Sugar Money

by Jane Harris

  ‘Non, master sir. Non. Pa de Vincent. Désolé. Aw revwa, master sir.’

  The yard grew silent and I had to assume that my brother had run off to find his imaginary sheep. Presently, I heard the creak of a doorflap and then another, as the Englishman peered inside the huts, one by one, calling out, sternly:

  ‘Vincent? Vincent?’

  I dreaded that he would come poking his nose down the shortcut path; if he did, I was done for, but soon enough the noises from the yard ceased. Though it was almost certain that Bryant had return to the hospital, I was too afraid to move. After what seem like a decade, my brother finally reappeared, strolling down the path from the hospital quarters.

  ‘Is he gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Wi,’ replied Emile. ‘Hopefully we will be halfway to Martinique before he comes mousing after Vincent again. But let’s avoid the huts for now.’

  He heave my sorry bones up onto his shoulder and carried me and my crutches uphill. Steering clear of the yard and the cabins, he took me into the border of a nearby thicket that prospected the hospital buildings and the road to Fort Royal. Emile set me down with my back to a tree and took up a position a short distance away. No pair of sparrowhawk could have kept a closer watch over the hillside but we saw nothing stir except the doctor himself, around midday, riding down to town. From time to time, I heard my brother sigh but not a word pass between us all afternoon. For true, our circumstance required that we keep quiet, yet – no question – it was not for this reason alone that we sat there without speaking.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  My brother had been hoping for cloudy weather but by sunset the horizon still lay wide open. Clear skies and the threat of a near-full moon toward midnight: conditions could scarce be worse for an illicit escape. Bryant had return from town and the plan was to leave as soon as he and Bell set out for the dance at the Anglade estate. By judicious questioning, Saturnin had learn that Bell was to rencontre with the doctor at the hospital and from there they would ride together to the soirée. Maillard had been deputed to take charge of the sick room that night but since he preferred to remain at home for Christmas Eve he would only put in an appearance if summon by the Béké nurse-men.

  Only once the hospital slave began to return to the quarters did we venture out of our hiding place. Quick-quick and quiet, Léontine, Chevallier and Angélique readied themselve for departure in the row-boat, collecting their few possession to take to Martinique. Since I had arrived with only the clothes on my back, I had little to do and so sat on a hut step, resting my leg. All day long, as we sat in the thicket, I had nursed bitter resentment at my relegation to travelling with the old folk whiles Emile and Céleste would go together by land. For true, putting me in the boat made all kind of sense and I understood why my brother had reach that decision. Nevertheless, I felt so excluded I could scarce bring myself to look at him.

  ‘Cover up those light sleeve, tati,’ he told Angélique. ‘Wear something that won’t be seen out on the water.’

  With trembling hands, the old woman took a brown shawl from her bundle and draped it around her shoulders to conceal her pale chemise. Léontine had put on a dark indigo wrapper, pieced under the arms with check linen, but now she changed her white petticoat for a slate-grey one. Then, hands on hips, she sashayed over to Emile and looked at him sidelong neath her lashes.

  ‘Will this do?’ she asked.

  He gave her one glance.

  ‘Fine,’ said he and walked away, leaving her to stare after him, her mouth open. For a moment, she scuffed her foot around in the dirt. Then she whirled about and slump down beside me on the step. Meanwhile, Chevallier had peel the white shirt from his back. I believe he was entirely sober but the prospect of escaping to Martinique had made him elated and silly. My brother went up to him.

  ‘Have you nothing dark to wear?’

  ‘Puten! The Fathers will give me a new shirt, some good cotton.’

  ‘Or not,’ said Emile. ‘I wouldn’t count on them doling out fine linen.’

  ‘They will give me a tumpty-tum shirt, at least. Pa ni pwoblèm. Any case, I’m better like this for rowing. I just get all sweated up.’

  And he flexed his sinewy arms.

  Meanwhile, Léontine fingered my sleeve.

  ‘You should dip this in mud. Darken the cloth. Let me do it.’

  She tried to pull the shirt off me but – all of a panic – I hissed at her.

  ‘Ss-ss. Rub mud on your own shift.’

