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“I’m well in body,” said Clara. “But considerably rumpled up in spirit.” Reine-Marie laughed. Easily recognizing the lines from the Anne of Green Gables books she, her daughter, and now her granddaughters loved so much.
“After I’d said something especially patronizing to my first chief, he just looked at me and said, ‘Before speaking, Agent Gamache, you might want to ask yourself three questions.’”
As he spoke, the Chief Inspector raised a finger, counting the questions. “Is it true? Is it kind? Does it need to be said?”
“Civility,” Armand had said. “How can we expect it if we don’t give it? Besides, when we do get angry, people pay more attention. Otherwise it’s just white noise.” Is it true? Is it kind? Does it need to be said?
Why don’t they leave? Because they’ve been conditioned to believe it’s their fault. Because they’ve been isolated. They have no money and no support. Because they have a shred of hope or delusion. Because they actually love the guy. Because they’re stuck. Because they’re terrified. And for good reason. Because it’s all they know and all they think they deserve. Because they believe there’s nothing better out there. You can see it in her face. That dazed look. As telling as bruises.”
Riopelle de l’Isle.
A cheese made on a tiny Québec island, and named after one of her favorite artists. Jean-Paul Riopelle.
A self-fulfilling prophecy, thought Gamache. How often we made our worst fears come true, by behaving as though they already were.
“Meaning, does it exist?” “Does it matter? Isn’t the power in the belief and not the proof?” She looked at him, hard. “Wouldn’t you want to believe, Armand? If it had been Annie?” In the silence that followed, he met her eyes. “Clare, Clare,” she said, her voice shaky and her eyes steady, “do not despair. Between the bridge and the water, I was there.”
“You do know how much your review hurt Clara, don’t you?” “It was brutal,” said Olivier. “I was just telling the truth.” “All truth with malice in it,” said Ruth. “But it’s still the truth.” “Maybe,” said Reine-Marie. “But you need to also own the malice.”
Henri kept all he needed to know, all that really mattered, safe in his heart. Where there was not need of words. Except, maybe, good boy.
All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it.
“Clare, Clare, do not despair.” Gamache spoke the words slowly, deliberately, sending them out over the peaceful village below. “Between the bridge and the water, I was there.”
“It’s where I belong. We’re all handed a cup. This’s mine.” Lacoste stared at him. Seeing the ghosts in his eyes. The horrific decisions, the terrible orders conceived and carried out. The consequences of leadership. As long as Armand Gamache carried the burden, no one else had to. He was already shattered. The damage done. The cup to his lips.
