Barney's Version

by Mordecai Richler

  In the months that followed the discovery of Bernard Moscovitch’s bones on the top of Mont Groulx, my younger brother’s politics took a surprising U-turn. He has reverted to the left-wing politics of his adolescence, his polemics now appearing in The Nation, Dissent, and other venues he once considered abominations. Saul strongly objects to my theory that his conversion came about only after he no longer felt obliged to contend with our father. Miriam, who now walks with a cane, has asked to be spared mention in this afterword, beyond my saying that she and Blair have retired to a cottage near Chester, Nova Scotia.

  Before his brain began to shrink, Barney Panofsky clung to two cherished beliefs: Life was absurd, and nobody ever truly understood anybody else. Not a comforting philosophy, and one I certainly don’t subscribe to.

  These lines are being written on the porch of our cottage in the Laurentians on what will surely be my last visit here. Any minute now the real-estate agent will arrive with the Fourniers, and I will hand over the keys. Here, where we were once such a blessed family, it is gratifying to be able to conclude on a note that has nothing to do with incriminating bones. I phoned Caroline to tell her what had happened. I was sitting on the porch, I said, remembering old times, when suddenly a big fat water bomber came roaring in. It lowered onto the lake and, without even stopping, scooped up who knows how many tons of water, flew off, and dumped the water on the mountain.

  I wished I had brought my camcorder with me. It was an incredible, truly Canadian sight, and the children would have adored it. Certainly they’ll never see anything like that in London. Benoît O’Neil explained that it was a practice run by forest-fire fighters in training. Years ago, he said, they used to fly over more often. Maybe once or twice in a summer, testing new airplanes. But I had never seen such a thing before.

  “Oh,” he said, “for sure, I’m talking about before you were born.” Then the real-estate agent arrived with the Fourniers. After an exchange of niceties, I excused myself, driving off. I had covered a good ten miles before I hit the brakes and pulled over on the shoulder. Oh my God, I thought, breaking into a sweat, I’d better call Saul. I owe Kate an apology. But, oh God, it’s too late for Barney. He’s beyond understanding now. Damn damn damn.

  1 Edward Gibbon. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Vol. 1, p. 191. Methuen & Co., London, 1909.

  2 A. J. Liebling, A Neutral Corner, Boxing Essays, p. 41. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 1996.

  A Note about the Author

  Mordecai Richler wrote ten novels and numerous screenplays, essays, children’s books and several works of non-fiction. His novels include The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz; Cocksure and St. Urbain’s Horseman, both recipients of the Governor General’s Award for Fiction; and Solomon Gursky Was Here, which won the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize. He is also the author of the beloved Jacob Two-Two series. Mordecai Richler was a Companion of the Order of Canada. He died on July 3, 2001.