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The sisters' cemetery

Modifié le : 2019/07/27

The place is peace­ful, ide­al for rest­ing. It is the Manoir d’Y­ou­ville in Château­guay, an old sum­mer or rest­ing res­i­dence for the Grey Nuns, and now a hotel for gath­er­ings, meet­ings, retreats, choral week­ends as Ganymede does every year.

The manor is locat­ed on an island that only has its tech­ni­cal name, as the land touch­es the main shore. Ganymede was there this week­end for an inten­sive rehearsal for the June con­cert. Every­thing went well except for me, a lit­tle before noon on Sun­day. A migraine. Many fac­tors could have induced it, includ­ing the change of food. I usu­al­ly eat more fiber than fat and sauces. There are also the intense rehearsals, the Sat­ur­day evening, hilar­i­ous. But when I laugh too hard, the body escapes like a Vesu­vius, ten­sions liq­ue­fy. Too much laugh­ter can kill you ?

My room over­looked a hill sur­round­ed by stunt­ed apple trees inhab­it­ed by cen­tu­ry-old fatigue. Dur­ing the day, the land­scape presents an almost Zen calm or, for some, gloomy. But it is at night that the scene trans­forms. Mon­tre­al’s gleams pro­voke shad­ows and mys­ter­ies. And when you know that a 19th-cen­tu­ry ceme­tery house stands on top of this hill, you can’t help but think of the old prayers, but espe­cial­ly of the ghosts.

Nev­er­the­less, I would like to spend a few weeks there, notwith­stand­ing the bland food. Being wealthy, I would escape. But I’m not. I am like all of us, eat­ing ordi­nary bread, liv­ing my life with makeshift tools, which is not bad either.

But, once again, that does­n’t stop it. I already have a nov­el in mind for the future. I may have the title : Quan­tum wounds. I dream a lot ; it’s part­ly mela­tonin I’m tak­ing. My life is about drugs. I’m thirsty for ecsta­sy. And like all poor peo­ple, I keep my desires in well-rea­soned drawers.

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