“What does the contract say?”
“Here, you may read it.” He handed the new contract toward Emilie, but she could not make out the writing in the dim light. It was written in some foreign script, possibly Arabic or Greek, although she couldn’t say for certain. “Don’t worry, mam’selle. I assure you the terms are quite favorable. By signing on the dotted line, your debt will be erased forever. You will be like a new person. On this you have my word.” The nurse nodded. The woman’s eyes displayed no emotion, but they looked so trustworthy, almost beckoning. Still, Emilie hesitated. She knew these contracts always had clauses that were impossible to fulfill, clauses that could ruin her financially and damn her soul for all eternity. She refused to take the contract from his hands. “Go ahead, mam’selle.” He beckoned. “Don’t be afraid. Take the contract. You’ll be out of here in no time. You have my word.”
Emilie’s eyes blazed. “I refuse.”
The Grand Zamy leaned in so close she could smell the rum and cigars on his breath.
“Let me repeat, if you don’t sign, it’s as if you have sealed your own death warrant.”
“And if I do sign, then I will also be signing my own death warrant,” she said. “I will be selling my very soul to the devil.”
“Why are you so mistrustful?” he said. “I came here to offer you salvation. Sign the contract now, and I will set you free. It’s your only hope. It’s the only way out of here. There’s no time to lose. Hurry now before it’s too late.”
He handed her a gold fountain pen and the contract. With shaky hands, she took them and signed where he indicated. She tried to read the contract but couldn’t. The words were as foreign to her as hieroglyphics. When she finished, she handed the contract back to him, so terrified that her whole body was shaking.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said, stuffing it in his jacket pocket.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“You have just signed over the deed to your plantation. But don’t worry; your debt of eight thousand francs is hereby forgiven.”
Emilie gasped. “What did you say?”
“It’s a small price to pay for freedom, isn’t it? And I promise to keep up my end of the bargain. Sister Alphonsine, please hand me the key.”
The nurse pulled out a jangle of keys and handed them to the Grand Zamy. He located one and used it to open the lock that held her feet in the shackles.
“Here, put on this shawl and come with us,” said the nurse.
“Let me go,” said Emilie. “I’m not going with you! I’m going home to find my mother and Da Rosette. I’ve bought my freedom.”
The Grand Zamy slapped Emilie across the face. She cried out and felt a trickle of blood oozing from her mouth onto the shawl. She looked at the red stain in horror and threw the wrap on the floor.
“You’ll come with me until the debt is paid,” said the Grand Zamy. The woman shoved Emilie’s dress over her head and buttoned it in the back. Then, grabbing her by the arm, the Grand Zamy pulled her out of the room and down a stone corridor lit only by glowing oil lamps. As they passed each cell, the inhabitants shrieked in voices that made her skin crawl. Sometimes she would catch sight of a ragged patient with sunken eyes and matted hair covered in volcanic dust, and she would recoil. Their haunted expressions gave her chills. They were prisoners in a jail from which they would never escape. But at least death would free their souls.
They descended a flight of stairs and proceeded down another stone corridor and then through a back door. The Grand Zamy flung open the door and pulled Emilie toward a waiting carriage. He opened the carriage door.
“Get in,” said the Grand Zamy. “This is your carriage to freedom.”
Left with no other choice, Emilie climbed in. The Grand Zamy and the nurse climbed in after her and slammed the door shut, and the carriage took off down rue Levassor and out into the dark, moonless night.
Chapter 34
Monday, May 5
The next morning when Emilie awoke, she was in a strange bed. She was famished, and her face still stung where the Grand Zamy had slapped her. A streak of dried blood stained her dress. She looked around. The room was small and bare; sunlight filtered in through the wooden shutters. A broken-down chest of drawers sat opposite her, and beside it was a wooden chair and a shelf that contained statues of saints. A chicken was walking around, clucking and pecking at insects on the wooden floor. All she could remember from the previous night was a strange doctor and nurse, a long carriage ride, and a struggle before everything went black. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten into the bed or even who had brought her here, as if her memory had been wiped clean.
