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7/27/2019 A Cantic Christmas
1/21
A Cantic
Christmas
by Pierre Bdard
based on a short story
Citizenshipby John Bdard
Copyright 2013 by Pierre Bdard.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may
not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoeverwithout the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or
scholarly journal.
First Printing: 2013
ISBN 0-9650269-2-2
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2
Canadian Immigration Inspection Station,
Cantic, PQ (present day Lacolle, PQ)
25December1953 -0330hThe border crossing at what is now
Rouses Point and Lacolle was a popular place
for southbound traffic during the Prohibition,
from 1919 through 1933, as alcohol found its
way south. By 1953, the border was much
tamer, but cold and desolate, especially on this
early Christmas morning.
A situation often encountered on the
Canada / U.S. border: a wandering laborer
who hardly knows where he is, much less his
citizenship status. A helpful inspector is always
on guard at the border to help.
I was working the 12 to 8 shift with my
good friend Jules, both of us fairly fresh
members of the enforcement division of the
Royal Canadian Department of Citizenship and
Immigration. Our job and our lives at the timewere metered in 8-hour shifts of 8 to 4, 4 to 12,
and 12 to 8, but mostly 12 to 8, because of our
junior status in the service. We are in middle
our third 12 to 8 rotation in a row. Just as well,
it being Christmas. No one sane is out there
tonight.
The Cantic Canadian border station is two
miles due north of the U.S. Customs house, our
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3
opposite New York State inspection point at
Rouses Point, manned by our friends, the
Americans.
Since Jules and I are new, fresh anddesperate for work after playing in Korea
together too close to the front lines and sailing
around on merchant ships during the War, we
gladly take any shift given us, especially if we
can stay warm, well fed, and relatively safe.
I consider myself fortunate to have made it
to work in one piece tonight. The wind was
either blowing up Lake Champlain or sucking
down the Richelieu River, depending on your
perspective.1Either way, making my way down
from the village to the station for my shifttonight was not a trivial exercise. It is now
winter and winter reigns in upstate New York /
down province Qubec.
Getting to the station so I can get on
station is the first step. Many nights its the
only step - getting here takes more effort than
what my partner Jules and I will put in during
our shift.
I want to make it clear to the reader that
nobody has slept, sleeps, or will sleep while we
1 Lake Champlain, which pours into the Richelieu
River and then empties out into the great Saint Lawrence
River on its way to the Atlantic.2 Crotons is a Quebecois pork pat. Think French
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4
are on station in Cantic. We work by the book,
and the book says no sleep.
If, at some time during our shift, as we sit
in the lunchroom with our lunch buckets openin front of us, in front of our little stove
radiating so much heat that you think your toes
are burning in your steel-toed boots, and our
heads slip down into our crotons sandwiches,
we might rest our eyes for a few seconds,
maybe even a minute or two, but hardly evermore than fifteen minutes, ever, that I can
recall.2
With regulations in mind, we always take
turns eating to ensure that neither of us sleeps
on station. Never, ever.The graveyard shift is the graveyard shift.
Tonight I stand watch at the station desk while
Jules eats with his eyes closed in the back
room. The windowless room serves as the
infirmary, our indoor secondary inspection for
pat downs and strip downs, and of course, the
lunchroom. Theres next to no draft unless the
door is open, and this helps cool things off in
the summer and keeps it toasty in the winter. Of
course, in the summer, you can theoretically go
2 Crotons is a Quebecois pork pat. Think French
rillettes except the pork is ground, not pulled. Puts poutine
to shame when on toast with coffee. I am getting hungry
thinking about it.
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jump in Lake Champlain to cool off. In the
winter, you cant leap into a bonfire to get
warm. For long.
If by chance our supervisor decides tobrave the weather and icy roads to show up in
Cantic, or if either of us thinks we need help
with a potentially difficult or dangerous
inspection, the signal is to throw our heavy
glass Labatts 50 ashtray, usually full of
smoldering rolled Players and Export As, fastagainst the inside wall.
That usually wakes Jules up. It only took
three months and an AWOL U.S. Marine who
was out of his mind to establish our ashtray
into wall signal. Nothing says I need you likethe loud thud of a full ashtray bouncing off the
thin faux wall separating the lunchroom from
reception.
Nobody gets curbside service tonight its
just too damn cold, -20 F topped with a little
wind. Any of our potential clientele making
their way to Canada will have to come inside
for a talk, unless Jules agrees to go out there.
After a careful interrogation, we will likely
determine, quickly and efficiently, that a
secondary inspection, especially if it must beperformed outside, is not necessary. Again, its
just too damn cold.
