Shadows on the Rock Read Free

face. He was so
terribly cross-eyed that Cécile had never really looked into his eyes at all, — this was why he was called Blinker. He took
a half-loaf from his coat-pocket and began to eat the soup eagerly, trying not to make a noise. Eating was difficult for
him, — he had once had an abscess in his lower jaw, it had suppurated, and pieces of the bone had come out. His face was
badly shrunken on that side, under the old scars. He knew it distressed Cécile if he gurgled his soup; so he struggled
between greed and caution, dipping his bread to make it easy chewing.
    This poor mis-shapen fellow worked next door, tended the oven fires for Nicholas Pigeon, the baker, so that the baker
could get his night’s sleep. His wages were the baker’s old clothes, two pairs of boots a year, a pint of red wine daily,
and all the bread he could eat. But he got no soup there, Madame Pigeon had too many children to feed.
    When he had finished his bowl and loaf, he rose and without saying anything took up two large wooden pails. One was full
of refuse from the day’s cooking, the other full of dish-water. These he carried down Mountain Hill, through the market
square to the edge of the shore, and there emptied them into the river. When he came back, he found a very small glass of
brandy waiting for him on the table.
    “Merci, Ma’m’selle, merci beaucoup,” he muttered. He sat down and sipped it slowly, watching Cécile arrange the kitchen
for the night. He lingered while the floor was swept, the last dish put in place on the shelves, the dish-towels hung to dry
on a wire above the stove, following all these operations intently with his crooked eyes. When she took up her candle, he
must go. He put down his glass, got up, and opened the back door, but his feet seemed nailed to the sill. He stood blinking
with that incredibly stupid air, blinking out of the side of his face, and Cécile could not be sure that he saw her or
anything else. He made a fumbling as if to button his coat, though there were no buttons on it.
    “Bon soir, Ma’m’selle,” he muttered.
    Since this happened every night, Cécile thought nothing of it. Her mother had begun to look out for Blinker a little
before she became so ill, and he was one of the cares the daughter had inherited. He had come out to the colony four years
ago, and like many others who came he had no trade. He was strong, but so ill-favoured that nobody wanted him about.
Neighbour Pigeon found he was faithful and dependable, and taught him to stoke the wood fire and tend the oven between
midnight and morning. Madame Auclair felt sorry for the poor fellow and got into the way of giving him his soup at night and
letting him do the heavy work, such as carrying in wood and water and taking away the garbage. She had always called Blinker
by his real name, Jules. He had a cave up in the rocky cliff behind the bakery, where he kept his chest, — he slept there in
mild weather. In winter he slept anywhere about the ovens that he could find room to lie down, and his clothes and woolly
red hair were usually white with ashes. Many people were afraid of him, felt that he must have crooked thoughts behind such
crooked eyes. But the Pigeons and Auclairs had got used to him and saw no harm in him. The baker said he could never
discover how the fellow made a living at home, or why he had come out to Canada. Many unserviceable men had come, to be
sure, but they were usually adventurers who disliked honest work, — wanted to fight the Iroquois or traffic in beaver-skins,
or live a free life hunting game in the woods. This Blinker had never had a gun in his hands. He had such a horror of the
forest that he would not even go into the near-by woods to help fell trees for firewood, and his fear of Indians was one of
the bywords of Mountain Hill. Pigeon used to tell his customers that if the Count went to chastise the Iroquois beyond
Cataraqui, Blinker would hide in his cave in Quebec. Blinker protested he had