Spring arrives in the Cape Breton Highlands a little later
than the rest of Canada. It also arrives overnight. In the village proper of Papillion, this
blessed event is marked by two occurrences.
First, there’s the eve of Spring, when lobster fishermen leave port to go
set their traps, and then there’s real Spring, which is the following day, when
MaTante Monique—like her mother before her and her grandmother before her—flings
open the doors to air out the house before the first annual lobster boil.
It is also a well-known fact that since the year 1945 saw several unrelated events coincide with Spring’s arrival, this is the day everyone is reminded that my MaTante Monique has indeed lost all of her marbles.
Every year, on that fine May morning, like a premature yellow crocus popping up through the snow, MaTante Monique appears on the verandah to beat the hell out of her rich Oriental rugs. From across the way, neighbours comment that she may look like spring fever on acid yet somehow she still manages to exude breeding. May first is also one of the few times the neighbours report seeing her without that black patent leather purse of hers, the one she swings back and forth like a weapon everywhere she goes.
Back inside, MonOncle Félix (her husband) could tell you that when he watches MaTante Monique ringing out her spring cleaning rags it's like watching someone wringing the neck of a chicken. No wonder MonOncle Félix is always quivering like a parishioner before a bellowing hellfire preacher. Being cut off, stranded and worse, grounded by her husband -- winter never proves to be a healthy season for MaTante Monique. And this is the day she exorcizes all the demon fumes from her life.
Each year the rug-beating ends at 6 a.m. sharp which means she has less than an hour to start polishing the silver before having to rush to pick out a new appliance for the kitchen. And the fact that she can begin the polishing is only made possible by the fact that on May first MaTante Monique moves her daily hair appointment from 8 a.m. to what under otherwise-normal-circumstances would be a scandalous hour: 2 p.m.!
As usual in the week preceding Spring’s arrival, and as if it were the most shocking surprise, the only furniture store in Papillion, Meubles de France, announces with great fanfare their annual, one-day half-price Spring sale on appliances. They probably bank on the fact that with fishing season and the annual lobster boil on their minds the village husbands will be too distracted to check the bank balance until after the hangovers have subsided. The store opens its doors at nine.
And guess who stands at the head of the line every year—elbows out to politely stab any line-cutters—at seven-thirty? MaTante Monique, of course. After bathing in orange-blossom water, she flings across town like Cruella De Vil driving a cab in Mumbai (though when all this started it was known as Bombay) convinced the whole time that God himself has set all these traffic obstacles in her way.
After the doctor’s wife (who can afford to buy it full price), MaTante Monique has purchased the first dishwasher, the first food processor, the first cappuccino-maker and the very first cell phone in Papillion. Now there’s a story I’ll have to fill you in on later.
But first, I should add that the doctor’s wife sadly is none other than MaTante Denise, MaTante Monique’s older sister. Thinking back, the very first words I heard MaTante Monique utter were about her older sister:
“That's the last time I'm ever speaking to that woman!” MaTante Monique was screaming at the phone on the wall. “She thinks her farts defy gravity and fly towards heaven that one, unlike the rest of us.”
‘That woman’ was MaTante Denise. And although her attention span may have begun to waver as she aged MaTante Denise certainly didn’t lack focus when it came to worrying about her younger sister, or what MaTante Monique called barging into affairs that were none of her concern.
Besides, to lose a mental connection, no matter how small would have been like death on wheels to MaTante Denise. She never possessed the charm, the spunk or the charisma of MaTante Monique. What she did have was her intelligence, a kind of ingenuity coupled with an ability to analyze any situation with such dogged perseverance that Tibetan Monks would have admired. MaTante Monique, on days when she felt more sisterly, would have said that her older sister Denise had something called gumption.
MaTante Denise was also a practical woman. And since 1945 she’d been trying to come up with a practical solution that would fix her sister’s prognosis. Unfortunately, none of her husband’s medical books offered remedies for those of us condemned to going to hell.
