She didn’t answer when Jack said that he understood now why the other campers had chosen the section farther from the river: they wanted to avoid the mosquitoes, and also their section had outlets so they could hook up a heater inside their trailers.

“I’m going to make a fire,” said the man.

He began to collect dead branches.

“What are you thinking about?” he finally asked the girl.

“I’m not thinking,” she said softly. “I’m dreaming.”

She turned her head toward him, and from his woeful look she realized he was feeling rejected. He had driven the Volkswagen all afternoon, he had made a good bluefish salad, with fresh fruit for dessert and coffee, he had washed the dishes and put everything back in the minibus. And now he was gathering dead branches to make a fire and drive the mosquitoes away.

“Dreams are like islands,” she murmured. “You’re all alone when you dream, and that’s how it has to be. Do you understand?”

He nodded and she explained, “I was dreaming of the great birchbark canoes.”

In her dream there were not just the Indians’ canoes, but also the big canoes, ten to twelve metres long, made by the voyageurs for the fur trade on the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes; known as canots du maître, they had fourteen-man crews. Of course not all the canoes were that big. Most measured around eight metres long; they were very elegant, pointed at both ends and could accommodate a dozen men. The frame was made of narrow white cedar laths, and the hull of birchbark strips sewn together; spruce gum was used to caulk the seams. Once they were completed, they cut a proud figure with the thwarts, the seats, the paddles and the coloured decorations, and they glided silently across the water, laden with furs, provisions or trade goods to be delivered at posts such as Detroit or Michilimackinac.

“Detroit or what?” asked Jack. “Michilimackinac,” she said.

“Michili . . . what?”

He had understood perfectly well, and in any case, it was a name he had long been familiar with, but she had a very special way of pronouncing it.

“Michilimackinac!” she repeated.

The way she pronounced it made all the vowels ring out, while the last syllable made a slapping sound like the flat of a paddle striking the water. The man had an inordinate passion for words, and he almost believed that this girl could utter a magic word that would cause to appear before their eyes a convoy of great canoes that would thread their way among the islands, then dissolve into the night, raising behind them a swell so strong that it could make the island lights, which had just come on and were reflected in the calm river water, dance and dance.

Sitting on a big log with her back to the campfire, La Grande Sauterelle looked out at the illuminated houses on the islands. Jack sat beside her. The fire warmed their backs and it felt pleasant, but it had no effect on the mosquitoes. The man rose and tossed some green boughs and handfuls of wet grass on the fire, which started to smoke.