She could hear the distant, muffled echoes of Carnival. She tilted her head and listened to her heartbeat. It was panting, breathless, worn out like an old animal on its last legs. I have to go easy on it, she finally told herself, go easy on it so I can outlive all of them; there, that’s the point of my life. To shoulder their sufferings, extend my days and live on to carry my cross and theirs…
Part Two
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Doubt has worked its way into me. It’s horrible. I’m having doubts about Anna now. Dr. Valois came by with her last evening. All of a sudden, they’ve become overly generous, overly kind. I don’t like that. They had found out like everyone else did, and like everyone else they had avoided us. Why this sudden shift? If I have doubts about Anna and Dr. Valois, I’m screwed. I saw how they embraced Rose! She stood frozen as they kissed her, like she hated them. She seems to hate the whole world. She stares at everything strangely now, as if inwardly watching an awful performance. Mama was all aflutter looking at Dr. Valois, but he paid attention only to Claude. “So, you’ve made up your mind about the wheelchair? Yes, it’s expensive and times are tough. But a doctor can give a wheelchair to a patient who’s been good and who listens, can’t he? Have you been good, Claude? Have you done as you’ve been told? How often did you lose your temper since my last visit? Calm down, Laura, let’s not make a fuss, really it’s nothing, I won’t hear of it, I don’t require gratitude for this. I’ve looked after this child since he was born, haven’t I? Well then!…” And he shook his handsome head and beamed his irresistible smile. His daughter’s smile. No, it can’t be… And yet, they did let two weeks go by without visiting. They behaved like everyone else. So that means Rose’s story, everyone knows it. The Gorilla must have spread the word, talked about her, laughed about how… Whore! Dirty whore! But he’s the one I’m going to kill. Who cares what happens after that. I’ll find him and I’ll kill him. Here in the drawer I’ve hidden a knife bought specially for this purpose. I will sink it into his back without a second thought. All this flattery around Rose! She’s becoming powerful too, thanks to the Gorilla. Where do these men come from? Who is their leader? They suddenly showed up in the country and have taken over without any of us being able to put up a fight. Have we become that weak and spineless? We live in terror, trampled by thousands of boots. Everyone knows they have a leader but no one has ever seen him. He confines himself in his fortress and paces about there, they say, like a lion in a cage, waiting for reports from his spies. Maybe we deserve this, and as always the many innocent will pay for a guilty few. Had we become that rotten? I know that we’ve been wallowing in error and concupiscence for a long time now, and personally I was hoping for a change. But not in this direction. I aspire to feel like a real man, a free man. Not like a recruit. For now only the beggars are recruited; they know it and outdo each other hoping to earn a weapon. First they come for the easy recruits, but I know our turn will come. All brought together under the banner of death and armed force. How do you fight them? Streaming from the deepest backwaters of the country, or from another planet, only history can judge them. Maybe some of those who are younger than me will stand up to them one day. After all, nothing lasts forever. We have to hope, otherwise life would have no meaning. They’ve been watching us carefully and have already arrested the most stubborn. The apathetic ones better watch out. Will I resist the temptation for long? Everything would be so simple. Twelve years of study, passing two baccalaureates with distinction, all of that to come to this. What do they have to offer me? Should I buy my rank and a few medals by offering up shameful denunciations? Use all my skills to elbow others off the ladder as I move up? For no doubt even among them there are big fish and small fry and that’s what will bring them to ruin. And I am afraid to face the fact that, no matter what you do, man is a wolf to man. More than anyone else I know, I have the desire to stand firm and fight for a good cause. But not with weapons. With my ideas. My hand extended in brotherhood, offering a fresh and sober example. I would follow anyone who passed austerity laws to halt runaway decadence and the vanity of unchecked ambition; I would support whoever could abolish hunger and poverty prison cells and torture, who would treat every man as a man and include everyone in the national dialogue. If I decide not to belong to any party, if I wish to remain free, then let that choice be mine. Alone and unarmed, I want the right to plead for justice and freedom and to shout from the rooftops that which I believe to be the truth…
I spent the day walking around the city. I saw flowers, landscapes, stretches of sky all done up like the faces of pretty girls. All of it brought tears to my eyes, as if the magnificence of this country was suddenly something flung in my face. Then I ended up on a deserted square where they were training some scrawny, sickly men, all of them following orders, eyes fixed, lips stiff as they goose-stepped with rifles on their shoulders. I saw one of them collapse. Two men rushed over. Lifting him up, they took him out of the ranks. After which the drill continued. I recognized beggars we used to give alms to. They were still gaunt and skeletal, but were now sustained by the hope of becoming powerful in their turn. I know very well that death is nothing to be scared of, that once you tame it, its grimace will turn into a smile. I started to look it in the eye yesterday. Anna! Anna! I will take refuge in her to save myself from myself. Her smile came too late for me, she came too late. She reached out to me two weeks late, isn’t that enough to kill all my trust in her?
