Love, Anger, Madness_ A Haitian Trilogy - Marie Chauvet [56]
“If President Sam agrees to this contract with the United States, then all is lost,” Dr. Audier prophesied. “France and Germany will demand an equal share. Clamont is right, they will have the skin off our backs. It’s time he be put in charge.”
My father, despite his many disappointments, sacrificed two more bags of money in vain. A rumor went round that he was conspiring against the government, and one evening Augustine came to tell him that a man was asking to see him.
“What’s his name?” my father asked.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Is he well dressed?”
“No, sir.”
“Is he a beggar?”
“No, sir, but he is dark-skinned.”
Leaving Dr. Audier, M. Camuse, Laurent and my friends’ fathers in the living room, my father went down. He opened the door to the dining room and found himself in the presence of a black man of great physical stature, neatly dressed, with a straw hat that he quickly took off his head.
“I am Horelle Jean-François,” the man said to him in French. “Your oldest daughter knew my Élina at the school of the Holy Sisters.”
“I had no idea,” my father replied.
“Monsieur Clamont, be careful,” the man continued. “You have been denounced as a conspirator and the district commandant is keeping an eye on you. I came to warn you because I am also a supporter of yours.”
“Thank you, Jean-François,” my father answered. “I will take precautions.”
“I will bring you many followers. We must stand up against American interference in the nation’s private affairs.”
Élina was standing behind her father. I saw him reach out and grope for her.
“I am blind,” he explained.
“Ah,” my father grunted. “Would you like a chair?”
“No, Monsieur Clamont, thank you, I have to go. I’ll come back another time.”
“Jean-François,” my father then said, “if it’s all right, I would like to meet with you and your friends at Lion Mountain.”
“That’s fine, Monsieur Clamont, then I will come back here without them. Only my daughter will come with me.”
“No, no, don’t trouble yourself, I know your house, I will come to you myself.”
“That’s fine, Monsieur.”
He closed the door and then, noticing me:
“You, I always find you on my heels,” he said to me, as if he were ashamed of himself. “Is it true you knew this girl at the Sisters’?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Did she finish school?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Very well, very well, go inside and help your mother. There’s a lot to do today. Our guests will be here at eight.”
Indeed at that time the ship’s officers arrived in dress uniform. The table was adorned with food and wine, taking on the elaborate and well-appointed look of a Roman feast. The new glassware spread out on the ecru lace tablecloth began to fill with champagne and wine. Georges Soubiran sat at the piano and launched into a waltz by Chopin, and couples began to dance. Frilly dresses whirling in the lamplight! Hairdos embellished with pearls and diamonds! Bare necks almost as white as the pearls arrayed on them. Busts delicately pressing against taffeta ribbons that fell in butterfly wings down the back! Black pants, frock coats and audaciously twisted mustaches! Masculine hair, blond and black, gleaming with fragrant pomade! Elegant movements of the hands and feet! Clever cunning glances! Arched waists and elegant bows! And the flowing champagne helped me and my friends overcome our shyness. The trembling fingers we rested delicately on the arms of our dancing partners betrayed us, and I remember my teeth chattering in front of the handsome French officer who bowed before me.
“You are very original, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking me in his arms.
I lowered my head and didn’t respond.
“Could it be because the atmosphere of this Haitian salon this evening reminds me of Paris that I find you so alluring? Only you possess that warm color that island people have. You must believe me when I say that, for us, you are like a black