »
«Well, yeah, that result has got to be a mistake. I wanted to make sure if he wasn't sick or something. »
«Oh, so you do care about Jean's well-being. » Matthew remarked with a large grin.
«N-no! » Vincent stuttered, not exactly helping his case.
His dad just nodded with a smug look on his face, staring at his son. Vincent, not wanting to give up so easily, tried to uphold the gaze, but soon he looked away.
«Urgh, fine, let's just get this damn visit over with! » he said as he knocked the door.
Both men patiently waited in front of the wooden door… and waited… and waited…
«What's taking him so long? » Vincent shouted. «He better not be making us wait on purpose, that self-centered…»
«He may not be here too, you know? » his dad cut him off.
«I say we take a look inside then. »
«This could be considered trespassing… » Matthew reminded.
For some reason, Vincent seemed not to have heard anything… or at least he acted like he didn't. He just opened the door under the disapproval of his father.
They were up for a surprise.
«What… the… heck? » Vincent exclaimed.
«I had no idea Jean wanted to redecorate. » Matthew said as he observed the inside of the house.
Before, the walls were a deep blue, in accord to Jean's belief and loyalty toward his French inheritance. In fact, Matthew never said it, but he sometime felt like he was underwater when visiting his turbulent son. There were also some of the Bloc's old posters, reminding everyone of his desire to be his own country. Now… it was as if his house had been hit by a wave of paint… orange paint. Everywhere, everything was orange, save for an occasional piece of furniture that was red or blue.
After the ocean, the giant bottle of Cheez Whiz.
Great.
«My eyes! » Vincent said while covering said organs with his hands. «Geez, how could his taste get worse with time? »
Before Matthew could smack his son's head for that, they heard an incredulous voice:
«P'pa? Vince? Qu'essé vous faîtes icitte?» / Dad? Vince? What are you doing here?
Both visitors turned around to see a brown-haired boy in his twenties with a bright orange t-shirt looking at them with a surprised smile.
«D'après toi, Jean? On est venu voir si tu étais tombé malade. » / What do you think, Jean? We came to see if you were sick.
At his brother's answer, Jean looked taken aback.
«Pourquoi je s'rais malade? Pi depuis quand ça t'inquièterais, Vince? » / Why would I be sick? And since when do you care, Vince? The young man replied with a skeptical expression.
Blushing furiously, the Ontarian looked away and grumbled quietly.
«Why would I care about a self-centered French bastard like you? »
«Tu sais que j'peux t'entendre? Ou ben tu penses que y'a juste toi qui compte au Canada comme d'habitude? » / You know I can hear you? Or is it just that you think only you matters in Canada like always? Jean interjected.
«Les gars, vous allez pas commencer avec ça! Vincent, tu es venu parce que tu t'inquiétais. Jean, tu sais que ton frère t'hais pas autant que t'aimerais le faire croire. Alors faîtes-moi le plaisir d'avoir une conversation qui vous ne fera pas sauter à la gorge de l'autre.» / Boys, don't start with this! Vincent, you came because you were worried. Jean, you know your brother doesn't hate you like you want to make people believe. So, give me the pleasure of not having a conversation that will make you jump at each other's throats.
Both boys just barricaded themselves behind a deep silence.
«Bon, je vois que c'est pas demain la veille que vous allez réussir à vous entendre. Jean, on était curieux après le résultat de l'élection » / Well, it seems that it won't happen soon. Jean, we were curious because of the results of the elections. Matthew explained to his eldest son. «Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? » / What happened?
The young man sighted and turned his back on them. Absented-mindedly, he just muttered a few words.
«Je sais pas trop. » / I don't really know.
With a blank look on his face, Jean walked to the living room and sat on the couch, the rare object not to be as orange as his t-shirt. With a small hand sign, he invited them to come and sit with him.
Father and son looked at each other for a second before joining Jean.
An uncomfortable silence took place as Jean was just looking at his orange ceiling with an extremely pensive expression. This pissed off Vincent. They came here for him and he was not even looking at them?
Their father, however, was examining his eldest's face carefully. Something seemed to have changed deeply about him. It had to be the elections, but he wasn't sure why.
«Jean, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? Pourquoi est-ce que tu as redecoré ta maison comme ça? » / Jean, what's wrong? Why did you redecorate your house that way? Matthew asked with concern.