Rose has been out every night for the last ten days. She’s gotten thin, so thin, and no one is concerned. “Dirty coward!” I feel like shouting at my father. But then when I see my mother, all I can do is keep my mouth shut. She looks like she’s dying. Grandfather has become taciturn and his beard quivers all the time in a terrifying way. I have the feeling he’s plotting something infernal. We are all plotting something infernal, I’m convinced. What we are going through is so revolting that we can only escape from ourselves by rehearsing thoughts of vengeance. In my case, I know what it’s going to be: I will kill him and then I will die. How? I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is to gather my resolve and overcome my repugnance for the idea of killing and dying. I have a perfect plan. Everything looks so easy when it happens in the sealed cupboard of our skull. Who isn’t a hero in his own head?
My father’s face has returned to lifelessness: he knows he won’t get fired now. In any case, he really managed to set up Rose. Was he naïve when he cast her to the vultures? Perhaps he’s seething with remorse, rage, hatred! It would drive you to despair to admit to yourself that nothing lives behind that impassive mask. Has he noticed Rose’s new face? Frozen, dead, that’s right, dead. What have they done to her? No, I don’t want to know. Not now, at least. It’s too soon.
Fred Morin and the others came by. I’m exasperated by their growing friendliness. In an unforgivable moment of weakness, I yielded to their overtures and I’m back on the team now. We played for two hours this afternoon. Two of the players told me they were planning to become Blackshirts. Fred Morin is right behind them, that’s for sure. Something in his eyes gives him away. I can already picture him in his uniform, his shyness a thing of the past, trying to pass for a big shot, earning his stripes, and throwing himself between the Gorilla’s legs to replace him by my sister’s side. Only the sensation of power makes the uniform seem like something compulsory. The weak feel strong only with their hand around a gun; the same goes for lesser beings. Only free will can truly fortify an individual. Will I keep on seeing him though I despise him? Will I ditch my old teammates for their pandering? They avoid uttering Rose’s name in my presence, but all I have to do is watch them when she’s there: all they do is bow and scrape and cast furtive glances. They don’t even dare turn and speak to her openly. She is taboo. Thanks to the Gorilla. An off-limits whore. I will kill him and then I will die. I’m not thinking of the others. My act will spell disaster for all of us, I know that. No matter how my cowardly father tries to play the poor innocent and s
ay that I was reckless, he’ll get it too. Unless I miss my target. For as long as he’s alive, he’ll be stuck on Rose, and as long as he’s stuck on Rose, we’re under the protection of his guns. Maybe they’ll manage to buy proof of my madness and have me locked up! Who will protect me? Who will have the courage to shout the truth? My mother? Yes, that’ll be the day she shows her claws. Faded but not dead. Just hearing how she defended her daughter makes one suspect that a spark would be enough to set her ablaze. Just seeing how she stared at Dr. Valois. Bottled up, yes, but not empty. Rose! Rose! It’s been five years since I saved her from death. I dove into the open sea and brought her back to shore unconscious. We became friends. She’s as loyal as a man. She didn’t give me away that night she caught me under the oaks with Jacob’s maid. A great girl.