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While Jules sits in the lunchroom on the
first of his graveyard shift lunches, my feet sit
propped up on the desk and I look south
towards the Etats Unis, while reading a
forgettable dime novel sporting a cover much
racier than its writing.
Its a spy novel about a guy who spends
his days having sex and killing people. Very
realistic. Written by an American. I could use a
personal introduction to the blonde in the blackdress on the cover, but Cantic is a long way
from wherever that cover is supposed to be.
The writing is alliteratively sluggish
tonight, much like the visibility outside. You
can hear the snow gusting against the siding ofthe station. I have to stand up and take a walk
around the office every fifteen minutes to keep
from falling asleep. I jump up and down; roll
three cigarettes and smoke two, anything to stay
awake.
I spot a shadow coming my way from the
American side. Hard to say from here, but it
looks like a pedestrian carrying a bag on his
back. Hes bouncing up and down. Boots, light
greatcoat, maybe a toque on his head. We will
see, we will see.What a night to be on foot. Probably a
local farm worker coming home for Christmas
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day dinner. His frozen breath makes him six
inches taller.
I decide to go into the lunchroom to get
him a cup of coffee. He deserves it just forbeing out there.
Got one coming in, Jules. I said headed
into the back to grab a refill for me and a tin
cup for my soon-to-be-newfound friend.
No response from Jules, he may be eatinganother fifteen-minute meal.
Coming back up front into reception, I
look out the window but cant see anyone
coming. Ive lost him! Where could he have
gone? I grab my coat and rush out the door.My heart rate crests as I catch him thirty
yards down the road, footing it north at a good
clip. Hes got a huge gut and his greatcoat is
dull red with white lining. I stop to catch my
breath.
Hey! You! Where are you going?
I pause for effect as we stare at each other.
His breath is wet and strong, but hes not
winded.
Where do you think you are going? Youare now entering Canada, sir. Cant you read
the sign?
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What do you mean read the sign? I wasnt
speeding, I swear! Besides, all I wanted was not
to bother you. Its too cold out here.
It is damn cold. Get in here.
I motion to the door. I got coffee for
you.
The two of us ambled into reception,
taking care to step hard on the doorjamb to rid
ourselves of the sticky snow on our boots. Wegrabbed two notched oak office chairs that
might have been part of the room since the last
station remodel at the end of Prohibition in
1933.
Now tell me all about it. Lets start at thetop. Whats your name, sir?
Nicolas, you dont pronounce the s,
Nicolas Leblanc, sir.
Citizenship? Place of birth?
What do you mean, seasonship?
Where were you born?
Oh that? In Stratton. I think. Not sure
though. Might have been Lac Megantic out
east.
Well, lets say its Stratton? Which one is
it?
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9
What do you mean, which one? The one
closest I guess?
What is this you think business?
Stratton is in Maine, isnt it? Or Vermont?Dont think they moved it, did they? Try again.
Born in Vermont or Maine; neither makes you
Canadian, Mr. Leblanc.
Beg your pardon, Officer. No disrespect.
Not sure. I just think I was born in Stratton. I
was born real young, so I dont remember it
much.
Lets assume you were born in Vermont,
over there cross that border. Then what? Do
you have paper telling me who you are?
Then what what? I got no paper on me
but rolling papers. Lets say, lately I worked for
Old Man Barnes down the road here. Until
Bessie, his conjoint I think, went to Albany to
see her sister and never come back.
Barnes started drinking more cidre after
that. Not that I blame Bessie for not coming
back, because living with Old Man Barnes is
not always easy for Bessie, specially when Old
Man Barnes decides to drink lecidre.
Im not sure things are any better forBarnes either, when Bessie gets going. She
listens to the Texas radio preachers, tub-
thumpers raising all kinds of hell, at all hours,
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about damnation and bad spirits. She also likes
to order the pills, by the bushel, that the
ministers pitch, for diseases she does not have
or knows nothing about.
Just in case pills she calls them. As you
can imagine this just in case business gets
Barnes pissed off, and I am not even going to
try to tell you what it does for his blood
pressure.
Once Bessie gets busy doing these things,
her cooking goes all to hell. No salt in the soup,
no salt in the stew, hell, no salt shaker in the
house. The more trips Barnes makes to the
village to buy salt, the more salt Bessie throws
out the door behind his back. Things got so bad,I have to go to a neighbors barn and hammer
me a piece from the cows salt lick.
Not that bad that salt, by the way. Carry
some with me all the time. Probably the way
they get it from the mine. Care to sample?
Nicolas reached into his pocket and took
out a small muslin satchel that I assumed had
some of the salt lick salt. I waved my hand at
him and shook my head I didnt want to see.
Not tonight. It was Christmas morning.
I was saying, he began.
As you were telling me. I interrupted.
