Rémy poured two glasses of wine. “Salut.”
They clinked glasses.
After drinking his wine, Rémy said, “You smell wonderful. What is that scent?”
“Bouquet Nouveau,” she said. “A mixture of orange flowers, hyacinth, jasmine, musk, and sandalwood.”
He breathed in deeply. “I shall never forget that scent. It will always remind me of you.”
Emilie beamed. She was not immune to the lieutenant’s charms. She took another sip of wine, and they ate their meal in silence. Occasionally one of the men would cry out when he had won a game of dominoes, and laughter would erupt amid the swirling cigarette smoke. Bottles of rum clanged on the tables, and the cooks yelled at each other in the kitchen, adding to the rustic ambiance. Emilie felt her inhibitions start to evaporate. When they had finished, Rémy lit a cigarette and sat back. “All right, mademoiselle, you’ve kept me in suspense long enough. Tell me about this trouble you’re in.”
She blushed in spite of herself. “Actually, I am a bit ashamed. I hardly know where to begin.”
“It’s always best to start at the beginning.”
She took a deep breath. “Very well. Not long ago I found myself in a difficult situation. There was no way out, so out of desperation, I went to that native healer, but instead of fixing the problem, he only made it worse. You see, the medicine the herbalist gave me was really a voodoo potion.”
Rémy’s eyebrows shot up. “A voodoo potion? Do you mind explaining that?”
Emilie looked sheepish. “This is where it starts to get complicated.”
Rémy took a puff of his cigarette. “Then go back and start from the real beginning. I have a feeling you’re leaving out some important details. Don’t worry about the time; I’m not needed back at the garrison today.”
“They’ll be expecting me back home,” she said.
Rémy laid a hand on her arm. “You’ll be home soon enough. I want to make sure you’re not in some kind of trouble.”
Emilie nodded. “Very well, the reason why I went to see M. Jacquet is because I had to find a way to break off my engagement. You see, I was desperate.”
“That sounds serious,” said Rémy. “Why would you. . .?”
“Allow me to explain. You see, I’m engaged to a wealthy planter named Lucien Monplaisir, but I discovered that he’s been unfaithful to me. I told my parents about it, but they insist I go through with the wedding. They want to avoid a scandal. So out of desperation, I started searching for another way out . . .”
“A way out that involved voodoo?” he said, raising one eyebrow.
Emilie clutched her shawl tighter. “Perhaps you think I’m superstitious or provincial, but I felt trapped. You see, Lucien is a shrewd devil. The only reason why he wants to marry me is so he can take over my father’s plantation. He’s an unscrupulous, ruthless cad, but my parents refuse to see his faults because they think our marriage will improve their social standing. Our farm is almost bankrupt. Now do you see my dilemma?”
Rémy sat back and examined her. “I understand it perfectly. You’re in quite a fix, mademoiselle, but how can the herbalist fix your problem? It would be easier to send Lucien a goodbye letter or put a bullet through his head. Finish him off with one clean shot.”
She laughed ironically. “Very funny, but here in the West Indies, people use voodoo to rid themselves of their enemies. It’s much safer and infinitely cheaper. The natives swear by these voodoo practitioners.”
“Ah, so the herbalist is really a voodoo witch doctor.”
“Oh, he’ll never come out and say it. But I’ve heard he’s one of the best, a notorious quimboiseur, as we call them here. His name is the Grand Zamy, a quimboiseur with a legendary reputation. I know it sounds primitive and superstitious, but people swear by them. They claim they can solve all sorts of problems with just a little potion and magic spells.”
“Potion . . . magic spells?” said Rémy, taking another deep draw of his cigarette. “Don’t tell me you go in for that sort of thing. Are you telling me that elegant-looking gentleman with the waistcoat and the gold watch chain is really a quimboiseur? I find it too absurd to believe.”
Emilie leaned in closer. “It gets even stranger. They say on Carnival he wears a red devil’s mask and parades through the streets dressed as the devil.”