The smell of fried food wafted in through the wooden shutters, mingling with the cloying scent of burnt incense and chicken feathers. Her head throbbed. She tried to sit up but realized her legs were tied to the bed frame, this time with rope. She was wearing her cotton shift, and her dress was draped across the wooden chair, out of reach. All her muscles ached, and she felt despondent. Her strength was ebbing, and her mind was fuzzy.
Presently a woman peeked in. Emilie looked at her and froze. All at once she realized she wasn’t alone. She was in a house and was being watched. They were holding her prisoner. And there was something familiar about the woman. Emilie was sure she had seen her face before.
“Where am I?” said Emilie, breaking the stillness.
The woman set down a tray of cassava bread and tea on the night table. “Bonjour, you are safe here; do not worry,” she said.
Although the woman was wearing a plain madras skirt and turban, Emilie was certain she had seen the woman’s face before. She was lovely. She had the same feline eyes and sensuous lips as the nurse, the same coffee-colored skin, but in the daylight she looked somewhat tired and drawn. She wore no jewelry, and she gave Emilie almost no eye contact. A sickening feeling came over her.
“Madame, how did I get here?” said Emilie.
“You were brought here last night at your request.”
“At my request?” said Emilie.
“Yes, it is in the contract,” said the woman with deadened eyes. “According to the contract, you will stay here until you have completed your end of the bargain.”
“My end of the bargain?” Emilie felt a chill down her spine. It was all starting to come back: the mysterious doctor in the dead of night, the contract, the gold fountain pen, the strange writing, the impossible terms, the veiled threats, the slap, and the taste of blood in her mouth. The horrible, excruciating pain.
“I know you,” said Emilie, feeling her neck grow hot. “Your name is Alphonsine. Tell me what was in the contract.”
“You made a bargain with M. Jacquet,” said the woman with nonchalance. “And now he expects you to fulfill it. Until then, you are his guest. All your needs will be met, but you must remain here. Don’t worry; you have nothing to fear.”
“I have to go home,” said Emilie. “Please untie me.”
“That’s impossible,” said Alphonsine. “You are a guest of M. Jacquet. Drink this tea. It will make you feel better.”
Emilie picked up the tea and sipped it. She didn’t realize how parched and famished she was until she had finished the cup. After a few minutes, she felt a slight burning sensation in her stomach. Soon she was drowsy and fell asleep.
She had no idea what time it was when she awoke again. She was alone in the room. It was dark outside, and there was no smell of food. The air was stale and humid. She was hungry and frightened. The only sound came from a dog barking in the distance and a deep male voice coming from down the hall, but she saw no one. As she lay in the darkness, the pain of the previous day came flooding back. Fear and loneliness gripped her. She tried to stop the tears, but it was impossible. She cried into her blanket, releasing all the pain and frustration she had been harboring. She was quickly losing hope.
Presently, the woman reappeared with another tray of food and tea. She urged Emilie to eat and drink, and
after she had downed the liquid, she once again felt the same burning sensation in her stomach. Several hours later, after a few more glasses of tea, she felt as if her body was on fire. She cried out in pain. The burning sensation started in her stomach and spread to all her limbs, causing indescribable pain. It paralyzed her. She felt as if she was burning on the inside. Soon she was writhing in bed. She was in utter agony. She tried to scream, but the words would not escape her throat. Even her throat was scorching.
Then Emilie developed a vertigo that caused the room to spin all around. She became dizzy, incoherent, and delirious as the fiery sensation coursed throughout her body until her insides were red-hot and scorching. She felt as if her insides were burning with fire. The terror and fear caused her to cry out, but only a muffled sob escaped her raspy throat. She couldn’t focus on anything, and the burning sensation kept rising to her throat, threatening to burn a hole through her neck. Even her heart was burning. The pain was paralyzing, and she was seized with fear. Then she realized the horrible truth: the quimboiseur was poisoning her to death. Her body was slowly dying, burning to death. The poison was eating her alive from the inside. They had no intention of letting her leave, and soon she would be dead and no one would ever know the truth. They would bury her in an unmarked grave, and no one would be the wiser. Escape was impossible. Thinking quickly, Emilie realized her only chance for survival was to expel the poison from her body.