  Nevertheless, after my performance the previous night, I had no wish to cause further mishap. Thus, before Emile could order me about, I hopped over to a patch of muck in the shadows. There – as ever, mortified by the many scars on my back – I snatched off my shirt and swirled it in the damp earth until the cloth was the colour of dung. Léontine kept looking over, so quick as I could, I squirm back into the clammy linen, unable to shake the sense that my life had come to its lowest point so far.

  My spirit sank further still when Céleste arrive with the news that Bell and Bryant had set off for the Anglade estate.

  Léontine jumped up.

  ‘I bon,’ she said. ‘Annou alé. Let’s go.’

  Céleste had brought a trait of corncake from the hospital – no doubt, a gift from some patient or one of their relative. She set them down in the kitchen, then walked across the yard to her hut. I watched Emile, his eyes tracking her. Presently, he strolled over and up the steps to lean in her doorway. They began to murmur to each other. I heard her exclaim lightly: ‘No, stop!’ and then Emile gave a laugh – the first true laugh I had heard from him in a long time.

  Angélique kept hobbling over to the edge of the huts, wringing her hands and staring down toward the High Road in the fading light.

  ‘Who you looking for, Gwan-mè?’ Léontine asked. ‘Thérèse isn’t coming.’

  The old woman gave a sad nod.

  ‘I know it,’ she said. ‘And Vincent is gone, for true. But what about LeJeune? She should be here by now.’

  ‘That woman can look after herself,’ Chevallier told her. ‘Always has. She is tough as old turtle. She knows the way to Petit Havre on the goat track. Besides, if she has a ticket she can take the road, pretend she is visiting family.’

  Angélique continue to flutter about, agitated, until the old man stroked her cheek.

  ‘Now, ché,’ said he, kindly. ‘Sooner we go, sooner we get there.’

  Céleste emerge from her cabin with a small bundle of belongings and my brother wandered across the yard in her wake. She put her hand on my forehead then took some leaves out of her pocket and gave them to me.

  ‘Chew on these if you get hot.’

  As she knelt down to examine my foot, Emile began to transfer the corncakes into a burlap bag. I expected him to wish me luck or at least say ovwé, but though I waited he made no move to approach me. Instead, he took time to reassure Angélique, saying:

  ‘With your man at the oars, you’ll get there in no time at all.’

  He handed her one of the bags. Meanwhile, Chevallier stepped in front of me, blocking my view of Emile.

  ‘How far can you row, boy?’

  The question took me by surprise. I felt still trembly from head to foot and doubted I would be equal to such exertion. Chevallier studied me, his face most grave until he laughed and punch my arm.

  ‘Only jesting, child. You’re sick. Léontine will share the oars. Come now. Let’s get out of this place – and fair riddance to it.’

  He shouldered his bundle and went to join Angélique in bidding farewell to Céleste. My brother stood to one side, now gazing at me, as though trying to convey something – something important – but whatever it was, I had no notion. He look sad, but most of all he look sorry. Perhaps he felt guilty about sending me in the boat. I certainly hoped so.

  Léontine and Chevallier started down the path toward the sea so I turned and limped slowly after them. I could have said goodbye to Emile and Céleste or raise my hand in farewell, but th
e crutches made such a movement awkward. Despite her bad knees, Angélique overtook me as we descended into the trees, following her man. We had gone some way along the track when it seem to me that I heard Emile call out my name. I glance back but the ground had already dip down such that the lamps in the yard had disappeared and – though I listen hard – I could hear nothing further. Concluding that it had most likely been my imagination, I set off hobbling again, trying to evite potholes and hating myself and all the world and everyone in it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The boat-house stood at the mouth of the river where the hospital estate met the coast. I clocked along, trying to keep up with the others but even old limpard Angélique could move faster than me. We made our way downhill without event, onto the flat span of land at the shore end of the valley. As yet, the moon sat too low in the sky to be seen but starlight glimmered on the surface of the ocean and on the St Jean at its widest point, where it flowed into the sea. By a stroke of good fortune, the ferryman had moored his raft on the north bank of the river and all seemed quiet on our side.

