by Rue Allyn
The sisters waited, downstairs. “Well, Mademoiselle,” Marie teased, “you got in just before Joseph barred the door last night.”
“It was close,” Bishou agreed good-humoredly. “We had a good time. We laughed and laughed.”
They invited her behind the counter again for coffee and croissants in their own personal quarters. She told stories about Vig and Sukey and their big North Carolina plantation, and how they made Louis Dessant laugh.
“And what of you?” Eliane asked at last.
“How do you mean?” Bishou asked in return.
“Well, an evening with un veuf réunionnais?” A Réunion widower.
“Mademoiselle,” Marie interrupted, “your ring is gone.”
Bishou smiled and touched her finger to her lips. “Alas, it has gone with my heart.”
Both women’s eyes widened. They sat up straighter.
“Ssh, ssh, ssh! Not a word, for at least another day,” Bishou said. “In the meantime, keep looking for the ring, hein? And you may see it.”
She left them staring at each other in delight as she skipped out the door, and down the street. Bishou saw people smiling at her. Of course it showed — she was in love. Living it, not writing about it. It was going to be difficult to tamp this down, Bat-like, and apply herself to the work in hand. She glanced at herself in a shopwindow, and stopped to brush back her hair.
“Oh, I am a fool,” she said to herself, still smiling. Then she hurried on.
She caught the bus to the université, got off at the gates, and went inside. The job announcement for the professorial position had been taken down. She entered the building for the College for the Humanities, to see if the job was hers, or someone else’s. I can take it, either way, she told herself. After last night, I am guaranteed to be here for the long haul.
Bishou stepped up to the front counter, and heard her name.
“Dr. Howard!” said Mme. Ellis incredulously. “You couldn’t have already received the letter. I just posted it this morning!”
“Then my friends will receive it this evening, and show it to me.” She had arranged for her mail to be delivered in care of the Campards. “Can you show me the carbon copy?”
It was in the top of the secretary’s correspondence folder. She pulled it out at once, somehow conveying this was as efficient an office as anything Bishou might find overseas. Bishou read it through, a request for a 7:00 P.M. time slot on Wednesday to make a presentation of her choice to a mixed audience of students and faculty, and smiled.
“Perfect,” she said.
“Is this new? A public lecture?” Mme. Ellis asked.
“Are you going to come?” Bishou asked her.
“Me? To a lecture?”
Bishou’s gaze had taken in the other secretaries, who were of course listening in. “Us?”
“Bien sûr. It is public. You might be thinking of taking a course, or sending your nieces and nephews here.”
“I never thought — yes, I would like to hear you speak, especially an Americaine,” said Mme. Ellis. “Dr. Castelle said to Monsieur le Doyen that American lecture style is different from the European style, and Dr. Rubin said, ‘All the better if we want to represent the world.’ ”
So they had been talking about her, where the secretaries could hear.
She did not tell Mme. Ellis that, only a day or two after the lecture, her name would change. If the academic world frowned on women, it was bitter toward women who suddenly got married. How would we know, Madame, if in a year or two, you would leave us to have babies? That was the way these universities thought, just like factories. That was why Bishou had been willing to take a part-time, or adjunct, job, without the usual academic benefits or perks.
In a just-beginning field like this, the job might be a first-time, exploratory position, to see what sort of professors it conjured up — professors who were willing to take the job for the good résumé it provided, nevermind the inadequate pay and benefits. But one couldn’t survive on such a job, unless it expanded over time to become a full professorship with full benefits — or the professor had a sideline that paid real money. Bishou was now in that fortunate position, and had no intention of telling them so. She would play a straight academic game with them. Her private life was none of their business. And the fact that the job ad had already been taken down showed that they were tremendously disposed in her favor.
As she climbed onto the bus, Armand greeted her with, “Bon matin, Mam’selle Bishou! Got your job yet?”