For a moment, he stayed silent, not wanting to elaborate on his mood. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't sure himself of what had happened to him. However, he could at least explained what he knew , he owed it to his dad that made the effort to came here… and to his brother that apparently cared for his well-being. Why was that last thought making him happy?
«Le monde ont décidé de laisser la place au changement, chuppose. I devaient être tanné de voir le Bloc chialé tout le temps sur des niaiseries. » / People chose to let changes happen, I suppose. They must have been bored of seeing the Bloc complained all the time about small unimportant thing. Jean started, still looking at the ceiling.
«Ils ne veulent plus la souveraineté? » / They don't want the sovereignty anymore? Vincent asked, extremely excited.
Finally! Geez, it took him long enough to become reasonable.
Jean finally stopped his contemplation of the orange ceiling and looked his brother.
«Non, ya veulent encore. Une partie en tout cas. » / No, they still want it. At least some of them.
«Pourquoi ont-ils voté pour le NPD alors? » / Why did they vote for the NPD then? Vincent said, a bit confused.
«Je sais pas. I pensaient probablement qui fallait changer les choses chez p'pa. J'ai l'impression que pas mal ont juste suivie la vague. » / I don't know. They probably thought they ought to change things at dad's place. I feel that most people just followed a tendency.
«Quelle vague? » / What wave? Matthew suddenly jumped into the conversation.
At the question, Jean looked pretty mad.
«L'ostie de vague de peinture orange qui a revolé sur ma maison pi qui l'a fait ressembler à une boîte de Kraft dinner. » / The fucking wave of orange paint that splashed on my house and made it look like a box of Kraft dinner. The Quebecker said while gritting his teeth.
«Thank god that wasn't you. » Vincent couldn't help but exclaimed.
«Merci, Vince. C'est très gentil de ta part. » / Thanks, Vince. It's really nice of you to say that. He said darkly.
«Surveille ton langage, s'il te plait, Jean. » / Watch your language, please, Jean. Matthew said with a reprehensive voice.
«P'pa, j'étais dans maison à ce moment-là! » / Dad, I was IN the house. The Quebecker shouted.
«Quoi? » / What? His brother and father exclaimed.
«Mon t-shirt était BLEU hier! » / My t-shirt was BLUE yesterday! He added sourly.
Three… two… one…
Vincent burst out laughing.
«Just… imagining the… look on your face… » he struggled to say between two deep breaths.
«Vincent, that's not very nice! » Matthew scolded.
«J'le préviens, p'pa. Si ya met pas en veilleuse tout suite, i va en manger une solide! » / I'm warning him, dad. If he doesn't stop right now, he's gonna get it. Jean threatened.
«Why couldn't I have been theeeeeeeere? » he screamed, hit by another wave of hilarity.
«Ah, tu vas tellement en manger une, toi mon tabarnak! » / Oh, you're so gonna get it, you fucking bastard! The young man yelled as he jumped on his brother.
Matthew sighted. There really was no way a meeting between those two could end up without violence. Seriously, it's like they were trying to get the other to punch them. Did they like fighting that much? They sure reminded him of his fathers.
When Jean's fist connected with Vincent's face, earning a groan of pain from him, Matthew felt something snapped inside him and took a deep breath.
«STOP IT! NOW! »
The two provinces froze. Oh crap… Their father was always a quiet, shy and nice person… except he was really - and they meant REALLY - scary when he was mad! People said that Canadians never really got angry. They were the biggest bunch of liars they had ever heard of. Seriously, the ones that manage to piss off their dad enough regretted it.
Slowly, they turned their heads to the country that had yelled.
They were so dead.
Matthew's face was showing a pleasant smile, but there were a few veins popping out his forehead, a good sign that he was clearly mad.
«Les gars, vous allez arrêter de vous battre maintenant, d'accord? » / Boys, you're going to stop fightning NOW, aren't you? He said in a very matter-of-fact tone.
«Hehehe, sure dad. » Vincent pathetically laughed.
«Ben sûr, o-on n'était pas sérieux… » / Of course, w-we weren't serious… Jean stuttered as he got off the Ontarian, who had a nosebleed because of the hit he had taken.
