The Water of Life

1. Elizabeth, Lighthouse PointBetter to die before Lighthouse Point does. This thought, making its way through her anguished mind, surprises her. The sky is already darkening, even though it’s only early afternoon on this November day. Elizabeth Legrand, steering her pleasure boat under the influence of a rough hangover, must choose between two paths. Open water, or a channel leading to Lighthouse Point and running behind the large rock dominated by a whitewashed lighthouse. No longer hesitating, she points the bow towards the open water and pushes the throttle to the limit. Her vessel begins to leap about on the waves, its course set for a destination unknown to Elizabeth. She’s heading into emptiness—into the heart of Georgian Bay and its latent, deceptively calm yet omnipresent strength. At any moment and without warning, this vast, rock-walled pot of water can start to foam like a saucepan of milk left on the stove for too long. Elizabeth means to go on until … When she nears the Tortoise Islands, she abruptly cuts the engine, abandoning her boat to the movement of the waves. The drifting craft approaches these islands, strung out across the mouth of the very channel where Elizabeth’s parents died one winter. She turns her back on the islands, gazing at the bay instead. Today’s overcast weather clouds the view, and so she can only imagine the distant Bruce Peninsula, normally visible from Lighthouse Point. At the peninsula’s tip lies Tobermory, a town that borrowed its name from a small, Scotch-producing fishing port on the Isle of Mull off Scotland’s west coast. She contemplates the bay before her: 1,350 square kilometres dotted by 30,000 islands and islets, and swept by waves that have swallowed two hundred ships—and twenty inhabitants of Lighthouse Point. Beneath the water’s surface, flotsam and jetsam, shipwreck debris and even fully intact bodies lie on the bottom of the bay, where the lack of oxygen slows their decomposition. “I’ll rejoin my mother, return to the waters that witnessed my birth.” This idea comforts Elizabeth. With a gesture of resignation, Elizabeth tosses the anchor overboard and watches the rope uncoil. Everyone will believe her motor broke down. Its carburettor has always been a capricious beast; her friend Ghisèle and the others have seen her battling the damn thing hundreds of times. Her resolve strengthening, Elizabeth is determined that the gloomy evening she just lived through will be her last. Still, it had got off to a good start. The entire population of Lighthouse Point village—thirty people—had gathered in the Bar au Baril to toast the departure of Sylvain, the last local single man aged under fifty. Following in the footsteps of the rest of the village’s youth, Sylvain is moving away to look for work—more specifically, to Toronto. As of this departure Elizabeth and Ghisèle, both a year shy of forty, now hold the title of youngest people in Lighthouse Point. This community, just like all the rest along the northeast coast of Georgian Bay, is slowly emptying because it can’t hold on to its sons and daughters—they abandon coastal life for the city, often against their own deepest wishes. For Elizabeth, last night’s party turned into a wake that pushed her to drink more than her fill. Mostly beer, since the small amount of Scotch on offer disappeared quickly. Ghisèle even had to drag her home and plop her down on the sofa. Whisky would never have floored her so badly. Lighthouse Point is slowly dying, and hopes for nothing more than a peaceful death. With little money to rely on, Elizabeth can’t afford to wait for this death any more than Sylvain and the others before him could. Nevertheless, she no longer has the strength to leave, at least not like that. Oh, she tried fifteen years ago. Living off next to nothing, she wandered across Canada, then through Europe. One day she found herself in Scotland, face to face with a truth she could no longer deny: for her, it was impossible to live anywhere else than at Lighthouse Point. And yet, though she’s happy enough to live alone in her parents’ house, today Elizabeth must confront another truth: she no longer has the means to go on living like this. In a month’s time the ice will freeze up all along the coast and … The motorboat is dragging its anchor along, and Elizabeth hears it scrape the bottom of the bay without catching. Listening to this sound, she thinks, Well, Louise will certainly be happy. The reefs are approaching rapidly now. She need only wait; this won’t take very long. Louise, her younger sister, will at last have the house all to herself, and … No! Not in this water. In the water of life instead. Elizabeth perks up her ears. Her whole body shudders with horror. She really heard that voice, a woman’s voice. But around her there’s nothing but grey water, waves battering the hull, and the wind mussing her long brown hair. In the water of life. “What water of life?” cries Elizabeth, feeling lost. Then, suddenly, she understands. How can this stranger possibly know what no one else does? She turns the key, and the motor responds with a growl that is immediately choked off. Elizabeth spits out a curse: the faked breakdown is now all too real. Panicking, she rushes towards the motor. Barely fifty metres separate her from the chain of islets where the waves are determined to take her. She fiddles with the anchor rope, desperately hoping to stop this fatal trajectory long enough to restart the motor. No rocks or crevices come to her aid, and so she turns to the motor, her last hope. Fighting to maintain her balance, Elizabeth pops off the motor’s cap, pulls a screwdriver from the toolbox, and tries to jam it into the throttle valve. But the tool falls and starts rolling around on the bottom of the boat. On all fours, Elizabeth grabs it and, distraught, tries to insert it once again. This time it stays in place, and she returns to the helm. “Come on, for Chrissake!” she mutters, turning the key. There’s a mechanical cough, then silence. Elizabeth looks grimly at the rocks about to crush her boat any minute now. Once she’s in the glacially cold water, her chances of surviving more than fifteen minutes will be zero. She tries the key again. The motor spits out steam then starts, at long last. Elizabeth pushes the throttle to carry her craft away from the reefs. Once out of danger, she hauls up the anchor. Hands still trembling, she heads for shore and the lighthouse. Elizabeth is now thoroughly determined to drink from the cup she’s never dared to bring to her lips. But she remains fearful that the water of life may let her down—yet again.