When we get outside I realize that it’s dusk. The sun is just going down behind the mountain. The last rays are reflected on the crusty snow. It is very cold. I’ve lost all sense of time.

At 531, rue de la Madone, the blinds have already been pulled. The big window is closed, the car isn’t in the lot.

Have they gone out so they won’t have to see me?

The apartment is cold and dark. The policeman waits until I’m inside before he leaves.

There’s a light on in the kitchen. Aunt Mona is waiting for me, standing at the end of the table, her face pale, her nostrils trembling, her gold teeth gleaming. She leans toward me and rolls her owl eyes behind her thick glasses.

“Pierre Larivière, you shame me! You were drunk as a pig and you got in a fight. Your clothes are a mess, you’re filthy, and you stink like a brewery. You have brought shame to me, Mona Paradis. What will the neighbors think? You’re lucky Méo has relatives down at the police station. If he didn’t, you’d still be there.”

I hear her, but I’m not listening. I look at her, but I don’t see her. She’s spitting words at me but they roll off me like drops of water on a duck’s back.

I take a big mug out of the cupboard. I put on the kettle and make myself some hot, strong tea, black as a night without stars. I don’t think about anything. I am like a wounded animal that creeps into the brush to lick its wounds.

I sit at the other end of the table. I take the mug between my hands, lift it to my nose, breathe in deeply. I take little sips. I think only about the tea.

But Aunt Mona hasn’t finished.

“The police!” she cries, practically in tears. “The police at my door! How can you do this to me — to me, the one who brought you out of the bush. I have a good mind to send you back to that sewer you came from!”

I get up with my cup of tea and lock myself in the bathroom.

“Go ahead and hide!” Aunt Mona cries. “Look at yourself in the mirror, take a good look!”

I turn the taps on full and let them run. I only hear the noise of the water, like I’m standing at the foot of a waterfall. I get undressed and rub my hot palms over my arms, my belly, my thighs. I like this soft feeling of skin on skin. I lean my hands on the back of the toilet and look at myself in the mirror for a long time, at my puffy lips, my matted hair…

I slide into the hot water, and it wraps me up like a soft sheet. I’m suddenly filled with a huge sadness, as if my whole body is filled to the brim with tears. I try to pull myself together, but I can’t. I tell myself that no one loves me, no one is thinking about me. I am a misfit, good for nothing, useless.