On the morning of October 30, we are woken by a hellish racket. We come out of our tent.

In front of us two mounted police patrol cars have parked across the road, as well as a van full of policemen in uniform. Behind them is a yellow bus full of loggers and a huge flatbed truck carrying a bulldozer. I am impressed by such a show of steel and strength.

The policemen run forward and quickly form a line between us and the bus. The loggers get out one at a time and gather around a man with a white hardhat, the foreman.

The men look tough. Although the morning is chilly, several of them show off their muscular bare arms. They are dressed in cotton outfits that cling to their round stomachs.

The patrol car radio crackles with messages we don’t understand.

The police are silent under their dark visors. They have clubs and look ready to act at the slightest signal. The loggers are making jokes, bursting into deep laughter.

Nothing happens. The radio crackles some more. We have all the time in the world, but the loggers are getting impatient.

“We want to work!”

They want to earn their livelihood. And what we want is to not lose ours.

Two officers break away from the pack and come toward us. They’re the ones who interrogated me in Manie’s house. They walk with a firm step, their shoulders square, their jaws jutting out.

The corners of Sergeant Macdonald’s mouth are drawn back in a scornful smile.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my friend Larivière! So now you’re having fun building barriers.”

I don’t flinch. I just watch him.

“Still dumb as a carp, eh?”

I say nothing.

“If you’re smart, you’ll open your trap and answer me.”

I say nothing.

“Larivière, before I arrest you for disorderly conduct, obstructing justice and refusing to cooperate with police, I want to alert you to your rights.”

“Your laws are not mine!” I reply.

“The laws are the same for everyone.”

“That’s not what it says on my sign!”

He looks at it and scowls.

“That means nothing. If you don’t open this road right now, we will do it by force, and you will both be arrested. You will go to prison.”

Right then there is a movement in the crowd. The loggers move aside for a tall girl with long blonde hair and a microphone in her hand. A chubby bald man trails behind her, sweating as he struggles along with a large camera planted on his right shoulder like a case of beer.

All eyes are glued to the unexpected arrivals. I am suddenly filled with new hope.

“Sergeant?” shouts an officer.

“What is it?”

“It’s Radio-Canada! Television!”

“Television?”

“They want to meet someone called…” He reads from the bottom of a letter. “Nipishish…” he mutters under his breath.

Macdonald takes the letter and reads it. His eyes darken.