She felt her body convulsing, and she prayed for salvation. She had the sudden strange sensation that she was in an endless dark tunnel, trying to reach a glimmer of light, but it was too far out of reach. No matter how hard she tried, she could not reach it. She was collapsing, dying. Her muscles and organs were shutting down. She was burning to death. Soon the light would be out, and she would never reach it. She would slowly, methodically burn to death, like a moth in a flame. Poof! She mouthed a silent prayer, stuck a finger down her throat, and vomited the contents of her stomach.
Chapter 35
Monday, May 5
At noon, a deafening roar shook the town of Saint-Pierre.
From his makeshift post guarding the southern road, Rémy looked up toward Mount Pelée and saw an enormous avalanche of black mud plunging down the slopes at a terrifying speed, heading toward the plantations lower down. He felt a chill go up his spine. Good God, the volcano is erupting! He fumbled for his binoculars and focused them on the mountain. Through the clouds he could make out an enormous dark mass a quarter of a mile wide. It swept everything out of its path. People were pointing and shouting as the mudslide hurtled down the mountain, kicking up enormous clouds of dust and causing a thunderous boom that set off a wave of alarm. People clung to each other and cried out for mercy. Rémy stared in horror, feeling utterly powerless.
Later, men began shouting that the Guérin sugar factory had been completely inundated in the avalanche. Dozens of people were buried alive. Workshops and warehouses were overrun. Some of M. Guérin’s own family members had perished. Of the entire estate, only a solitary chimney remained visible above the volcanic mud. By a stroke of luck, M. Guérin was rescued and reportedly stated the only reason he survived was because he ran back to the house to retrieve his hat. The enormity of the damage was impossible to comprehend. All of Saint-Pierre was in a state of mourning and nervous agitation on account of the Guérin sugar factory disaster. And just as frightening, rivière Blanche was flowing at five times its usual volume. No one knew what to make of it, only that it seemed as if the laws of nature had been repealed.
Rémy braced himself for mass panic. Alone he felt helpless, but something had to be done to quell the anxiety and fear of the people. Leaving Sergeant Aubert in charge, he hurried back to the fort to see Colonel Fournier. When he reached his office, he found the older man anxiously writing out a telegram. By his side was a half-empty bottle of rum.
“Request permission to speak, mon colonel,” said Rémy, saluting.
Fournier looked up. “Permission granted.” His face brightened somewhat as Rémy approached, but the junior officer could see the deepened lines on his forehead, the haunted look in his eyes, and his drooping shoulders. The colonel he admired and respected looked like a shell of his former self.
“Sir, about the orders to keep the citizens contained in the city, I fear we will soon have a breakout of civil disorder on our hands. I think we should change tactics.”
Fournier shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but that’s not possible. Our orders are to keep soldiers posted on all routes in and out of the city to seal it off. The only people who are authorized to leave the city are military personnel, gendarmes, and clergymen. Mouttet threatened several high-ranking civilians, including judges and customs officers, with dismissal if they leave their posts. He’s using them as exam—”
“Examples? Of what, foolishness?” interrupted Rémy.
Fournier’s face reddened. “He’s acting on orders from Minister Decrais of the Colonial Office.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Rémy. “The Colonial Office has no idea of the situation down here. The governor should use every power of his office to save lives.”
“I know Governor Mouttet very well,” said Fournier. “He’s a disciplined, thoughtful civil servant, a credit to the Republic, but he’s under extreme pressure. I know of one judge who tendered his resignation and is heading down to Fort-de-France as we speak. He was a good man, that judge. His career is finished.”
Fournier poured himself a glass of rum and downed it in one gulp.