«Oh great! » Vincent whined when he realized it. «Pour quelqu'un qui faisait semblant, tu frappes pas mal fort. » / For someone that wasn't serious, you sure hit hard. He glanced at his brother.
«Désolé, Vince, mais imagine si jamais été sérieux. Tu serais ben à l'hôpital à c't'heure-citte. » / Sorry, Vince, but imagine if I had been serious. You would be in the hospital by now. The eldest grinned, half-arrogant, half-sorry.
Which turned into absolutely, utterly and completely sorry when his father cleared his throat.
«HUumm… ya des mouchoirs dans le tiroir de la commode juste là! » / There are some tissues in the drawers there! The Quebecker said as fast as he could.
While his brother got up to get the precious tissues, their father just sighted.
«Vraiment, qu'est-ce que je vais bien pouvoir faire de vous? Vous êtes des frères, des membres de la même famille. » / Really, what am I going to do with you two? You're brothers, members of the same family. Matthew pleaded, somewhat disheartened.
How many times had he told them that? And how many times had his two eldest replied with an incomprehensible grumble under their breath?
Vincent, predictably, winced at the reminder of their status, but was too busy searching for something to help with his nosebleed. He was kind of messing the rug as of now.
Jean, however, reacted in a completely new and… weird way.
«PLUS D'AIDE POUR LES FAMILLES! » / MORE HELP FOR THE FAMILIES! He shouted, standing on his couch, both arms toward the ceiling.
As if snapping out of a trance, Jean suddenly shook his head and, seeing the incredulous face of his family, blushed furiously.
«C'était quoi ÇA? » / What was THAT? Vincent asked, temporarily forgetting about his nosebleed.
«Euh… c'est… » / Huhhh… that's… he started, embarrassed. « Ça m'arrive de crier ça de temps en temps depuis les élections. » / I shout that from times to times since the elections.
«C'est sûrement l'opinion du chef que t'as élu. » / It's probably the opinion of the chef you elected. Matthew calmly reassured.
He could clearly see how much of a freak-out he was about to make over that. Sometimes, their thoughts could be obstruct by their people. If Jean's population were all thinking the same, then he was bound to lose some control and spout some nonsense.
Internally he laughed, a certain brother of his could certainly use that excuse from times to times, but he was too obvious to notice anyway.
In his corner, Vincent rummaged through the drawer, trying to find the tissues Jean had talked about. He was going to go to the bathroom instead when he found something that made him gasps.
«Jean! T'as recommencé à fumer cette cochonnerie! » / Jean! You started to smoke that shit again! He took out a bag of what looked like maple leaves… with a little difference on the design.
His father gaze hardened and locked on him.
«Jean, je pensais qu'on s'était parlé à propos de ça. » / Jean, I thought we discussed this before.
«P'pa, c'est pas à moi! » / Dad, it's not mine! The Quebecker protested, which only earned a scoff from his brother. «Je niaise pas, c'est pas à moi.» / I'm not kidding, it's not mine.
«Ah non? » / No? Matthew asked, his arms crossed on his chest. «C'est à qui alors? » / Whose is it then?
Seeing him look away, their suspicions only worsened.
«Jean, dis-le moi, sinon je vais pas pouvoir te croire. » / Jean, tell me or I won't be able to trust you.
Strangely, Jean just stared at Vincent. Oh, his brother would so love hearing that.
«C'est au Bloc. » / It's the Bloc's. He reluctantly admitted.
If his father could looked more surprised, it would have to be pretty shocking news to beat that expression he was wearing.
«A-au Bloc… dans le sens de Bloc Québécois? » / The Bloc's… as in the Bloc Québécois? The country asked.
«T'en connais-tu ben d'autres des Bloc? » / Do you know any other Bloc? Jean snarkily remarked, gritting his teeth.
«Attends un peu. Ce pot-là est au Bloc? » / Wait a minute. This pot is the Bloc's? Vincent could not help but ask again for confirmation.
«Crisse, tu comprends pu le français? OUI. C'est le Bloc qui est venu me donner ça. Pi avant que tu te mettes à crier partout que tu savais qui pouvaient juste être une gang de drogués, ils me l'ont donné à matin. » / Christ, don't you understand French anymore? Yes, the Bloc came to give that to me. And before you start screaming everywhere that you knew they could only be a bunch of junkies, they gave it to me this morning. He explained, visibly pissed.
