May 24 ; that day, in 1993, thus 14 years ago, this 2007mai24, André Cauchon, your daddy, died, at the corner of St-Jean (Qc, QC's main) and Richelieu, in front of The Hobbit café ; we were walking to his place, where he had invited me to crash, as bros do for eachother, when one gets into town, from elsewhere. He was one of the sweetest, cheerful hippy and daddy, I ever met; that's to say! Often in the St-Jean Baptiste Park, the ex-Cemetery, he'd continuously pick up any garbage he saw, dressed in his colorful, hippy outfits, and then put it away into a proper place... A sweet man ; not gay, that I know of, but assholes might have thought so, thus causing André's death; that's what another story says..
That night, we both hanged out at the Fourmi atomique, then, the cool bar in Qc; André, at the first floor, played pool all night ; I, in the basement, danced til closing time, thus 3h: of all people in the bar, I do know that we were the only two that neither had a drink, nor a sip of booze ; we visited eachother a few times. After 3, we went to the allnighter restaurant and after a light snack, we walked up St Jean street to his place ; within a block, two guys were following us, one of which was screaming insults and being aggressive directly towards us ; they were walking up to us with good speed; André seemed okay, and I felt somewhat agressed, but all seemed manageable, so far : then, suddenly and without warning, André started running as we approached Richelieu street and The Hobbit, but his legs were bending, with the knees lower at each step.
André got to the street corner pole and hanged from it with both hands, slowly melting towards the sidewalk; when he finally let go of the pole, he was in foetal position on his knees, face earthwards: I only had time to call André's name a couple of times, when the aggresive asshole got past André and in front of him, ordering him to get up; André is saying nothing, of course, and the, let's call him Marteau Débris, il se reconnaitra mais ne pourra me poursuivre, continues by asking André: "are you gonna get up, if I pull out a gun?", putting his hands to his back pocket, which André didn't and likely couldn't see, but which I sure did see: I jumped back into the Hobbit's door, only to realise it offered no protection against a bullet.
Then the guy, in front of André, who's in foetal position, looking down, swings his foot backwards and then kiks into André's head, touching him or not: I couldn't see from my angle; since he finally hadn't pulled a gun, I got out of the hobbit's door, rrreally rrraging, only to see a police car, parked only a few dozen feet from us: their ligths came on and they hurried to the incident and arrested Marteau right away, since they had seen him kik into André's head. Marteau had time to throw something into a dumpster; was it a gun, a knife, some dope: I don't think anything was found, nor that anyone really searched the dumpster: but maybe, I missed that part, since I was invited to the Cop Shop, as a witness of the incident, but André was just a poor hippy: Marteau's subsequent trial prooved it; what a parody!
I think I remember that one of the two cops, or maybe someone else who was going by, gave André artificial respiration and also pumped his heart; however, as we waited for the ambulance, there is a moment in time, when, oh so sadly, I saw André had left; indeed hospitals can do, and do, miracles, but they didn't that night: André was just a poor hippy. I forget how the cop introduced the subject, but I told him to shoot it out, plain: " your buddy's gone", « ton chum est parti », thus came out: my slight hopes thus faded to null. They kept me until the dic got to the station, by 7h or 8h, I forget. I described what hapenned and then went to the Youth Hostel, where I do know most of the staff: they thus gave me a bed for free, so that I may take some strength after that eventful night.
Then, a couple of days later, you, Samuel, and your mom, came to town from BC; I recall it was a Sunday; your mom insisted that I tell both of you exactly what happened; I had to chose my words, so that I would't hurt you, then such a young child; my eyes flow, as I write this line. As I spoke and you asked many questions, we sat down right on the sidewalk and your mom burned incence, after we hugged and wept; indeed the cops stopped their car, asked explanation, then left. This time, maybe to spare you, I retell you in English what happened to your daddy André Cauchon and I, that most sad night of 1993mai24; God bless you, if you ever read these lines, and also your mom and André: please, know that he's not forgotten!