Anyway, nothing has changed. They are still on our land. Is the Gorilla as powerful as he is said to be? Or is he fooling Rose? Maybe from the beginning his goal was to help himself, with the lawyer’s help, to the land and to the girl. How do I know he didn’t always have his eye on my sister! I will kill him and then I will die. My mind is made up. Convincing myself of this fills me with a sense of dignity. These thoughts cleanse me, they cleanse all of us. Corruption stops at our door, at least as long as I’m alive, the vengeance I nurture inside gives me comfort, keeps me from resigning myself to our degradation. It doesn’t matter if it takes me months to carry it out. A long line of hotheads, my mother once said to me. And it’s true. All of us brooding with God’s holy fury, and Grandfather doesn’t know it. We are all alike. Cast from the same mold, and Grandfather doesn’t know it. Or is he pretending he doesn’t know it in order to justify his preference for Claude? He doesn’t like my mother: she doesn’t fly off the handle enough. He only believes in external appearances and refuses to see through the thick veil of propriety. What about Rose’s propriety! I’ve called her a whore a hundred times to myself. They’ve killed her. She no longer turns on the radio. She’s forgotten her old habits. No more dancing, no more laughter, no more dramatic outbursts as smoke screens so she can be left alone to do as she pleases like anyone else.
On the other side of the stakes, their black uniforms draw my eyes like a magnet. Drenched in sweat, dripping, bent by the sun, rifles on their shoulders. Are they happy? Are they fulfilled by the weight of a weapon on their shoulder? Wearing a uniform would put an end to our torment. No, I couldn’t. It would burn my body. And what if the point of all their tricks was to force me into their ranks, do I have the right to refuse and sacrifice my family? They spy on me and they can feel my hatred. They’ll go all the way until I kneel and beg for mercy and applaud their crimes. And that I could never do. I belong to a small unarmed opposition group. Does Rose think she will get somewhere by giving herself to the Gorilla? Tell me, little sister. I’ll summon the strength to listen to you without exploding. What have they done to you? Don’t be afraid that I’ll roar like a lion. I will keep my mouth shut, taking every precaution before I kill him. They’ll never know where the shot came from.
Dr. Valois comes by too often lately. Does he know my mother is in love with him? He brought Claude’s wheelchair and is teaching him to use it. He put the child’s thin hands on the wheels, looked him in the eye and said: “Go on, push!” And Claude pushed, bursting into laughter. Still, it must be hard on the old floorboards of the living room. Anna was smiling, sweet, affable, serene. Too late. She rushed to Claude when he almost fell clumsily trying to go faster. Concern? Flattery? Rose wasn’t there. They haven’t uttered her name. I saw Anna’s questioning eyes catch mine, and I turned away. My mother’s clothes and hair were elegant but she still looked like she was dying. Grandfather hardly opened his mouth and pulled on his beard intermittently with thinly suppressed rage. He smells something is up. Does he perceive things even more deeply than I do? Is that why he’s so intolerant, because he can see more than others can, see into the revolting inmost depths of each of us? Can he sense it, the noxious smell, the pollution and dread perversity of our passions? And the sick kid, his behavior so strangely precocious! They share terrible secrets. Claude’s figured it out. He’s smelled something on Rose that is unknown to him and that he finds disgusting. A man’s smell. Gorilla sweat. Gorilla semen. I’ll kill him. Claude rolled his chair to the radio and turned it on and Rose got up. “No,” she said in an adamant voice, “no, I’ve got a headache.” A funeral! It feels like a funeral in here, but she’ll never admit that. She’ll never dance again. It’s over. Dr. Valois stepped in. He said gently: “Why not, Rose? Why not?” And he turned on the radio. She glanced at him quickly, very quickly, and said: “Actually, yes, why not?” And Anna said: “So you don’t like to dance anymore, Rose? You have to hold on to what you once loved, try, try to hold on.” “But of course I still like to dance,” Rose answered, “why shouldn’t I?” She found the courage to get up and started spinning and spinning before us. And then she stopped, looking dizzy, and stared at me blankly. “Come, come dance with me, Paul, come on, come on. Won’t you give your sister a dance? Come on, come on. What are you, sulking? Naughty boy! Well, then go, dance with Anna. A sister is just a sister, now go get Anna to dance.” “Let him be,” Anna said, “come on, let him be.” And I could see that my mother had gone pale, hand on her heart, wobbling. “What’s wrong, Laura?” Dr. Valois cried out as he rushed to her.
