Love, Anger, Madness_ A Haitian Trilogy - Marie Chauvet [72]
I look after Félicia like a mother. I kneel down to make her drink her soup. I am at her feet …
I always thought that one would become generous if one became rich by chance, but I’ve learned that plain happiness can make you good as well. Everyone has his own idea of happiness. Suffering has made me modest, so for now I am content with life’s charity. I even tremble at the thought of getting too ambitious, for fear of spoiling everything. Félicia’s presence is so negligible that it doesn’t bother me. I treat her like a sick child. How could I be jealous of this wretch? I am Jean-Claude’s mother, really, just as I am Jean Luze’s wife. This idea brings me so much joy that I would like to share it. I would like to play the Beethoven concerto at full volume. I want to set the house ablaze with music. Félicia impatiently asks me to lower the volume; the concerto annoys her. This brings me back to earth. She does exist. She is between us. Right now, she is listening to Gisèle Audier’s gossip. The woman chatters like a magpie.
“Me, my dear,” she says, “I am against all these women who disregard the prescribed laws of society and claim to be independent. Lately, it seems like anything goes, it’s disgusting. In the old days, it wasn’t like that. We’ve let our youth off the leash. They’ve become depraved. I would never name names but I know of very young girls who won’t say no to anything. You’ve probably found out by now what kind of life Jane Bavière leads. It’s appalling. She entertains men after nightfall. Many have been seen going there. Who are they? We don’t know that yet. No one has recognized them. They come at night and knock on her door. Eugénie Duclan saw them one evening. So has Madame Camuse. Maybe she invites the prefect, and the commandant. She won’t be able to keep her secret for long. The entire neighborhood is watching her. Oh! But we’ll learn their names soon enough! It’s just like what happened with the Grandupré girl. You know, I was the first to see that she was sneaking into Old Mathurin’s house, the old pervert. I told the whole neighborhood and Madame Grandupré beat Agnès until there was blood.”
My God! How I would like the right to slap her to make her keep her mouth shut! And how mean they are, despite everything that’s happened …
It was barely five in the morning and Jean-Claude woke earlier than usual and was crying in his crib, when there was a knock at my door.
I opened up and Jean Luze came in.
“Why is he crying?” he asked me. “Is he sick?”
“Our little gentleman has probably soiled himself and wants to be changed.”
He leaned over the crib at the same moment I did and our heads touched.
He smiled and lifted his face to look at me.
“Settle down your son,” he said.
“My son!”
My emphasis must have struck him because he quickly straightened.
“Isn’t he? Claire, isn’t he?”
He must have been affected by my loosened hair, the neckline of my dressing gown revealing my cleavage, because he exclaimed as if he were seeing me for the first time:
“You look awfully good like this!”
I was busy changing Jean-Claude.
“You look awfully good like this!” he repeated. “You must have been a splendid girl, and I wonder why you didn’t make a life for yourself. Dr. Audier mentioned those complexes, but I’m still skeptical. Perhaps you were disappointed in love. It’s none of my business,” he went on despite my silence, “but I think you have everything it takes to make a man happy. Claire! Are you listening to me?” He took Jean-Claude in his arms and fell on my bed:
“That godmother of yours, she never answers your question,” he added. “That’s how she discourages nosy people.”
Barefoot, in pajamas and on my bed,