Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [431]
When had they come? But now Placide remembered that only yesterday he had seen Monpoint—he was now quite sure it had been Monpoint, though he was in civilian clothes and at some distance—commanding a work detail in the coffee trees of Sancey. And if some others in that konbitlooked familiar, that was because they had lately been his comrades in Toussaint’s honor guard.
They must have been filtering in for days, weeks even, now that Placide assembled his memories. Indeed, he didn’t know how he’d failed to put them together before. He’d been oblivious as Isaac. But the guardsmen were here, metamorphosed into field hands, or so disguised; if they were not precisely under arms, Placide was suddenly quite convinced that they must all have their arms as ready to hand as Guiaou and Guerrier had theirs.
The flush of that excitement stayed with him through the day. For an hour or two he rode with his father from one field to another, and in the afternoon he made further rounds on his own—for Toussaint was giving him more responsibility these last few weeks, as Placide gained competence in the management of coffee and cane fields, the mills and drying barns. Wherever he went Placide now recognized more and more of his old companions of the guard. Half-consciously adopting his father’s gesture, he’d cover his mouth with a hand whenever he met another one of them, to hide the smile of complicity.
At evening he felt calmer than usual at that hour, when often the chattering of his head would come to a disagreeable crescendo; he understood better now why some men tried to smash it down with rum. Instead of drinking, he walked into the fruit trees behind the Descahaux grand’case. Between that orchard and the house, some roses that Suzanne had planted had withered in the heat, but the hibiscus flowers were luxuriant and the scent of orange and lemon was strong and sweet. Among the citrus trees he came upon Guiaou as if by design; Guiaou took his hand and led him out of the far end of the grove onto a narrow trail where Guerrier, trailing his musket, fell into step behind them.
The way led down the hill to a low place where they crossed the stream at the bottom of the ravine on stepping stones. When they reached the other side, Guiaou asked Placide if he had his mouchwa têt with him, then indicated he should put it on. Once Placide had tightened the knot at the base of his head, it seemed that the buzzing in his brain was almost completely compressed away. Since the surrender he had forgotten how it had always been so, when he fastened the cloth around his head before a battle.
The trail wound over the contours of two more mornes, passing under cover of dense trees, then emerging on a rising slope above the coffee trees of Habitation Thibodet. Placide stopped and turned into the wind, looking down toward the grand’case, where Saint-Jean sometimes went, with Riau’s son Caco, to play with the white and colored children who lived there. Above the valley, the sky was fading into darkness, but toward the coast a great bloom of cloud was tinted by the setting sun, reminding Placide of the rainbow’s morning promise.
On the crown of the hill above them, a small red flag flew square from a long bamboo whip, within a palisade of crooked sticks. Guiaou and Guerrier led Placide through the gate. Inside, Riau was waiting with Bienvenu, and Quamba and the woman Placide knew as Caco’s mother, Merbillay. There were some others whom he did not recognize. His eyes were drawn to Merbillay, who was more finely dressed than usual and had her hair wound high in a red turban with shiny gold fringe, but he was not looking at her as a woman. She had the hieratic beauty of one of the stone carvings the Tainos had left in the caves underneath