Love, Anger, Madness_ A Haitian Trilogy - Marie Chauvet [29]
Many guests, Corrine Laplanche among them, were already in the living room when Annette made her entrance in a blue dress that revealed her shoulders down to her back.
In my opinion Corrine Laplanche is as distinguished as any society lady. Pretty in a tasteful, long-sleeved dress of white crêpe, she leaned toward me to say:
“I am Corrine Laplanche, Élina Jean-François’ daughter. My mother often spoke of you. You were schoolmates, I think.”
I shook her hand with a smile.
“Who is that?” Mme Camuse asked me while teasing the pleat of her black taffeta blouse.
“The daughter of a schoolmate: Élina Jean-François.”
“Jean-François! I once knew a blind man of that name who delivered our poultry and pigs. Is that the same family?”
“Yes.”
“Oh that Annette! Unbelievable! I suppose one can either give in or stay home. Cattle breeders and rastaquouères12 in our living rooms! Now I’ve seen it all …”
The remark conjured up an Annette I’d never before imagined, a brave rock-slinger leaping over the barricades with the agility of youth.
This is what I thought as I looked at them: Mme Audier, Mme Camuse, Eugénie Duclan were gathered near the table to better stuff themselves with cakes. Augustine, white apron around her plaid dress, came and went among the guests, eyes lowered, anonymous and ageless. The young people chatted and danced, the girls in long dresses, the men in dark suits with roses in the buttonholes. Calédu stood out in his khaki uniform. Where was he concealing his weapons? In my little corner I felt frightfully old and out of fashion, and I tried with terrible force of will to forget myself and identify myself wholly with Annette. I saw her offering her cheeks for friends to kiss, receiving presents, drinking Rum Russians. She was only doing it for him. This was exactly what I wanted from her. He sat beside Félicia on the sofa smoking. She was rapt, immersed in his affection. The harmony of their life together was there for all to see. Would they prevail? After her third rum, Annette danced with the son of the prefect, a handsome and rather elegant dandy who plastered his black cheek onto hers. With this she began flirting in a way that appeared to leave Jean Luze completely indifferent. She then danced several times with Calédu. I was astonished to see him execute the latest merengues quite gracefully I think he searched me out in the crowd, just before he approached.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Clamont?”
Why Miss? Has he really become so Americanized since keeping company with M. Long?
“Thank you, but I don’t like to dance,” I answered coldly.
“With me, you will.”
And, wrapping an authoritative arm around me, he twirled me until I was dizzy. His hands seemed to possess such prodigious strength that I felt like my whole body was locked in a vise. I tried to free myself. He tightened his grip. Our two bodies intertwined and seethed with hatred. Suddenly I stopped short and his feet awkwardly caught mine. I tore my hand from his.
“Tired?” he asked to save face.
But the look in his eyes belied the worldly smile playing on his lips, and I understood that only then had he realized the extent of my hatred for him.
“I have heard, Miss Clamont,” he whispered wickedly, “that in the old days a bloody incident took place up there on your land, on Lion Mountain. So it seems you and I both have killing on our conscience. Mine doesn’t bother me much. Does yours?”
Once again, he danced with Annette. Keeping his eyes on me, mouth against her ear, he whispered words I could not hear and the ninny listened smiling. He then danced with all of our guests, pretty and ugly alike. He seemed to pride himself on his uniform, on his position of authority, which easily opened doors no matter how tightly sealed. The worldly executioner in full! His murderer’s hands wrapped themselves around ladies’ waists, shook the hands of others. We were humoring him, hoping