Into the World

by Stephanie Parkyn

  ‘The women dive for abalone and lobsters while the men sit around the fire. They act like they’re afraid of the sea!’

  ‘It’s a disgrace!’

  What freedom this superstitious fear of the water must give these women, Girardin thought, if the men were not able to swim at all. For how many generations had mothers taught their daughters to escape into the ocean?

  ‘The women disappeared beneath the waves for an age—longer than I could hold a breath.’

  ‘I thought for sure they’d be caught in the seaweed and drowned.’

  ‘Or eaten by sharks!’ another said.

  ‘But no! Each time they returned with baskets full of seafood to broil on the coals.’

  Girardin pictured these fearless hunters with their shorn heads, sagging breasts and stretched stomachs. The rope-like muscles in their arms and legs. These women would not abandon their children. They gathered the food for their family. To feed themselves and their children they were dependent on no man.

  ‘The women are completely naked,’ a sailor was saying to his rapt audience, ‘and sit with their legs spread. All they do by way of modesty is bend one knee and curl a foot in front of their private parts!’

  Then she heard Ventenat raise his voice, addressing d’Auribeau. ‘I merely said that the practice of polygamy was observed.’

  ‘It is true,’ Labillardière confirmed. ‘The man we met made intimate gestures to indicate that the two women by his side were his wives. Perhaps the husband of one of the women was dead and her children fatherless, as it is not the normal practice. The other women took pains to make that clear to us.’

  ‘But, chaplain, you have said you find these people to be in a perfect state of society. How can you, a man of God, condone polygamy?’ d’Auribeau challenged Ventenat.

  ‘Can we not observe without passing judgement?’ the chaplain snapped. ‘In this harsh and unforgiving world, is it so wrong if the hard business of providing food for the family is shared by two women?’

  ‘It is against nature. A child should be raised by a man and his wife. That is the natural order of things.’

  Girardin was tired of the discussion. Against nature? What was meant by that? It angered her, this talk of the natural order. Had they not seen the variety of nature in their travels? Had they not seen the fish that could fly, the birds that could swim? In France, unwanted newborns could be torn to pieces by dogs in the streets. Bastard babies whose fathers would not claim them, who considered them an embarrassment. Whose idea of nature was that? Who were the true savages? Heat flushed through her. Would she have had to give up her baby in a society such as this? For certain, she would not be half a world away from her home, disguised and wretched.

  Ventenat turned away from d’Auribeau, twisting his hands and muttering as he passed her in the stalls, ‘He is Tartuffe! The nasty, pious fraud.’

  Labillardière called to the General: ‘These people wondered where our women were. It seemed unnatural to them that we should be without them.’

  ‘Dragged us into the bushes to check our manhood!’ a young sailor cried out.

  ‘No man without a beard was safe!’ another cried.

  ‘Once they stripped me naked, the women were more than satisfied.’ One of the sailors thrust out his hips to a chorus of laughter.

  ‘Shame Louis Girardin was not among us!’

  Girardin recoiled at the mention of her name.

  ‘Then they’d have found what they were looking for!’

  The men were laughing. From her hiding place, she stared at their open mouths and yellow teeth. She saw their fleshy wet tongues. Every man had heard what the sailor said.

  ‘Where is he? Louis Girardin, where are you?’ another man called out.

  Girardin shrank back among the sheep.

  ‘He’ll not come ashore again now! If he did, then we’d know the truth of his sex!’

  The sheep bleated, turning angrily. Girardin crept back in the cramped stall. They knew. They all knew the truth. How could she be safe from any of them?

  Chapter 46

  AS THE DAYS PASSED, GIRARDIN KEPT TO HER CABIN AS MUCH AS she could. More than ever before, she wanted to speak with Kermadec. She needed to be off this ship, away from Raoul, away from all of them. She passed many nights without sleep, churning over her doubts and fears. Kermadec had been so cold and distant to her when they last met. Could she still turn to him for help? She lay awake in her hammock, watching Passepartout swing in her cage. At last she made her decision: she would ask the General if she could transfer to the Espérance.

