Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys [22]
‘But how can rivers and mountains and the sea be unreal?’
‘And how can millions of people, their houses and their streets be unreal?’
‘More easily,’ she said, ‘much more easily. Yes a big city must be like a dream.’
‘No, this is unreal and like a dream,’ I thought.
The long veranda was furnished with canvas chairs, two hammocks, and a wooden table on which stood a tripod telescope. Amélie brought out candles with glass shades but the night swallowed up the feeble light. There was a very strong scent of flowers – and the noise, subdued in the inner room, was deafening. ‘Crac-cracs,’ she explained, ‘they make a sound like their name, and crickets and frogs.’
I leaned on the railing and saw hundreds of fireflies – ‘Ah yes, fireflies in Jamaica, here they call a firefly La belle.’
A large moth, so large that I thought it was a bird, blundered into one of the candles, put it out and fell to the floor. ‘He’s a big fellow,’ I said.
‘Is it badly burned?’
‘More stunned than hurt.’
I took the beautiful creature up in my handkerchief and put it on the railing. For a moment it was still and by the dim candlelight I could see the soft brilliant colours, the intricate pattern on the wings. I shook the handkerchief gently and it flew away.
‘I hope that gat gentleman will be safe,’ I said.
‘He will come back if we don’t put the candles out. It’s light enough by the stars.’
Indeed the starlight was so bright that shadows of the veranda posts and the trees outside lay on the floor.
‘Now come for a walk,’ she said, ‘and I will tell you a story.’
We walked along the veranda to the steps which led to the lawn.
‘We used to come here to get away from the hot weather in June, July and August. I came three times with my Aunt Cora who is ill. That was after …’ She stopped and put her hand up to her head.
‘If this is a sad story, don’t tell it to me tonight.’
‘It is not sad,’ she said. ‘Only some things happen and are there for always even though you forget why or when. It was in that little bedroom.’
I looked where she was pointing but could only see the outline of a narrow bed and one or two chairs.
‘This night I can remember it was very hot. The window was shut but I asked Christophine to open it because the breeze comes from the hills at night. The land breeze. Not from the sea. It was so hot that m night chemise was sticking to me but I went to sleep all the same. And then suddenly I was awake. I saw two enormous rats, as big as cats, on the sill staring at me.’
‘I’m not astonished that you were frightened.’
‘But I was not frightened. That was the strange thing. I stared at them and they did not move. I could see myself in the looking-glass the other side of the room, in my white chemise with a frill round the neck, staring at those rats and the rats quite still, staring at me.’
‘Well, what happened?’
I turned over, pulled up the sheet and went to sleep instantly.
‘And is that the story?’
‘No, I woke up again suddenly like the first time and the rats were not there but I felt very frightened. I got out of bed quickly and ran on to the veranda. I lay down in this hammock. This one.’ She pointed to a flat hammock, a rope at each of the four corners.
‘There was full moon that night – and I watched it for a long time. There were no clouds chasing it, so it seemed to be standing still and it shone on me. Next morning Christophine was angry. She said that it was very bad to sleep in the moonlight when the moon is full.’
‘And did you tell her about the rats?’
‘No, I never told anyone till now. But I have never forgotten them.’
I wanted to say something reassuring but the scent of the river flowers was overpoweringly strong. I felt giddy.
‘Do you think that too,’ she said, ‘that I have slept too long in the moonlight?’
Her mouth was set in a fixed smile but her eyes were so withdrawn and lonely that I put my arms round her, rocked her like a child and sang to her. An old song I thought I had forgotten:
‘Hail to the queen of the silent night,
Shine bright, shine