Chapter 1: Val David,
1942
Memories of summers past flooded
Izzy's head as he approached the old, decaying
wooden train station. It had stood proudly in Val
David atop a hillock, which sloped gently toward
the gravel country road winding alongside the
white-water rapids and the dilapidated sawmill. The
buzz-saws had been silenced years ago, their whine
now replaced by the rapid-fire thuds of carpenters'
hammers. They were boarding up the station. They
were also closing out a chapter in Izzy's life.
As his pulse quickened, Izzy
fought the urge to cry out. He would stop them if
he could, but it was all beyond his control. He was
consumed by memories of that scene, almost 50 years
earlier, during the early stages of World War
II.
Out of the chill of that August
night came the cars, driven by the draft-dodging
denizens who were native to the Laurentian
Mountains. Jew-haters all; the wood-cutters, the
truck drivers, the laborers, the farmers.
The line of cars stretched all
the way back to the train station and continued to
Le Chateau David, their staging area, the "No Jews
or Dogs" sign prominently displayed over the
portico.
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Chapter 5: The Shockwaves
Spread
Chaim Goldsteins's wholesale dry goods
emporium was the repository of all knowledge on The
Main. . . . . Goldstein was holding court one day.
A few retailers and peddlers, some customers,
others merely visitors who had dropped by to
kibbitz, had gathered around a few bolts of cloth
to listen to Goldstein and to argue and debate with
him. A Wasp textile salesman had come by a
half-hour earlier on a sales call. Goldstein, who
intended doing some heavy buying that day, quickly
ushered the salesman to the back room for a
schnaps. No main street jobber in search of a good
buy was without a back room in his store -- well
supplied with the best liquors. . . . . .
Goldstein, astride a bale of cotton, was warming to
his audience. The topic under discussion, as often
as not lately, was the FLQ and the separatists.
Goldstein was a chain smoker, not of Canadian or
American cigarettes, but of some horrible-smelling
Russian papyrus or French Gauloise cigarettes. Foul
as the odor was, it added something to the
atmosphere, thought Izzy, as he looked for the
cracker barrel and pot bellied-stove.
Goldstein rolled up his sleeve,
revealing the indelible serial number the Nazis had
tattooed on his arm. His eyes reddened from the
smoke rising from the burning papyrus clenched
between his lips. The eye glasses perched at the
tip of his nose never quite protected him from the
smoke, which, momentarily, came to rest against his
eye-glass lenses but which would inexorably
continue around the lenses, along his nose and find
his eyes, there to burn them to the point of tears.
But Goldstein always relentlessly puffed away,
never thinking to remove the cigarette to relieve
the burning in his eyes. On the contrary, the
stinging in his eyes drove Goldstein to greater
loquaciousness. He grew more argumentative and
waxed philosophic. Berl, himself a survivor of a
Nazi death camp, braced himself to pick up the
debating challenge. He always knew when to tackle
Goldstein.
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Chapter 9: Destination: Ste.
Marguerite
Robitaille followed Morin's car to the
LeGrand farm in St. Donat. He negotiated the
hairpin turn leading onto the property with only
minimal difficulty. The farmhouse sat atop a
hillock, about 50 yards from the tortuous secondary
road which lead them onto the property. The barn
housing the two Model-A Fords was a meteorological
phenomenon, as it was when LeGrand was growing up.
His father never needed a weather vane to tell
which way the wind was blowing. He had only to
check which way the barn leaned. But it still
stood, with nary a nail holding it together. Fitted
wooden joints was the way they built things then.
Some 200 feet below, in a tiny valley, at the end
of another tortuous road, stood five bungalows,
which the old man LeGrand still rented to
vacationing tourists. But this was early in October
and they stood empty, boarded up for their hibernal
sleep. The hoarfrost hovering over the small
man-made lake was further evidence of the
approaching winter.
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Chapter 12: Le Genéral
(1959)
It was a blustery, bitter cold night
in the capitol. Quebec City had not seen the
thermometer rise above zero in five days. It was
February and that meant Winter Carnival time in the
storied old city. A couple of blocks away, over
near the Plains of Abraham, where 200 years earlier
the British defeated the French and grabbed Canada
for king and empire, English and French were
boozing it up and playing at the usual games.
