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than not. He liked to walk around, especially during this time of the year when the park wasn’t crowded. The ducks had been put away for the winter, the
Jardin des Merveilles
was closed, and the squirrels had made themselves scarce. Only the eternal pigeons were left. They were indestructible; not even the coldest weather bothered them.
    But since he’s seen the real forest, the park seems sparse. Just a sad little garden to someone who’s experienced the wild and boundless forest of the North.
    Gaétan leaves the park, glum.
    Over by the library, a bunch of young men with scruffy beards sit on the steps, smoking and talking loudly.
    Gaétan thinks about Louise.

8
Thursday, October 22
    â€œ Y ou buy the newspaper now?”
    His mother hands him his plate, eyebrows raised. Her son isn’t going to get into politics now too, is he?
    Gaétan devours his peanut butter toast while reading an article in the
Journal de Montréal
with a catchy title: “There Will Be Blood If Montréal Elects the FRAP.”
    Another article reports that Jean Marchand, the federal minister, stated in a Vancouver interview that the FRAP or
Front d’action politique
is just a front for the FLQ.
    Gaétan pushes the newspaper away, sick of these outrageous comments. Just because the FRAP is made up of trade unionists and working-class citizens doesn’t mean it’s linked to the FLQ. He and the politicians clearly don’t live in the same world. Elections for a new mayor are in three days, and it seems that they’re going to stop at nothing to scare the public.
    â€œIt’s disgusting!”
    â€œYou sound like your father.”
    â€œWell he’s right—Drapeau’s destroying our neighbourhood. He’s angry because he’s out of work. Being resentful doesn’t make him a terrorist.”
    His mother looks at him, bewildered. It’s the first time that Gaétan has stuck up for his father. She sits down heavily on her chair. She has always tried to protect him from her husband’s ideas.
    â€œYou’re going to end up like him!”
    â€œSo what? Pop’s still fighting. He could just as easily drown his life away in his beer and spend his days at the tavern, like the rest of them.”
    â€œIt’s always the same damned thing. Those guys think they’re such hot stuff, and then we have to pick up the pieces. It’s a waste of time.”
    Gaétan gets up with a start, knocking over his chair, and leaves the room. He’s had enough of his mother’s whining. He needs some fresh air.

    Gaétan has a few hours to kill before returning to work. He wants to use them to take his mind off things.
    He finds himself in front of the Cégep du Vieux-Montréal. Classes are back in session, and he can see students walking in and out of the building. He watches their comings and goings from across Sherbrooke Street. Three students, their arms full of leaflets, sit down outside the main entrance. A girl wearing a black cape comes to join them. Gaétan has trouble admitting that she’s the one he’s been waiting for.
    He crosses the street and pretends to walk in like any other student. She hands him a leaflet and he takes it without hesitation. Suddenly, she recognizes him.
    â€œI thought you worked at the factory.”
    â€œI work nights.”
    â€œThat can’t be easy! You left so quickly, the other day.”
    Gaétan glances at the paper. He can’t really understand the words on the page: working class, capitalism, imperialism, revolution… it’s all gibberish to him.
    Louise reacts to his sceptical expression.
    â€œI can explain.”
    â€œIt’s ok, I know how to read!”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant.”
    Clearly, they have a hard time understanding each other. She suggests they grab a coffee together inside.
    â€œThe guys can finish handing them out without me. Coming?”
    Gaétan,