Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [393]
At the foot of the nearest trail that climbed to Morne Calvaire, Maman Maig’ sat in the shadow of an overhanging boulder, behind a sagging, waist-high wooden gate. Half blinded by the glare of the sun, Isabelle could not make out the huge black woman’s expression in the shade, even when Maman Maig’ got up to her feet to address them.
“Sa ou vlé?” she said. Her tone was neutral, her face almost invisible in shadow. What do you want?
Elise said nothing, but gathered her hands at the waistband of her skirt.
“Sé sa. Renvoyé youn pitit,” Maman Maig’ said, in the same flat tone. You want to send away a child.
Elise simply dropped her head and let it hang.
“Ou mêt monté,” said Maman Maig’. You may come up.
She tugged the gate open and beckoned Elise through. A set of hand-hewn steps made a tight curve around the boulder toward the lakou above, and when Maman Maig’ moved, Isabelle saw Paulette rising from an upper step; the girl held out her hand to help Elise. For the first time it struck Isabelle as slightly sinister that they had fallen into this path to Morne Calvaire, rather than the higher way that passed the crosses and the church. But she pushed the thought down as she moved to follow. Maman Maig’ blocked her with a heavy arm.
“W’ap reté,” she said. You stay.
She pulled the gate shut behind her and turned away, her vast black body closing Isabelle’s view of the ascent.
For several minutes after Isabelle and Elise had disappeared from his view, the doctor remained in the portal of the hospital, gazing vacantly in the direction they had taken. His mind cranked in quick constricted circles. He ought to have stopped Elise, but how? The risk of abortion was not acceptable. The risk of bearing the child no more so. Tocquet’s reaction could in no way be predicted. At least Tocquet was for the moment away from the town. If Elise could also be got away—to Thibodet or somewhere more remote—but that was hardly possible now, and Tocquet was not the creature of habit Bertrand Cigny had been; there was nowhere on the island he could be guaranteed not to appear.
When he became aware of one of the women patiently waiting at his elbow, he made some half-audible apology to her and walked out through the gate. Two blocks down the hill he realized he had forgotten his hat, but it didn’t seem worth the effort to climb back for it. He shook out the blue handkerchief and tied it over his bald scalp to stop it blistering in the sun. Maillart fell into step with him as he crossed the Rue Espagnole.
“You look peculiar with that head rag,” he said, and then, when the doctor did not respond to this jocularity, “What’s the matter?”
The doctor didn’t seem to have heard that question either. They walked on. Maillart was sufficiently used to his friend’s impenetrable reveries, though this one seemed colored with unusual foreboding. They said no more till they met Isabelle coming the opposite way along the Rue du Gouvernement.
“Where is my sister?” the doctor blurted, seeing that she was alone.
“She has followed your suggestion,” Isabelle said. Her hands worked on the handle of her parasol. She looked over her shoulder toward the rise of Morne Calvaire.
“By herself?” the doctor said.
“Maman Maig’ turned me away. But she is not alone there. Paulette is with her.” Isabelle’s expression flickered. “Oh, the children —I think they have gone to the beach alone, on the road to Picolet—if they have defied what I told them. Paulette was meant to go along, but she did not.” She turned to retrace her steps, but the doctor caught her elbow.
“Wait,” he said. “You would do better to go home. You have already been too active in this heat, and the sun is at its height. We’ll see to the children and let you know afterward.”
“Oh,” said Isabelle, wilting a little. “I just now thought—Nanon is with them. I forgot she volunteered to go.”
“Nanon?” said the doctor. “So much