She paid him. “Not yet, Armand, but it looks good. Can I go to the Dessant factory with you?”
“Sure enough. It’ll be a while. Got any on you?”
“For you? Always, Armand.” She gave him four cigarettes. “That’s where my money goes, handsome men.”
“Ah, Mam’selle is in love,” said Armand with a grin.
“I may as well say it, because I know it shows.”
“Who is the lucky man?”
“I am not telling. You will know soon enough.”
The bus driver laughed. “Bonne chance, missy! You will be happy.”
“Merci. I intend to be.”
“That is what makes happiness,” Armand continued. “You decide to be.”
Bishou was impressed. “So many people do not understand that, mon ami.”
“And so they are unhappy, Mam’selle.”
“Bien dit. See? You didn’t need to go to université to learn that, did you?”
Armand laughed again. “You are wise, and it has nothing to do with université, Mam’selle.”
“Nous verrons,” she replied. We will see.
She dropped off the bus at the turnoff for the Dessant Cigarette factory, and walked up the driveway to the security booth. The old guard smiled at her, and she at him.
“Bonjour. Are you called Joel?” she asked.
“Oui, bonjour. And you’d be called Mam’selle Howard, n’est-ce pas?” He gave her a pass to the front door. There, another guard telephoned the front office.
The place was booming. The smell of fresh-cut tobacco filled the air. It was the packaging machines that made all the noise, she could see, as automatic arms dropped, belts whirled, cartons slid. Bishou watched, fascinated, until someone touched her arm. A neat young Frenchwoman stood there, and motioned toward another door. She escorted Bishou to a pair of double doors that closed behind them. The sound immediately abated.
“Whew!” said Bishou. “One doesn’t realize the noise! I’m sorry. Bonjour. My name is Bishou Howard.”
The elegant little secretary smiled. “Bonjour. My name is Claire Aucoeur. I am Monsieur Dessant’s secretary.”
“I am very pleased to meet you,” said Bishou.
“And I to meet you, Mademoiselle Howard,” said Claire.
As they walked along, Bishou asked her, “Did you send the teletype message for Monsieur Campard, to Virginia?”
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” Claire admitted with a smile.
“Then you know all about me.”
“I know something of you, Mademoiselle,” the secretary said politely.
“That is a relief. I have great difficulty explaining myself again and again, and there is nothing more wonderful than a good secretary who doesn’t need all that.”
Claire smiled, opened a half-glass door that said OFFICE, and motioned her inside. It was a large institutional room with four desks, shelves, plenty of filing cabinets, and a picture of a Dessant Cigarette package on the wall. As offices went, it was stark, with the two bosses’ desks on one side of the room and the two secretaries’ desks on the other. However, Bishou guessed that neither boss spent more time than necessary at those desks.
Both Etien and Louis stood up, smiling at her. Bishou kissed Louis on each cheek, then kissed Etien on each cheek. She was introduced to Anna, the other secretary, as if Bishou were any other welcome female visitor to the factory.
Etien said, “Oh, Bishou. I have a letter from the université that came for yo
u in care of us — it arrived this noon. It’s in my car. I’ll go fetch it.” He hurried off.
Louis offered to give her a tour of the offices. Bishou saw smiles pass between the two secretaries as they left the room, and observed to Louis, “You’re not fooling them in the least, you know.”
“Then let’s not attempt to fool them.” He dragged her back into the room. “Claire. Anna. Venez.” Smilingly, obediently, they came over to their boss. “I am not telling you a secret if I say Bishou and I are about to be married, am I?”
Both women giggled. “Non, Monsieur.”
“There, see?” he said to Bishou, who was laughing, too. “Mademoiselle Bishou said no more secrets. So there are no secrets. Fixed.”
The secretaries convulsed into laughter.
Bishou snorted, “Les hommes!” Men!
“We wish you the greatest happiness, Monsieur et Mademoiselle,” Anna said.