  But the following morning a throng of men blocked the General’s door. They lined the gangway and filled the quarterdeck. ‘Get out of my way,’ she ordered, struggling with his breakfast tray. D’Auribeau had announced that the rations of bread were to be cut for the crew, but not for the officers. Now the sailors were refusing to sail.

  The men barricaded the door while the General met with the ringleaders. A hand snatched the bread roll from the plate and she watched as it was torn to pieces in front of her. Bread. Once again it came to this. She stepped back, sensing anarchy.

  Ventenat had mounted the quarterdeck like it was his pulpit. ‘Bread! We had a king that would not give us bread, while he dined on towers of meat and sweets! Why should we suffer this injustice here while those in France are free?’

  She had never seen Ventenat like this. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked terrifying in his black robes with bald and shining head. How did he know about the towers of food? She remembered those tall platters stacked three feet high like women’s headdresses, each one striving to be taller than the last. Towers of eggs. Towers of crayfish in glasses of champagne. The platters were paraded through the hallways on the way to the dining room, while the courtiers salivated, waiting for their chance to devour the leftovers. She had only once seen the table fully laden, and even then it was just for a moment. She had rushed to find her mistress with a message, but Madame Marguerite de Noailles, having danced from conversation to conversation to gain a prime position near the dining room doors, was in no mood to lose her place. She had swung her wide panniers and pushed Marie-Louise away with her glare. The doors opened wide and Marie-Louise felt herself bathed in light. She saw white walls with golden decorated panels, cornices and mirrors. A chandelier illuminated a dining table crowded with heavy dishes that appeared untouched. Then the King and Queen swept through. In her surprise, Marie-Louise forgot to curtsey as those around her instantly dropped. The King caught her eye and her mouth fell open before she threw herself to the parquet floor. Would he have recognised her? she wondered. Surely not after all these years. She would not have recognised him as the boy in the labyrinth, his girth now so round and his face so full of jowls.

  It seemed a lifetime ago, those days at Versailles with the nobility all squabbling for the ear of the King. Living among rumours. Listening at doors. Learning to be invisible. And now her past was determined to catch her out.

  ‘Ventenat!’ Mérite cried. ‘Get down from there!’

  She watched as the sailors closed against him. Then, above his head, she saw a tricolour rosette had been tied to the stair. Its red, white and blue tails fluttered in the fresh breeze. She stared at it, stunned. Mérite pulled his rapier and leaped for the banister, striking the rosette down with his sword. She watched the rosette spin in circles as it fell. It hit the deck and Mérite pounced, pinning it through the heart.

  She remembered wearing the tricolour like this. The symbol of the revolution. Marie-Louise had slipped out of the palace gates and pinned a tricolour cockade to her breast. The ribbon flapped ostentatiously as she walked. It was not safe to be on the streets without showing your patriotism to the republic of France. To be seen in the fashions of the ancien régime was to invite vitriole. Courtiers who wore white handkerchiefs to show their support for the King had been spat at, their faces slashed by fingernails, and beaten by mobs. This was 1789 and the Bastille had already fallen. T
he tide was turning against the King.

  She walked quickly to her rendezvous with Hébert, her cap tied close around her face. She avoided Rue Satori, afraid her father or stepmother might see her. Turning a corner, she glimpsed Hébert’s mustard-coloured carriage stopped in the street and saw a man she recognised as the Duc d’Orléans stepping out of it. A member of the royal family. The wind snatched at the ribbons of her cockade. She fell back from the corner. Why would Hébert be meeting with the duke?

  Before long she heard the rattle of the carriage on the cobblestones. She waited. The horses turned the corner and a footman leaped down to open the carriage door. Jacques Hébert leaned out to her.

  ‘You still keep a carriage,’ she said. ‘I would’ve thought such a thing an extravagance of the aristocracy.’ She climbed inside, saying nothing of the duke.

  Hébert smiled. ‘I find it necessary,’ he said, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to her palm, ‘for privacy.’

  She withdrew her hand, tucking it beneath her skirts, ashamed that her face grew warm.

  ‘To business then,’ he said, handing her a roll of sheets. ‘Distribute these. Tip them down the stairwells. Scatter them in the corridors. Let them know what we think of the Austrian whore.’