«Pourquoi? » / Why?
«I m'ont demandés d'en fumer si les journalistes venaient me voir. Yarrêtes pas de répéter que les gens avaient fait un choix de fous et qu'ils devaient leur être passer une méchante bulle quand ils ont voté. Quelque chose du genre. » / They asked me to smoke it if journalists came to see me. They never stopped repeating that people had made a mad choice and must have had not been all there when they voted. Something like that.
Vincent's jaw fell to the floor and Matthew's was not far from it either.
«What a bunch of sore losers! They can't even accept that they were defeated fair and square! » the Ontarian shouted.
«Faut avouer que c'est pas mal n'importe quoi… yarrête pas de dire que c'est pas une vraie défaite et qu'ils vont revenir en force aux prochaines élections.» / I must admit that's it's mostly bullshit. They can't stop telling that it wasn't a true defeat and that they'll come back stronger next time.
«Ben voyons, ils ont plus que quatre sièges. » / No way, they only have four seats left. Vincent shrugged it off.
«Le NPD en avait pas tant que ça avant… » / The NPD didn't have much more before… Jean remarked almost absented-mindly.
Matthew witnessed the explosion of a few veins on Vincent's forehead. The Ontarian's thoughts were crystal-clear. Why did that arrogant self-centered jerk have to say that? Why couldn't he let go of the idea? Was the idea of a stable Canada so hard to grasp?
As he was about to rant about his brother's stubbornness and stupidity, his father put a hand on his shoulder. It was a passive-aggressive gesture, just one to incite him to calm down.
«C'est pas le temps pour ça... » / It's not a good time for that… he whispered to him.
Jean looked at his immobile brother and frowned.
«Vince, il te faut vraiment un mouchoir. Tu répends ton sang d'Anglais partout. » / Vince, you really need some tissue. You're putting your English blood everywhere.
«HEY! »
«Pogne pas é nerfs, pi viens-t'en dans salle de bain. Va falloir que tu te laves la face, t'as du sang partout su' toi. » / Don't get angry and follow me to the bathroom. You'll have to wash your face, you've got blood everywhere. He said as he walked out of the room.
« Whose fault is it? » Vincent reminded, if only not to let his brother have the last word.
Of course, that triggered another round of insults and bickering, but at this point, Matthew just felt like sighing.
«Les gars, vous êtes mieux de pas recommencer à vous battre! » / Boys, you better not start fighting! He yelled, just to make sure that they would stop.
Usually, they listened to him for the rest of the day he snapped.
Matthew was perfectly right. His threat was apparently effective, since the boys had behaved, which of course meant that they insulted each other under their breath so their father wouldn't notice and elbowed each other to near death, but that was better than most of the times he left his two sons together.
«Heille, Vince, toi pi p'pa vous allez ben restez souper, hein? » / Hey, Vince, you nd dad will stay for dinner, right? Matthew heard his eldest son proposed with a cheerful voice.
The Canadian's thoughts could easily be translated into those few words:
«What… the… heck? »
He knew his son was afraid of him when he was angry, but this was just ridiculous! He was usually pressing his brother to leave as soon as possible whenever they started fighting.
Taken by surprise, Vincent could just mutter a hesitant «S-sure… » and his father was not going to blame him.
«Cool! Tu vas voir, je vais vous contocter ma nouvelle sorte de poutine! » / Cool! You'll see, I'm going to cook you my newest variety of poutine. Jean enthusiastically exclaimed, ignoring the annoyed grunt his younger brother let out at the announcement.
Matthew stunned expression suddenly turned into a slightly bitter smile. Okay, he enjoyed poutine as much as the next guy, but… recently, Jean's innovation about that particular dish had started to… gross him out a little. Yeah, he knew that everyone had the right to enjoy their food however they like it, but still…
He turned around when he heard his son's footstep get louder and louder. When Jean passed him by, Matthew's face betrayed none of his inner conflict. He only nodded at the silent question. The Canadian silently confirmed Vincent's reply. They were going to stay for dinner.
Was it just an optical illusion or his son winked when he passed him by?
What was he up to?