But back to getting the first cell phone. Suffice it to say that like a human fibre optics cable, MaTante Monique did everything possible to remain connected to the family no matter how far they strayed. The umbilical cord could never stretch too far. She kept in touch with all the relatives, close ones and distant ones, as if her life depended on it. In her Spring report at the annual lobster boil, the rest of us would sit on the edge of our seats trying to figure out whether 'Cousin this' or 'Uncle that' was still being idealized or whether they’d fallen off her pedestal on their way to the shit list.
And no one wanted that. Everyone in Papillion had a vested interest in keeping MaTante Monique in high spirits. In fact, everyone in Papillion took great pains in ensuring this would be the case.
How is it then that despite her brisk and bossy way of entering a room like a military band in full swing that everyone still loved and wanted MaTante Monique happy?
Well for starters there were her dimples. One would think that looking like Jackie O would work against you in Papillion, but apparently if you looked like Jackie O AND had deep dimples that crinkled when you laughed which Matante Monique’s did, well then you were just plain revered. Everyone loved her deep throaty laugh. At the fishing shacks at the Digue, fisherman gossiped about how uninhibited she must be in bed because of that laugh, and women who’d never heard about this secret amongst men just liked her simple sense of fun.
Sometimes her jokes were at someone else’s expense like the year it poured sideways during the lobster boil and all the women were exhausted trying to herd their children. That was the year, the party that took a turn for the better when MaTante Monique came strolling in with her mother’s very big and very white panties over her turquoise pantsuit. “Hey look what I just found in Mom’s drawers.” She lingered a long time on that last syllable until she had everyone in stitches.
So yes, it must have been true. Not since 1946 had MaTante Monique been seen wearing that upside down scowl which, according to Papillion lore, had stayed planted there for exactly one year, to the hour, causing small children to scurry like mice whenever they entered any room she happened to be hovering over like a dark ominous cloud.
Everyone preferred the happy MaTante Monique, like a happy twig alive with spring insects. Well, everyone that is, except MaTante Denise, who feared she would wake up any morning now and read about her baby sister having committed murder in the headlines.
It is also a well-known fact that since the year 1945 saw several unrelated events coincide with Spring’s arrival, this is the day everyone is reminded that my MaTante Monique has indeed lost all of her marbles.
Every year, on that fine May morning, like a premature yellow crocus popping up through the snow, MaTante Monique appears on the verandah to beat the hell out of her rich Oriental rugs. From across the way, neighbours comment that she may look like spring fever on acid yet somehow she still manages to exude breeding. May first is also one of the few times the neighbours report seeing her without that black patent leather purse of hers, the one she swings back and forth like a weapon everywhere she goes.
Back inside, MonOncle Félix (her husband) could tell you that when he watches MaTante Monique ringing out her spring cleaning rags it's like watching someone wringing the neck of a chicken. No wonder MonOncle Félix is always quivering like a parishioner before a bellowing hellfire preacher. Being cut off, stranded and worse, grounded by her husband -- winter never proves to be a healthy season for MaTante Monique. And this is the day she exorcizes all the demon fumes from her life.
Each year the rug-beating ends at 6 a.m. sharp which means she has less than an hour to start polishing the silver before having to rush to pick out a new appliance for the kitchen. And the fact that she can begin the polishing is only made possible by the fact that on May first MaTante Monique moves her daily hair appointment from 8 a.m. to what under otherwise-normal-circumstances would be a scandalous hour: 2 p.m.!
As usual in the week preceding Spring’s arrival, and as if it were the most shocking surprise, the only furniture store in Papillion, Meubles de France, announces with great fanfare their annual, one-day half-price Spring sale on appliances. They probably bank on the fact that with fishing season and the annual lobster boil on their minds the village husbands will be too distracted to check the bank balance until after the hangovers have subsided. The store opens its doors at nine.