Nearby, hard by the banks of the
St. Lawrence River, stood the Chateau Frontenac,
bedecked in all her historical and matronly
splendor. General Wolfe had scaled the heights of
the Quebec ramparts somewhere near this spot. He
had an appointment with General Montcalm and
destiny. .............A block away, atop the
Premier's home, fully extended in the wind, was one
lonely Fleur de Lys, the Union Jack nowhere in
sight. The bachelor inhabitant thus made a
continuous political statement: "Ottawa, stay out
of Quebec life." ..............Here lay the reins
of power in the Province of Quebec. The old
bastard, Le Genéral, had held onto them
tightly for some 20 years. But the old Jew-hating
fascist was about to let go. Power was about to
slip away from him. So was his life. That was the
only way to separate Guy Larivière from
power in Quebec.
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Chapter 15: Maitres Chez Nous; Laval
Makes His Move (1960)
Brossage and Laval were a study in
contrasts. Brossage was an imposing figure -- six
feet tall, fairly heavy set, broad-framed and
clothed in Ottawa pin-stripe blue. He exuded
sartorial splendor. Standing side-by-side, they
resembled Mutt and Jeff or the Prince and the
Pauper.
Laval was clad in the working journalist's
uniform -- from his slip-on shoes to his slacks and
sports jacket. His tattered coat lent just the
right touch to this diminutive, intense man. It all
appeared to be in keeping with some sort of script.
The conservative, established, suave politician who
would probably guide Quebec for the next several
years, alongside this journalistic jangle of nerves
known as Laval. Despite his size, despite his
dress, Laval seemed to personify Quebec on the
move. Brossage's keen political antenna told him
so. It was the stuff political deals are made
of.
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Chapter 28: H.M.S.
Brittania
This woman was the P.M.'s mistress,
until he chose to make some official announcement
about marriage plans. ............The P.M.
concluded it would be best to leave sleeping ladies
lie. ...............As broadminded as Canadians
were about such things, he chose not to push his
luck. ............When the lady awoke, she and the
P.M. had breakfast together, said their goodbyes
and she slipped out quietly. ...........The
mounties on duty at the residence cleared several
blocks of traffic before she drove through the
gates. She aimed her car for Montreal and never
looked back.
The P.M. returned to his desk
and tried to draft a few more lines of his
Bilingualism and Bicultural Bill. .............The
hour was still very early in the morning. Her
Majesty's Ship Brittania, the royal yacht, was in
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, Havre St. Pierre to
starboard and Anticosti Island to port. While Her
Majesty slept in her regal quarters, the captain
was roused from his cabin and summoned to the
bridge to supervise the crew as it navigated the
thin fog which shrouded their watery path. It was
common to encounter much thicker fog on the St.
Lawrence at this time of day. . . . . . The
fog lifted as the Brittania plied it's way upriver.
By the time it drew abreast of Sept Isles, there
was clear sailing. The voyage had been uneventful
and continued so, which was precisely what all
aboard the Brittania had expected. There was total
ignorance of the fateful rendezvous awaiting the
ship.
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Chapter 34: Armored Trucks, All In A
Row
Goldstein and his friends cocked an ear
toward the radio as the Prime Minister continued:
"Mr. Speaker, by virtue of the legislation I have
today placed before the House of Commons for its
consideration, Her Majesty is asking for the
support of the assembled members in her invocation
of the War Measures Act. By the powers vested in me
as Her Majesty's first minister in the Dominion Of
Canada, I may, unilaterally, impose the War
Measures Act. However, this administration prides
itself in supporting democratic principles. I
therefore ask you, Mr. Speaker, to call for a show
of hands in support of my resolution to invoke the
War Measures Act."
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Chapter 38: Gentlemen of the
Cabinet
Laval removed his sport coat as he
entered his office with Leger and Castonguay in tow
and threw it onto a nearby sidechair. It came to
rest in a crumpled heap, fairly closely matching
its owner's perpetually gnarled and quizzical
expression. Laval sat down heavily in his
high-backed, leather swivel chair, leaned back,
turned slightly and propped his feet atop his desk,
as had been his custom through his years in
editorial offices. He lit another cigarette,
dragged heavily and stared at Leger and Castonguay.
He waited a moment for the customary haze of smoke
to rise between himself and his two invited guests
and then began to speak. Rarely did one ever get a
clear view of Laval's visage. It was generally only
a spectral image masked by a cloud of smoke.
