Chicken Pesto Sandwich and Letting Go

by Amy

“Hungry?” Gamache opened the door to the old train station and held out the brown paper bag.

“Starving, merci.” Beauvoir almost ran over, and taking the bag he pulled out a thick sandwich of chicken, Brie and pesto. There was also a Coke and patisserie.”

Years ago, when I first started dating my husband, I gave him a picture book. It was written by a Brazilian author and educator: Rubem Alves. It told the story of a little girl and her beautiful multicolored bird. The bird traveled all over the world and, every time he came home, his plumage would have the colors of the last place he’d visited. He spent hours with the little girl telling her stories of the places he’d been and the people he’d met.

The little girl loved her bird and his fascinating stories and yearned for his return whenever he flew away. One day she had a brilliant idea. She decided to build him a lavish golden cage. It was the most beautiful cage in the world and she was excited for his return because she knew he’d be happy in that cage, and she would be happy because he would always be with her and tell her stories.

The bird came home. He saw the cage. He loved the little girl and didn’t want to disappoint her. He stepped into the cage and did his best to keep her company, but when he lost the freedom to fly, he also lost the source of his entertaining stories. Without his travels, his feathers lost their reflected colors and became gray and lifeless.

I’m not sure what my husband – who was then a 20 year old in his first real relationship – thought I was trying to tell him. He did tell me - a few years into the relationship - not to mourn if he died doing something he loved. He enjoyed some risky sports at the time. I laughed and said he couldn't tell me not to mourn. I would keep in mind that he'd died happy... and that might be of some comfort. He is a lot like the bird, I think… In our twenty years together I have never tried to put him in a cage. Although, unlike the bird, I doubt he’d meekly comply and willingly lock himself in.

This is not an anti-marriage or anti-fidelity manifesto. That’s not what the story is about. The story was written for parents and children, originally, and speaks of the impulse we have, when we love someone, to keep them sheltered and safe and as close to us as possible. As parents we want to shield our children. As spouses, our reflex is to want to protect our loved one. Isn’t that what Madame Gamache knows so well and Annie is beginning to understand?

“Inspector Beauvoir finished his lunch and went to direct the setup of the Incident Room. Agent Lacoste left to conduct interviews. A part of Gamache always hated to see his team members go off. He warned them time and again not to forget what they were doing, and who they were looking for. A killer.”

The Chief, like most everyone, is both protected and protector. Beauvoir is probably the one who most watches out for him; he’s almost a mother hen at times – although I doubt he’d appreciate the comparison. Gamache's protectiveness carries the weight of leadership as well. It’s not an easy burden at the best of times and, in Gamache’s case, when the dangers are quite real and can easily boil down to life and  death, it’s especially fearsome.

“The Chief Inspector had lost one agent, years ago, to a murderer. He was damned if he was going to lose another. But he couldn’t protect them all, all the time. Like Annie, he finally had to let them go.”

He not only couldn’t protect them all, all the time, usually he can’t really protect them at all. This paragraph is foreshadowing. It proves he’s always known it’s a Herculean task. It doesn’t mean he excuses himself from the responsibility. Nor does it mean he forgives himself for the loss.

I know how he feels. I can empathize, as a mother, with the desire to keep a child safe and sheltered and away from all harm. I understand the angst of being aware of the dangers in the world and knowing, with devastating certainty, that even if I were to be with my son every minute of every day, I would not be enough to shield him from the minor, much less the great perils of life.

I think we all can empathize.

“It was clear as Chief Inspector he had to consider everyone a suspect. But it was also clear he wasn’t happy about it.”

This phrase says a lot about Gamache's character. While he is undoubtedly aware of evil and danger, he doesn’t dwell in it. While he recognizes that everyone is a potential suspect, he would prefer to view them all as potential friends.

At first glance, his predicament is very different from our own. Unlike Gamache, we are not required to consider everyone a suspect… Are we? I was shaken to discover that his unhappiness in having to suspect his fellow man wasn’t as alien a feeling as I’d first thought.

Walking alone in the evening in my city, I tend to see men as threats before I’d consider them friendly. If I stop at a street light and someone walks towards my car, I not only keep my windows up and doors locked, I tend to avoid eye contact. We teach our children not to talk to strangers (although my own son hasn’t been as indoctrinated as I was as a child – I probably err on the side of the pendulum that assumes people are nice and not potential kidnappers). But still. It’s a sobering thought.

It is in this world, full of peril and evil and danger that we must be prepared to let our loved ones go. I think the only way to do this (and not lose my mind) is to acknowledge that while there are risks, there is much more wonder. It’s worth it.

Life was not meant to be lived within a safety bubble. Letting go may feel frightening at times but, like the bird in the story, we should not deprive those we love of the wonder that is in the world. Like Gamache, we can recognize danger, but choose not to dwell on it. We can dwell, instead, on grace and beauty and love and goodness and hope.

Three Pines is a beacon of hope (even if it does appear to have the highest rate of murder per capita in the fictional world). Louise Penny wrote books in which light pours in through the cracks, goodness prevails and characters find grace and hope and resilience in trying and horrendous situations.

May we all, like Gamache, let our loved ones go… even as we keep an eye on them and do our utmost to ensure their safety without caging them. And may we all remember that while there is danger and evil in this world, there is grace. And hope. And goodness. And love.

On the homepage of her website,  Louise Penny says just that. And I quote:

“My books are about terror. That brooding terror curled deep down inside us. But more than that, more than murder, more than all the rancid emotions and actions, my books are about goodness. And kindness. About choices. About friendship and belonging. And love. Enduring love. If you take only one thing away from any of my books I’d like it to be this:

Goodness exists.”

She’s right. And, reading her books, it isn’t hard to acquiesce to her request.