“I cast Tyr, the sky-god. That rune means leadership, warrior, balance, self-sacrifice, logical thought, rationality, victory—these attributes belong to Wolfe all right. He became a consummate warrior. He overcame his physical and mental frailties by exercising mental balance and fleeing from emotional extremes. He made constant effort to practice logic about all military action, as if he were not a man but a principle or agency working on behalf of his country. The logical outcome of this stance was victory for his country, and death for the man….Don’t look so downcast. You’re still alive, aren’t you? Oh—” She rummages in one of the sacks she carries around. “By the way, I emailed Monsieur Choinière, the handwriting expert, last night, and this morning he sent this—I printed it out for you. He’s funny, isn’t he?”

Dear Mrs. Waugh,

I have had a busy spring and summer and I am now preparing to give a lecture at a congress at the University of Wroclaw in Poland with a stopover of 4 days in Paris. Poor me! This was decided almost at the last minute but I am looking forward to it as it is my first time in Poland and Wroclaw looks like an interesting city to visit. It was designated the European cultural city last year.

I’ll be back to Montreal next week and I should have more time to discuss the handwriting of Wolfe and that of this other person you have mentioned. His time-travel from the eighteenth century sounds intriguing to say the least.

Hoping that you will have the leisure to spend time on your manuscript in the near future.

Have a nice week-end,

Hippolyte Choinière

“I’ll be out of town for a few days,” says Mrs. Waugh as she takes up our bill and puts on her rather old-fashioned green wool hat, “as I’m taking the train to Quebec City, to see for myself the battlefield at the Plains of Abraham. If I’m going to do justice to any story of Wolfe, I’m sure you of all people understand that’s the place one finally has to see.”

I let her exit the Green Spot ahead of me. Through the window I watch her grow smaller and smaller as she walks in the direction of Rue Atwater, along Boulevard Notre-Dame. As she vanishes behind the Middle Eastern grocery on the corner, I wonder if Mrs. Waugh has any idea that her own impending visit to Quebec City makes me feel more ashamed than any admonition of Sophie’s. It is high time I had the courage to put on the red coat and go there myself.

14 The Moping Owl to the Moon Complains

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 7.

AFTERNOON.

Near Bonaventure Station. Montreal, Quebec