“Good Lord, what has become of this island?” said Rémy. “Should a man have to choose between his life and his career? Can anything be done to put some sanity in the situation?”
Fournier got up and walked toward the window. He looked outside at the ash-covered rooftops, the people wandering aimlessly over the muddy streets, the dead cattle floating in the harbor. His eyes clouded over as he stared out over the gray, pumice-covered water.
“Don’t think for a minute I don’t sympathize with the people of Saint-Pierre,” he said at last. “I know they are starving and in need of adequate shelter, but my hands are tied. Under the circumstances, my best advice to you is to offer them food and drink supplied by the sisters of Saint-Paul de Chartres. There are tents erected on the grounds of the church on rue des Ursulines where they can find shelter. That should help calm their nerves until this thing blows over. Beyond that, it’s out of my control.”
“If you’ll forgive me, mon colonel, that seems a bit inadequate,” said Rémy.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do,” said Fournier. “I’ve been recalled, and I’m leaving the island today.”
“What?” said Rémy, uncomprehendingly.
Fournier held up a telegram from Mouttet. Rémy snatched it out of his hand and read it, his face a mask of bewilderment.
“It seems I’m being transferred to Guadeloupe, which means my services here are no longer required,” said Fournier in a voice tinged with irony. “Captain Renoult will be in charge for the time being. I trust you’ll be in good hands.”
Rémy felt nauseous and light-headed. He was overcome with disgust. Fournier was the most experienced, levelheaded commandant on the island. This was the last nail in the coffin as far as Rémy was concerned.
“But, sir, how can he just ship you off like that?” said Rémy.
Fournier placed his helmet on his head. “I’ve learned not to question orders from the Colonial Office. I think the governor asked for my transfer. It came as a shock to me as well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to send this telegram to Paris immediately, while we still have some working undersea cables. It’s been an honor serving with you, Rémy. You’re a good man.”
Rémy watched as the colonel buttoned his tunic and marched out the door. Standing alone in Fournier’s office, Rémy realized all at once how truly dire their predicament was.
Left with no recourse, Rémy rejoined his men at the roadblock on the outskirts of Saint-P
ierre. Fatigue and hunger showed on the soldiers’ faces, but even worse were the faces of the refugees, which were beyond hope. They were tired, hungry, and desperate to leave. Children were barefoot and crying; the women were disheveled and pitiful, their clothes covered in ash and soot. There was so little food and drink to go around that soon the sisters of Saint-Paul de Chartres had to start turning people away. Slowly Rémy felt his resolve slipping. When a family of peasants with a meager donkey cart and a flock of chickens begged for the chance to pass through the checkpoint, he had no choice but to turn them away. Standing firm with his hands on his sides, he told them it was forbidden to leave the city, by order of the governor. He ordered them back to town, but inside he was crushed with guilt. He knew the orders were politically motivated and were not based on public safety or common sense, but he could not countermand a direct order. He remembered the grim warning of his commandant back in Senegal that any further misconduct on his part would get him shipped off to the penal colony in French Guiana, a veritable death sentence.
When news began to spread that the avalanche had smashed through the Guérin sugar factory, burying people alive, turmoil broke out in the city. Debris from the avalanche swept out to sea, driving back the tide more than three hundred feet before it rushed back in a tidal wave that crashed into place Bertin, sweeping several people out to sea. That set off a wave of alarm. People ran through the streets, shouting and screaming, seeking shelter or trying to reach higher ground. The Mouillage Quarter was evacuated to points higher up, but the once-peaceful town was now a disaster zone.
Fearing a stampede out of the city, Rémy ordered his soldiers to hold firm, even to the point of using force, although he knew his orders were dangerous, possibly illegal given the circumstances. But he had no recourse. Everywhere he looked, frightened citizens closed their shops and homes and fled with everything they could carry in their haste to escape the doomed town. Those who lacked anywhere to go resigned themselves to their fate and camped outside the cathedral or the army barracks. Others watched the commotion from their balconies with anxious, distraught faces, waiting for the end to come.
Island on Fire Page 24