Landfalls

by Naomi J. Williams

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I should hope not.” Lapérouse stood, rolled up the charts, and handed them to Langle.

  Langle returned the maps to a drawer under the table. “It was your optimism, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Optimism. That’s what the philosophers call it. A basic faith in the goodness and rightness of life and the world.”

  Lapérouse disliked it when Langle waxed philosophical on him. “Well, what about it?”

  Langle opened the door to show him out. “It was why you were chosen to lead the expedition.”

  * * *

  The next day they visited the ruins of old Concepción. Lapérouse had awoken with a headache. The promise of time ashore had indeed produced the predicted effect, and at first light men were running up and down the deck and ladders and rigging, shouting up to men aloft or down to men below, and wielding adzes, mallets, caulking irons, and other clamorous tools. It made his head ring, but he could hardly order them to stop. When Pierre brought his breakfast, Lapérouse barked at him to go away, then remembered the outing to the ruins and bellowed at him to come back. He would have to get properly dressed again, put on his affable French captain face, and decide which of his officers could be spared for the day (none of them could be spared, really, but that would not do; he would have to bring someone along). Oh, he thought, with an audible groan, to be at sea again, without these social obligations!

  Stepping out of his cabin, he was greeted by a stinging aroma. “What the devil is that?” he cried.

  Pierre sniffed. “Onions, sir, for tomorrow’s soup. Bisalion and a couple of hands are cutting up a barrel of them right now.”

  Lapérouse blinked the tears from his eyes, ordered the small boat to be made ready, and called for Lieutenant de Clonard to join him.

  “I really cannot, sir,” Clonard protested. “Monsieur Delphin’s delivery is coming this morning. I have to—”

  “Where are the other officers?”

  “They’re all ashore, sir, requisitioning chairs and dishes in Talcahuano for the fête.”

  At the landing area he saw Monneron, but it was quite out of the question to ask him to join the outing. He was running back and forth along the shore overseeing three sets of men: the ships’ carpenters and sailmakers, whose job was to construct the tent for dinner; half a dozen men charged with clearing and setting up a platform for the spectacle; and an even smaller group, selected for their ability to wield a brush, who were secluded inside a temporary palisade with Duché de Vancy and pots of blue and gold paint.

  “Do you have enough men to help you, Monsieur de Monneron?” Lapérouse called after him.

  “Yes, sir, I think I have.”

  “Is Monsieur Dufresne still assisting you?”

  Monneron stopped short. “I believe he’s going to see the ruins today.”

  “But he has been assisting you?”

  Someone called to Monneron from the tent-building site, and he began edging toward it. “He was quite helpful at first,” he said, “but he seems to be busy with other matters now.” A loud crash and volley of cursing from the carpenters, and Monneron broke into a run. “Enjoy the ruins, sir!” he called over his shoulder.

  Lapérouse felt an unpleasant return of suspicion and jealousy. “You’re coming with me,” he said, collaring the first officer he saw, a man barely visible behind the tall column of wooden bowls balanced in his arms. Fortunately it was Lieutenant d’Escures, an impulsive and cheerful man who rarely said no to an unexpected turn of events and was undaunted by his commander’s brusque tone. He happily bequeathed his armload of borrowed bowls to a junior officer and joined Lapérouse at the shoreline. They were soon joined by Langle, accompanied only by young Lesseps. Apparently none of the Astrolabe’s officers could be spared. Lesseps’s services as Russian speaker would not be needed for months—perhaps a year—but he was an affable shipmate, always willing to participate in the expedition’s activities.

  “A perfect late-summer morning,” Langle said by way of greeting.

  It was true. The sky was brilliant and clear, with the morning chill giving way to a light southwest breeze. “I confess I had not noticed it earlier,” Lapérouse said, “what with all the din and poisonous onion fumes aboard my ship.”

  Langle smiled. “I’m happy to report the Astrolabe smells like a bakery.”

  Lapérouse frowned in mock offense. “Now I understand your cunning in assigning the soup to Bisalion and the bread and tarts to Deveau.”