  Chevallier made us wait in the trees whiles he check that there was nobody at the boat-house. Across the road lay a narrow span of rough ground then a strip of dirty-looking shore. In the tail of the afternoon, fishermen sat there to mend their nets but by night this stretch of the coast grew quiet. A single horse and rider went by en route to town, followed by a troupe of revellers on foot, then everything fell silent except for the surf pulling restlessly at the sand.

  Presently, the old man reappeared and indicated that we should follow him. When we reach the boat-house, he fumbled in his pockets for the key, damning and swearing under his breath. My skin itched all over, in agitation; my ears straining to hear any sound above the waves. Every moment seem to me an age but, at last, the key turn, the doors opened. Léontine helped Chevallier to drag the row-boat down to the sea, leaving me to wait in the night-shade of the boat-house with Angélique.

  ‘Not long now,’ she whispered and took my hand in hers. To my surprise, she was quaking from top to toe. I had always been afraid of this old woman with her hocus-pocus but here she was, all a-tremble, yet trying to sound brave for my sake. I saw for the first time that her viperish ways were the result of simple fear. A kind of mournful pity swell my heart and stop my breath.

  When Léontine came to fetch us, Angélique hobbled off at once to rejoin her man at the boat. As for me, however, it proved impossible to hobble at any speed because the cursed crutches kept sliding and sinking into the sand. In the end, I had to surrender them to Léontine and hop alongside her, leaning on her shoulder, my shame complete. I could sense the old couple staring at me as we approached and hoped it was dark enough to hide my mortification. Chevallier kept the boat steady in the shallows whiles the old woman hitched up her skirts and clambered into the prow. Then it was my turn. Léontine handed my crutches to her grandmother then grab the stern whiles Chevallier took me by the elbows. He was about to hoist me aboard when we heard a soft hoot from the highway. I turned and saw a figure outlined against the night sky, coming toward us across the sand.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Léontine murmured.

  Of course, I knew at once, would know him anywhere from the set of his shoulders.

  ‘Emile,’ I said.

  ‘Oh puten,’ Chevallier murmured. ‘That’s it now. Something amiss.’

  ‘Chut!’ said Angélique. ‘It might be nothing.’

  The old man released his grip on my arms but I still had to lean on him for support. My brother came right up to the boat. I could tell by the starlight gleam of his eyes that he was gazing at me.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Chevallier hissed.

  ‘Change of plan,’ replied Emile. ‘LaFortune came up from the plantation with a message. The field hand – the fit and healthy ones – are refusing to be slow down by those who cannot keep up. So Saturnin is taking them in one fast group. They’ve all talked about it and decided.’

  ‘What about the rest?’ asked Léontine. ‘Those one who aren’t able?’

  ‘I’ll have to take them,’ Emile replied. ‘I’ll talk to Saturnin, see if I can get him to change their mind. But I doubt it.’

  Angélique snorted.

  ‘Why bother coming to tell us? Makes no difference to us here going by sea.’

  My brother turn to look at me again.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I change my mind also. Lucien is coming with me.’

  The old woman sucked her teeth at him.

  ‘Boy is lame as a three-legged mule. He’s better in the boat with us.’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ said Emile. ‘Give me those crutches.’

  She handed them out of the boat and my brother stuck them in the sand. Léontine stared at us, frowning. I saw the old couple exchange an uneasy glance as Emile lifted me up onto his back. He drape me around his shoulders, his elbow behind my knees, my head dangling.

  ‘There,’ said he. ‘If all else fails, we can go anywhere like this.’ He pull the poles out of the sand then bid the others farewell. ‘See you at Petit Havre.’

  None of them said goodbye. I would have like to watch them set off but the way my brother held me half upside-down, the blood rush to my head and my eyes filled with water, such that I could only see the ground see-sawing beneath us and Emile striding along, his blurry feet sinking deep and deep into the dark sand.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  For sake of expedience, he carried me across the road and only set me down when we got beyond sight of the shore. My spirit soared to be alone with him again, just the two of us, moving through the night-shadows of the landscape. This part of the plantation, the flat old indigo field south of the river, had never yet been planted with cane. With the use of my crutches, I could pick my way across the plain. This was the easy part, down in the valley. I hilched along in silence, managing at times to achieve an almost swinging gait although – under normal circumstance, without injury – I would have been twice as fast. Emile moved along behind me so silent that, once or twice, I had to turn and check that he was still there.