Louis guided her through the factory, showing her the machines that cut tobacco, made cigarettes, packaged them, and boxed them. He showed her where the new cotton-filter equipment was being installed, to remove seeds from the cotton bolls, pack it into filters, and package cigarettes similarly. It was a huge operation. Bishou had a hard time conceiving of the amount of tobacco that this plant handled daily, the number of crates of cartons of cigarettes it shipped.
“It must blind you after a while.”
“It is very absorbing,” Louis agreed. “Etien finds it sometimes overwhelming, and must step away and look back at it from a distance.”
“Ah, here you are!” Etien caught up with them. He handed her the envelope. “Is this about the université job, then?”
“Université job?” asked Louis blankly.
“Oui, Bishou had applied for a position as literature professor at UFOI,” Etien told him. “I met her in front of the gates, yesterday.” Not much of a lie, better than the whole truth.
Bishou opened the envelope and read the same letter she had read as a carbon copy. However, there was a handwritten enclosure. She wondered if the secretary had known about this. A little envelope labeled “Dr. Howard et Invite” — Dr. Howard and Guest — accompanied a note that read:
Dr. Howard,
I hope you can spare the time, after your presentation, to join us at the University Library for the opening of the newly established Clemenceau Rare Books Room. There is a reception, which would, I hope, give faculty and staff an informal opportunity to meet you. It is inspiring to our women students to meet a woman with your achievements. I hope you and your guest will join us.
Sincerely,
Dr. Serge Michelin, President d’UFOI
The engraved invitation, her ticket, was enclosed.
“So,” said Louis, “still, your brain wants academia?”
“If I do not use it, I will lose it,” Bishou replied, thoughtfully frowning at the enclosure.
“May I see that?” Louis asked, in his mildest voice.
Instinct told her this was not a time to say no. She handed over the letter and the enclosures to him. He read carefully, with Etien standing by, and then folded the papers and put them back in their places. She had forgotten how careful and neat he was.
“So — you give a sample lecture? Is that it?” Louis asked Bishou.
She nodded, wondering how he was going to take this.
He smiled. “It is sensible. They cannot walk in on one of your lectures, like I did.”
“I know. They must see me at work. It is a very stressful time, though, for a professorial candidate.”
“I hate to make it more stressful by becoming the Guest,” said Louis.
“I expected that,” said Bishou.
“Bien sûr. If your job depends on the lecture of Wednesday, knowing you will be married on the same Friday, you are either going to need an escort or an ambulance attendant,” said her fiancé.
“Ambulance attendant,” she sighed, putting her arms around his neck.
“All Americans are nuts,” Louis said, holding her, and Etien dissolved into laughter.
Chapter 17
Denise Campard laughed and laughed. “And then what happened?”
“Then we got on the telephone, and made a transatlantic call to Bat Howard,” Louis told her, as they ate mango ice cream in the little living room. “My secrétaire Claire took notes, so she would know how to do it next time, but Bishou did the actual telephoning.”
Bishou took up the tale. “When he answered, ‘Howard residence’ I said, ‘Got your bags packed, brother?’ Bat said, ‘Sure enough, the black-and-whites are ready to go.’ He told me that he was coming, maybe with one of my brothers or both. He’d heard from East Virginia University that they’d been asked for references for me from UFOI. I asked him what his plans were, and he said Logan to Orly to Garros. And they would see me when they saw me.”
“Claire can tell us when that will be,” Louis interjected.
“Bat can tell us when that will be,” Bishou answered. “He is rather independent-minded.”
“Quelle surprise, when you are so docile,” teased Louis. “I must make sure there is a clause about ‘obedience’ in that marriage vow.”
“Yes, you must,” she said, looking at him seriously.
“Hah!” Louis recognized genuine commitment before witnesses when he heard it. “And would you dare to say it?”
“I am marrying a tobacco-man. I must take risks.”
Louis smiled gently and hugged her.