  The party from Concepción now made its appearance in Talcahuano. Almost forty people: O’Higgins, the hardier dignitaries of Concepción, most of the Basque Society, all of the French savants, hired porters, a few servants, including one woman, and three heavily laden pack animals. Right behind them were the deliveries from Delphin, carts bearing wheat, onions, potatoes, salted meats, and wine for the next four months.

  The simultaneous arrival of so many people added to the disorder at the beach, with boats of various shapes and sizes and ownerships coming and going and vying for space at the water’s edge. A great deal of gesturing and shouting in both French and Spanish ensued. One misunderstanding resulted in food baskets intended for the trip to the ruins being hauled aboard the Astrolabe and another in a barrel of wine falling into the bay. Eventually, however, the people and provisions headed for the ruins were loaded onto three of the expedition’s boats to proceed by water toward the site of the old city. The breeze made light work for the rowers, and they seemed to fly across the southern end of the bay. Seated at the tiller of his own longboat, surrounded by men of intelligence and curiosity, the prospect of seeing something new and quite interesting before him, Lapérouse felt the weight of his ill humor and headache lighten.

  It returned with some force, however, when he disembarked and was accosted by Dufresne, looking droopily tall and simultaneously languid and anxious. He acknowledged the naturalist with a curt nod, then strode off toward O’Higgins, just disembarking from another boat. Dufresne followed a few paces behind. Lapérouse let him nearly catch up, then turned around. “Monsieur Dufresne, do I understand correctly that you are still at the Sabateros?”

  “Yes,” Dufresne said, flushing as he stammered out something about his original host suffering a relapse.

  “I see. Señora Sabatero, she is well?”

  Was it his imagination, or was there a flicker of suppressed pain at the mention of Eleonora? Dufresne blinked before replying. “She is, and—and sends her regards. Sir.”

  “And how are the preparations for tomorrow’s spectacle?”

  Another wave of color passed over his face. “Fine, I believe,” he said. “Monsieur de Monneron has things well in hand.”

  “He always does,” Lapérouse said. “He is a most reliable shipmate.” He turned away and joined O’Higgins; Dufresne did not follow.

  The group made its way up from the beach, following the one woman servant, a wizened mestiza who turned out to be their guide to the ruins. She had been maid to a family of some importance, most of whom had died in the disaster, and was herself one of the oldest survivors of the calamity. She carried herself with the dignity of someone used to living among the wealthy and prominent, and walked with the sure gait of a much younger woman. Following her up the dirt path that led from the beach, Lapérouse could see nothing that looked like the remains of a town. The area was utterly overgrown, the forest taking back its own. But the old woman picked her way around trees and shrubs, pointing to this and that and explaining it all in a crackly stream of talk that O’Higgins and Lamanon translated for the others. Here was the main road, she said, and here the old plaza, and there, the cathedral. See, under that vine, one could still make out some of the stonework. The bell tower had fallen right there and killed her mistress’s brother. Behind that was the churchyard, buried in mud after the wave. If one were to dig there, she said, one might still find legible tombstones. And right here, she said, her voice going soft, was the home of
Señor and Señora Gallegos de Rubias, may they rest in peace, whom she had served for many years. She and her mistress had fled uphill before the wave, but alas, her master and most of the household were lost when it came. As for evidence of the wave and its destructive force, she clambered nimbly uphill and showed them, nestled beneath a wind-twisted dwarf pine, a broken statue she claimed had originally been in the Gallegos’s courtyard.

  Lapérouse was impressed by the woman’s memory of the old town and by her ability to find traces of the life that had once bustled in this place. But most of all he was impressed—and unnerved—by the power of nature to undo human endeavor. An entire city, two hundred years in the making, complete with monasteries and schools, gracious homes and craftsmen’s shops, erased in a morning. And now, only thirty-five years later, the erasure itself erased, the scars of that violent unmaking hidden under trees and vines. His own endeavor floated upon the high seas on two wooden ships. How much more tenuous their hold on life!

