The Hockey Sweater and Other Stories

The Hockey Sweater and Other Stories

Language: English

Pages: 160

ISBN: 0887840787

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The title story, about the Quebec boy who is shipped a Toronto Maple Leafs sweater by mistake, has become a Christmas favorite. Also included are nineteen other tales of a childhood in a Quebec village. The Hockey Sweater is now an award-winning National Film Board film. This is Roch Carrier at his best!


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arms were inside the sleeves. She pulled the sweater down and carefully smoothed all the creases in the abominable maple leaf on which, right in the middle of my chest, were written the words ‘Toronto Maple Leafs’. I wept. ‘I’ll never wear it.’ ‘Why not? This sweater fits you … like a glove.’ ‘Maurice Richard would never put it on his back.’ ‘You aren’t Maurice Richard. Anyway, it isn’t what’s on your back that counts, it’s what you’ve got inside your head.’ ‘You’ll never put it in my head

on mountains; I looked at the church steeples, the gravel roads, the green trees, the small rivers — and I was happy because no one would come and violate all this beauty as long as Duplessis was there to protect us. All the Nazis had most likely been put in prison; that was why we heard nothing more about them. But other bad people, very bad people had hypocritically used trickery to rise up and try to dominate the good people; they threatened the happiness of the good people. These were the

suits, with an accent that didn’t come from the Beauce. I couldn’t tell him I’d come to contemplate the enemy; I was trembling, but deep down I knew that I was brave. I dreamed up a lie: ‘We came for a suit.’ ‘Take whatever you want, for you today, half-price!’ My friend Lapin looked around, felt the cloth, compared the colours. (He didn’t want a suit.) ‘That one’, said the Jew with his strange accent, ‘you’d look real smart in it. I don’t sell schmattas here.’ The Jew handed him the

soon as he spotted it he would jump out of his carriage, seize the horse’s bridle and take a detour through the trees. When he’d passed the village he would get back on the road that led him to his fiancée. Grandmother, who had just betrayed a secret, laughed like a schoolgirl suddenly grown old during the joke. I felt myself becoming sad. Who, I wonder, could have planted such a great fear in the soul of a man who was so strong? The Sorcerer IN THE EVENING the bus came back from

in a space chewed out of the dense forest: a flock of children would burst out and come running to watch us pass. These children of all ages, barefoot, wore clothes too big for them, that looked to me like sacks. My father said: ‘The good Lord, he’s fair, but he didn’t make everybody rich.’ After giving me a few moments’ silence to think about this he added: ‘Duplessis hasn’t even given them electricity.’ For me, this meant that in the evening all the children would do their homework around

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