The Quebec Anthology: 1830-1990

"In My Condition" 1989

Gilles Pellerin Translated by Matt Cohen IN MY CONDITION Gilles Pellerin, teacher and short-story writer, was born in Shawinigan in 1954 and now lives in Quebec City, where he recently founded the publishing house L'Instant meme. In 1988 his story "Le Songe" won first prize in a short-story contest sponsored by L'Office franco-quebecois, and that year his first collection of stories, M le lieu ni I'heure, won the Grand Prix Logidisque for works of science fiction and fantasy. He has published in many Quebec and international literary journals, including XYZ, Nouvelles nouvelles, Ecriture, Possibles, Solaris, and Nouvelles francophones d'aujourd'bui. His most recent short-story collection, Je reviens avec la nuit, appeared in 1992. "Dans mon etat," the story translated here byMatt Cohen as "In My Condition," first appeared in XYZ in 1989. Like the stories of Claire De, Pellerin's blend of stream-of-consciousness and dark humour slowlyelucidates a bizarre version of the world. In this story, we again come across a sudden twist at the end, in which everything we thought we understood is turned on its head; an experience not unfamiliar to anyone living in modern, urban North America. "In My Condition" is a translation of "Dans mon etat" published in XYZ, no. 20 (winter 1989). IN MY CONDITION 385 s ornething to show me, just two minutes, promise, anyway it's easy to see that I'm tired, nothing more normal in my condition. My condition, how could I forget it? All evening we've been talking of nothing else. I come in, everyone rushes up, it seems I'm looking well, even blooming, that is my face and my stomach. When everyone has taken a good look and assured me that it suits me marvellously, they rush to kiss my blooming face. We have always given each other generous kisses, but it seems to me the mouths are warmer, sweeter, moister than usual. Among the women is a stranger who isn't staying long because she is not satisfied with the formal way I speak after the introductions and which I impose on those meeting me for the first time. She is called Jacinth, and moreover she says "tu." She palpates me right away, asks me the results of the ultrasound, wants to know my preference, the name, and is delighted that I refused the ultrasound; that makes it a mystery, which she proposes to solve in front of us, but not before I admit a preference. When she has to confess that, seer though she is, she can't get me to say what I want, she finally withdraws her hands, disappointed (doubtless less by the verdict than by my stubbornness): a boy. It appears that I'm upset, she isn't surprised: I give her the impression of someone who is closed. It isn't unusual to see people fighting their own desires, doing whatever they can to get away from them. Even if it's unconscious, we all have a preference. Has she already mentioned it? She's a bit of a clairvoyant, these things don't escape her. She reassures me: a boy isn't so bad. As a joke, Jeanne has cooked liver, but what liver: marinated in raspberry vinegar and a few secret herbs, it will transform my baby—my son—into a real genius. A genius isn't so bad, either. Did they put on this circus when it happened to the others? It's just that I wasn't expected to have a baby, I even projected the image of a woman who had decided not to have them because of nuclear war, pollution, unemployment, my 386 GILLES PELLERIN s s rotten character. Claudine thinks I am lucky to be having one now that I am mature—she, if she had it to do over again . .. To that I reply that Nicholas is lucky to have a mother who is so young and mine will never know anything but a mother who is wrinkled, worn out by nuclear war, pollution, and unemployment, a mother with whom everyone wonders how he's going to be able to work out his oedipalcomplex. I refuse the wine, they insist, I hold firm, not out of heroism—it's just that it doesn't taste right. I am congratulated —the face Lucie would have made if I had accepted. Claudine is...