  Marie-Louise unrolled the pamphlets and saw a drawing of the Queen with her legs spread, being pleasured by her lap dogs. Her eyes grew wide. She rolled it closed.

  ‘Something the matter?’ he said, his voice soft.

  ‘What do you need me for?’ she blurted. ‘You don’t need me to spy on the Queen—you print stories in your pamphlets that are worse than anything I tell you.’

  ‘Careful, Madame. Are you not a patriot?’

  She drew back, horrified that she had given him the wrong impression and eager to prove herself worthy. ‘You mistake me! I meant that tales of gluttony and infidelity could be gleaned from listening to the servants’ gossip in the markets. I want to do more!’ She had put a hand to her heart, holding the ribbons of her rosette.

  ‘All in good time,’ he had murmured, reaching across to stroke her thigh.

  A shout broke into her thoughts. Girardin ducked as a shoe flew past her head. Fights were breaking out among the sailors, between the republicans and those still loyal to the King. The men pushed and shoved, hurling insults. A wild punch threw the butcher into her, sending the breakfast tray spinning from her hands. She fell beneath him, his weight smothering her. She struggled out from under the heavy man and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, wheezing, the wind knocked out of her. She heard Mérite send one of the brawling men below deck and cut the brandy allowance of both.

  When she looked up, Captain Kermadec had boarded the Recherche. He stood tall and his cheeks were flushed red. She noticed his sword was drawn. Three of his officers fanned out behind him. He didn’t utter a word.

  Slowly, he walked among the sailors. His silence cowed them. The men were wary, expecting punishment. He forced each to meet his gaze. He stopped when he saw the tricolour rosette pinned to the deck. Tugging the sword from the wood, he thrust the rosette high and spun about.

  ‘For shame.’ His voice resonated deep and low.

  All the men ducked their eyes. Nearby, she heard the teeth of a sailor grinding in his jaw and watched the muscles of his cheek bulge. She saw men spit upon the deck.

  Kermadec removed the rosette from the rapier and crushed it in his hand. Girardin felt a crumpling sensation within her.

  ‘Is it mutiny you intend? Do you care so little for your General?’ Kermadec’s disgust was plain. ‘This man who has been a father to us all?’

  Not one man moved or spoke.

  ‘Get about your work.’

  The direct order broke the mob apart. Subdued, the men shuffled away.

  Girardin fled below deck, recognising in herself the desire to obey an authoritative voice.

  The galley was deserted. She sank down behind the ovens, hidden from view. She could not confess to Kermadec, she knew that now. He would think her a traitor to the King. She wrapped her arms around herself. Raoul would keep his power over her.

  At a cough behind her, Girardin scrambled to her feet. Captain Kermadec stood at the galley door. Her heart thudded against her ribs. The pain of their last meeting was like an icy finger pressing her sternum, pushing her away from him.

  ‘Is it true that there is not enough flour for bread?’ he asked, his expression unreadable.

  She stepped forwards. ‘The flour will not last till Java.’

  As the lantern light caught her face, Kermadec gasped. ‘What has happened to you?’

  She remembered her split lip, realising her half-closed eye must be blackening. She relived the moment of her face hitting the planks of the deck, the weight of Raoul pinning her down. ‘An altercation.’

  ‘You are not safe!’ He stepped towards her. ‘I should never have convinced you to take on this role. I am a fool.’

  She could not speak.

  He tilted her head and gently touched her swollen lip.

  ‘Tell me who did this.’

  She shook her head. It was safest to say nothing. She could not risk giving Raoul the opportunity to speak.

  ‘I came to apologise,’ he said. ‘I was not myself when we last met.’

  She felt the tightness in her chest begin to unfurl.

  ‘D’Auribeau plots against me. When we return to France, my career will be over. I fear I have given you cause to hope—’ he swallowed ‘—for something more between us.’

  She turned away from him, humiliated.

  ‘No, please listen.’ He caught her arm. ‘I thought to distance myself from you, but I failed. I could not suppress my feelings. I am as helpless as driftwood pulled by the tide.’

