Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [225]
“Of course,” said Tocquet. “We’ve been requisitioned, for officers’ quarters.”
“Dispossessed, you mean,” Elise said darkly.
“An inconvenience less lasting, I note, than being burned to the ground,” Tocquet said.
“Wait,” Isabelle said, staring at the captain who stooped to whisper in Saint-Jean’s ear. “I know that officer—so do you.” She turned to Nanon and Elise. “Help me.”
Tocquet squinted under his hat brim. Yes, that captain did seem familiar—one of the lot that had infested them here before diplomacy with Toussaint had failed. Tocquet had kept clear of them for the most part, had not bothered to remember their names. The other women, even Zabeth, had closed around Isabelle. At first Tocquet did not grasp their purpose, but when the cluster opened he understood. Isabelle had been made over, insofar as circumstances allowed: her hair tidied, dust and soot brushed from her cheeks, a red hibiscus bloom tucked behind one ear. Kicking aside her broken shoes, she tripped barefoot across the grass beside the pool, carefree as a maiden coming home from a country outing.
“Captain Daspir,” she trilled. “Can it be you?”
Daspir was already trotting toward her, hat in his hand. Saint-Jean, forgotten on the steps behind him, ran down to join Paul and Caco, though one of the other officers stood up to watch him from across the gallery rail.
“Quelle surprise!” Daspir said. “Of course, I’d hoped to find you here. But how—”
“Oh, we have been fleeing the brigands for an age, it seems.” Isabelle flashed her brilliant smile. “For that, you find us in some disarray.” She lifted a fold of her stained skirt with one hand, then twirled out its stripes with a nimble pirouette. “And yourself, Captain?”
Daspir seemed mesmerized by the flirting fabric; it took him a moment to react. “Oh, I have just been sent from Gonaives this morning,” he said, turning from Isabelle to locate Saint-Jean. “The surveillance of Toussaint’s offspring appears to be my destiny. But—” He reached for her hand; Isabelle let him capture it. “You must be very weary from your travel—and all the hazards you have run.”
“God has preserved us,” Isabelle said, laying her free hand across her clavicle. “And my friends, whom you’ll remember, are thankful to regain their home. Though in the present situation, as I see . . .” She trailed off, looking at the officers on the gallery.
“Oh no.” Daspir pressed her hand more warmly. “No, not at all. We shall not discommode you for a moment longer. Saint-Jean is meant to go up to Le Cap tomorrow—we have the unfortunate necessity to hold him as a hostage—and as for the rest of us, never mind. Give us ten minutes and the house is yours.”
23
It pleased me that the blanc officers gave me that letterbox where Toussaint’s souvenirs had been hidden, though what use would I, Riau, have for such a thing? There was no one who sent Riau letters or trinkets of the kind that Toussaint saved. I never wanted the love of white women as some men did. I did not like the way they smelled or their thin, sharp lips and noses like the beaks of birds. Once I had some letters from white women that I found in the pockets of a blanc soldier who was dead. I kept those letters for a long time, and used to read them sometimes, but by the time I got the box those letters were gone. Merbillay wrote no one letters. She could not read or write her name.
Yet I took the box to an ébéniste and ordered the false bottom to be repaired. The woodworker was soon able to find the secret of the latch that let the bottom open or held it shut. I thought how Merbillay’s eyes would shine to see it open. Yoyo and Caco would like it too.
I could not think then, though, how I was going to get back to Ennery to see them again, because Ennery was one of Toussaint’s places, and now Riau was on the other side of the war from Toussaint.
So long as I was near Maillart, I did not feel so very uneasy about the place that I was in. Major Maillart had been in many battles with Riau and we respected each