«Why did I even agree to stay eat his pseudo-French crap again? » the Ontarian complained, carefully breathing, not wanting to trigger another nosebleed.
«You were too surprised to say anything else and before you could take it back, Jean had run away to the kitchen. » Matthew calmly explained.
«But why damn poutine? I mean, sure it can be nice once in a while, but he is taking it to ridiculous extent. He has created over 70 different varieties of poutine! Can't he try to be more creative? »
«J't'ai entendu, Vince. » / I heard you, Vince. Jean's voice came from the other room, sounding a bit offended.
«Next time, you'll cook what you want, but he is the one in that kitchen, cooking. So, be polite and at least try what he will bring back. Okay? » Matthew asked.
Vincent didn't look very pleased, but he nodded. He wasn't going to let his brother make him appear impolite in front of their father.
«C'est prêt! » / Dinner's ready! Jean announced as he got out of the kitchen while carrying a plate of… something that was vaguely related to poutine.
«C'est quoi ÇA? » / What is THAT? Vincent shouted as he saw the thing Jean put in front of him.
«J'arrive avec ton assiette dans quelques minutes, p'pa. Ça sera pas long. » / I'll be here with your plate in a few minutes. dad. It won't be long. The Quebecker assured his father.
Matthew just smiled. A few minutes, a few hours, no problem! He shouldn't even bother coming back with his plate at all.
Oh sweet Maple! This time, Jean had surpassed himself. This was beyond every other of his attempts at originality. He was not even sure of what was in there.
«Jean, qu'est-ce que t'as mis là-dedans? » / Jean, what have you put in there? The Ontarian inquired, somewhat panicked.
«C'est mon nouveau special Terre et mer du terroir. Des frites de patates douces, des petits pois, du chou, du bœuf haché, du poulet, des fruits de mer, du saumon fumé et de la sauce au fromage. C'est vraiment bon, mais faut que tu en prennes une bouchée de toute en même temps. » / It's my new special Local land and sea. Fried sweet potatoes, garden peas, cabbage, grounded beef, chicken, seafood, smoked salmon and cheese sauce. It's really good, but you must take a bite of everything at once.
A desperate plea in his eyes, Vincent turned to his father. No matter how much he agreed with his second eldest on that one, he wouldn't allow him to complain… nor would he complain himself.
No matter how tempting it was.
«Try it. » He encouraged his son.
Hesitantly, he put his fork in the dish. Even more hesitantly, his hand shaking, he turned the silverware toward his mouth. Sweating a little, the dreaded dish got closer to the Ontarian.
Fully compassionate, Matthew was encouraging his son to help him go through those dark times.
He swallowed a bit.
«HURGH! IT'S DISGUSTING! » Vincent spat, holding his throat with a hand and frantically gulping down his glass of water. «There's no way I'm swallowing more of that… thing! »
A sincere laugher erupted from the kitchen.
«Ah ben tabarnak! T'a vraiment pris une bouché de c'te marde-là! » / You really took a bite of that shit! They heard Jean say.
«WHAT? Oh, it is ON! » The Ontarian yelled as he got out of the room.
For once, Matthew actually let it go. That was a pretty sadistic joke to play. Now his son's wink had made sense. Oh well, at least he could count himself lucky that Jean hadn't included him in the farce.
«Heille! Calme toé ou je te donne pas ton vrai souper! » / Hey! Calm down or I won't give you your real dinner! The Quebecker threatened.
Had it not been for the audible growl his stomach made, Vincent probably would have ignored the threat and beat up his brother.
Matthew was now sitting next to an extremely tensed Ontarian as Jean arrived with a few plates. The enticing smell coming from there watered their mouth, especially Vincent after the prank he had been victim of.
Jean proudly put the two plates in front of his family members and announced.
«Rôti de porc sauce chili et érable accompagné de gratin daufinois et de salade gourmande. Un p'tit vin avec ça? » / Roast pork with chili and maple sauce, served with a «Gratin Daufinois» and a gourmet salad. Would you like some wine? He presented like a waiter from a high-class restaurant.
After a little nod from the both of them, he disappeared again into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine.
As he served them, Matthew couldn't help but notice the similarities between his son and his father. Out of all his brothers and sisters, Jean was the one that had inherited the most from his French grand-father. In times like these, it was painfully obvious.
