The Golden Beliveau

by Katie McN <katie@katie-mcn.com>

Note: This story contains no sex and was included so all the
stories fromthis series would be in one place.

My name is Claudette du Nord. I'm 14 years old so of course I 
know everything including a secret I'm going to tell my best 
friend, Katie Richardson, as soon as she wakes up.

Most Canadians never wander far from home. It hardly makes sense 
to hook up the dog sled and travel a great distance when one 
tree pretty much looks like another. I was lucky. I was selected 
to be an exchange student and allowed to attend middle school in 
Big Spring, Texas, where I was exposed to all America had to 
offer. The best part was meeting Katie R. She's the most 
beautiful teen girl in all of Texas which is saying a lot 
because Texas is the home of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. 
Katie R helped me dress like an American, introduced me to all 
her friends and made me feel right at home. Best of all, I 
switched my school major from math and science to cheerleading 
and cosmetology. 

Now it was my turn to be the hostess. 

My mom and dad said I could invite Katie R to stay at our 
palatial mansion during Spring Break. Our home is at the top of 
Mount Trudough and it has a wonderful view of the Timmins, 
Ontario metroplex. Even though he's French-Canadian, my daddy is 
a very successful business person. He owns several strip mines, 
a couple of rendering plants and a major brewery. I was known 
around town as the pretty rich girl which is sort of 
embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as being known as the ugly 
poor kid.

"Morning, Katie R. Did you sleep okay?" I was worried. We'd been 
home for three days and had visited most of the main tourist 
attractions. So far Katie R seemed bored. "Ready for another big 
day?"

"I guess so," she said. "Do I have to wear those stupid clothes 
again?"

"You look very cute dressed like a Canadian girl. You need to 
develop a fashion sense."

French-Canadian girls are expected to be modest. It's not 
unusual to see a group of teen girls dressed in flannel shirts, 
bib overalls and knee-high swampers. I wanted Katie R to fit in 
and was getting a bit miffed with her disdain for my stylish 
wardrobe selections. 

I was glad when she changed the subject. "What smells? Something 
die in the kitchen?" 

"No, silly. I know you like health food so I had cook fix us a 
special breakfast. She calls it her 3 B Special."

"What the heck are you talking about? 3 B what?"

"3 B Special. Back bacon, beaver tail and butter tarts. You'll 
love it." My mouth was watering. Cook learned her skills in the 
Northern Territories and no one could cook beaver tail better 
than her. "She's also whipped up a batch of poutine with timber 
wolf gravy. I'll get us a couple of Moosehead beers to help wash 
down the goodies."

"Sounds interesting, Claudette. Why don't we start with the 
beer."

What a disappointment. I thought a holiday meal would cheer her 
up. I decided I better tell her my secret. "We're going to do 
something very special today."

My friend's mood didn't change much. She seemed to be holding 
back a yawn and said, "I hope we're not going to visit another 
strip mine."

"Quit complaining about our Canadian national treasures, Katie 
R. Cook might hear you."

"I wasn't complaining. I mean who would of thought to build a 
lumber mill in the middle of the downtown business district?"

"Yes, we're proud to be Canadians and not afraid to show off." I 
restrained myself and didn't sing the first stanza of O Canada 
even when I felt the words on the tip of my tongue. "You're in 
for a big surprise and that's all I'm going to say."

***

We started our pilgrimage an hour after breakfast. Americans 
pride themselves on not knowing anything about foreign 
countries. I heard Katie R's daddy once say that if God wanted 
us to do all that foreign crap, he would have put it in the 
States and not wasted it on foreigners. I had no idea what he 
meant, but liked finding out he was a religious person.

Every Canadian is expected to make a pilgrimage to the holy city 
of Schumacher at least once in his or her lifetime. I decided it 
would be wonderful to share the experience with my best friend. 
About an hour after breakfast, Katie and I joined the many 
pilgrims who were walking the yellow brick highway to the Shrine 
of the Golden Beliveau. 

We'd made excellent progress. We already passed the beautiful 
Super 8 Motel and were waiting for a street light to change at 
the corner of Porcupine Boulevard and Fifth Avenue. The journey 
had been uneventful until a strange man stepped out of the 
shadows.