“This is starting to sound bizarre,” said Rémy. “Would you please explain why a respected herbalist would parade in public dressed as the devil?”
Emilie lowered her voice. “He has two distinct personalities. By day he’s a respectable herbalist, but under cover of darkness, he operates as a quimboiseur, the Grand Zamy, a man who makes pacts with the devil. It’s all tied in with voodoo. Almost everybody here believes in it, although few will admit to it. Even some respected members of society.”
Rémy eyed her. “Tell me, Mlle Dujon, do you believe in voodoo?”
Emilie paused for a moment. “I’m not superstitious, but I’ve seen things that cannot be explained. One night while my old nurse Da Rosette was sewing, a beetle flew into her room and started circling the candle and buzzing in her ear. Quick as a flash, she caught the beetle and singed its head in the flame. I was horrified, but I knew better than to question her. Sure enough, the next day one of the cooks came running into the house with her head all bandaged. When Da Rosette asked her what happened, the cook looked furious and said, ‘You have some nerve asking me what’s wrong when it was you who burned my head in the candle last night!’ Da Rosette threw her out of the house, and we never saw her again. I stood there watching the whole thing shaking with fear. I was only ten years old at the time. Later Da Rosette confided that the cook was a gagé, a person who had sold her soul to the devil.”
Rémy laughed. “What superstitious nonsense. No sane, rational person would believe such tripe. Surely you don’t believe it. You’re an intelligent, educated young woman.”
Emilie assumed a grave face. “Lieutenant, I consider myself a sane, rational person, but if you had grown up here and seen the things that I’ve seen, perhaps you would believe it too. Isn’t it easier to believe that a potion or a magic spell can change your destiny? If you had the chance to change your fate, wouldn’t you take it?”
Rémy reflected for a moment. “That’s a good question. While I was in Africa, I heard all sorts of strange stories, but I’m a realist. Voodoo can’t solve my problems or anyone else’s. When fate happens, you have to accept it and move on. We all pay a price. Voodoo isn’t going to change anything as far as I’m concerned. As for you, you’re far too young and innocent to be mixed up with a charlatan like that. I’m almost certain that suave old herbalist with the waistcoat is nothing but a common criminal.”
“It’s too late; I’m already involved,” she said.
Rémy stubbed out his cigarette. “Then you must uninvolve yourself, mademoiselle. I would feel better if you stayed away from that quimboiseur, or you could become his next victim.”
“Do you think I was foolish?” she said sheepishly.
“Foolish is too strong a word. I would say naive, gullible perhaps.”
“I had no other choice. He promised to solve my problem, but a mishap occurred, and now my problems have multiplied.”
“This is getting more interesting by the minute,” he said, pouring another glass of wine. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“When I served the voodoo potion to Lucien, I thought my problem would soon be over, but unfortunately my cousin, Abbé Morel, spilled his drank and Lucien gave him his. Before I could stop him, poor Abbé drank the whole thing.”
Rémy almost spat out his wine. “A priest? That’s sacrilegious!”
“I feel awful,” she said. “I watched my poor Tonton Abbé changing right before my eyes, and I was powerless to stop it. He trembled a bit, became delirious, and then looked at me with lovelorn eyes. Before I knew it, he had his hands all over me and was trying to kiss me! I realized he was in love with me. Of course everyone was sh
ocked by his behavior, but only I knew the cause. They assumed he was drunk, but I knew it was because of the voodoo potion. If this remedy doesn’t cure him, he may be like this forever. And then there’s still the matter of Lucien . . .”
Rémy appeared shocked. “I’ve never heard anything so bizarre in my life. It sounds as if you’re in quite a fix. Your cousin, the priest, is in love with you, and you are mixed up with a criminal voodoo witch doctor who has made you his unwilling pawn. I suspect soon he’ll be extorting large sums of money out of you to ‘fix’ all these problems. The man should be jailed.”
Emilie blanched. “I feel terrible.”