  The official tour at an end, the group spread out over the area to explore. Langle joined Lamanon in examining geological evidence of the cataclysm, while some of the other savants made their quiet way through the overgrown ruins, looking for plants or creatures that were new to them, and the porters and servants prepared lunch in a clearing. Lapérouse, wishing to rid himself of the ruins’ gloomier associations, wandered toward the shoreline and was cheered to see the frigates, sturdy and whole in the bay. He turned toward approaching footsteps, and was relieved to see O’Higgins, not Dufresne, coming toward him.

  “It is perhaps too sobering a place to bring guests,” O’Higgins said.

  Not at all, Lapérouse assured him; it had been a most instructive and enjoyable outing. The usual compliments were traded: It is wonderful for our people to have so many men of science with whom to enjoy such an outing. But you and your people have gone far beyond the call of common hospitality for us. The pleasure has been ours, and if there is anything at all I can do in these days before you depart—

  “There is one thing,” Lapérouse said. He lowered his voice, though no one else was by. “You are of course acquainted with Monsieur Dufresne, the Astrolabe’s naturalist who has been staying with the Sabateros?”

  O’Higgins nodded yes, of course, a delightful young man.

  Lapérouse cleared his throat. “Yes, well. He wishes to be released from the expedition and stay here until he can find passage back to Europe.”

  “I see.” O’Higgins looked at Lapérouse as if trying to gauge what it was the commander wanted. “I can, of course, speak with Captain de Postigo. He sails for Cádiz—”

  Lapérouse shook his head. He looked up toward the ruined town and could make out a few of the savants, though not Dufresne, clambering over boulders. “Governor, I hope I may speak frankly.”

  But of course.

  “He is not an especially gifted naturalist nor a particularly amiable shipmate. Our scientific mission would not be much affected by his departure.”

  “And yet.”

  Lapérouse nodded. “I am concerned about establishing an unfortunate precedent among the scientific delegation, of—”

  “Of surrendering too easily to their demands.”

  “Yes. And allowing them to take the expedition too lightly.”

  O’Higgins nodded. “Monsieur Dufresne will need official permission to disembark and remain here,” he said.

  “Ah.”

  “The Spanish empire can be rather jealous of its borders.”

  “Indeed,” Lapérouse said, remembering the day of their arrival, and how they had looked in vain toward this exact spot for a city that had been gone for a generation.

  “This permission may prove difficult to obtain.”

  “I understand.”

  “I will try, of course.”

  “I would be much obliged, sir.”

  After lunch, he found Dufresne, standing alone and staring moodily out toward the bay, and informed him he could leave the expedition. “As long as you get the local authorities’ permission to remain here,” he added. “I have made your case in person to Governor O’Higgins.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir!” Dufresne cried.

  Lapérouse frowned, more irritated by the man’s cheerfulness than by his petulance. “I cannot promise you’ll get a favorable response, Dufresne. You know how these Spaniards are—quite jealous of their borders.” He walked away before Dufresne could begin thanking him again.

  Back in Talcahuano, Lapérouse and Langle and the savants thanked their hosts again and again, promised to see them all on the morrow, and watched them make their way through the village and back toward Concepción. When Lapérouse turned toward the water to return to the Boussole, he found Lieutenant d’Escures in earnest conversation with Monneron and the older La Borde brother. “What is it?” he called.

  D’Escures broke away from the group and approached Lapérouse and Langle. “Apparently in all the chaos this morning, two men from the Astrolabe stole off, hidden in one of Monsieur Delphin’s emptied carts.”

  * * *

  The next day, while the late-afternoon sun cast longer and longer shadows across the beach, Lapérouse and Langle stood and watched as the colorful procession of people and conveyances descended from the hills above Talcahuano. It looked like most of Concepción was coming for the fête. Governor O’Higgins, splendid in gold stitching, red brocade, and starched ruffles, led the way, and the rest of Concepción society followed, each rank in its proper order. Most of the ladies rode in carriages and most of the men on horseback, but some of the younger caballeros came on foot, while a few of the older ones, like Sabatero, arrived in sedan chairs carried by Indian servants. Close on the heels of these worthies were the common people of Concepción, hundreds of them, bearing baskets of food and drink, prepared to claim a bit of beach and enjoy the event in their own way.

