W. is dreaming of the Canadian city, he says. He's dreaming of a different kind of urbanism.
The Canadian city is part of the wilderness, he says; it includes it. To be inside the Canadian city is also be inside the Canadian wilderness, W. says mystically. The Canadian city is only a fold of the wilderness, a way of answering it, of echoing it.
The Canadian city is full of space, W. says. Its boulevards remember the ice-plains, its skyscrapers the gleaming summits among the mountains. Its windows flash back the aurora borealis to the sky. And its night time darkness recalls the darkness of the thick pine forests that cover the land.
And it's full of time, W. says. Everyone has time. People – strangers – stop and talk to one another. The Canadians are a patient people, W. says. They're not to be rushed. That's where he learnt what patience was, W. says. That's where he learnt to take deep breaths and walk upright. – 'Even you! Even you might learn to take deep breaths and walk upright'.
And I might learn French, too, W. says. That's where he learnt his French, W. says. He grew up speaking French, Canadian French, the French of the Quebecois, he says. The French of the wilderness.
That's how you can calm a wilderness bear, W. says, by speaking to it in Quebecois French. That's how you might calm a wilderness wolf, speaking softly, calmly, in a language full of space and time …
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