"Do you want a fig newton little girl?" He was wearing a wool 
cap with the ear muffs pulled down. I doubt his purple raincoat 
was ever considered stylish and he seemed to lack a basic 
understanding about personal hygiene.

"Thanks for your kind offer, sir, but my parents don't allow me 
to speak with strangers." I really wanted the tasty snack, but 
breeding always tells.

"You don't gotta talk, just put your hand in my coat pocket and 
grab on to what you find in there."

I took Katie R by the arm and marched the two of us across the 
street. "Let that be a lesson for you, Katie R. Never trust a 
geek bearing fig newtons."

"Yah, I'll be sure to remember it, Claudette. What's for 
lunch?"

I realized that we'd been on our trek for quite awhile and a 
light lunch seemed like a good idea. I noticed a coffee shop and 
decided we might as well stop and get a bite. 

I ordered a selection of croustades to nibble on while we 
studied the menu. I decided to have the truffle soup Elysée, but 
felt it might be too rich for Katie R and ordered a simple 
bouillabaisse for her. I felt we needed something to clear our 
pallets before the main course and ordered a goat cheese and 
apple salad. The mushrooms in snail butter was tempting and I 
asked our server to bring us a small order on the side.

Our main course was delightful. The chef prepared pochouse with 
scallops in champagne sauce. The plate was balanced with some 
magrets de canard and shrimp quenelles. I decided a bottle of 
wine would hit the spot. I was torn between a Chassagne-
Montrachet and a Joseph Drouhin, but decided to get a special 
import to help Katie R feel at home.

I'm sure our server was impressed when I said, "Bring us a 
bottle of Thunderbird, please, and make sure it's fresh."

I was watching my weight and decided a low calorie dessert would 
be best. We had pear tart with frangipane filling and a small 
slice of butterscotch pie. We each had a split of champagne with 
dessert followed by a coffee and B & B.

"Let's get started, Katie R. It's a long way to the golden 
Beliveau."

"The golden what?"

"Beliveau is the only word that has precisely the same meaning 
in both French and English." Every school child in Canada knows 
the story, but I decided it would be better to let her see for 
herself instead of trying to explain the meaning of the word. 
"We're getting close to the Shrine. Please, try to show some 
restraint."

"Who do you think you're fooling, Claudette? This ain't no 
shrine, it's a damn hockey rink. Whose playing?"

"The ceremony will be performed by our beloved Montreal 
Canadiens and the hapless Toronto Maple Leafs if you must know."

"Hey, ain't hockey the national sport of Canada?"

"Certainly not. Lacrosse is our national game, hockey is our 
religion."

The crowd was already pushing into the shrine. We had reserved 
seats in the first row near the Canadiens' bench. I usually try 
to speak no ill, but made an exception when I explained why 
people in Timmins had such a low regard for the Leafs. I 
suspected her Texas enthusiasm would stand her in good stead 
when the teams took their places on the ice. I wasn't wrong and 
I'm sure many people were surprised to hear such language from a 
girl her age.

"Hey, it's kind of nice that kids can buy beer and wine under 
age." Katie had already pounded down a six pack of Labatt's Blue 
and was signaling a vendor to bring her a couple more. She made 
new friends when she screamed out to the Toronto goal keeper 
that he couldn't stop a slap shot from his own grand-mother and then 
threw one of her empty beer bottles at the goalie. 

"Beer and wine are not considered alcoholic drinks in Canada so 
there's no reason to check identification." I decided not to 
explain that French people considered wine to be one of the 
major food groups and English people thought beer to be part of 
a health regime. It took our most famous Prime Minister Wilfrid 
Laurier to decide that the 20th century belonged to Canada and 
every citizen should drink as much beer and wine as possible. 
We've never looked back. "Get me a couple of bottles while 
you're at it, please."

The game was fairly routine with the Canadiens up by two goals 
at the half. I still hadn't told Katie about the special half-
time activities and couldn't wait to see the look on her face 
when they got started.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to present our half-time master 
of ceremonies, Ed McMahon."

We watched the big man skate around the rink at high speed. He 
finished his run with a triple Salchow followed by a double Lutz 
and then he slid toward the Montreal bench and sprayed the 
players with ice. The crowd went crazy and let out a big cheer.

