Love, Anger, Madness_ A Haitian Trilogy - Marie Chauvet [19]
“If you buy it at the price of coffee, we’ll still be poor, Mister Long,” one peasant replies.
From the doors of their stores, the Syrians follow the scene, exchanging opinions in a language known only to them.
“This money will run through our fingers,” declares another peasant. “Let’s leave our trees standing, that’s all we have left. The vultures have come down on us, caw, caw, caw, and they want to pick the skin off our bones.”
A great burst of laughter shakes the crowd.
Calédu is getting riled up. The beggars roll voluptuously in the dust.
“Caw, caw, caw,” they repeat, doubling up with laughter.
Where do they find the strength to laugh?
“Think about it,” says the prefect. “Monsieur Long is bringing you business and if you don’t want it, you turn it down. No use getting worked up about it.”
“Break it up, break it up, go home and think it over,” the commandant orders.
He walks away, looking self-important, twirling his stick. Weapons hang from his belt. He’s a living arsenal. One hardly dares look his way. The beggars crawl backward, the peasants return home with heads low. Defeated in advance.
Now Calédu and M. Long stand in front of our gate. I hear them talk.
“Knock them over the head,” says M. Long. “You want our deal to fall through?”
“They’ll give in,” Calédu answers. “Hunger will make them see reason.”
The sun opens its hellmouth upon us. The sea brews its heavy, foaming waves.
I see Jean Luze come in. He has opened the collar of his shirt and walks past sponging his face. Sweat makes his brown hair stick to his forehead. Never has he been more handsome. “How are you?” he asks, and sits across from me in an armchair in the living room.
“It’s so hot!” he sighs. “It’s hilarious because, back in my country, I pictured this island differently. What came across in the books I read was some kind of paradise where no one could suffer or die.”
“You are disappointed.”
“It was always my dream to go off to a distant place. Besides, nothing was holding me back home. I came all the way here seeking riches and paradise. I eke out a living in the heart of hell. And yet, who can say this sky, this sea, is not beautiful, so full of the serene charm of this corner of the world. Something must have come and transformed this town into a hellish paradise.”
“Do you believe in curses?”
“No, I don’t believe in them. But it’s unsettling sometimes to feel the weight of an invisible evil hand. What was your life like before?”
“Me, well, you know …”
“Quit hiding behind one mask or another. Say what you think, Claire, learn to fight back. You are clearheaded, intelligent. You can’t call what’s happening here a punishment from God. You’ve already given this some thought and you’ve understood the problem. Admit it.”
“There’s nothing to understand. Times have changed, that’s all.”
“What was it like here before?”
“Different.”
I lower my head, dour as a buzzard.
“You’re a cagey one.”
The truth is painful to admit when it is humiliating. I would admit it to others, but not to him. It’s enough that he has witnessed our disgrace, our degradation. He leans over me, the dimple on his chin spreading as he smiles. The hair at his temples is turning gray. It’s adorable. I slowly lift my hand toward his hair. He is no longer looking at me. He’s indifferent. Without a word he walks to Félicia’s room, where she is waiting for him.
Annette’s Syrian boss gives her a ride home, yet again. She’s holding his hand and laughing too loudly. It’s false laughter, crazy laughter. She’s been losing weight before our very eyes. She and I are both living in a trance for fear that he will keep to his resolution. We live with the same scorn, the same worries, the same pain. Sometimes, I forget who I am and believe that I am the one Jean Luze is avoiding, the one he once held in his arms. I bridle at the thought that Annette will not fight to keep him. How could she have given up so easily? What is she afraid of? A man such as this should have inspired in her a taste for battle. I refine my ruse. I