The Country Will Bring Us No Peace by Matthieu Simard EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Matthieu Simard
- Language:English
- Genre: Horror
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
The silence came down on us like rain one Thursday, and we spent years
submerged in it. The birds fell silent and rusty hinges stopped squeaking
and no children hollered in the schoolyard. The passenger-side car speaker
died; dead leaves ceased to rustle in the wind. Just silence. That was three
years ago, far from here
We’ve weathered hundreds of storms since then. And each time she’s
been there to tap me on the shoulder and remind me of the days before.
Forty years from now there will be nothing left of us. Our memory and
the photographs and the recollections of those who disappeared will all be
gone, like the notes from a cello in the ruins of an old house.
Marie stares at the wall. The spectre of a migraine is fluttering in her grey
eyes. Her nails pierce the cardboard box she’s sitting on, and a heartbeat is
audible. It might be hers, it might be mine. A small living room. Dirty
walls. A low-hanging sun. And silence.
The truck just pulled out of the unpaved alley. Dozens of boxes are
piled at the back of the room, and three others sit in front of me. Marie’s
gaze turns to the black case leaning against the wall. She rubs her temple,
makes a weak attempt to hide the grimace as her elbow stutters. I know by
heart what she’s about to do and the conversation we’re about to have. Our
cello scene is well-rehearsed, though we’ve yet to find the right ending or
perfect melody. She gets up, drags her feet over to the case, opens it, pulls
out her Josef Klotz, slides another box over, and sits down, poised to begin
a performance that will never happen. She takes a deep breath, sets the
horsehair down on the instrument’s strings, sighs, and then slouches down
in disappointment.
‘Every single time … ’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘I don’t know why I keep it around.’ She puts away the instrument,
closes the case. Her finger massages her temple.
‘Did you take your – ’
‘Three. Makes no difference, though.’
She has the most beautiful eyes in the world, the colour of boreal mist,
and a pain I can never allay. The floor creaks under my feet. I pick her coat
up off the ground. Though it’s almost summer, the evenings are cool here in
the country.
‘We need to celebrate.’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
Celebrate that we’ve made it here, and all the possibilities of the weeks
ahead. Four months of running without moving forward, a river with no
current, our lacerated memories. Our summer, here.
I put my cello down in a corner of the room. If I could, I would have shoved
it right into the wall until it disappeared from sight. Simon handed me my
coat and we went out. Stifling humidity, heavy clouds, a visible film of dust
hovering above the road.
The only bar in town is down that road, in front of a wall of evergreens
that separates the rest of the solar system from this relative civilization. The
sign in the window is far from inviting.
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