As I light the fire, he kneels before the crucifix and slowly recites the Pater Noster. I set the water to boil and slowly pour coffee into the bag.
“No point making coffee,” Andre tells me. “I could never drink it black.”
“Take some syrup from the dishes.”
“Don’t tempt me, don’t ever tempt me,” he suddenly yells.
His own voice frightens him so much that he throws himself to his knees, grabs the jug and sprinkles the trunk and the dishes with a ritual gesture.
“I may be thirsty,” he tells me, “but so are the
He takes a drink and holds out the jug to me.
Sitting, hands crossed on lifted knees, he chants a voodoo song in a plaintive voice. He swings back and forth to the rhythm of the song, and little by little his eyes close. He slides onto his back and falls asleep. I stay near him, lying on the floor, waiting up like a guard dog. Oh, how I’d like to sleep! To sleep!
Commandant Cravache, what are you doing at this hour? Leave the prisoners alone, and come out and confront the devils. Commandant Cravache, face the devils! You who twice beat us up for public drunkenness and incitement when we recited Massillon Coicou’s “L’Alarme” in unison. [52] Oh! Oh! Oh!…
Oh! Oh! Oh! He doesn’t seem to like Massillon Coicou much, our Commandant Cravache. He grabbed me by the collar, kicked my backside twice, and, calling me crazy, hit me over the head with his
“Brotherhood of mad poets,” he called us.
And he also hit Andre, Jacques and Simon. Over the head. Always over the head. He has a bit of nasal twang, Commandant Cravache, and seems to me-as Simon put it-just a tad effeminate. He strikes and stares at his victim with a funny expression. He strikes and after each blow leans in to sniff the blood. He strikes and caresses the gaping wounds with an almost religious gesture. The good Dr. Chanel sewed back my ear and my left temple, but he’s dead, the good Dr. Chanel. In the meantime, I would like to know what they are waiting for to clean up the town. Club in his fist, revolver on his hip, rifle on his shoulder, why doesn’t he confront the devils, fucking Commandant Cravache! I am going to lodge a complaint against Commandant Cravache, who is responsible for the security of this district and who has evaded his responsibility. Unless they’re in cahoots, the devils and him. People in uniform always have each other’s backs. If that’s true, then we are lost, utterly lost. Because he will recognize me disguised in the ranks of the devils and will finger me and the devils will murder me and I will die like an animal and my body will join the others on the pavement. And that I don’t want. God chose me to liberate the town. Am I going to shrink from this undertaking? My skull hurts. Bones are cracking in my head. It starts in the nape, right below the occiput, and pulls at my temple. My ears are ringing. “You’re burned out!” the good Dr. Chanel would diagnose. It’s true that my head has been working nonstop. And then, this disappointment. I have the stone in my hand. I bring it to my lips. Cecile! Cecile! Your black eyes! Your black hair! Your plum-brown skin! There’s a jazz session in my stomach: cymbals, drums, bamboo trumpets, trombones, flutes, clarinets, saxophones, maracas, all mingled in an uproar. Am I hungry? It seems to me that I will never be able to be hungry or sleepy. I am slipping in and out of consciousness. And when I move my head, I hear bones cracking inside.
“You drink too much,” good Dr. Chanel used to say. “You’ll drown your talent in alcohol.”
Another ignoramus-after all, Baudelaire drank and Villon drank before him and Rimbaud drank too. [53] The taste of it returns as I keep thinking about it, and I look for the bottle near Andre, who’s snoring away, just to get a mouthful, no more than a mouthful.
I feel sure someone just knocked cautiously on the door. I wake up Andre. He opens his red eyes and fish mouth.
“Someone knocked,” I say.
“Don’t open it,” he begs.
“Wait!”
I run to the wall but can’t see a thing through the hole. It’s dark as the devil’s lair.
“You must have been dreaming,” Andre whispers.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
This time we both distinctly hear three little knocks. A voice whispers:
“Rene! Rene!”
“It’s Jacques! He’s not dead,” I say to Andre, shaking him. We clear the door and Jacques comes in.
“Oh!” he cries, seeing Andre, “I was sure I’d find you here.”
“Oh, little buddy! My little buddy! I thought you were dead,” Andre says, hugging him.
“Dead! Me! And why?”
“The devils!”
“What devils!”
“Why, the ones escorting you. Rene saw you going with them. You seemed so proud, so brave! You were reciting your poems and you were walking among them paying them no mind.”
“That’s right. I remember now. They said to me… You know what they said to me: Jacques, you’re a genius. We’ll leave you alone because you’re a genius.’”
He straightens his back and grabs the bottle of
“You pranksters! You guys are hiding out so you could drink without me.”
“We’re hiding because of the devils, you know that. We’re no geniuses, so they might kill us.”
“Anyway, I don’t want to see them again,” he says. “They’re awful, horrible…”
He shudders.
“Sit down,” I say to him.
“He looks so tired,” Andre says to me.
“Yes, he is as skinny as we are.”
“I’ve forgotten to eat,” Jacques admits.
“Alas, there’s nothing here.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“You didn’t see Simon?” Andre asks.
“The devils may have murdered him,” I say.
“I left him two days ago, no three… Ah, I don’t remember.”
“Let him be,” Andre tells me, “he seems exhausted.”
“Did you see the corpse?” I ask him.
“What corpse?”
“The one in the street, in front of the door.”
“Yes, that’s a dog.”
“But no, that’s Saindor, the one who runs the place by the sea.”
“It was dark,” he says. “I thought it was a dog.”
“The devils killed him right in front of Rene,” Andre says.
“And the other bodies? Did you see them?”
“Where?”
“By the church.”
“Yes. Piles. Hundreds of bodies. I saw them, I saw them…”
All of a sudden he starts to shriek, and I throw myself on top of him to keep his mouth shut. I put all my weight against his back, my left arm around his chest and my right hand muzzling him to the point of smothering him.
“Are you trying to draw them here?”
Andre was trembling so much that he staggered when he got up and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t held on to the table.
“Give him some