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Chapter 39: The Troika
The Quebec-government limousine bearing
the Troika, chauffeur and three bodyguards
pointedly flew only one flag as it turned into the
long, circular driveway leading up to the main
entrance of the Canadian Parliament Buildings, at
the base of the imposing clock tower. With each
flap of the Fleur de Lys in the wintry Ottawa wind,
Laval made a political statement. Although the
Maple Leaf and Union Jack still flew from the
Quebec Parliament Buildings, Laval deliberately
chose to violate protocol during this, his first
trip to Ottawa since winning power. Laval would get
around to the Maple Leaf and Union Jack -- all in
good time. But first things first. This was his
official car and he used it and the Fleur de Lys to
make this small statement about where Quebec was
headed. He could not pass up the opportunity to
approach the Parliament of Canada and fly only the
Fleur de Lys, while being greeted and saluted by
the R.C.M.P. The mounties did look smart, even
Laval had to admit it, their scarlet red coats and
highly polished brown riding boots standing out in
bold relief against the heavy cover of snow.
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Chapter 52: Laval and the
President
Laval eagerly accepted the President's
offer to come to the White House to discuss the
problem. Recognition on the world stage, finally.
Precisely what Laval wanted. He would show the
people of Quebec that even though the Prime
Minister ignored them, the President of the United
States was willing to pay attention and listen to
Quebec's case.
The President dished it all up
as a formal affair of state. He sent Air Force One,
his own jetliner, to Quebec City to fetch Laval and
his colleagues. Not that Laval did not have his own
aircraft -- a turboprop-executive-twin-engine
operated for him by Quebecair, the government-owned
airline. But Air Force One! Holy Cow! How does one
top that?
Ancienne Lorrette Airport,
located just outside of Quebec City, had not been
so honored in many years. Not since Stalin,
Roosevelt and Churchill arrived there for their
Quebec City meeting with Prime Minister Mackenzie
King. Here was Pierre Laval, a kid from the
Gaspé, a French-Canadian, one of their own,
about to board the jet aircraft of the President of
the United States! The President had personally
seen to all the arrangements. His helicopter waited
at Dulles International Airport to ferry The Troika
to the White House.
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Chapter 54: The Die Is Cast
"Mr. President," said Laval, "we have
for a long time wanted to be independent and have
been working in that direction. Furthermore, the
banking freeze has, I think, increased the number
of Quebecers who are sympathetic to independence.
Now they know just how much money leaves Quebec to
go to Toronto and New York. It was a good time to
strike. But, above all else, Mr. President, the
most crucial reason was the result of the
referendum on independence. The final count was
pretty damn close to my way of thinking -- 57
percent against and 43 percent for. And the
English, les maudits Anglais, are the ones who made
the difference. Their unanimous vote against
independence made the difference. I could not let
the English vote stand in the way of the destiny of
Quebec. The goddamned English. They are not true
Quebecers. So why worry!"
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Chapter 56: Congress
The President had left orders to
especially watch for signs of the formation of some
sort of military capability in Quebec. . . . .
. The President was particularly disturbed now in
light of the disintegrated Canadian Parliament.
Nobody was minding the store north of the U.S.
border. The nation that was Canada, so long so
reliable, was no more. The P.M. was himself staying
at 24 Sussex Drive, unwilling to risk re-entry to
Quebec and unwilling to leave his official
residence, lest he extinguish what little hope
there might be for Canada to regain its senses. He
continued to wear a red rose in his lapel, a fresh
rose each day. The symbolism was not lost on the
reporters.
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Chapter
57:Transubstantiation
"General, this is the President. Order
the Sea Wolf from her base at Dalhousie. I want a
slow, submerged approach toward Quebec City. I'll
stay in touch." . . . . The following
morning, at 10 o'clock, precisely as planned, the
President climbed the steps to the rostrum in the
House of Representatives. As he had requested, the
full House and Senate were in attendance. . .
. . . The President checked on the position of the
Sea Wolf. "She is off Riviere du Loup," answered
the General, "still submerged, Mr. President, as
you ordered."
"Thank you, General. Order the
Sea Wolf to increase her speed
one-third."........."General, this is the
President. Order the Sea Wolf to move at full
speed." ......."General Overmeyer reporting, Mr.
President. The Sea Wolf is opposite Quebec City.
Standing by for orders, Mr. President."