Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [63]
“The weather looks clear,” the doctor said aimlessly. “The storm has passed over completely.”
“What excellent news,” Pascal said, raising his eyebrows. “Then the warships can sail in upon the town with no impediment!—unless there should be firing from the forts. Have you heard the story of Fort Liberté?”
“In general terms,” the doctor said, glancing automatically at the cabinet door. As if on a signal, the door popped open and the port captain Sangros whipped through the antechamber and disappeared into the corridor without a backward glance. Christophe stood smoldering on the threshold of the inner room, but his expression softened slightly when the doctor stood to greet him.
“Doctor Hébert, I am glad to see you,” he said. “Please stay near me, if you will.”
The doctor bowed and straightened. Christophe left the cabinet door wide open as he returned to his desk. From where he stood the doctor could see every corner of the little room; it was plain that Christophe was the only occupant.
There would be no serious conversation in the anteroom while that door stood open. With a sigh, Pascal groped in his coat pocket and pulled out a box of small dominoes carved from bone. He and the doctor played, inattentively, for the better part of two hours. The bells of the church in the Place d’Armes were tolling midnight when an orderly came in to announce that Mayor Télémaque had arrived with a great many people who desired to see General Christophe.
The orderly went into the cabinet and at Christophe’s order shut the door behind him. An instant later he burst out again, as if pursued by hornets. Pascal took a deep breath and went in to Christophe. The doctor could just hear his voice murmuring, behind the door, which had been pushed to. Then Christophe shouting, “But I can do nothing for these people now!” Pascal’s murmur resumed, persistently.
The cabinet door was jerked inward and Christophe appeared in its frame, his chest swelling, lifting the decorations pinned to his coat, and then collapsing in a sigh. He pulled down his coattails, lowered his head, and marched in the direction of the ballroom. With the briefest of glances exchanged between them, Pascal and the doctor followed.
The petitioners were numerous enough to fill two-thirds of the ballroom. Most of the civil administration was there behind Télémaque, with the bankers, the merchants, and the factors of the port, along with a good many householders. Télémaque had prepared an address in writing, which among much other matter quoted Bonaparte’s proclamation of eternal liberty in full, and then presented an argument in favor of its probable sincerity . . .
Christophe heard him out, standing to face the assembly in a posture of parade rest. There were moments when it seemed he would make some movement to stop the flow of Télémaque’s discourse, but always he swallowed back whatever interruption he had meant to make, and let the mayor continue. The doctor stood behind him, near Pascal, among Christophe’s various aides and adjutants; he had the mildly uncomfortable feeling that he was on the wrong side of the room.
His sister stood with Isabelle Cigny, in the front row of the assembly. The faces of Arnaud and Bertrand Cigny were visible behind them. Isabelle was flanked by her two children. Robert, who would be twelve by now, looked sleepy and a little sullen, but Héloïse, younger by two or three years, was clearly frightened, though it was not likely that she understood what it was all about. And Elise was holding Mireille swaddled at her bosom—what freak of fancy had inspired her to bring the baby out tonight? Mireille began to squirm and mew; Isabelle took her easily from Elise and held her against her own shoulder, patting her back till she calmed. All the while Télémaque droned on, for more than half an hour, his voice cracking occasionally, then slowly recuperating its strength. At the end he recited a long list of signatories, looking around to identify those