"Hey, Claudette, what's Ed McMahon doing here?"

"He's the master of ceremonies," I said. "You don't think he can 
make a living addressing envelopes do you?"

Ed is much beloved in Canada. He looked quite snappy in his 
latex skating togs and red knit cap. He had done so much for 
Canada that his picture was displayed in almost every school 
room in the country. The crowd went silent as the big man took 
the microphone and got ready to speak.

He started with an emotional monologue and I could feel my heart 
thumping in my chest. I usually control my emotions, but he was 
as powerful as Avril Levigne singing a medley of her greatest 
hits. Most people are familiar with Ed so I won't try to explain 
how he managed to bring the crowd to its feet. 

When the audience finally quieted, Ed said, "Ladies and 
gentlemen, I'm proud to introduce Wayne Gretzky who'll be 
helping with our half-time ceremony."

I almost passed out. Wayne Gretzky is our greatest national 
sports treasure and to have him perform at the ceremony made the 
day the most wonderful of my life. I didn't think there was 
anything that could top seeing Wayne in person, but I found out 
I was wrong."

After slapping Wayne on the back and telling a few more jokes, 
Ed made another announcement. "I'd also like to introduce Katie 
Richardson who'll assist Wayne with the ceremony."

I looked to my left and saw an empty seat and then I noticed a 
Zamboni machine take the ice. A tall blonde girl was standing 
next to the driver. She was waving at the crowd and holding 
something under her arm. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't 
seeing things and then wondered how Katie R got selected to be 
part of  the event. I knew there was going to be trouble. She 
was holding the Stanley Cup and she didn't seem to realize it 
was the second most sacred object in Canada. 

The Zamboni pulled up in front of the Canadiens net and Gretsky 
took his place at the blue line. Eight bearers skated up to 
where Wayne stood. They were holding the Arc of the Covenant and 
the crowd knew it wouldn't be long before they saw the golden 
Beliveau. One of the referees reached inside the Covenant and 
removed the golden object. He carefully placed it on the blue 
line near where Wayne was standing. The crowd went silent. 
Anticipation filled the air. Wayne made ready to hit a slap shot 
that would send the Beliveau flying. If he landed it in the 
Stanley Cup we'd only have another twenty-six weeks of winter 
and no more than fifteen or twenty feet of snow before summer 
arrived. If he missed, we would be in trouble. He brought his 
stick back and then made a smooth forward motion that told me he 
would once again save the day for Canada.

"That girl looks like an American." Someone in the crowd noticed 
that Katie R didn't look a thing like a Canadian flower of 
womanhood even in her traditional Canadian garb. I'm not sure if 
her touching the Cup was a sacrilege, but there were those in 
the audience who wouldn't appreciate American participation in 
the sacred ceremony. Wayne must have been startled by the news 
and instead of flying the Beliveau into the Cup, it hit Katie R 
in the head and knocked her off her perch. When the Zamboni 
driver heard the Cup crash on the ice, he panicked and decided 
to drive his vehicle away from the action. Somehow the Stanley 
Cup got sucked into the ice smoothing device and was torn to 
shreds. The crowd looked at the scene in stunned disbelief. I 
knew it wouldn't be long before they reacted so I ran on the ice 
and carried my unconscious friend to safety.

We were hiding in the parking lot and so far no one had noticed 
us. I could hear the sounds of the crowd as they ran amuck 
inside the building. I could also hear the screams of the 
Zamboni driver who no doubt paid for his indiscretions by having 
a boot forced into a certain part of his anatomy. Katie R was 
starting to come around and when she looked at me I said, "I'm 
so relived, there's a spark of magic in your eyes and I can see 
you're going to be okay."

"What the heck are you talking about, Claudette? The magic is 
all about my eye turning black and blue from getting hit by a 
hockey puck." I decided I had to do something so my parents 
wouldn't find out what happened. 

I had an idea.

Most people who see Celine Dion in concert think there's 
something wrong with her. It turns out that she's a witch and 
is casting spells on her fans so they won't realize she keeps 
singing the same song over and over again. I decided if I asked 
her real nice in French, she'd cast a spell on Katie R and fix 
her injuries.