Rémy poured her another drink. “Don’t make too much of it. I’m sure we’ll sort it all out. The law is on our side. Here, drink this and calm yourself. I’m sure we’ll find a way out of this mess.”
“Thank you for listening to me,” she said. “I feel as though a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”
Rémy gave her a stern look. “Mademoiselle, I won’t mince words. I think you’re in a bit of hot water, but with some careful strategizing, I believe we can free you from both that menacing quimboiseur and your scheming fiancé. They have a saying back in Africa: ‘Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.’ I think you’re about to become a first-class sailor.”
Emilie laughed. With the ice now broken, they resumed their conversation, but this time they talked about lighter topics, such as their childhoods, their school memories, places they had traveled, their dreams, goals, aspirations. Emilie told Rémy all about life in the West Indies—the balls, the horse races, the picnics in the botanical garden, the quarrels, the duels, swimming in fresh pools of spring water, and spending hot summer days lounging on hammocks. During that time Rémy watched her with fascination, his eyes twinkling as he occasionally laughed at her little jokes, while she found herself enthralled by his pleasant demeanor. She had never met someone so unlike herself, yet who made her feel so comfortable, so natural. And despite the scars and creases in his weather-beaten face, Rémy was almost handsome.
“Tell me something, why did you go to Africa?” she said.
Rémy looked pensive for a moment. “It was the only way to advance in my career. I knew my obscure family background and my reputation for being a loner would hold me back from getting promoted, so I decided to take a big risk. I volunteered for service in the penal battalion in Senegal. From there I ended up in the yellow-fever-ridden Camp des Madeleines. A short while later I volunteered for an expedition to Casamance. That was when my journey in Africa really began. In Casamance I found all sorts of people speaking many different languages. There were the Wolof, the Jola, the Felup, and the Mandinka, some of whom lived in the great forests, while others lived along the banks of the Casamance River. For me it was a journey into the unknown, an escape from rigid society. I learned to speak Bambara, and through hard work, I earned their trust. My regiment formed strategic alliances with the tribes, and we attended their celebrations and their funerals. The chief of the Bambara became my close friend, and in the end, he was almost like a father to me . . .” Rémy’s voice trailed off, and he stared into the distance, as if seeing the past. “I advanced up the ranks to full lieutenant, and two years later, I was promoted to captain. That was when I decided to become an explorer. I signed up for my most challenging assignment yet, to map the area between Senegal and the Niger Rivers and to study the route for a proposed railway from Kayes to Bamako. I knew the dangers I was facing, but I didn’t think twice. I had found my life’s calling, and that’s all that mattered. The only problem was there were some dangers I could never have foreseen . . .”
“Such as?”
“There’s no point in continuing,” he said.
“Please do. I find it fascinating.”
Rémy assumed a downcast appearance. “My plan was to explore the Mossie country before heading to Grand Bassam. Together with a fellow captain, an ordonnance, a type of soldier-servant, and a team of thirty natives, we set out on the greatest expedition of our lives. I didn’t realize the trials that lay ahead of me.”
“It sounds dangerous,” she said.
“It was in more ways than one,” he admitted. “I risked my reputation to save an innocent man’s life, and in the end, it destroyed my career. That’s why I’m here talking to you today.” Rémy swirled his glass. “But I have no regrets. If I had to do it all over again, I would do the same thing, and I would still suffer the same punishment. Honor has no price. It’s all that a man has.”
“Please tell me what happened.”
“There’s no point in talking about it now,” he said. “What’s done is done. It’s all in the past now. I was demoted in rank and suffered the consequences. The rest, they say, is history.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Perhaps someday you’ll tell me all about it.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he said. “Perhaps you’d be better off with that Lucien fellow. At least he can afford to keep you in grand style, with a lovely villa, an army of servants, and annual shopping trips to Paris. Everything a girl like you could want.”
“It’s not what I want,” she said. “I don’t love Lucien, and I would never sell my soul for money.”
“Yet you’d do business with a voodoo witch doctor.”
Emilie stiffened. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “I would have done the same thing had I been in your shoes.”