  Langle had been nearly silent while they awaited their guests, and Lapérouse had the uncomfortable sense that he had somehow caused offense. They had last seen each other the previous afternoon, right here, when they had returned from the ruins and learned of the deserters.

  “Your runaways—have they returned?” he asked.

  Langle shook his head. “I sent three officers into town this morning to look for them, but they couldn’t find them. O’Higgins has promised to help, of course, but”—he inclined his head toward the stream of colonists approaching them—“most of his people are on their way here.”

  “Who were they, the men who left? Just sailors?”

  Langle paused before answering. “One was, yes, just a sailor. The other was a fusilier. Both quite able men, actually. I’m sorry to lose them.”

  “Of course,” Lapérouse said. “But perhaps it isn’t worth forcing unwilling men on a trip of this duration?”

  Langle turned to Lapérouse. “This morning I received an official letter from some clerk in Concepción denying Dufresne’s request to remain here or find a berth on a Spanish ship returning to Europe.”

  Lapérouse felt his face warm. So that was it. Well, O’Higgins certainly did operate with dispatch. “I see,” he said. “How did he take it?”

  “Very badly. I’ve had to confine him to his quarters.”

  The first guests were arriving, with all the commotion that entailed, as horses were secured, carriage doors opened and closed, and servants rushed about fixing mussed dresses and hair and reapplying powders and rouge. The only thing Lapérouse could think of to say was of a practical nature, and not likely to ease the tension between them: “We may have to cancel the day off we’ve promised everyone.”

  “Yes,” Langle said. “What a way to repay the men.”

  “We still have our all-hands feast tomorrow.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Perhaps there’s some way to give them their day in town and discourage deserters.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  He hardly knew, but now there were guests to greet and direct
toward the dining tent. Many of the faces were familiar from the ball at the Sabateros’, but he had not seen them out of doors, in the sun, and it was interesting to note how the daylight improved some people and not others. For some, the exertion of the three-league trip had brought out a healthy, windswept look that the hasty ministrations of servants had not been able to undo, while in others, the light revealed the thinning skin around a woman’s eyes, the pallor of lingering illness, or the frayed fabric that spoke of genteel poverty. And then Eleonora stood before him. He had not seen her in nearly a week. She was dressed much as she had been at the ball, but her cheeks were flushed and her face framed by wisps of hair that had escaped their braids. A jaunty and somewhat mannish riding hat sat atop her head. Lapérouse laughed aloud in frank delight at the sight of her.

  “Doña Eleonora,” he cried, “did you ride out from town?”

  She curtsied. “Alas,” she said, “I was confined to a carriage.”

  Langle cleared his throat next to him, drawing his attention to Sabatero, red-faced and out of breath beside Eleonora, sweating through an ill-fitting uniform. “Major Sabatero,” he called out in greeting, then pointed toward the entrance to the dinner tent.

  The tent was a marvel of lumber and sailcloth that was more spacious inside than one would have guessed from without. It took some time to get all of the guests inside and seated. Only the highest-ranking individuals—O’Higgins, Señor Quexada and his wife, Sabatero and Eleonora, the bishop, a visiting Spanish ship captain—had reserved seats at the long, narrow tables built for the occasion. Some anxious jostling ensued, with the other guests vying for the best places to which rank or wealth or lineage entitled them. It took long enough that Bisalion stormed over from his makeshift beach kitchen to hiss at Lapérouse that he would not answer for the results if the soup were not served immediately. But in due course everyone was in place: one hundred and fifty men and women of Concepción; twenty-five of the expedition’s officers, savants, and artists, diplomatically scattered around the room; and another contingent of Frenchmen, mostly able seamen overseen by petty officers, lining the inside perimeter of the tent, and ready, at a signal from the commander, to begin serving the meal. Lapérouse rose.