And guess who stands at the head of the line every year—elbows out to politely stab any line-cutters—at seven-thirty? MaTante Monique, of course. After bathing in orange-blossom water, she flings across town like Cruella De Vil driving a cab in Mumbai (though when all this started it was known as Bombay) convinced the whole time that God himself has set all these traffic obstacles in her way.
After the doctor’s wife (who can afford to buy it full price), MaTante Monique has purchased the first dishwasher, the first food processor, the first cappuccino-maker and the very first cell phone in Papillion. Now there’s a story I’ll have to fill you in on later.
But first, I should add that the doctor’s wife sadly is none other than MaTante Denise, MaTante Monique’s older sister. Thinking back, the very first words I heard MaTante Monique utter were about her older sister:
“That's the last time I'm ever speaking to that woman!” MaTante Monique was screaming at the phone on the wall. “She thinks her farts defy gravity and fly towards heaven that one, unlike the rest of us.”
‘That woman’ was MaTante Denise. And although her attention span may have begun to waver as she aged MaTante Denise certainly didn’t lack focus when it came to worrying about her younger sister, or what MaTante Monique called barging into affairs that were none of her concern.
Besides, to lose a mental connection, no matter how small would have been like death on wheels to MaTante Denise. She never possessed the charm, the spunk or the charisma of MaTante Monique. What she did have was her intelligence, a kind of ingenuity coupled with an ability to analyze any situation with such dogged perseverance that Tibetan Monks would have admired. MaTante Monique, on days when she felt more sisterly, would have said that her older sister Denise had something called gumption.
MaTante Denise was also a practical woman. And since 1945 she’d been trying to come up with a practical solution that would fix her sister’s prognosis. Unfortunately, none of her husband’s medical books offered remedies for those of us condemned to going to hell.
But back to getting the first cell phone. Suffice it to say that like a human fibre optics cable, MaTante Monique did everything possible to remain connected to the family no matter how far they strayed. The umbilical cord could never stretch too far. She kept in touch with all the relatives, close ones and distant ones, as if her life depended on it. In her Spring report at the annual lobster boil, the rest of us would sit on the edge of our seats trying to figure out whether 'Cousin this' or 'Uncle that' was still being idealized or whether they’d fallen off her pedestal on their way to the shit list.
And no one wanted that. Everyone in Papillion had a vested interest in keeping MaTante Monique in high spirits. In fact, everyone in Papillion took great pains in ensuring this would be the case.
How is it then that despite her brisk and bossy way of entering a room like a military band in full swing that everyone still loved and wanted MaTante Monique happy?
Well for starters there were her dimples. One would think that looking like Jackie O would work against you in Papillion, but apparently if you looked like Jackie O AND had deep dimples that crinkled when you laughed which Matante Monique’s did, well then you were just plain revered. Everyone loved her deep throaty laugh. At the fishing shacks at the Digue, fisherman gossiped about how uninhibited she must be in bed because of that laugh, and women who’d never heard about this secret amongst men just liked her simple sense of fun.
Sometimes her jokes were at someone else’s expense like the year it poured sideways during the lobster boil and all the women were exhausted trying to herd their children. That was the year, the party that took a turn for the better when MaTante Monique came strolling in with her mother’s very big and very white panties over her turquoise pantsuit. “Hey look what I just found in Mom’s drawers.” She lingered a long time on that last syllable until she had everyone in stitches.
So yes, it must have been true. Not since 1946 had MaTante Monique been seen wearing that upside down scowl which, according to Papillion lore, had stayed planted there for exactly one year, to the hour, causing small children to scurry like mice whenever they entered any room she happened to be hovering over like a dark ominous cloud.
Everyone preferred the happy MaTante Monique, like a happy twig alive with spring insects. Well, everyone that is, except MaTante Denise, who feared she would wake up any morning now and read about her baby sister having committed murder in the headlines.