Master of the Crossroads - Madison Smartt Bell [369]
The Rigaudins were sick of war and knew they could not win it. Much of their property had been ruined by the general’s scorched-earth tactic. When the content of Vincent’s missives became known, Rigaud’s last supporters fell away. The next time he rang the tocsin to summon his troops, next to no one responded to the alarm. Rigaud slipped out of Les Cayes by sea, meaning to make his way to France to plead his case. Shortly thereafter, Toussaint marched into Les Cayes without a battle and proclaimed a general amnesty for all the rebels who survived.
37
In dream he heard birdsong, and the purling of water; he was half asleep, half waking, turning on the bed. A harsh green voice spoke near his ear, Ba’m manjé, then after a moment, M’ap prié pou’w. The sound of the stream was a filament of dream that sought to draw him down again, but he shifted, opened his eyes with a start. For a moment he was unsure where he was. Paul stood at the end of the bed watching him soberly. The great green parrot, perched with its claws wrapped round the boy’s forearm, gave him the air of some tiny antique falconer.
“Ba’m manjé,” the parrot repeated. Give me food.
The doctor shook his head and pushed himself up against the headboard, rubbing the point of his beard with his thumb. He spread his arms, and as Paul came forward into his embrace, the parrot flopped down onto the floor. Tocquet had acquired the bird from a trapper in the mountains, complete with clipped wings and a few Creole phrases, to amuse the children—though Elise affected to detest this pet. The doctor inhaled the warm scent that rose from his son’s neck. Sophie hung in the doorway, dark curls flung across her face, putting her head into the room and then withdrawing it with a giggle. The doctor opened his right arm to invite her to him also, but she blushed and darted out into the hall. Paul followed. The parrot hopped across the board floor after the children.
Barefoot, his shirt hanging loose over his trousers, the doctor walked out onto the gallery with a yawn. Whatever he’d dreamed was lost to him now . . . Elise, already seated at the table, poured out a cup of coffee as he approached. A pack train of charcoal burners was just circling the pool toward the rear of the house, their ash-powdered donkeys bearing the fuel for the day. The doctor plucked a small banane-figue from the stalk in the center of the table and cut into the peel with his thumbnail.
Elise drew back slightly as the parrot lofted itself onto the table with a pump of its trimmed wings.
“Oh, the brute,” she said, exasperated. Her face was full and flush, for she was three months pregnant. The parrot twisted its head to the side, riveting one eye on the banana stalk, which Elise pulled away. The children pressed against the table, giggling.
“Ba’m manjé,” the parrot said, and Paul extended a scrap of sweet cassava bread.
“Child, your fingers,” Elise hissed at him. But the parrot accepted the bread quite decorously as Paul snatched back his hand. He and Sophie collapsed together, round-eyed.
“What was Xavier thinking?” Elise complained. “To introduce this creature to my house. Look. That beak is like a razor. And with a child to come.”
“M’ap prié pou’w,” the parrot said, having finished the morsel of cassava. I will pray for you.
“After all, it is very devout,” the doctor said, “especially for a parrot.” He drained his cup and reached for the pot. “Most other parrots I have known have no such refinement—their conversation would be quite unsuitable for children.”
“Oh,” said Elise, withdrawing the banana stalk onto her lap as the parrot sidestepped toward it. “You may have the benefit of that thing’s prayers all the way to Vallière. And leave it in the jungle if you like. Xavier,” she said, for Tocquet was just then mounting the gallery steps. “Would