Love, Anger, Madness

THE PRIEST: Here comes Dr. Premature! Doctor! You must intervene. According to what Simon tells me, we’re dealing with a rather peculiar kind of collective madness. These poor boys had shut themselves inside because of devils that they claim invaded the town.

THE DOCTOR: Is it to chase away devils that they smashed this bottle in the middle of the street?

PATROL MEMBER (entering the shack): Commandant! Come see! There’s another one in the house and it looks like he’s dead.

THE PRIEST: Lord! Have mercy on their souls.

THE COMMANDANT: Bring the prisoners inside the premises. Sorry, Father, but let the police do their job. Doctor, come inside to make your official report.

THE DOCTOR: Open the door. It’s suffocating in here… He’s dead, Commandant, been dead for several hours.

PATROL MEMBER: Handcuff and then search them!

PATROL MEMBER: Come on! Hold out your mitts. You over there, what’s in your pockets? What do you have here? Bottles! Bottles stuffed with cotton and alcohol! So, you were plotting, huh? You wanted to commit arson? You wanted our hides, huh? I asked you a question, scumbag. I’ll make you talk, I will!

CECILE: Father! Someone go to my mother. I beg you.

THE PRIEST: Doctor! These men have had nothing but clairin for eight days. Look at them. Ask that they be fed or else they’ll die from the beatings. Farewell, Cecile, I am going to your mother’s bedside.

THE DOCTOR (to me): What possessed you to get mixed up in a political matter? We help you out, we give you charity, we look after you, and this is how you thank us.

ME:?…

THE DOCTOR: Do you want to eat something?

ME:!…

CECILE: This one is sick, too! Oh, my God! Doctor, do something.

THE DOCTOR (to Andre, whose legs are wobbling): You want to eat something?

ANDRE: I’m hungry.

DOCTOR: Commandant! I have observed these men. They appear to be in such bad shape that I wouldn’t be surprised if they lost consciousness during questioning. Let’s feed them so that they’ll be able to talk.

M. POTENTAT: I must protest against such leniency. These people are despicable subversives.

UNSAVORY INDIVIDUAL (whom M. Potentat cannot shake off): I suggest the Commandant conduct a general search of all the houses on Grand-rue.

M. POTENTAT: Dr. Premature is too soft on these traitors.

PATROL MEMBER Unconscious or not, I’ll loosen their tongues. I promise you that much.

THE COMMANDANT: Quiet, people!… It might be better to listen to the doctor’s advice. Otherwise, they’ll be useless.

PATROL MEMBER: Commandant Cravache, these men are political prisoners. They must be treated as such. If they lose consciousness during questioning, we have the means to revive them.

MARCIA (in tears): I want to go. I haven’t done anything. All I did was throw stones at the dead dog. I just kept an eye on the mulatto from a distance because he’s always talking to himself and gets all strange when he looks at our house. I even suspected that he wanted to climb the balcony to rob us at night. He was always watching the balcony out of the corner of his eye. I swear I’m telling the truth.

SIMON: Be quiet, bitch.

MARCIA: You won’t stop me from talking, you crazy old white man. Everybody here knows you’re crazy. And the dead one was crazy too. Everybody knows that.

CECILE: Quiet, Marcia!

PATROL MEMBER: All right, stop your sniveling!

MARCIA: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

THE DOCTOR: What is that stench?

PATROL MEMBER: A chamber pot.

THE COMMANDANT: You found nothing else?

PATROL MEMBER: Yes. Papers and a trunk full of all sorts of stuff.

THE COMMANDANT: Weapons?

PATROL MEMBER: NO, Commandant. Personal effects. Marassas dishes with syrup, dressed candles, bags. Let’s leave this stuff alone. This one’s dead, this one possessed, another lost his marbles, the fourth an idiot-all proof that these loas are dangerous.

THE COMMANDANT: Close the trunk!… You, the white guy, you don’t look so bad to me. Take care of the dead body, before I tickle your fat gut with my club.

SIMON (taking Jacques’ body in his arms): Don’t count on my gut, Commandant. It’s full of gas and alcohol and will explode in your face if you touch it.

CECILE: Don’t provoke them, I beg you.

SIMON (quietly to Cecile): Keeping quiet won’t prevent anything. Might as well insult them.

CECILE: No. I beg you. They’re terrifying.

THE COMMANDANT: Gather the evidence. No, no, leave the trunk where it is. Just bring the papers from the floor and the bottles. The curious crowd has reappeared, lingering near the front door, at a sufficiently respectable distance from the shack.

SOMEONE: We shouldn’t have come back. That was careless.

ANOTHER: NO. Look, they arrested the offenders and the witnesses.

ANOTHER: You never know with them. Once they start making arrests, they seem to go mad.

ANOTHER: Oh! A dead body! They killed someone. Look!

A LADY (sighing): Poor Cecile got dragged into a really nasty mess.

A YOUNG GIRL (to another): Do you really think she was plotting with them? I never would have thought Cecile capable of that.

MME FANFRELUCHE: I found her to be very strange lately. Gaunt, anxious and strange. She’s not all that beautiful anymore, that’s the truth.

AN OLD MAN What rubbish, Madame Fanfreluche! That girl is beautiful and you are jealous, admit it. You just want the prefect to notice you, but he only has eyes for her.

MME FANFRELUCHE: What insolence! How dare you speak to me?

THE OLD MAN Rubbish, Madame Fanfreluche! Your tone is old-fashioned. Times have changed and now it’s your turn, mulattoes, to lower your heads. Maybe there’s truth to the gossip going around, that you’ve dropped your color prejudice lately, for the color of gold makes you forget about the color of skin. Amazing how gold blinds! Look at the prefect! Is he handsome? Light-skinned? Answer me that much, Madame Fanfreluche!

MME FANFRELUCHE: You old ape!

THE OLD MAN: An old ape in whose face you once spit for daring to propose to you twenty years ago, and who now insults you in his turn.

MME FANFRELUCHE: I’m going to lodge a complaint and have you flogged.

THE OLD MAN: By whom, Madame? By a black man or a mulatto? Since you’re dancing in both circles quite nicely. But despite your little schemes, you and your kind will pay for your stupid prejudice. The punishment has begun already, or are you blind? Maybe I’ll die soon, but the ants, as the peasants like to say, will bring me news of this world.

MME FANFRELUCHE: Stop insulting me or I will denounce you as a traitor to the nation.

THE OLD MAN: Who knows! They might be crazy enough to believe you. In any case, stop jangling your bracelets in my ears. It’s annoying.

A LADY: There’s Madame Fanfreluche crying out of indignation! What a ridiculous woman! As usual, Old Mathurin shut her up good, and there she is sniffling like a little girl.

PATROL MEMBER: Quiet over there or I’ll break it up. Doctor, stop feeling sorry for the prisoners. This is a serious matter.