Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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THE DECISION C hristopher walked slowly up the elm-lined drive. Never, he reflected, never in all his eighteen years had he seen light of such quality. Clear, untainted by artificial vapours, it filtered through the leaves above him to illumine the grass on either side of the gravel path, letting only the solid tree- trunks remain dark, to emphasize the better the intricate interplay of shades of light among the leaves. A yellow- throated warbler hopped, with a delicate flutter between trees, from one half-hidden branch to another. Christopher stopped to watch it. On a day such as this, had he been God, he thought, he would have created this bird, this twittering embodiment of Light. What, he wondered, was it like to speak to Light? He would find out. He whistled softly. The bird stopped, turned its head toward him, flew down to the grass opposite. 0 bird, Christopher began, 0 light-bird — I don ' t know your own name — Hey, Chris, shouted a shrill voice coming up the path. The bird flew off. Hey, Chris, d ' ya always talk to yourself? Anyways, your old man wants you at ten in his building. Hey, what ' s the matter with you? Been sulking? Had anoth- er fight with your brother? Christopher had completely forgotten his pestiferous twelve-year-old brother, his usual excuse for over-pensive- ness to Lee. Now, he merely said grumpily, Sun ' s gone in. Well, don ' t look at me. I didn ' t put the clouds up there. Chris had other ideas about that. Ya know, Chris, your dad was nearly in a good mood when I saw him. Hope he stays like that. Yes, thank you. Lee, could you please try not to call me ' Chris ' any more? Whadja want to be called? Christopheros Edmundo, -onis, masc? No, I ' m serious. I mean ' Christopher ' , not ' Chris ' . What ' s wrong with ' Chris ' ? It ' s a lot faster, and snappier, and in-er. Audit ' s sloppy, and inconsequential-sounding, and care- lessly casual. Christopher had added a mental exclamation mark after ' in-er ' , although, or perhaps because, Lee had said it completely unconsciously. Thanks for the message, Lee. I ' ll see you in — let ' s see, English 150. ' Bye. ' He strode rather hurriedly up the path. Hey Chris, just a minute, Chris — 1 mean Chrisiop ier. What ' s the hurry, want to get rid of me, I suppose. Nice way for a guy to treat his girl friend. Girl friend! Christopher gasped. Since when had he shown any special liking for this coarse girl from the run- down area where the City Council builders were tearing up the very foundations of the shabby Edwardian apartments, as if to leave no trace of anything unplanned by the new generation of eager young architects fresh from Dalhousie. In that place, taboo to all decent Haligonians, was the probably already-doomed building which this girl called ' home ' . Christopher had seen the address, had idly watched her writing it during the chaos of freshman registration, on a torn fragment of pink paper with a crude border of hearts and arrow-lancing cupids. It was then, as he was turning away with a bored disgust, that she had glanced up brightly, and said, with her voice, harsh though it was, dripping with confident expectation of immediate acceptance, Hey, you, yes, you, are you takin ' English 150? Maths 101? Sociology 100? Only the English? Well, anyways, you wanna be my friend an ' show me round the place? I don ' t know where anything is. You gotta start right from the very beginning. Meet you tomorrow at nine fifteen, corner of South and Oxford. ' Bye bye for now , and she had vanished. Christopher, overwhelmed, had sat heavily on an already crowded bench against the panelled wall. Now what, he wondered. Should he turn up tomorrow morning, at nine fifteen, on the corner of South and Oxford streets, and wait? His whole being rebelled. Suppose his father should drive by? He would undoubtedly stop, disregarding traffic lights and indignant buses and the policeman who regularly lurked in ambush on his motorcycle on the other side of the street, and would demand to know what his well- brought-up son thought he was doing dawdling on the corn- er, like any common long-haired youth. Then, for the fifti- eth time, he would expand on his favourite theme, the diff- erence between his sons and the sons of the common herd, in the middle of which diatribe against the type of person of which she was a perfect example, Lee would appear. 26