She looked at the clock. “Oh dear, it’s getting late. I must be getting home.”
She got up to leave, but Rémy held her arm. “Don’t leave so soon, mademoiselle. Stay for another drink. We may never have another moment like this.”
His touch sent shock waves through her body.
“I really can’t. I must be going . . .”
He clutched her arm. “Mademoiselle, take my advice: don’t marry that man. I can promise you you’ll regret it. You would fall into a trap from which you would never recover. But you probably know that already.”
Emilie stared in Rémy’s eyes and felt weak in the knees. Before she could respond, there was a commotion outside. Screams and shouts reverberated from the street, and everyone ran to the window to see what had happened. Rémy tossed a few coins on the table, grabbed Emilie by the hand, and headed outside.
People were racing through the streets shouting and pointing at Mount Pelée. A huge black cloud was billowing out from the crater and drifting over the city, where it rained ashes and cinders on everyone’s head. Women screamed and searched frantically for their children. Everyone ran for cover. A man yelled that rivière Blanche had swollen and was turning black. Someone else shouted that a flash flood at rivière Roxelane was so powerful it had swept several washerwomen out to sea, where they vanished in an instant.
Chapter 21
The streets erupted in chaos. People scattered in all directions, screaming and shouting. Straw hats flew, and women with their shawls and turbans askew fled in terror. The crowd at place Bertin dispersed as horrified shouts erupted from rivière Roxelane. In the distance a loud roaring noise rang out, adding to the terror.
Rémy and Emilie raced down rue Victor Hugo, through the throng of terrified residents fleeing place Bertin and the marketplace. Dodging donkey carts and carriages, they turned left down rue Impératice, where the situation became even more confused, with people rushing around in a panic. When they arrived at rivière Roxelane, the reason became clear. The river had turned into a raging torrent, with water so high it threatened to flood the surrounding streets. Only the embankments on each side kept the water from inundating the north side of town. Caught in the raging tide were tree trunks, boulders, and debris, sweeping everything in their path to the sea. Along the shore people were shouting and screaming, trying in vain to rescue the remaining washerwomen who were caught in the flood. They held on to the rocks for dear life. Fishermen in canoes had paddled seaward in search of the unfortunate washerwomen who wer
e swept out to sea, but it appeared to be hopeless. Down in the river, they heard desperate cries. A woman’s turbaned head was all they could see struggling to stay above the white foam. A washerwoman was fighting for her life, clinging to rocks. Her screams were muffled by the water as it pounded against her, pushing her out with the tide.
“Oh no,” cried Emilie, pointing. “That poor woman is drowning!”
Rémy watched the struggling woman with a grim countenance. He hesitated for only a moment and then raced to the water’s edge and attempted to grab the woman’s hand through the floodwaters, but she was too far away. And then, before their eyes, the current tore her away and carried her downstream. Emilie was frantic. In a flash, Rémy tore off his jacket and helmet and dove into the river.
Emilie held her breath until his head broke the surface. When he finally gasped for breath, he looked helpless amid the torrent. Kicking with all his might, Rémy fought valiantly to reach the woman. When he finally grabbed her, he turned her on her back and struggled to reach shore. Several times their heads disappeared beneath the churning white foam, and each time when they resurfaced, Emilie felt a surge of hope. The crowd along the shore called out encouraging words. Some held branches for Rémy to grab hold of. But it seemed as if the odds were against them.
After fighting against the tide, Rémy managed to drag the poor woman to the shore, where the crowd pulled her to safety. He was exhausted and looked half-drowned himself, but he’d managed to save the woman’s life. Emilie was overcome with pride. She rushed to his side, where he had collapsed to the ground, trying to catch his breath. Removing her shawl, she wrapped it around his shoulders. He looked like the victim of a shipwreck disaster, but his sinewy muscles were taut under his wet khaki shirt, and his eyes were shining. He leaned back, took a few satisfying breaths, and then glanced back at the recovering woman as the rescuers attempted to pump the water out of her lungs.
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