“Don’t talk,” says the nurse. “You’ve been unconscious for three days and you mustn’t tire yourself. Understand?”

He nods and looks at Marie, because he needs to know. She is bending over him, holding the manuscript against her chest and looking intently at him.

She says, “The writing’s hard to decipher, especially at the end, but . . .”

There are tears in her eyes when she says, “It’s the most beautiful story I’ve ever read!”

V

The Thousand Islands

They were in Ontario and had been driving along Highway 401 for two hours.

“First exit on the right,” said La Grande Sauterelle, looking up from the assortment of road maps and brochures in her lap, which they had been given by the Club Automobile de Québec.

She pointed to a sign that announced the town of Rockport. Jack flicked on the turn signal and took the exit she had pointed to. Why the girl was asking him to leave the highway and head for Rockport he had no idea, but she was an excellent navigator. She had an unerring sense of direction, she always consulted several maps and she studied not only the road they were to follow, but also the entire region through which they would travel.

“I’ve never seen the Thousand Islands,” she said. “We’ll take the road that follows the river. It’s just a tiny little detour and we can stock up on supplies in Rockport, then go on to Ivy Lea. There’s a provincial campground at Ivy Lea. Is that all right with the pilot?”

“Absolutely,” said the man. “Anyway, the pilot’s tired of driving on a four-lane highway. Is it very far to Rockport?”

“We’re nearly there.”

They were driving along a tree-lined road that went right to the river. Not far from a wharf where two glass-bottomed excursion boats were moored, they spotted an old general store. The girl picked up her cat and went and sat at the end of the wharf to look at the islands, while the man went into the store and bought a can of bluefish and the ingredients for a fish salad.

Then they got back on the road that followed the river and drove to Ivy Lea.

The campground was divided into two sections, and the one that looked out on the river was wilder, almost deserted, so they chose a spot there; they were at the water’s edge and isolated from any possible neighbours by a row of conifers.

Jack prepared the meal by himself. The girl was busy looking at the river and the islands. There were all sorts of islands, big and small, and they were all inhabited, even the very smallest. Just across from the campground there was a tiny island completely covered by a house on stilts. Somewhere in the middle of the river an imaginary boundary divided Canada and the United States.

La Grande Sauterelle wolfed down her bluefish salad without saying a word and without interrupting her reverie. Later, she seemed not to notice that it had grown dark, that there were mosquitoes and that it was becoming cool and damp.