“My advice to you is not to make a mountain out of a molehill or I will have no choice but to relieve you of your weapon.”
“They are not crazy!” the doctor exclaimed. “Just now I caught a glint of malice in that one’s eye. I’m certain they’re not insane.”
He was pointing a finger at me.
“You’re making me waste my time, Commandant Cravache, and I don’t much like it!” the man with the pliers suddenly roared. “You write to Port-au-Prince asking for reinforcements under the pretext that there’s a conspiracy. You tell us you found the plotters and then you turn over three loons and two sniveling females.”
“The commandant is new here,” Marcia intervened inopportunely. “I told him they were crazy but he didn’t want to believe me. Everyone in these parts knows they’re crazy. Even the children.”
“Quiet!” the commandant advised fiercely.
“Yes, sir, I’ll keep quiet, yes. Thank you, sir.”
The commandant was still looking at Dr. Premature. He abruptly turned toward the man with the pliers and spoke with his eyes fixed on the doctor:
“Dr. Premature,” he said, “have you observed the prisoners sufficiently to offer a diagnosis?”
“Yes,” the doctor answered.
“Are they insane?”
“No,” answered the doctor.
“Have them executed to set an example,” the man with the pliers concluded. “I’m in charge of deciding the prisoners’ fate, and I declare these men traitors to their country. Execute them and don’t waste time. You, Corporal, cuff them.”
“No!” Cecile cried.
“You others, the women, get the fuck out of here,” the man with the pliers added.
“Commandant,” Marcia said, “not to bother you either, sir, but last night, several men came into our cell and raped us.”
“Forget whatever you’ve seen or heard and anything that’s happened to you in this prison, unless you want me to rip out your tongue,” the commandant replied coldly.
“Yes, Commandant, thank you, Commandant.”
“I want to die, I want to die,” Cecile sobbed.
She was slowly getting dressed and weeping as she looked at me. I smiled at her so peacefully so serenely that she thought I was mad. Andre seemed to be asleep. Simon looked at the doctor with hatred, spit at his feet and shouted:
“Oh bugger me, just get it over with, get it over with.”
“Oh Christ!” I cried. “Since they’re going to tie us to a post like they nailed you to the cross and cover our bodies with wounds, let our deaths mean something and don’t let our names become lost in oblivion.”
And it was then that the sky slowly opened up, and I saw angels in song descend on gleaming wings and take us away in their arms…
NOTES
All notes are the author’s unless otherwise indicated. Marie Vieux-Chauvet writes in an elegant literary French, which she interrupts with colloquialisms, creolisms, and even English in an effort to create specific voices. The creolisms-that is, the use of Creole words such as
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MARIE VIEUX-CHAUVET (1916-73), a seminal voice of post -occupation Haiti, was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Her novels include
ABOUT THE TRANSLATORS
ROSE-MYRIAM REJOUIS and VAL VINOKUR (assistant professors of literary studies at Eugene Lang College / the New School) have translated two novels by Patrick Chamoiseau,
[1] Tonton Mathurin: Tonton is a Creole world for uncle
[2]
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[4]
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