  ‘I do not cause you such turmoil willingly,’ she said, incensed. ‘I want nothing from you.’

  ‘But I want to be with you.’

  Her heart kicked. She slowly turned to him, searching his face for the truth.

  Had he forgotten that she was a woman without family, without reputation, with only the coins sewn into the hem of her tunic to call her own? She had nothing. She was nothing.

  ‘Unless we find La Pérouse, there will be no way to resurrect my reputation,’ he said. ‘I will be ruined. I will have nothing to offer you.’

  It did not matter to her that he had no future in the King’s navy. Couldn’t he see that? She pictured again the scene of a grassy field and the flash of her son’s white hair in the sun. All she wanted was to turn for home.

  ‘We will look for La Pérouse together,’ she said, linking his hands in hers. ‘Let me be your steward on the Espérance.’

  His eyes glistened. ‘I would like that more than you know.’

  She beamed at him, even though it hurt her face to smile. To be safe with Kermadec on his ship. Her heart felt like sunshine.

  But his face clouded. ‘I doubt the General will allow it. Our friendship,’ he faltered. ‘We are not on the best terms.’ She felt the distance between them return and the darkness of her doubts and fears. She dropped his hands and the sunlight drained from her face.

  D’Auribeau appeared in the doorway. ‘Captain Kermadec, your negligence with our supplies haunts us still.’

  Kermadec swung around, flustered and without retort.

  ‘The General has been forced to capitulate. Five ounces of flour for all, officers and crew alike.’

  Girardin breathed deep, relieved the General understood. Whether royalist or republican, all they had to rely on was one another. When we run out of bread, she thought, at least we will all run out together.

  D’Auribeau looked from Kermadec to her and back, his eyebrow rising. ‘We sail for the Friendly Isles in the morning, captain,’ he said. ‘I should think you would want to return to matters on your own ship.’

  Chapter 47

  Tongatabou, Friendly Isles, 23 March 1793

  NOTHING IN THE SAILORS’ TALES HAD PREPARED HER FOR THE scale of their recept
ion in the Friendly Isles. The islanders surged out from shore in outrigger canoes loaded with produce. Piglets were carried beneath armpits, their ears pulled to create a squealing siren. Girardin stared, amazed and terrified by the sheer number of craft now bearing down on them.

  Canoes clunked against the side of the ship. The islanders tossed bundles of fruit up to the waiting sailors then pulled themselves on board. Two men cried out to Girardin, grinning and pointing to the women that paddled with them.

  ‘Mitzi, mitzi!’ the women called, before dropping their paddles and scaling the ropes at the side of the ship.

  The officers thrust open their windows and helped them through.

  More canoes arrived. Now there was music. Girardin felt the joyful madness whirl around her. Saint-Aignan dashed for his violin. The sailors danced jigs with the islanders, while Rossel screamed orders above the din. Hatchets were traded for hogs. Clubs of bone and polished wood were demonstrated in fierce displays. Piglets chased poultry across the deck. A canoe under sail guided the ships through the deepest channel, and somehow the whole floating market of ships and canoes found safe anchorage.

  Not since Amboyna had Girardin seen such an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables. Pawpaw, coconuts and yams. The sights and scents were mouth-watering. Huge green-skinned fruits studded with spikes were soon piled into a pyramid on deck.

  ‘What’s this?’ Besnard picked one up and sniffed.

  ‘Breadfruit,’ Labillardière replied.

  A grunt from Besnard. ‘What am I supposed to do with it?’

  ‘Roast it like potatoes.’

  Besnard narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ll boil it then.’

  Labillardière shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. The natives bury it beneath the ground to ferment it.’ But Besnard had already left. The naturalist turned instead to Girardin. ‘I don’t think our cook likes me.’

  ‘No one likes you,’ Girardin said without thinking.

  Labillardière merely nodded.

  Girardin felt hopeful. These islanders knew of visiting ships. Her expectations of finding La Pérouse here in the Friendly Isles were high. This was his last known destination. Five years before, he had stopped in Botany Bay on the east coast of New Holland to repair his ships, take water and send word back to France. Then his ships set sail for Tongatabou and vanished.