The dinner went on quite uneventfully considering who was eating at the same table, but Vincent was devouring his food with great appetite. After that damn thing he had against all logic tried to eat, this was heaven. Noticing it, a proud grin floated on Jean's lips. Messing with his little brother never got old… and it was nice that people appreciated his cooking.
As they swallowed the last bit of their dinner, desserts included, they stood up, complimenting the Quebecker on the meal.
Blushing a bit, Jean said it was nothing.
«Well, you seem to be in perfect shape. Perhaps we should go. We'll be pretty busy tomorrow. » Vincent said.
«V-vous… vous voulez pas rester encore un peu? » / Y-you… don't you want to stay a little longer? Jean asked, seeming startled.
«Il faut bien mettre en place le nouveau gouvernement. » / We have to put the new government on its feet. his brother replied with an arched eyebrow.
Why was Jean so clingy today?
«Ah, come on! J'voulais écouter Bon cop, bad cop à soir. Ça vous tente pas? » / Aw, come on! I wanted to listen Bon cop, bad cop tonight. Don't you want to? Jean proposed with a smirk.
Oh Maple! THAT movie? Of course, Vincent would like to see the movie, if only for the many times they joked at Jean's people. Of course, Jean would do the same about his brother's. That was a magnificent evening they were going to spend together, no doubt about it.
He could already feel the beginning of the headache that was bound to make his head explode in the next few hours.
Surely enough, it did.
Well, not exactly, but it sure felt like it. As it turned out, they did get (predictably) into countless arguments as the movie went on, and it got worse when Jean returned from the kitchen with a few beers in his hands (predictably too), but somehow Jean's usual wits were a little less crunchy than they should have been. It didn't felt natural to Matthew. It was as if he was forcing himself to come up with them. Was his beer that strong?
When the movie was over, both his boys were appropriately drunk and he was feeling quite lightheaded himself.
« Okay, w-we've watched the d-damn movie, Jean. Now, w-we're going back. » a drunken Ontarian declared, not even realizing that he was staggering on his feet.
«Es-tu malade? T'es ben trop soul pour conduire! » / Are you crazy? You're way too drunk to drive! Jean stood up and grabbed his brother's arm.
Vincent did try to push him off, but he didn't manage to make Jean let go. The young man was surprisingly strong for someone with that much liquor in his body.
«Restez pour la nuit. Vous partirez demain matin. » / Stay tonight. You'll leave tomorrow morning. The Quebecker stated with a small, drunken, grin.
Matthew voiced his consent. It was the responsible thing to do, not to mention that Jean's behavior was seriously starting to intrigue him. Whenever Vincent had to stay for the night, he would be grumpy, he would not look secretly happy. What was wrong with him?
Unconscious of his father's thoughts, Jean lead his brother to the second floor by grabbing one of his arms. Surely enough, Vincent protested, but he was not really in good shape, so he didn't do anything else.
Matthew followed his sons with a weak smile. At least, Vincent was his usual self.
Falling asleep when you had had a few drinks was so easy. Every time he did have some liquor, Matthew knew there was no need to worry about falling asleep that night. Just like the other times, the Canadian drifted away to the land of dreams as soon as his head made contact with his pillow.
It was only a few hours later that he heard it.
Jean was sick.
«You should have learned what your limit is by now, Jean. » Matthew sighted, half-asleep.
But, as he rested his head against his pillow, he couldn't help but be bugged by the fact.
«…weird. He usually never drinks enough to be sick… at least when it's not Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day. »
…Jean was definitely acting out of character today. He was being clingy, less obnoxious and insulting toward Vincent, not to mention that he looked pretty affected by the change of colour his house went through.
Yawning, he stood up. Really, he needed to get to the bottom of this. Silently, he walked out of his room and went to the bathroom where he could hear Jean coughing.
Quietly, he knocked on the door.
«Jean? »
«Quoi?» / What? His son's voice came from behind the door, sick and weak.
«Est-ce que ça va? » / Are you okay? Matthew asked.
«D'après toi? » / What do you think? Jean replied, deeply sour.