“Do your brothers have passports?” Denise wanted to know.
“Oui. Our parents were professors. We traveled to many places. Also, because we are of mixed parentage — Canadian and American — we have dual citizenship, and need documentation.”
“And now that you have reached your majority, you have declared yourself?” Etien asked.
“American. As my brother has done. The governments are tightening up the rules on that, but I think Andy and Gerry will eventually choose to be American, too. We have been to Canada only to visit relatives at the big universities. My younger brothers won’t miss having Canadian citizenship.”
“Although it is a way to avoid military service, in your country,” Etien observed thoughtfully.
“True. The one who first qualified for an exemption is the one who gave it up first.”
“Semper fi,” Louis murmured.
She nodded. “Semper fi. Always faithful. The United States Marines. It was very hard on Bat, but he worked through it — or up to it.”
“And then, in turn, he taught the soldiers. Sergeant Major.”
She smiled, agreeing, “And then he taught them.”
“Teachers all,” said Denise.
• • •
They were driving back into town, in the dark, when Louis pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the ignition. It surprised Bishou. They had gone many miles in complete silence.
She couldn’t see his face in this utter African darkness. “What’s wrong?”
“Many things,” said Louis. “Maybe it is what they call cold feet, hein?”
“Well, then, let us warm up the cold feet,” she said agreeably.
“How you say that. That is one of the things.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“This is not …” Louis began again. “This is not love as I know it, Bishou. I keep waiting for the pain. I have learned that love is pain.”
“And where there is no pain, there is no love?” she asked softly.
“Carola took everything from me. She poisoned me because she couldn’t bear to see how much I hurt, so ashamed and disgraced.” His voice was full of emotion. “And when I realized what she did, I said — ”
“ ‘I know what you are doing. Fill it up. I can’t bear to live without you.’ Yes, I know.”
There was a long silence in the darkness.
He said, “That was when she burst into tears and said to me, ‘I finally understand that love is always pain.’”
“But she did not refill your glass.”
“Non.” Bishou knew that Louis was crying. “We ran away into the snow, into the darkness, together. And we had no hope. None at all.” She heard him hit the steering wheel. “What am I doing?”
“Not what am I doing. What are we doing,” she said.
“You, Bishou! You don’t know. You are like a child, like I was then. To be seduced, to learn how to be seduced, to be miserable every moment you are with your lover, and miserable without her! Not to kill her, but to kill for her, and live with that the rest of one’s life!”
Bishou reached out, and found his shoulders in the darkness. She wrapped one arm around his shoulder. She spoke steadily. “Non, vrai, those are things I do not know. But I know how shattering it is to see a mother’s body and spirit destroyed in a ridiculous accident, and a father’s mind ruined as a result, and see all hope of a normal family life, of ordinary happiness, vanish. No father, no mother, no true family. And we stupid children, desperate to keep our family together, despite all odds.”
She heard him sniff. “What you are saying is that I am not the only wreck adrift in this storm.”
“Bien sûr.”
“Oh, hell, where is my handkerchief?” She heard him blow his nose. “You don’t want this horrid thing, do you?”
“I’ve got one in my purse if I need it.”
“I will bet you don’t.”
“I will bet I do.” She felt around the car floor. “Hey, where’s my purse?”
“Ah-hah!”
“You skunk, you’ve nicked my purse!”
“I will win this bet if I have to sit on your purse all the way to town. Oo-hoo! Mam’selle, watch where you place those hands. I am an engaged man.”
• • •
The ship’s horn sounded later in the morning. That’s right, she thought, it’s Saturday. I’m finally adjusting to day and night on the island.
Bishou had slept the night through, and hadn’t felt the need for an afternoon nap, even with the seductive noon-to-two siesta hours calling to her. When she came downstairs, later than usual, Eliane and Marie were waiting for her. They had knowing looks on their narrow French faces as they motioned her over to the counter.