On the family’s return from a day-long outing designed to allow Bébert to complete an odd job without interference, ‘Granny’s voice [could be heard] … from the front of the building. “Robbie. Come see what Bébert left for us.”
‘On the stone base of the flagpole sat a duck decoy. It was unpainted but perfectly proportioned. He had pieced it together from off-cuts. The life-size body was roughed in just enough for a convincing profile, yet the head and arching neck were carved in remarkable detail.
‘… Granny carried it to the water’s edge to set it afloat. It was flawlessly balanced. She watched it bobbing at her feet. “Look, dear. It’s astonishing.” My grandfather stepped over beside her.
‘“Yes, it is.” He paused for a sigh. “That Bébert knows how to be a happy man.”’
Providence Point, p. 108
Working alone to replace the rickety wooden steps beneath the kitchen doorway at the Point, Bébert had displayed his habitually excellent craftsmanship. Still, he had a cross to bear: the plague of insurmountable alcoholism. Whenever that sporadic affliction reached out for him, he was incapable of resisting. But in between times he shone as a master carpenter and an unsurpassed woodsman. He dearly loved his family even though Janine and the children had to make do with a father whose presence could never be predicted.
The world of Providence Point features shadows as well as sunlight. Attachment to such a milieu requires willingness to accommodate both. Perhaps you’ve discovered a passage that particularly struck you for its joyfulness or its melancholy. If so, why not leave a comment?
(Illustration generated by AI)
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