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Thats right, and as Bessie, the wife, got
more and more religion, she had less and less
time for the cooking and the washing. The old
man got fed up with having to buy salt twice a
week. We werent to figure out what was going
on until last month.
At three in the morning, hearing some
weird noises and strange singing outdoors, I
came downstairs, and looking out the window,
spotted Bessie throwing something around thesides of the house. Later that day, once I had
told the old man about it, he faced her with the
facts. She told him the bad spirits had taken
over the house and that she was trying to chase
them away, with blessed salts.
What blessed salts? he asks.
The blessed salts that I got the priest to
bless, she says.
Bull, he says, damn priest Murphy
would never do it.
Oh yes he did! says Bessie. When I get
him to bless a medal I hold in one hand, I got a
bag of salt in the other.
Barnes got angry. He declared on the
spot that it was probably too late, she wasprobably infested with bad spirits already and
salt, blessed or not, was not going to help and
that her moving out immediately for a good
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while would be in the best interest of all
concerned.
So she moved out.
Enough about Bessie and the old man.
Your parents, what can you tell me about your
mum and dad?
My mother was French. My father? No
idea, not sure - just told he was lost in war. I am
sure of that because on every 11th of Novemberat 11am, rain or shine, some years it is mostly
snow or shine, we stop whatever we are doing,
take off our coverings and bow our heads for a
minute.
You wear a poppy?Yes, sir. Every year.
The conversation stopped. He started
looking into the wood floor, vacantly.
Did I tell you about Old Man Barnes
being mean when he took to le cidre? I did.Good.
Now I want you to know that I am the
type of person that can overlook getting my
thirty bucks a month late or even not getting it
at all, when things get tight on the farm, but Iwant my share of the juice when there is some
to be had. On that, I have to insist. We ran out
of cidre and the old man cant cook. Gotta
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move on. Here I am. No pay, no cidre, no
decent food. I leave.
Blowing snow announced itself against the
windows in reception. I was enjoying the heatand having someone or something to get me
through my shift awake, no matter how inane
the story or misadventures.
Now, Mr. Leblanc, what can you tell me
about your citizenship status?
Seasonship? Citizenship? Oh yes. Well I
had a long talk on that with an officer in Alburg
last year. I explained everything to him and he
let me through and he promised me, better . . .
he swore he would have an answer for me in his
hands the next time I went by his place. I justwant to be like everyone else, who cross every
day.
I want to be able to answer the next time
someone says: What is your seasonship? I
want to say, Yes sir; I am one of them, I am.
I want it to be like it was in the army. I
want to snap to it and salute when hearing that
music. Can you help me sir? Do you think you
could fix me up?
This citizenship business is screwed up. Igot no paper. I got no memory but whats here
around the Lake Champlain.
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He said Champlain without pronouncing
the m or the n.
Let me refill your cup, and then we talk.
Stay there, please.
I excused myself and went into the
bathroom and stared in the mirror for a sec
before doing what I had to do. Took my time to
wash hands. Slapped my face a couple of times
to stay awake and walked back out to reception.
Now back to that citizenship bit. Where
were you born?
In or around Stratton, I think. I know for
sure that the doctor came in from Sainte Anne
and that I was baptized in Sainte Anne. SainteAnne is in Qubec, you know.
I know. What about school?
In Sainte Anne, too. That I know for
certain. Actually there was not much of that
because it happened at the time my father wasreported missing, and as we lived a long way
from the village, I did not go for long. That I
know.
Work, social security, unemployment
benefits?
Away from home, since I was thirteen.
Farm and bush work, here and there. Potatoes
in Maine and lumber camps all over - Qubec,
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Vermont and New York upstate. I have a U.S.
Social Security Number somewhere and I
collect unemployment money in Qubec when I
can.
What about the army? Did the draft get
you? What about voting?
You bet they did. Shipped me to Alaska,
too. Cold mother up there I tell you, but not as
bad for me as for some of the others. We had
this captain from Florida I believe, or was it
Alabama? Anyway he got up one morning
Mr. Leblanc, stop, please. We want to be
done here before the ice breakup on the
Richelieu.
Right. Now what else do you want to
know? You asked me about voting. Correct?
Yes, I vote in Qubec when I am there, but I
vote over there, too.
I remember one very well-organized
election in Albany a few years back when,
matter of fact, we voted a few times. But why
all this now? Jimmy, the officer in Alburg, told
me that he would send everything to
Washington and let me know when the results
came back. They should have decided by now.
We are not in Alburg and Jimmy works
for my counterparts on the American side
protecting his border, not the Canadian one.
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You guys must talk! Check with him!
Pick up the phone! Use the hotline! Sorry
officer. Just trying to be helpful. Now, as I said
before, if you check with Jimmy, I bet he will
give you the results of his enquiries to
Washington.
