Two Solitudes by Hugh MacLennan

Author:Hugh MacLennan [Maclennan, Hugh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction, C429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781551992808
Publisher: Stoddart
Published: 1945-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Huntly McQueen sat behind the walnut desk in his office, and his face was blandly expressionless as he looked at Athanase. “I’m sorry, Tallard, I’m afraid there’s nothing to do–nothing at all. It’s most unfortunate.”

Athanase tried to keep the hopelessness from showing in his face. All winter he had been trying to persuade himself that things would turn out well, while he waited for McQueen to make up his mind to begin construction. McQueen knew he had changed his religion; indeed, he had congratulated him on that, although Athanase had suspected a peculiar look in his eyes when he had done so. While living in Montreal, Athanase had found it easier to pretend that his quarrel with the priest was unimportant. He had lost nearly all his old French friends, and this hurt; but in Saint James Street nobody seemed to care about matters like that. At any rate, arrangements for the factory had proceeded so far that Athanase had felt sure McQueen would not allow himself to be blocked. Prices could be offered to Tremblay and the other farmers that they could not bring themselves to refuse. A contribution could be made to help clear the parish debt. The bishop could not fail to see the advantage in that. In time, Athanase had pretended, the quarrel would be forgotten. He gave McQueen a calculating look. It was apparently not forgotten yet.

“You mean…” Athanase swallowed. “You mean you want me to get out?”

McQueen took his time answering: a deliberately measured pause, to break the natural flow of feeling between himself and Athanase. “I certainly don’t want that,” he said finally.

“Then…” Athanase looked down, pressing his hands so tightly together that the knuckles showed white. During the past seven months his face had become as gaunt as an eagle’s beak; and yellowish. He looked a sick man. Glancing across the desk at McQueen’s heavy face, he suddenly hated him. McQueen was weighing and discarding him. It was a devastating experience to be weighed and discarded at his age by a younger man.

“After all, Tallard,” McQueen said slowly, as if chewing a cud, “I told you in the beginning I would never try to force my way into a place unless assured in advance of good will.”

“And my usefulness to you was to provide good will–and a cheap price–was that it?”

McQueen regarded him placidly, his expression showing a resigned melancholy. But at the same time his pale blue eyes seemed to be looking right through Athanase and through the wall to some distant point in the future.

“You mean,” Athanase said in sudden bitter astonishment, “you mean that without me you’ll build this factory? They’ll make no objection so long as I have nothing to do with it?” His cheek twitched in fury. These damned English! “Me–I’ve been hurt. I admit it. I’ve finished myself in Saint-Marc thanks to this factory of yours. I’ve finished myself with parliament, with everything. And now…”

“Come, Tallard, be reasonable. You French-Canadians make too much trouble for yourselves–far too much.

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