Free Against God by Patrick Senécal Page A

there’s no reason to stay, she asks if you’d like to go for a drink
     somewhere, you turn her down curtly, bid her goodbye without thanking her for
     the meal, start walking toward the door, she says nothing, doesn’t try to detain
     you, you find yourself outside, the temperature surprisingly mild, you walk over
     tamped-down snow, a furious gait, your jaw clenched, and you stop, and you think
     for a moment, and you hail a cab, the driver asks where you’re going, you give
     him the name of that dangerous district that’s so often in the news, the car
     starts moving, fifteen minutes, stop at an intersection, you pay the driver, get
     out, you start walking, you look around you, closed dingy-looking shops, housing
     bordering on slum dwellings, dim light through windows, the streets quiet even
     on a Saturday, a few pedestrians here and there who don’t even spare a glance
     for you, ten minutes, then four people, men and women, a small group in front of
     a bar, you draw near, a brazen expression on your face, they see you coming,
     walk off, slip into an apartment building, disappointment flits across your
     face, for a second you contemplate the entrance to the seedy bar then keep on
     walking, five minutes, two guys farther up exchange something,shoot furtive glances left and right, you draw closer, but they move away
     as you approach, your exasperation grows, you carry on, pass more indifferent
     pedestrians whom you stare at insistently in vain, then you stop in the middle
     of the deserted street, your hands on your hips, your head cocked, the same pose
     as this morning on Andréane’s balcony, and you wait, and you wait, then noise,
     sounds, an altercation nearby, by that clothing store, you start in that
     direction, voices coming from out back, you walk around the store, the only
     light back there comes from a naked bulb on a third-floor balcony, but you can
     make out silhouettes, five of them, and they’re yelling at each other between
     two buildings’ walls, you’re a few metres away by now and you study them
     intently, you manage to deduce that three Latinos are arguing with two white
     guys, they’re discussing drugs, rates, they’re young, twenty at the most, and
     there’s a girl with the white guys standing off to the side, silent, subdued,
     then one of the Latinos finally spots you and asks what the fuck you’re doing,
     the guys stop talking, the guys stare at you, but the guys look a bit frightened
     too, you keep your answer short, you say you’re defying logic, the Latino who
     spoke approaches then and the others follow suit, they’ve forgotten their fight,
     the girl takes a few steps too, you examine her attentively, the girl who’s
     still just a teen, fifteen or sixteen, pretty but looking so indifferent, and
     without meaning to your eyes fill with despair, and without meaning to you
     murmur words that
    - Would Béatrice have turned out like you some day?
    you seem to regret almost instantly because you rub your face furiously, you
     turn your eyes back to the gang, especially the Latino, up close by now, studs
     in his nose and eyebrows, his worn leather jacket, gel spiking his short hair,
     his expression striving for menace but still oozing childhood, he asks if you’re
     looking for trouble, and you shrug, you say it doesn’t matter what you’re
     looking for, you might not find it, what’s supposed to happen doesn’t
     necessarily happen, and more of
    - Like last night . . . Like tonight . . . How can you know?
    the same, the other guys shoot each other a puzzled look, and then the Latino
     closest to you pulls a revolver out of the pocket of his jacket, the Latino
     points the weapon some fifty centimetres from your face, the Latino says you’d
     better bugger off, and quick, but he’s nervous, but he’s trembling slightly, and
     you stare at the weapon for a second, expressionless, you state that logically
     you should run away, of course, but since