***

Most Canadian celebrities live in Timmins to include our 
national singing treasure Celine Dion. I dragged Katie R over to 
Celine's house and knocked on the front door. The maid answered 
and when I said some secret things in French, me and the body 
were invited in to meet Celine.

"Le crayon est sur la table." Celine said a lot more in the 
mother language until I asked her to switch to English in honor 
of Katie R. Celine was lounging in a hot tub and didn't notice 
Katie R's body on the floor. She peeked over the side of the tub 
and said, "She must be an American. Those people just can't hold 
their liquor."

I asked Celine if she'd use her magic witch powers to revive 
Katie R and maybe fix her black eye. I was in luck. Celine 
mumbled a few incantations and then had me throw Katie into the 
hot tub.

"This stuff taste like crap." As soon as she was submerged in 
the green pool, Katie R regained consciousness. She didn't seem 
to like the hot tub. "Lime Kool-Aid? No one in America drinks 
this stuff. What's wrong with you people?"

***

It only took two or three weeks before the green tinge on 
Katie's skin faded away. My parents always thought Americans 
were eccentric so telling them Katie dyed her skin green for St. 
Patrick's Day was all the explanation they needed to hear.  

"I hope you're still not mad at me Katie R."

"Why would I be mad at you, sweetie? We had a good time in 
Canada and a person can't expect to bake a pie without cracking 
a few nuts." Katie R often quoted famous Texas philosophers. I 
pretended to know what she was talking about so she wouldn't 
realize how little we learned in Canadian schools. "Besides, I 
have a present for you."

She handed me a beautifully wrapped package topped by a big red 
bow. I love presents and mushy notes are even better. A tear 
came to my eye when I read, "Dear Claudette, You're my best 
friend. I brought something back from Canada to show you how 
much I love you. Your best friend, Katie R."

I almost fell off my chair when I opened the package and saw 
what it contained. "It's the golden Beliveau. Katie R, we're 
going to get into a lot of trouble."

"No way, it's only a hockey puck covered in yellow paint." Katie 
R never worried about things, but I wasn't so sure. 

"Not every country is rich like the United States." Americans 
seem to think all the people living in other countries were rich 
and liked Hawaiian shirts just as much as they did. "A Canadian 
dollar is only worth about two cents American so we have to cut 
corners where we can."

I explained that a gold hockey puck would cost a bunch of money 
and even if Canada was able to come up with enough cash to buy 
one, a lot of sticks would get broken trying to hit it and we'd 
go bankrupt replacing equipment. She seemed to understand.

"By the way, Claudette, if Beliveau isn't a French word what the 
heck does it mean?"

"Jean Beliveau is only the greatest hockey player of all time." 
I couldn't imagine that I'd have to tell anyone the story. "He 
led Montreal to ten Stanley Cup victories and won all kinds of 
awards. We've got to give it back, Katie R."

"Don't be silly, they're not looking for it."

"What do you mean, not looking for it? It's the most sacred 
Canadian relic ever."

"It's been two weeks since the Stanley Cup was destroyed and the 
Beliveau went missing. Have you heard anything about it in the 
news? Nope and there's a good reason."

I'm so naive. 

Katie R explained that no one would know if duplicates were made 
of the Cup and the Beliveau and she was right. Fake icons of 
Canadian culture replaced the real thing and no one was any the 
wiser. 

"I feel betrayed, Katie R. How could this happen?"

"Oh, baby, I should have known you'd take it hard. Tell you 
what, I have another present that I was going to give you on 
your birthday, but you can have it now."

I almost went into shock when I opened the second package. 
Katie's dad found out where the duplicate Stanley Cup was made 
and bribed someone to make a second copy. Now I had my own 
Stanley Cup.

"I've got to hide my icons, Katie R. What if someone finds out 
I've got them?"

"The only way you could get in trouble is if the Canadian 
government wants to admit what they did. No chance that's going 
to happen." 

I was the happiest Canadian girl in Texas. I had my own Stanley 
Cup and golden Beliveau and I could play with them anytime I got 
bored.

The End

Tel me what you think of my story:

Katie@katie-mcn.com

check out my wegbsite for other stories

www.katie-mcn.com