The Canadian sighted. Ask a stupid question…
Gently, he opened the door and peaked inside the bathroom. Jean was eying the door, kneeing in front of the toilet bowl, looking slightly greenish. The young man decided to look away when his father approached him with a tired expression.
«Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec toi aujourd'hui? » / What is wrong with you today? Matthew sighted.
«J'ai juste trop bu. Ça peut arriver à n'importe qui… » / I just drank too much. It can happen to anybody. The Quebecker said sheepishly.
But even to Matthew, the lie was so flagrant you'd have to be blind, deaf and in another country not to notice it.
«Jean, tu sais que c'est pas de ça que je parles. » / Jean, you know that's not what I'm talking about. He stated as he put a hand on his son's back, slowly stroking him in circles.
«P'pa, je sais pas de quoi tu… URGH! » / I don't know what you're… URGH! Jean started, only to bend his body forward again, once more victim to his stomach's rebellion.
A few seconds passed before Jean was able to talk, after which Matthew handed him a tissue and a glass of water. Without a word, the sick Quebecker took them and wiped his mouth clean.
«Je parle de ton attitude aujourd'hui. Tu es moins agressif que d'habitude et tu veux qu'on reste près de toi. » / I'm talking about today's attitude. You're less agressive than usual and you want us to stay close to you. The father explained to the son.
Jean considered denying for a second, but weak as he was, he just looked away, a blush crawling to his cheeks.
«C'est les élections… » / It's the elections… he whispered under his breath. «Les choses changent… Mon peuple a l'air de vouloir travaller avec toi pour une fois.» / Things change… My people seem to want to work with you for a change.
«Est-ce que ça te dérange? » / Do you mind? Matthew asked, seemingly calmed.
As his son opened his mouth to talk once more, Matthew tried to keep his emotions in check. This was important. He loved Jean just as much as he loved every other one of his children and he didn't want to be rejected as he had been sometimes.
«Pas vraiment. » / Not really. Jean said quietly
A smile found its way onto his father's face, only to disappear when he saw how sad the Quebecker looked.
«C'est quoi alors? » / What is it then?
«…je suis pas aveugle. I croyaient que je le verrais pas? Ou ils s'en foutent? » / I'm not blind. Did they think that I would not see it? Or they just don't care? He replied sadly. «Pour une fois que j'essaie… ils trouvent rien de mieux à faire que de vouloir me faire taire? » / The one time I try… they couldn't find anything better to do than wanting to silence me?
«De quoi est-ce que tu parles? » / What are you talking about? The Canadian found himself staring at his son, not understanding his son's sadness.
«Je sais ce que Ed et Vince ont dit une fois que les résultats ont été affichés. » / I know what Ed and Vince said once the results were shown.
Matthew was struck by comprehension. Of course! When they had heard of the Bloc's defeat, a good number of newspapers in the west had gone wild about them. Most notably were the ones yelling their blatant hatred for the political party and… the ones that suggested to increase the number of seats outside of Quebec to decrease his influence. After all, they said, what Quebec wants is not as important anymore.
«Mes séparatistes s'en sont donnés à cœur-joie. Entendre ça leur a donné de quoi chialer! » / My separatists didn't let it go. Hearing that gave them something to complain! Jean said, bitter.
«Tu sais que Vincent et Edmond ont toujours détesté tes tendances vers l'indépendance. C'est rien de nouveau. » / You know that Vincent and Edmond always hated your tendancies for independance. That's nothing new.
«P'pa… est-ce que toi tu me haïs? » / Dad… do you hate me? Jean inquired, his eyes suddenly wavering.
Matthew looked as if he had been hit by lightning. How could his son think that? There was no way he would… no… no way he possibly COULD hate any of his children! That was just impossible!
No wonder Jean had been less like himself.
«Bien sûr que non, Jean. Tu sais bien que je t'aimes. » / Of course not, Jean. You know that I love you. Matthew said, comforting his son with a hug.
«La Crise d'Octobre… » / The October Crisis… Jean whispered.
The Canadian almost flinched, but didn't. He knew that was a test. If he failed it now…
«C'est du passé, ça. » / It's all in the past… He assured.
«Deux référendums… » / Two referendums. The young man continued.
«Tu as bien vu ce que j'ai fait quand c'est arrivé, non? » / You saw what I did when it happened, didn't you? Matthew replied with a soothing voice.