  A short distance inland, he overtook me and headed down into a small copse beside the river. Somewise puzzled, I followed him. There, in the trees, just visible, a figure stood waiting. Céleste: her bundle on her shoulder, the bag of corncake in her hands. She and my brother consulted for a while, their heads close together. When they finished, Emile came and spoke in my ear.

  ‘She will go in front, then you.’

  Up ahead, Céleste was already just a fleeting dark shape on the river path, heading for the bridge. I hobbled forward, sensing Emile behind me, foot on foot, so close now that I could hear him breathe.

  Soon enough, we came to a halt under more trees near the bridge. On the far side, I could see the flickering fires and flambeaux of the plantation quarters. After another hush conversation, my brother continued along the path. Somewhere up ahead, I heard a low exchange of dove hoots as he let the field hand know we were on our way.

  Céleste leaned over to speak in my ear.

  ‘We’ll get there. Safe and sound.’ When I made no reply, she went on: ‘Your brother was heart-sick, you know, making you go in that boat. It’s better this way. Now we can all be together. Come here.’

  She put her arm around my shoulder. I wanted to say something to her about Bryant and what had happen to her but I was unable to find the words. And so I simply allowed myself to lean against her and put my forehead against her cheek. She no longer smelled like vanilla; she smelled like fear. We stood there in silence until Emile returned, then Céleste took my crutches and disappeared with them, into the darkness. My brother bent down to pick me up, this time carrying me pick-a-pack. He bore me along like I weighed no more than a sash. By the time we got to the bridge, Céleste was waiting for us on the other side. Emile carried me across so fast and silent that if you had glimpse his shadow you might have thought he was only a ghost flitting across the river. Howsomever, the thought
of being carried into the yard like a cripple fill me with horror. Bad enough for the field hand to see me shuffling along on crutches, but it was better than being borne along as though I were a complete invalid.

  ‘Put me down,’ I begged.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Emile, without breaking his stride.

  ‘I can walk, souplé, put me down.’

  To my relief, he stop where Céleste stood waiting – short of the cabins – and set me on my feet, supporting me until I had a firm grip on my poles. Thereafter, he paused and looked at us, first me then Céleste. I had the sense that he might be about to impart some word of wisdom to us but in the end he just nodded and made a scraping noise at the back of his throat, a clearing of his passages. Then he shook his head – as though dismissing a troublesome thought – and headed on toward the cabins.

  Chapter Forty

  We found Saturnin waiting beside the flambeaux at the entrance to the yard along with two whip-thin boys. He gave my crutches a glance but made no comment. Instead, he muttered something and twitched his whip toward the river. Off the boys went, fast as bat, speeding into the darkness.

  ‘Once they fetch the lookouts we can go,’ he told Emile.

  My brother drew him aside and they began to speak in murmurs. I hitch past them slow-slow and heard Emile ask:

  ‘What about the rum? Did you stop them drinking?’

  ‘Yes, yes, pa ni pwoblèm,’ said the driver. ‘The cask still sealed.’

  ‘Listen, my friend. Would it not be safer – more fair – if we stuck to our first plan? Go in small group, some able, some not.’

  Saturnin gave a snort.

  ‘You want to take the sick and lame go ahead, and welcome. All the fast ones want to come with me.’ He grinned. ‘We won’t set sail without you, never fear.’

  With that, he strode off toward the cabins. My brother exchanged a worried look with Céleste then they hurried after him. By the time I reach the yard they were in a huddle with the driver, trying to make him change his mind. A few field hand scurried hither-thither to gather up their meagre duds, but most of them were prepared and waiting to leave. For true, they had already divided themselve into two platoon. Around the main fire stood the able-body slaves, those uncumber by ill health or impediment, mostly men and boys. There were, perhaps, ten women in this group: some girls but also mothers, healthy younger specimen with older children who could travel unaided. The strongest young men – Coco, Montout, Lapin and Philoge – had gathered around a puncheon of rum on the ground. Perhaps they were meant to guard the liquor, and although the seal remained intact, the way they kept slapping the cask and sniffing the staves suggested they would sore have like to taste its content.