She pushed him away and walked slowly, with difficulty, to the window, a tense hand on her heart. He doesn’t know it, but this heart, her heart, is full of him. Blessed be whatever brings him here, she must tell herself, blessed be whatever awful thing brings him here so often. “I would like to examine you, Laura, lie down on the sofa. I need to examine you. You don’t look well.” He opens his bag and she lies down. He keeps his diagnosis to himself. This heart, so full of him, is about to burst. Will he say something? Could he betray her? Suddenly they, too, are sharing a secret. Don’t say anything, Dr. Valois! my mother’s eyes begged. I will never betray you, Laura, but you are crazy, crazy, and my job is to take care of you. Of course, I’ll do whatever you say, doctor, but don’t say anything. You see very well that they have enough to deal with, so, for my sake, please don’t say anything.
Grandfather flew into a rage when he discovered the empty bottle. “Who finished the rum? Who drank it?” he yelled. And Mélie, her lips drawn in a hideous grin, stared at my mother without answering. “It was me,” my father answered, lowering his head. “Since when do you drink for no reason, son?” Grandfather asked. “I needed a drink,” my father answered. Grandfather smashed the bottle on the wall of the pantry and my mother put a hand to her heart, a gesture that’s becoming more and more automatic. “No one will be getting drunk in my house, no one,” Grandfather kept yelling. Dr. Valois tried in vain to calm him. I was ashamed because Anna was there and I lowered my head. Outside, the birds flew chirping from tree to tree. Claude says: “They’re not killing the birds anymore. Why were they killing them, Grandfather?” “When you give weapons to the weak, they’ll shoot at anything; when you give weapons to scum, they only want one thing: to prove to themselves how powerful they’ve become; when you arm idiots, they’ll murder their son or father to try to justify the important role you’ve given them. Do you understand?” “Yes,” the child answered, “so they want to kill all the birds and all the children, mulatto and black alike.” Grandfather took the invalid in his arms and went away with him. Jacob was watching for him from behind his half-opened door: he didn’t wave back to him.
Mme Saint-Hilare, the frail neighbor next door, had grown tired of us. She had her armchair moved so that she now has her back to us. All we see of her is the tortoiseshell comb in her white bun. Contempt? Does she know of Rose’s affair with the Gorilla? After all, the men are always around, patrolling our property night and day. Nothing has changed. Guard duty on our yard! Right over our great-grandfather’s grave, covered in lemon flowers. Standing guard, rain or shine. Although it’s pretty obvious no one will venture past the stakes, they c
ontinue to terrorize us by shooting down birds. When I kill the Gorilla, they’ll murder innocents to set an example. They’ll be too happy to take the bait. Should I be giving them reasons to murder? But finding a better, more devious and refined means of revenge-not easy. They leave nothing to chance. It will be long and painful. Swallow my rage, appear resigned, play along. Machiavellian. If that’s what I have to do to get somewhere, so be it. Didn’t I rejoin the soccer team! Tiny steps toward submission. I’ll find my pride and my rage crumbling and I’ll be bowing and scraping like the others. Let him through, he’s in uniform! Look how handsome he is in his nice black uniform! Right, left! Right, left! Raise high the banner of death and armed force. We’ll get every last one of them, I’ll leave a trail of terror.
Stick him up against the tree. No, don’t bother tying him. He won’t move. He’s too scared. Bam! There he goes. The traitor. Throw his body in the truck. Bravo! Paul Normil, you are worthy of your uniform! I will stand at attention and present arms. If the beggars want to eat, let them come to basic training. One, two! One, two! Yes, but the problem is they’re too feeble and keep dropping dead. One less recruit. Throw his body in the truck. No pity. Our cause knows no pity. A place for those who have been hungry humiliated, frustrated for so long that they’ll throw themselves on plots of land like birds of prey. Shame on anyone who stands in their way. Shame on anyone who doesn’t understand that nothing can stand in the way of them sinking their claws into what they decided must be theirs at all costs.
Love, Anger, Madness Page 26