Free Against the Wind by Madeleine Gagnon Page A

that went back two generations in her mother’s family. Véronique told it as if it had happened to herself. There was a portrait of her mother when she was first learning her scales and basic exercises when she was five – a portrait with the vaguely sad
Mona Lisa
smile that was “the spitting image” of the smile of the Holy Virgin hanging at the head of her mother’s bed.There was little Véronique, for whom the woman of today wept, a pampered only child held hostage by both her parents, who did not love each other anymore, held her hostage and subjected her to the most subtle blackmail – there was no violence in that perfect, affluent house – to induce her to show a preference for one of them (and hatred for the other).
    And there was Véronique’s perfection. Her intelligence. Her beauty. Her success. Her total submission to her parents, both of whom she adored, and to their desire that she become a great pianist, an extraordinary interpreter, a virtuoso, admired both for her playing and her personality. Véronique only had to be intelligent, beautiful and charming. She had no other duties. She had known no other law. She had learned neither the Ten Commandments nor the seven deadly sins and she had only the vaguest idea of the strictures, pardons, virtues and indulgences that were the lot of most girls of her generation – in her country, anyway.
    â€œCan you imagine, Joseph? For me, hell, purgatory and all those things you learned about were only vague notions. For me, there was only one heaven – success – and only one law to follow to reach it – obedience to the parents who demanded it.”
    Yes, Joseph could imagine it very well, and he was beginning to prefer the terrible hell of his own “age of reason.”
    Véronique added, “You see, Joseph, maybe I’ll have to hate them. Not both of them. But each of them separately. I ought to hate each of them. But I feel quite incapable of hatred. Just the idea of hatred paralyzes me. Sometimes, I have the impression that if I get close to it, not only touch it but enter into it, I’ll freeze on the spot. Or I’ll turn into a pillar of salt. I’ll become completely catatonic.”
    Véronique also spoke to her doctor, Hélène. A little. She preferred to talk to Joseph. Sometimes, Joseph found that Véronique was exaggerating, and gently told her so. He loved her so much that he wouldn’t have wanted to do anything to hurt her.
    The evening of the piano, he told her the story of Lot’s wife, since, thanks to Léopold, he had a pretty good knowledge of the Bible. It was Véronique’s image of turning into a pillar of salt that had reminded him of this powerful story from his childhood. He told it in a way that made them both giggle like children, as always happened when they laughed together, rolling on the bed in a boisterous hug after putting out their last cigarette.
    Waking up in the night, Joseph announced softly that he was thinking of leaving the hospital soon. His time there was coming to an end. But he would come visit her every day and would write her piles of letters. (“Will you write to me too?” he asked.) And he would wait for her until they were ready to live together. He would wait for her “as long as it takes.” He was in no hurry. They had their whole lives ahead of them to love each other.

VI
    Leaving the hospital was far from easy for Joseph. Contrary to what he had wanted so much before being admitted, he was happy to return to his “real life,” to start working again, to see people, especially his friends, but unhappy to have to leave Véronique, although he knew he would see her again and she would be with him, at home, in a little while.
    It was not only his beloved Véronique he found heartbreaking to leave, if only for a few days – or weeks, there was no way of knowing for sure, actually – it