By the time she finished talking, Mrs. Webster and I were back in the car, fussing with the seatbelts, trying to get our hands warm. Heading back into town, I wanted to say to her, but you were the baby – if you can’t remember the bodies laid out on the grass and the passion-fruit flower sitting in a cup of water on the kitchen table, then how do you know that it happened that way? But the story was true. Mrs. Webster knew it by heart. You could tell. And I could not bother her with questions, because she had fallen asleep. That’s how it is with these trips in the car. Clear as a bell, like a song in all its verses, and then their eyelids come down and the story is finished.
I don’t mind letting on that I envied Mrs. Webster her story. I would have liked a large family and a life rounded out with pots of tea, biscuits and chat at the kitchen table. Mother always said that I could not expect much with my blunt features and heavy bones. Not that any of it matters now, at my age, no matter what the magazines say.
Still, I have a good mind to ask Archie if he would like to take the granny flat at the bottom of the garden. It has a brand new refrigerator that never saw more than a bottle of milk because Mother took all her meals with me. I rather fancy the sound of the piano coming up from behind the buddleia. He could have the folding card table and Mother’s extra chairs. We could make tea and play Scrabble on Wednesday nights. He could be a proper lodger.
Oh I know you’re thinking that I’m after Archie, but you’d be wrong, for Archie McLean is not the marrying kind. No, it’s just that after I’ve passed on, I’d rather like it if one person, and maybe it might be Archie, would stop the car outside my bungalow, smile at the upturned faces of the marigolds, and say, yes, happy times we had there, happy times.
Acknowledgements
First of all, a big thank you to Dan Wells, John Metcalf and the team at Biblioasis for giving this collection a home between covers. Thank you for your time and your dedication.
During the last five years I have benefited from the mentorship of two astute critics: Sandra Birdsell of the Humber College programme for writers and Ami Sands-Brodoff of the Quebec Writers’ Federation, assisted by a grant from the Canada Council for the Arts. Sandra, Ami, please accept my thanks for helping to make this a better book. I have also had much support from family and friends in New Zealand, Canada and the USA. I would like to thank in particular Sarah Winters, my ideal reader, and my husband Gary Duncan.
The Elcarim recipe in “Where the Corpse Weed Grows” is based on the formula Essiac, developed in the 1930s by Nurse René Caisse, after an Ojibway herbal medicine.
I would also like to acknowledge the inspiration of chef Marie-Christine Potvin and her recipe Perchaude aux trois agrumes et ses avocats frits (copyright Académie Culinaire de Montréal). The garlic is my own ill-advised addition, since this is fiction after all.
Some of these stories have been previously published: “After Summer,” Geist 62, 2006, Journey Prize Stories, 19 (McLelland & Stewart, 2007), Coming Attractions 08 (Oberon Press); “Vandals in Sandals,” Short Stuff: New English Writing in Quebec (Véhicule Press, 2005); “Neither Up Nor Down,” Takahe 56, 2005; “Salsa Madre,” Geist 69, 2008, Coming Attractions 08 (Oberon Press, 2008); “Among the Trees” Coming Attractions 08 (Oberon Press, 2008), The Fiddlehead 240, 2009; “Scottish Annie,” The Fiddlehead, 237, 2008; “The Land Below,” Room 32.3, 2009; “Through the Gates,” Takahe 70, 2010, “Neptune’s Necklace,” Fiddlehead 248, 2011.
Soon after I arrived in Canada in the autumn of 1994, Ruth and Kenneth Perkins introduced me to the pleasures of lake-side living on the Canadian Shield. I will always be grateful for their welcome and special care. This book is dedicated to Ken’s memory: finest of musicians, kindest of friends.
New Zealander-Canadian Alice Petersen was the 2009 winner of the David Adams Richards Award, offered by the Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick. Her stories, published in Geist, The Fiddlehead, Room, and Takahe, have variously been shortlisted for the Journey Prize, the Writers’ Union of Canada competition, the CBC Literary awards, and the Metcalf-Rooke Award. Petersen lives in Montreal with her husband and two daughters. All the Voices Cry is her first collection.
Copyright © Alice Petersen, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Petersen, Alice, 1970-
All the voices cry / Alice Petersen.
Short stories.
eISBN : 978-1-926-84553-1
I. Title.
PS8631.E825A45 2012 C813’.6 C2011-907875-9
Biblioasis acknowledges the ongoing financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Council for the Arts, Canadian Heritage, the Canada Book Fund; and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Arts Council.
PRINTED AND BOUND IN CANADA
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