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GUMMING HOUSE Front Row: Isabelle Best, Laura Bollen, Barbara Mariash, Gina Schnabel, Debbie Perry, April Kape, Ruth Simons. 2nd: Louise Pigot, Nina Jezek, Vivien Law, Marie Anne Laforest, (House Head), Mrs. Ritson (House Mistress), Nancy Wall (House Head), Estelle Limoges, Madeleine Roellinghoff, Annemette Jorgensen..3rt : Lynette Lombardi, Marianne Stoffregen, Lee Sullivan, Karen Merrithew, Audrey Wise, Wendy Verrier, Lynn Morgan, Sarah Kolas- iewicz, Debby Worrell, Kathy Feig. Back Row: Karin Little, Elizabeth Pigot, Elizabeth Har- court, Kathy Fletcher, Janet McCuaig, Christina Stephen, Lonny Wall, Gail Goodfellow, Maureen Burns, Jeannie Saros. Absent: Nabiha Atallah (Form V Rep). SILENCE (With apologies to Longfellow) The moon was shining in the treetops. Shining through the silver treetops. Shining in the trees and thickets Where the mighty buck, he slept Where the timid doe, she slept Where the tiny fawn, he slept. All was calm, was peaceful, tranquil. And the Indian lodge was silent, Silent as a sleeping beaver, As a beaver in his lodge. As an owl is in the daytime, Silent was the Indian lodge. Ruth Simons, Form II LIFE Life is like a railway train With tracks that come and go To places I only heard about And people I don ' t know. Life is like a ferris-wheel Round and round and round, For once you hit the top There is nothing left but down. Life is like autumn leaves That wither away and die. And no one even sees their lives Slowly passing by. Lynn Morgan, Form III B

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And then again, she might not. His father might not. He and Lee might stroll around the campus, investigating un- familiar corners for an unhurried hour before their first lecture. Swayed by this image, Christopher had presented himself, fifteen minutes too early, on the corner to wait for Lee, who was fifteen minutes late. This, he was to learn, was typical. Christopher supposed that it was from that morning that she dated her claims on him, but ' girl friend ' ! He might be her boy friend, but she was certainly not his girl friend. Through the winter, he had spent increasingly more of his studying time taking her to movies, boring himself while increasing her appetite for them. Each time, when her mea- gre vocabulary, largely composed of over-common superla- tives, had been exhausted, she would say, Anyways, why am I trying to describe it? You know what it was like. Yes, he knew aU too well. The first, in which he had despaired of ever leaving, had set the pattern for the rest. Invariably, on the way home from each expensive dullness, he formulated desperately elaborate schemes to escape the next, and invariably he found himself lacking adequate strength of mind to carry them out in Lee ' s presence. Now he realized that nothing short of a complete break would free him. Lee was the only person, however, who really seemed to need him. That was the difficulty. If he left her, what would she do? But immediately Christopher hated this self-deception. Lee was popular. What he really meant was what would he do? Was he to bear with her stupidities, her coarseness, her mindless conversation, for another year, maybe for as long as he lived in Halifax, merely tolerating her as someone on whom to unload his surplus ideas? Come on, Christopher, Lee pleaded. Come back. Don ' t ya like me any more? Another exclamation mark, and Christopher dragged his mind back to the present. The girl ran to him and put her hand into his. Christopher jerked himself away and again started up the path. Chris, Lee called frantically. Christopher, come back. I promise I won ' t call you Chris any more. Oh, come on, Christopher, what did I do? You take everything so serious- ly. Oh come back, come back. Christopher walked straight on. Vivien Law, Form V B ble mention in Canada Permanent Trust Student Writing Contest » COMMENT VOYEZ-VOUS LA NEIGE? L ' un voit la neige Qui descend et couvre la terre. II pense a sa voiture qui derape Sur la rue glissante, II pense a enlever la neige tout le matin, A etre eclabousse de la sale neige fondue. U y pense avec colere, parce que Cette froide ennemie a gate sa joumee. L ' autre voit la neige Qui descend et couvre la terre. II pense a la beaute de ces Feeriques merveilles, II pense au ski, et a la montagne, Et aux arbres blancs. II y pense, avec reconnaissance, parce que Cette belle enchanteresse a eclaire sa joumee. Nabiha Atallah Form V A LA NUIT FROIDE La pauvre dame courait sans arret, aussi vite qu ' elle le pouvait. II faisait froid, le vent soufflait dans les arbres, et on entendait un hibou quelque part dans le noir. File avait attendu longtemps cette nuit, qui etait enfin arrivee. C ' etait comme dans un reve. La rue etait obscure et les arbres etranges I ' effrayaient, mais elle continuait son chemin. Rien ne pouvait la retenir. Ses pieds etaient froids, et elle voulait des gants pour ses mains. Tout etait tranquille, mais de temps en temps, un autre brave paysan la depassait en courant sans dire un mot. Comme elle aurait voulu etre dans sa petite maison, si chaude, si confortable! Mais elle pensait au sens de cette nuit. Elle se hatait et son coeur battait de bonheur. File ne voulait pas arriver en retard au bassin. Elle etait proche et pouvait voir le grand bateau pres du bassin. Des voix, quelques-unes heureuses, d ' autres tristes, brisaient le calme de la nuit. De jeunes hommes embrass- aient leurs parents et amis qui etaient venus les attendre. Apres quelques heures, le bassin redevint silencieux. Tons etaient alles chez eux; tons excepte la pauvre dame qui avait froid. Son fils n ' etait pas revenu de la guerre. Lente- ment elle retourna a sa petite maison. Marie Anne Laforest Form VI A 27