Sorry but I cannot check with him
because I work for the Canadian, not the U.S.
Government. Look, what are you planning to do
in Canada?
Well, I was thinking about going to
Monsieur Latours place, down the road here,
for a while. Spring will be here shortly and he
will need help setting up his eel traps on the
Richelieu. We get along good and he has cidre.Officer, I am not lying and dont know
more than that. I know that I was born here,
baptized there, went to school here, worked
there, registered for the draft here but went into
the army there.
I dont have the money to get papers and
it is always trouble, trouble and more trouble,
every time I turn around trying to cross your
line. What harm have I ever done to anyone?
There I have been all those years, pulling my
own way, minding my own business, alwaystrying to do my best.
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I am with you, Nic. This is a mess and I
would not want to be in your shoes.
Dont get me wrong. Im as straight as
they come, but we all have our limits. For me, itmight have been in Korea, the North Atlantic,
or any other thing Id been through since 1939.
Here I was on Christmas morning, early
Christmas morning, trying not to freeze, and
Im dealing with an undocumented transient
named Nicolas, who is trying to come to
Canada to access a steady source of work and
cider.
Here, I told Nicolas as I handed him a
comb out of the vending machine in the
bathroom, I think I have a deal for you. Takethis, go into the bathroom, do your thing, comb
your hair and Ill get you on your way, but we
have to do a ceremony.
Yes, sir! I mean, no sir! On my way, sir!
Be right back. Right back.
Nicolas Leblanc rushed into the bathroom
with the expectancy of a new groom getting
ready for the service, without quite knowing
why he was getting ready. In my mind, Nicolas
Leblanc looked ready to become Canadian.
Are you ready?
Yes sir, I am.
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You stand up now, raise your right hand,
and repeat after me. I, Nicolas Leblanc.
I, Nicolas Leblanc.
Swear that I will be faithful and bear true
allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the
Second, the Queen of Canada.
She be the Queen of Qubec, too?
Nicolas, come on.
I swear I will be faithful to her Majesty,
Queen Elizabeth.
Queen of Canada.
Queen of Canada.
Her Heirs and Successors.
Heirs, successors.
And I will faithfully observe.
Faithful observe.
The laws of Canada and fulfill my duties
as a Canadian citizen.
Laws of Canada and duties as Canada
citizen.
Excellent! Now do the sign of the cross toseal the oath and allow me to shake your hand.
Merry Christmas, Nicolas, you are the newest
Canadian citizen in Cantic!
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Thanks, Officer! Would you say that this
calls for a drink, now?
I have a few more hours on shift so I will
decline the offer of caribou.
I decided to take a more serious tone with
my newly minted Canadian.
Listen, Nicolas, let me remind you of
something. You must always keep secret the
ceremony we had here this morning. Because ifyou dont, the American authorities, hearing
that you became a citizen of Canada, may get
peeved at you and bar you from traveling and
working in their country. You understand that?
Nicolas bobbed his head.You can always mention my name, but it
will be better if we keep what happened here
strictly between ourselves. Lets say it is just a
dream, a beautiful dream. You got that straight?
Goodbye and good luck now. On your way
now.
It is a dream, and you best keep the name
of Nicolas Leblanc to yourself, John. Now let
me get back to the sleigh, the reindeer are
getting restless. I dont have all night.
Right. I thought. As he crossed the
threshold of the door his greatcoat turned as red
as fresh felt, as if the moonlight caught him
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stepping out. And his beard, I really hadnt seen
it, or noticed it. I heard the bells and maybe
snow against the windows again, in a gust.
I woke up on the floor of reception, in acold sweat but not uncomfortable. My cheek
was half-stuck to the dusty floor with drool. My
coffee sat on the table, lukewarm.
What the hell, John! Get your ass up
before someone sees you.
It took a few seconds before the blue blob
I knew to be Jules came into focus.
John, you are scaring me. Whats going
on with you?
Its Nicolas Leblanc, Jules, he camethrough again.
Joyeux Nol, John.
Joyeux Nol, Jules.
It was my last Christmas in Cantic.
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About John Bdard
Jean (aka John) Bdard served in the
Royal Canadian Merchant Navy from 1942 to1950 and the Royal Canadian Armed Forces
from 1950 to 1953. He for with Canadian
Immigration for ten years before immigrating to
the US in 1964. From 1964 to 1969 he worked
as a janitor in a juice factory, a women's shoe
salesman, and a grocery store security guard.
As soon as he became an American citizen (and
eligible to carry a gun) he was accepted into the
US Customs Service, where he retired as a
Senior Inspector after 20 years of service,
including a 2.5 year tour in Laos as an advisorstarting in 1972.