I heard his voice resonate inside his body and for a brief moment I felt that I was Mathieu. And I knew that ­whatever happened, he was part of me forever. And I of him. The choice had been disconcertingly easy. A great warmth had opened up, like a flower unfolding. I’d discovered how to make that leap that would bring me back to the surface.

It was Sébastien who said hello.

“How come you answered the phone? I thought your mother didn’t let you . . .”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Jean-Marc.”

“Hi Jean-Mak!”

“Hi yourself. You didn’t answer my question, Sébastien . . .”

“Mummy’s on the toilet!”

I heard Louise’s voice in the distance (she must have opened the bathroom door to hear what her son was ­saying).

“Sébastien, for heaven’s sake! I told you to say I was busy!”

“She’s busy!”

“Anyway, you’re the one I wanted to talk to . . .”

“Really?”

His tone was rather cautious. I’d never called him before and he must have thought he was in for a scolding.

“Listen carefully to what I’m going to tell you, okay?”

“Okay . . .”

His voice was even fainter now. I spoke quickly, to ­reassure him.

“If your Uncle Paulot ever talks about me again . . . Now are you listening?”

“Yes . . .”

“If your Uncle Paulot ever talks about me to you again, you have my permission to tell him he’s a horse’s ass.”

A brief silence.

“Did you hear that, Sébastien?”

“Yes . . . but Mummy won’t let me . . .”

“She’ll let you . . . You tell her to call me, we’ve got something to talk about, okay?”

Another brief silence, then very loudly into the phone:

“Mummy, Jean-Mak says I can tell Uncle Paulot he’s a horse’s ass! Can I really?”

Mathieu

Mathieu

It wasn’t true that he had enough courage for two. He’d rarely felt so fragile, so vulnerable. And yet he’d come to that crossroads he’d dreamed of so often. (The crossroads reminded him of his father’s old religious books he’d leafed through as a child, that so often showed a family facing a crucifixion scene at a crossroads, and he smiled at the thought. But this time the family was a little complicated, because all its members were men and the choices ­represented by the two roads had nothing to do with the good and evil of the bygone world of his father.)

His decision to put it all on the line, to use the milk ­commercial as a launching pad for a career in the Montreal theatre scene terrified him, because he knew just how naive it was. But he also sensed it was his only chance and if he let it pass he’d be a menswear salesman forever, and the mere thought of a lifetime sentence behind the counter at Eaton’s made him dizzy.