At that, Jean smiled weakly. Yeah, he remembered the people from the rest of Canada moving to yell their love of Quebec.
He wanted to believe his father, but… there was one thing that stopped him.
«P'pa… tu sais que j'abandonnerai jamais vraiment l'idée d'un pays… J'ai passé un peu trop de temps avec grand-p'pa pour ça. » / Dad… you know that I'll never really let go of the idea of a country. I spend too much time with Francis. Jean stated while trying to get out of that hug.
That was it. He said it. Now his father could go and act like his grandfather acted whenever someone mentioned his uncle's independance.
But his father didn't let go of him. And his eyes were still showing love.
«Je le savais ça. Je me reconnais dans tes yeux quand tu parles d'indépendance… et un peu Alfred aussi. » / I knew that. I can see myself in your eyes when you speak of independance… and a little bit of Alfred too. Matthew explained softly.
Oh no he didn't!
«P'PA! COMPARE MOÉ PAS À MONONCLE ALFRED! » / DAD! DON'T COMPARE ME TO UNCLE ALFRED! The Quebecker yelled with indignation.
«Vous êtes pareils quand vous parlez des Anglais, mais sur la méthode… c'est de moi que tu tiens. » / You're just like him when you speak of the English, but on the way to achieve it… you're more like me. The Canadian explained smugly… and somewhat proudly.
Jean was on the verge of answering with something like «Tabarnark, I'm not like uncle Alfred! Okay? », but that complaint was soon drowned into another rebellion of his stomach.
Once more, his father handed him something to wash his face, this time looking quite satisfied of himself.
«La prochaine fois, bois pas autant juste pour avoir mon attention. » / Next time, don't drink so much just to get my attention. Which of course caused a good amount of mumbling from Jean.
«Seriously, if you're going to be so sick, can't you be quiet about it? » Vincent suddenly yelled from his room, sick of all that noise that had woken him.
«TA YEULE, VINCE! » / SHUT UP, VINCE! Jean predictably shouted.
Matthew sighted for the… oh, he lost count of the number of times it happened that day.
At least, Vincent and Jean's relationship would never change.
Yup, just a short story inspired by the 2011 elections. Now, allow me to do what everyone knows not to when writing a story, explain the jokes.
-The complete and utter victory of the NPD in Québec took the Bloc and the rest of the Canada by surprise to say the least. If I remeber correctly, an editorialist somewhere outside of Québec wrote that trying to get Quebecker to vote for something other than the Bloc was like trying to teach a pig how to eat with silverware. Charming comparison, I know, but boy he must have been quite surprised that day. People named that sudden change of mind «La vague orange» in here.
-Some people pointed out that Jack Layton's campaign was quite centered about the families. How could I not screw with Jean's head then?
-As I said, the Bloc was in complete denial of its defeat. It was kind of annoying hearing about the obvious return of the separatists after those four years when they had been so badly crushed. Don't know if it will happen, but I don't really care right now. So, I demonized them a little and made them give some pot to Jean. Again, screwing around with the province you live in can be quite amusing.
-Vincent stated that Jean had created 70 different varieties of poutine. He was NOT kidding! Some restaurants are said to serve over 100 different kind of poutines, but since I do not know them, I just went with one I know that do serve something like 75 kind. I just wonder what will be put in the ones they'll invent next.
-Not jokes, but worth explaining...
The October Crisis was and is the most violent action separatists committed to gain independance. A group that called itself the FLQ (Front de Libération du Québec) kidnapped a minister named Pierre Laporte who was later murdered. Other acts included bombing and the kidnapping of a britannic diplomat. In retaliation, Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau invoked the War Measures Act and made quite the badass statement ( during an interview, to a reporter asking him, a bit incredulous, how far he was ready to go, he replied «Just watch me. »). This was the biggest political crisis in the history of Modern Québec and the reason separatists drifted away from all violents means to achieve independance. Needless to say, it gave a bad reputation to them and to Québec in general for a while.
There were two referendums about the question of Québec's independance. Both time, the NO won. (the first at 60% et the second at more or less 51%) During the campaign of publicity for both opinions, a great number of Canadians showed their love for Québec with yelling and posters. Cute and heartwarming, isn't it?