21 Days in October by Magali Favre Read Free Book Online

where she was waiting. It was early afternoon and the café was almost empty. She was sitting alone tucked away in a corner, her nose buried in a thick book with a green cover. When he arrived, she placed the book on the table and he could read the title:
Les nègres blancs d’Amérique (White Niggers of America).
    â€œWhat are white niggers?”
    â€œIt’s you and me; it’s all of us! Here, French Canadians always have the worst jobs. We live in the most miserable neighbourhoods, and the bosses are always English.”
    â€œYou need a book to tell you that? I bet you’re just another revolutionary!”
    Louise ignored his remark and changed the subject.
    â€œDo you want to go see the bird park?”
    â€œWhere’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”
    â€œIt’s in Westmount.”
    â€œI’ve never been to that part of the city.”
    â€œThere’s a park up there that no one knows about. Well… almost. The view of Montréal is incredible. It’s a nice change from the top of Mount Royal. It’s just behind Saint Joseph’s Oratory.”
    â€œI know that one. My old Aunt Rose used to take us there; she wanted to show all the kids Brother André’s heart. I’ve even seen people going up the steps on their knees. We’d already seen everything by the time they got to the top.”
    The young pair had taken the 144 Bus on Avenue des Pins, skirting the base of Mount Royal. They had passed by rich-looking houses. One of them had caught their attention; a battalion of soldiers was standing guard in front of it.
    â€œSome bigwig must live there,” Gaétan remarked.
    â€œNo kidding: that’s the Prime Minister’s house.”
    â€œBoubou?”
    â€œNo, not Robert Bourassa. The other one, the big decision-maker, Pierre Elliott Trudeau.”
    â€œThe guy who threw Luc in jail?”
    â€œWho’s Luc?”
    Gaétan spent the rest of the trip detailing his friend’s arrest and how worried he was.
    â€œListen, some of my friends are defending the political prisoners. Maybe they could get you some information.”
    â€œLuc, a political prisoner?”
    â€œNo, but maybe they could at least be able to tell you where he’s locked up. And maybe get in touch with him.”
    They got off at the corner of Cedar Avenue.
    â€œHere all the street names are in English. We’re in Westmount,” Louise explained.
    â€œGeez, the English are hiding up in the hills! They don’t want us to see their money and wonder where they’re getting it from?”
    â€œYou’re going to see places you didn’t even know existed.”

    Leaning against the lookout’s cement wall, Gaétan admires a house below: an immense building with a greenish copper roof is joined to a tower and a large veranda that serves as a greenhouse. The yard is framed by a stone wall protecting the lush, green garden. Below, a gleaming Jaguar waits patiently in front of a two-door garage.
    â€œThree or four families from the
Faubourg à m’lasse
could fit into that castle. All my neighbours have to come see this. What a house!”
    They take a small path that leads towards the centre of the park. The trees are bare and the wet earth smells like dead leaves.
    Everything is still; there isn’t a person in sight. In the middle of a small clearing, a bench underneath a beautiful bare maple tree seems to call to them.
    From here, they can no longer hear the heartbeat of the city. Here, they forget everything from the factory’s siren to the soldiers on patrol and the arrests at five in the morning. It’s only them and the birds.
    â€œ
WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”
    Louise and Gaétan jump with surprise and whirl around. Two policemen, whom they didn’t see approach, repeat the question in English.
    â€œ
What is your name?
”
    â€œI’m Louise, and this is Gaétan,” she