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And turning to Jean Luze:

“My dear sir, would it be indiscreet to ask you how you like it here?”

“My work keeps me here, Madame,” he replied coldly.

“You see, I was just going to say,” she adds with some uncertainty. “Choosing this Haitian province wasn’t the right thing for a man like you. How did you end up here, I wonder?”

“I go where work calls me, Madame. Unfortunately, I don’t have an estate.”

“Bah!” Mme Camuse says softly with her usual eloquent little toss of the head, “but nevertheless you’ve managed to find happiness here.”

“Yes,” Jean Luze answers, again without looking at Félicia, “that’s true.”

“The Europeans adore us. I’ve heard that back in colonial times, Frenchmen deserted their wives for the beautiful mulatto girls,” Mme Camuse recounts. “I, for one, am a direct descendant of noble French colonials of the name de Camuse. But what can you expect, time has rubbed away the full name as it rubs away everything else. All you can do is adapt to the new and minimize the damage. Hmm! …”

We were having coffee now. Father Paul, all red from too much food and drink, stroked his belly with a satisfied expression on his face and went so far as to accept a glass of anisette, declaring:

“We better ‘push’ that coffee, Monsieur Luze, we better.”

This loosened up the guests, who were tense because of his overly frank remarks, the prefect’s awkward rebuttal and Mme Camuse’s tactlessness.

We moved to the living room. Félicia decided to comment on the fact that Vera had not said a word during the meal and seemed rather shy.

“Our little girl? Well, she’s only fourteen,” Mme Trudor answered. “Who isn’t shy at that age?”

“One can be shy at any age,” Annette answered. “Take Claire, for example.”

“Don’t confuse shyness and reserve,” Jean Luze quickly added. “Claire is not talkative, that’s all.”

“Indeed, Claire has never liked to talk a lot,” Father Paul agreed.

Mme Camuse’s eyes went from Jean Luze to me.

“Her reserve may be the result of too strict an education,” she said. “I knew Monsieur and Madame Clamont, they were rather stern. Weren’t they, Claire?”

“Yes, indeed …”

“And there is something else,” Dr. Audier slipped in. “Psychological complexes, for example.”

“Complexes!” Jean Luze exclaimed.

“Can you imagine, my friend: for a long time Claire had a complex about not being her sisters’ equal, about not being as white and pink as a lily.”

I quicked turned in the direction of the Trudors. Fortunately, they were at the other end of the living room. I gave Dr. Audier a reproachful look and caught one Jean Luze was giving me. It was so strange and unsettling that I lost my composure and spilled anisette on my skirt.

“You dope!” he hissed at me later when we found ourselves alone. “You big dope, back then you must have been the most beautiful of the three Clamont sisters!”

Oh God, now look at him, just like Mme Camuse, talking about me in the past tense.

How mysterious a human being can seem to the very eyes spying on him. Even the secrets he tells you are at best partial revelations. How can you really know what’s going on inside Jean Luze?

Very reluctantly he agreed to give Annette away at the altar. On the other hand, he was quick to give her that gold bracelet she lusted for and he got two kisses on the cheeks for it. The house bubbles with effervescence. She is getting married tomorrow and the gifts keep flowing. The lace gown, courtesy of M. Trudor, which cost me an arm and a leg, is spread on an armchair in the living room, as is the veil adorned with orange blossoms.

“You’ve put on weight since the baby,” Annette says to Félicia. “You have to try to eat less.”

Jean Luze involuntarily looks at his wife. Does he realize the extent to which she’s lost her looks? Another washed-out white woman like all the others he has known. Annette looks at Félicia sternly, shakes her head, looks Jean Luze straight in the eye, and then walks off with an irresistible and provocative syncopation of her hips. Now there’s a Haitian girl who could tempt a saint. Despite her light golden skin, nothing about her could