“Who is that?” Mme Camuse asked me while teasing the pleat of her black taffeta blouse.
“The daughter of a schoolmate: Elina Jean-Francois.”
“Jean-Francois! I once knew a blind man of that name who delivered our poultry and pigs. Is that the same family?”
“Yes.”
“Oh that Annette! Unbelievable! I suppose one can either give in or stay home. Cattle breeders and
The remark conjured up an Annette I’d never before imagined, a brave rock-slinger leaping over the barricades with the agility of youth.
This is what I thought as I looked at them: Mme Audier, Mme Camuse, Eugenie Duclan were gathered near the table to better stuff themselves with cakes. Augustine, white apron around her plaid dress, came and went among the guests, eyes lowered, anonymous and ageless. The young people chatted and danced, the girls in long dresses, the men in dark suits with roses in the buttonholes. Caledu stood out in his khaki uniform. Where was he concealing his weapons? In my little corner I felt frightfully old and out of fashion, and I tried with terrible force of will to forget myself and identify myself wholly with Annette. I saw her offering her cheeks for friends to kiss, receiving presents, drinking Rum Russians. She was only doing it for him. This was exactly what I wanted from her. He sat beside Felicia on the sofa smoking. She was rapt, immersed in his affection. The harmony of their life together was there for all to see. Would they prevail? After her third rum, Annette danced with the son of the prefect, a handsome and rather elegant dandy who plastered his black cheek onto hers. With this she began flirting in a way that appeared to leave Jean Luze completely indifferent. She then danced several times with Caledu. I was astonished to see him execute the latest merengues quite gracefully I think he searched me out in the crowd, just before he approached.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Clamont?”
Why
“Thank you, but I don’t like to dance,” I answered coldly.
“With me, you will.”
And, wrapping an authoritative arm around me, he twirled me until I was dizzy. His hands seemed to possess such prodigious strength that I felt like my whole body was locked in a vise. I tried to free myself. He tightened his grip. Our two bodies intertwined and seethed with hatred. Suddenly I stopped short and his feet awkwardly caught mine. I tore my hand from his.
“Tired?” he asked to save face.
But the look in his eyes belied the worldly smile playing on his lips, and I understood that only then had he realized the extent of my hatred for him.
“I have heard, Miss Clamont,” he whispered wickedly, “that in the old days a bloody incident took place up there on your land, on Lion Mountain. So it seems you and I both have killing on our conscience. Mine doesn’t bother me much. Does yours?”
Once again, he danced with Annette. Keeping his eyes on me, mouth against her ear, he whispered words I could not hear and the ninny listened smiling. He then danced with all of our guests, pretty and ugly alike. He seemed to pride himself on his uniform, on his position of authority, which easily opened doors no matter how tightly sealed. The worldly executioner in full! His murderer’s hands wrapped themselves around ladies’ waists, shook the hands of others. We were humoring him, hoping to be spared! I turned my eyes away so as not to betray myself, but this performance of his, shoved in my face, in my own home, had reinforced my hatred and contempt…
Toward midnight, Annette was drunk enough to demand that Jean Luze dance with her. He begged off, then, encouraged by Felicia, he accepted. Once again, there he was holding her in his arms. I focused my attention on this graceful vision and found in it a version of the hatred the commandant inspired in me. I scrutinized Jean Luze’s impassive face. Forgetting herself, Annette closed her eyes. I suddenly saw her grab his head in order to kiss him on the lips. He drew away quickly, and stared at her unsmiling:
“Are you out of your mind?” he said.
She bowed her head just as I did.
From that moment, nothing mattered to me anymore. There I was in my corner, incapable of thought, incapable of desire, half-dead with depression and despair. I saw people walking, heard them talking, all of it in a dream. Nevertheless, for a brief instant I caught Caledu’s eyes on me; I rose and left our guests for my room, double-locking the door in my rage.
I couldn’t sleep a wink. On account of what Caledu said. Who told him about us? Are we losing our pride and our solidarity to such an extent that we betray one another out of fear? Who was so indecent as to stir up the ashes of the past? To resurrect after so many years the bloody incident at Lion Mountain? Don’t they realize they are giving our enemies ammunition against us? Ammunition they will use to humiliate, shame and force us to capitulate even further. As for me, nothing will make me bow my head. I will never yield. Even if they club me, even if they torture me as they did Dora, I will hold my head high. I alone will never give in. I refuse to make my peace with this. I refuse to get used to this. I would rather stand with our old dodos and acquiesce to Mme Camuse though I dislike her behavior. Did they have to appoint such hateful and spectacularly criminal people to reform our backward little town? We’re on, Commandant! Whatever you may think, you are up against a strong opponent. Our hatred is mutual. Bless this love that imprisons me, praise be to Jean Luze the Frenchman who enthralls me so much that nothing matters apart from my love. You may be all bluster strutting about like a walking arsenal, but I’m smart enough to hide my game and look harmless to you. And therein lies my strength. I am patient, whereas you, like all fools, are impulsive. I wrap myself in the dignity of an old family line, as I nurse my serpent’s venom. You spread your cruelty, I know how to hide mine. You bite, I sting-stealthily, my eye trained by a bourgeois education, imbibed like mother’s milk, which makes me the most cunning of enemies. I wait for my moment. Because for now, love saves me from hatred.
Every evening, Annette comes home from Bob Charivi’s store more or less drunk. No matter how much I pull on the bridle, she completely escapes my control. I stopped by her room during her absence and saw a bottle of sleeping pills on her table. She drugs herself to sleep. I slosh about blindly in the darkness of my thoughts. I frighten myself. Seeking distraction, I pay a visit to Mme Camuse. I find her in bed, Eugenie Duclan by her side.
“It’s nothing,” says Mme Camuse, “a bad flu.”
At her request, I run out to get some turpentine at Charles Farus’, and we rub it on her back and chest. She then clamors for cat’s-tongue tea, [13] recommending that I close my eyes when I pick out the three leaves to boil, as prescribed by local superstition.
“A terrible epidemic is upon us!” Eugenie Duclan sighs. “The rain will not cease. God has heeded our prayers, but the sun cannot dry our puddles. Yesterday, six children died of typhoid-malaria. There is no more medicine at the hospital and no nurses either.”
Mme Camuse shifts in her bed.
“We must pray, call upon our blessed dead to help us, our land is in agony,” she tells us.
She turns to me and takes the boiling tea.
“Claire,” she says to me, “have you been to your parents’ grave? It looks abandoned! I can forgive Felicia and Annette for neglecting it; they barely knew them, but you… the eldest daughter…”
How is this any of her business? Does she think I’m still the pushover she once knew? I kiss her and take my leave without responding.
“You’re upset with me?” she asks. “I saw you come into the world, your mother was my friend and my son once loved you. How can you forget this?”
No, I have forgotten nothing. My memories are intact but she will know nothing of them.
“I am not upset, Madame Camuse.”
Eugenie Duclan stares at me with veiled malevolence.
“You don’t look good either,” she adds. “We’re getting old, I’m afraid, you, Dora and I, without husbands,
